Ryke held two sticks of incense over a candle and rolled them in the flame. When the sticks began to smoke, she stuck them into a bowl of sand. The Queen knelt before her private shrine, bowing and holding up the bowl, offering her prayers to the gods.

She inhaled slowly, savoring the rich, spicy sting of incense. It opened her lungs, and a hint of smoked citrus carried her thoughts to a faraway place. If only for a moment.

As she exhaled, it was as if all those years of waiting, of quiet suffering and of standing firm while the Empire slowly ground her people into dust, all that tension, flooded out of her.

For over a decade, she questioned if she was doing the right thing by keeping her people in line. If we could show the Empire what we’re made of, perhaps one day they will welcome my people.

It was either that or an all-out war against the Empire itself. And the Empire had not lost a war in a thousand years.

Maybe it would never happen in her lifetime, but she hoped that one day, the ruling lords of the Empire would wake up and see her people not as conquered xenos but as equal citizens. All she had to do was play servant to these cyran nobles and show them a thousand ways her people were good, righteous citizens of the Empire.

This is what she clung to. This was the path she could not doubt. And when she prayed, she prayed to Kanya for a blessing of strength and unwavering resolve.

Instead of a mere blessing, the gods had delivered a miracle.

The Savior has come.

To my city.

Ryke knelt before her shrine and thanked the gods, not just Kanya and Asaiyam but all of them, saying each of their names one by one as tears rolled down the sides of her beak. She couldn’t stop smiling. Oh gods, thank you. I am not worthy.

Still, the corvani’s words lingered in her mind, striking the spark of doubt. The Empire would not rest for a single moment while Poire avoided their clutches. Word of the human would catch like fire.

She needed guidance. She needed ideas.

“Asaiyam, I bow to you, who lives in all minds and sees all things.” Her beak mouthed the words, and she pressed her forehead against the cold stones of her shrine. “Grant me insight, that I might know what must be done. Breathe your wisdom into my being.”

Of course, Ryke could not know that Poire, at this very moment, was wandering lost and alone in her conquered city.

As she prayed, Ryke let herself sink into the rich incense. The warm glow of the candles, the cold light from those orbs she had found among her grandfather’s relics. Allowing her thoughts to spread out and simmer, waiting for the right idea to bubble up.

Behind her, the door swung open, pulling a humid gust of wind through her chambers and making the candles flicker wildly.

“My Queen.” Talya stood breathless, silhouetted in the light from the hallway. “Come and see!”

The short feathers on Talya’s cheek were damaged, and a few of them were snapped off, making her face look slightly misshapen.

“Talya!” Ryke rose to meet her wingmaiden. “What happened to your face?”

“Not now, My Queen,” she said, touching gingerly at her cheek. “Please don’t think on it; it’s not important right now.”

“It is to me.”

Anger rose in Ryke’s chest, anger that she was used to suppressing. But because it was Talya, poor, sweet Talya, she found it hard to push away.

Was it not enough that the Empire had conquered her people? Did they need to demean them so?

“Your Majesty, please come look.” Talya rushed to the huge, heavy curtains that formed the fourth wall of Ryke’s chambers and separated the room from the balcony and the world beyond.

A light seeped under the curtains, far too bright to be the ambient light of the city. A fire? No. Talya tugged the curtains aside, revealing all that light for what it was.

This is so much worse.

A tower of light shot up from the gate, piercing the skies above. The arms of the gate made their unmistakable keening sound as they built momentum and brightened the light. And suddenly, the light seemed to collapse on itself, sending a blinding shock wave over the city. Too late, Ryke shut her eyes.

When her vision cleared, she saw them all. Hundreds of soldiers standing on the gate, and a whole flock of those dreaded imperial Fangs hovering above in perfect formation.

A shadow loomed high above them all . . .

“By the gods. What ship is that?” Ryke’s beak fell open.

A warship hung high above the Cauldron. So massive it seemed to devour the stars themselves.

Ryke turned to Talya and said, “You need to leave the city.”

“Majesty?”

Ryke’s heart was pounding in her throat. “You have to get out of the Cauldron, now. This won’t end well.”

“You must come with me, Your Majesty.”

“I can’t.”

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“Then neither can I,” Talya said. “If there is danger, I will not leave your side.”

So devoted. And defiant. It was one of the reasons Ryke liked Talya so much. Maybe she could have trusted her if the Magistrate weren’t so talented at pitting the avians against each other.

But you didn’t have to trust someone to save their life.

“Talya, I am ordering you out of my city.”

“My Queen.” Talya bowed deeply. “My family has served for seventeen generations, through war and strife, famine and fortune. I will not be the one who breaks that bond. I would sooner die than leave your side.”

It was growing harder to doubt her loyalty. Talya’s beak was lifted high, her shoulders pulled back with stubborn, unyielding pride.

Noble, but foolish.

The Queen stroked the underside of her beak, trying to find the right words.

“You would have been a fledgling,” Ryke said, “the last time they came. They destroyed half of my city in a single night. There was no warning. They set fire to houses with my people still inside. They murdered . . . so many. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“And what about you, my Queen?”

“I don’t know what’s coming, Talya. But I do know the Magistrate. You can’t help me. You need to get out of here before daybreak. Go, before you don’t have a choice.”

“Majesty.” She bowed her head. Hiding her tears. “If you say I must.”

“Talya,” Ryke said.

Talya looked up, sniffing and wiping her eyes.

“The gods will show us the way.”

“And none but the gods.” Talya completed the prayer, her voice quavering with emotion.

“Be strong.” Ryke put her hands on Talya’s shoulders. “The Savior has come.”

Ryke hesitated for a moment. Her dark browns were a stark contrast against Talya’s silky white feathers.

Should I tell her?

