The octopus’s head nodded against her body, and she backed off only to be stopped by a wall against her back. Wherever we are, it’s not meant for more than one person.
With the immediate danger over, she took a moment to search the narrow chamber: now that her eyes were adjusting, she could see a faint light from where she’d come; only darkness in the opposite direction, though the draftiness indicated the presence of a passage or duct.
“Later,” Orthus whispered, his half-blue, half-orange eyes glittering. “Listen.”
Ember’s eyebrows drew together, but before she could say anything his long fingers gripped her shoulders and turned her back toward the entrance. She obeyed their slight pressure and sank to her knees, Orthus crowding close enough behind her that she could feel his body heat against her back. She looked at him questioningly, but he pointed with his chin at the wall in front of them and paid her no further attention.
Bemused, her fingers skirted over the surface close to her face, finding it thinner and more pliable than she had thought. Canvas, she realized, we’re behind one of Corax’s paintings.
Upon closer examination, she was drawn to two pinpricks of light about at eye level. She repositioned herself, finding that she could look through them into the top story of the office—just in time to see two men and a woman, all avians, coming up the stairs.
She shrunk back, a tight feeling in her chest. Above her, Orthus was still peering through two slits of his own, a grim expression on his face. Though he had never been someone to give away much, she guessed from his lack of reaction that he both recognized and expected the group.
With a physical effort, she forced herself to focus on the leading avian through the limited view. He was tall, with sinewy muscles and a greying beard. A set of massive wings grew from his back, though they were imperfect—structurally asymmetrical and marred with battle scars. But more noticeable than his appearance was his predator’s aura, clinging to him like a bloody-fingered wraith. Ember’s stomach twisted. For the first time in months, she felt like prey.
Her eyes slid away unconsciously, landing on the Linnaean bringing up the rear of the procession. With a jolt of surprise, she recognized him as Roland. The black hawk-eagle’s monochrome wings were tucked behind him and his aristocratic features lowered in deference. His presence was like a punch in the gut after months without a confrontation.
She looked again at the leader. If Roland’s here, then that man must be his master, Orion, the Martial Eagle. She swallowed unevenly. Known to be among the top three strongest members of the Apex Association.
The remaining avian of the three walked between the Martial Eagle and Roland, following at her master’s heels like an overeager dog. Though it was difficult to age her features, Ember guessed that she was younger than Orion but older than Roland, and definitely his superior. She was of slighter build than both of the men, with slimmer, ruddy-feathered wings sprouting from slits in her bloodred robes. Something about her bearing reminded Ember of Ophelia, and she knew instantly that she would lose a fight against her.
“Master,” the ruddy-feathered avian said, “will Corax be displeased that the prisoner has died?”
Orion wiped his hands on his trousers, displaying bloodstains across his knuckles. “Humans are fragile,” he said, his voice a low rumble and his yellow gaze displeased. “With his facial wounds infected, his death was inevitable.”
Ember shifted. Are they talking about the human I incapacitated?
Orion sat at Corax’s round table with a sigh, swinging up his booted feet, and a chunk of dirt dislodged itself onto the mahogany. The ruddy-feathered Linnaean stood at his shoulder as he looked up at the ceiling, deep in thought, and after a minute he gave her permission to sit with a wave of his hand.
“Get us something to drink,” he ordered Roland.
“Sir?”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“The liquor cabinet, boy,” the Martial Eagle said, and it almost pleased Ember to see how Roland tripped over himself to cross the room.
He paused in front of the cabinet with one arm outstretched. His eyes darted around, searching, and Ember shrank back. Has he detected me?
“The brandy,” Orion called, “top shelf.”
Roland grabbed the drink, his slim fingers wrapping around the neck, and narrowed his eyes once more before bringing it to his master. He stood by, head bowed, as the Martial Eagle drank a generous helping straight from the bottle. He sighed with pleasure, his finger tracing the rim.