She probably shouldn’t. But Ryke thought Talya might be worth taking a risk on. “Thank you for everything, Talya. If you find a corvani named Eolh, ask him for help. Despite everything he says, you can trust him.”

Talya tried again, but Ryke used her greater size to usher her out the door.

After Talya left, every moment was a slice of agony. Ryke paced up and down her balcony, considering her options. She could run. She could lie to him.

But all she could really do was wait for the Magistrate’s call.

The flock of Fangs circled the Cauldron. There were only seven of them, but fear wormed deeper into her stomach with each pass they made around her city. One Fang, with both lances on full power, could raze most of the city given enough time.

She could not let that happen. If only she could talk to him, she might be able to divert his attention, to persuade him out of whatever insane action he was planning. To give the human time.

To do what?

A knock on the door shattered her reverie.

A cyran messenger stood in the hall, his arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face as if Ryke had summoned him.

“The Magistrate will see you now,” he said. No polite bow. Not even a courteous “Your Majesty.” All these years, and the cyrans still saw her as beneath them.

He led her through the chiseled hallways of the Hanging Palace. Rich heartwood doors guarded empty rooms on either side of the hall. Rooms that had once belonged to her sisters and brothers. Some of them now slept in the sky graves with their heads removed from their bodies. The lucky ones.

The Magistrate waited on the promenade. He was leaning against the railing, a military coat hung over his shoulders with too many stripes denoting his implausible rank and a loose collar to keep him cool in the humid Gaiam air. Up here, the wind was strong enough to stir the hems of his coat.

When he saw her, he smiled as if Ryke were an old friend he had almost forgotten about.

He knows something.

“Ah, my Queen,” the Magistrate said, holding his gloved hands out in a welcoming gesture. In one hand, he held a glass goblet half filled with violet fermented juice.

“I have heard,” the Magistrate said, “the most interesting piece of gossip. Now, normally, I don’t allow rumors and hearsay to invade my court, but this gossip happened to be about my favorite subject.”

He swirled his glass idly and grinned. His teeth were stained from his drink. “Yes, I heard something very worrying about you.”

Her stomach sank. She kept her feathers stiff, not wanting—not daring—to give away the slightest reaction.

“Someone told me,” the Magistrate continued, “that on the very night I left Gaiam, our own Queen was spotted sneaking out of her chambers. Can you believe such lies? Such wicked lies.”

The Queen said nothing. Despite the wind, she was growing hot. Had to resist the temptation to open her wings and let the air flow over her feathers. Though it was common among avians, cyrans usually took such a gesture as a threat.

“I know what it’s like, my Queen. They say the most awful things about me, too. But the weak shall always envy the strong. And the slow will envy the cunning. No?”

He tipped the cup up to his mouth. Sipped. Smacked his lips and sighed.

“Magnificent. This one’s from my own vineyard. Would you like some?”

“Magistrate, why have you brought ships of war to the Cauldron? Our citizens pose no threat to your—”

The Magistrate waved one gloved hand.

A heavy pressure collapsed onto her shoulders and buckled her knees. She tensed her legs, trying to push against the sudden gravity. To pretend this wasn’t happening.

He let his hand drop, and the pressure disappeared.

“Please,” he crooned, that wretched smile curling around his golden-scaled lips. “Try the wine.” He gestured at the decanter.

Not taking her eyes off him, Ryke took a whiff. She scented a sharp tartness to the liquid. No fruit that she knew.

“Oh, if you’re wondering, it isn’t poisoned.” The Magistrate showed her by pouring some into his own glass. “Your Majesty, I invited you here because I wish to make a peace offering.”

“Gaiam and Cyre are at peace.”

“No, no. I meant peace between you and me. I know what lurks in the oceans of your mind, my Queen. How long have we known each other now? Twelve years now? No, it must be more. And in all that time, I have come to find your single-minded focus, your sheer dedication to your people . . . well, it’s rather noble. What a fine trait that would be for a free citizen of the Empire.”

The words dripped from his mouth like honey. But this was not the Magistrate she knew, and that only made her stomach sink deeper.

Below, the lights of the city winked and shimmered, and the sound of hundreds of boots marched through her streets.

“It’s a compliment, Ryke. You’re supposed to say thank you.”

“Thank you, Magistrate,” she said without any feeling at all.

“Ah, well,” he said, shrugging. “You know, when I first came here, I had my doubts about Gaiam. All those nasty little riots—we thought they’d never end.”

Ryke blinked. Inside, she was screaming.

“If I may be honest,” he continued, “I thought perhaps your world was too savage to bother colonizing. But you have brought your people such a long way. I think—” And here, the Magistrate held his tongue, almost as if he were truly struggling to say something. “I think I was wrong about you. You’re no savage, are you? So much cleverer than most of the xenos we conquer. How was I supposed to know? Well. Good. I wish to make amends.”

Ryke tried not to let the suspicion play across her face. What game is he playing?

“Amends, Magistrate?”

“Yes. I think it’s time you people joined the Empire. You and all your avians.” He dragged out the word as if saying it for the first time.

“I want to make all worthy avians free citizens of Cyre.”

Her heart stopped.

The words tumbled out of her beak before she had time to filter them. “What do you want?”

She was off-balance, and he knew it. And every ounce of his attention was focused on her.

“You know what I want, Ryke.” He said her name with a wine-stained grin, the golden scales of his lips glittering softly in the lantern light. “I know what you did. Where you’ve been. Who you’ve been with. But I choose not to see your actions as treason, because I think there is hope for you yet. And when it comes to your people, I know you will make the right choice.”

A bell clanged up in Asaiyam’s tower, too loud and too close. One solemn toll followed by silence.

“Give me the human,” the Magistrate said, “and I swear, my Queen, I will free them all.”