It reminded Ember of a dog sleeping in its master’s bed while he was away, and she felt a little indignant on Corax’s behalf. At least she knew why she hadn’t seen Roland for months—he had been occupied helping his master play chief strategist.
“Regardless of his death, the outcome is the same,” he said conversationally.
“How so, Master?” the female Linnaean asked.
“The leak will need to be dealt with. She should have killed herself upon capture rather than give up our confidence. Her performance has been pathetic.”
“Will you send assassins?”
He took another gulp of the brandy. “That would be my choice, but regrettably, the decision will be Corax’s. He’s returning soon, and he will want to send a rescue party first.”
They exchanged a meaningful look. “That is regrettable. It has been my pleasure to serve you during this time, Master.”
Orion let out a bark of laughter. “Hopefully, it won’t be long before we can reclaim this position.”
“Even after his protégé…?”
“The worm?” Orion asked, his lips turned up in a smile, and Ember realized with a spike of anger that they were talking about Ophelia. “I will make him see that I acted in everyone’s best interest. We managed to shift some of the blame on her, and now that she has been fired, the public is less distressed. They feel that we have the situation under control. Besides, he has other, better protégés.”
The ruddy-feathered raptor sunk to her knees, looking reverently at the Martial Eagle. “Thank you, thank you, Master.”
He nodded, seemingly pleased by her groveling. “The situation demanded it. Your advancement was merely a bonus.”
Ember’s brows pinched together. As far as she knew, Ophelia hadn’t held any positions of power other than her station as one of the top fifty rankers. Perhaps, Orion’s student was one of her direct competitors.
“Speaking of advancement,” Orion added, his speech beginning to slur around the edges, “Roland, let’s strategize for your next match. I expect more from your performance…”
Ember startled as Orthus’s hand gripped her shoulder, and she looked up to see him beckoning for her to follow. She stood, dusting off her sore knees. He raised a finger to his lips, telling her to be quiet—as if she needed the reminder—and took a few steps down the narrow chamber. She followed close behind, hardly daring to breathe.
“Careful,” he whispered, and she saw that the chamber cut off abruptly into a deep chasm. In the low light, she could just make out a rope ladder disappearing into the darkness. Orthus lowered himself over the edge, gripping the sides, and started the climb down.
When he had descended a couple of rungs, Ember copied his movements. With her fingers wrapped around the frayed, algae-spotted rope, she vowed not to let him escape without telling her how the hell he had known about a secret chamber in Corax’s office.
Several minutes passed before Ember’s feet touched solid ground again. Orthus pushed open a panel, and they stepped out into the dim light, once again at the bottom of the stairwell inside the first layer of the tree. They slipped outside, the brightness of day burning into Ember’s retinas.
“Orthus-” she began.
“Not yet,” he said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her through the tangle of roots. She let herself be led willingly—he had saved her from the Martial Eagle, after all—though her patience at being dismissed was waning. As they veered into a thicket of trees, Ember glanced back up at the study, noticing that their route was along its blind spot.
The octopus led her deeper into the trees until, at last, they stopped near a pile of rocks. He took a seat, head in his hands, and to Ember’s shock the color-changing skin not covered by his cloak flared an angry red. “Orthus,” she said again, not sure exactly where to begin amongst her endless questions, “what in the name of the gods-”
“You!” he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at her, “Breaking into Corax’s office? What the hell did you think you were doing? What if Orion had caught you?”
Ember raised her eyebrows. “Last time I checked, you’re equally guilty. Except I didn’t know the Martial Eagle was coming, and I think you did. Can you tell me what that’s about?”
“You’re not in the position to be making demands,” Orthus said, standing up to pace with a fingernail between his teeth. It was the least composed that Ember had seen him.
“Okay, you’re right,” she admitted. “You helped me with Freya.” She tilted her head, thinking. If she wanted something from him, she would have to give him something in return. That was how things had always been with Orthus.
“You were listening in to hear about the humans’ attack, right?” Ember speculated. “I was there, so maybe we can trade information. A question for a question.”