Page 51 of Mother of Death and Dawn

I followed the sound to an open arched door. Within it, bodies hunched over haphazardly placed little tables, clutching delicate glasses or large stone cups. It reminded me of memories that I could not place.

I entered the room. I barely received so much as a glance from the other people here. I liked that. I used to spend time in a place like this, I thought. I used to feel safe there. Safety now seemed so foreign that even the ghost of it was intoxicating.

“Aefe?”

The sound of the name shattered that thought.

My eyes settled on him across the room. The memory cut close to the bone—myself, screaming,“You cannot leave me here!”

No.

Not him, not Ishqa. A different face.

Meajqa smiled at me, lifting a glass of red liquid. Two raven-haired Fey women sat beside him, but he whispered something to them, and they shot me curious looks before relinquishing their seats.

“What a surprise to see you here,” he said, gesturing to the newly empty bench beside him. “Join me! You look like you need a drink.”

He grinned, but it was not a happy expression. It reminded me of grimaces of exertion from training soldiers. I wondered if perhaps Meajqa was putting just as much effort into this, even if he tried to hide it.

My instinct was to back away, one awkward half-step. But then another murky memory flitted through me, a memory of wine over my tongue and all the things it could wash away.

So I took the glass from Meajqa’s outstretched hand and slid into the seat beside him. He let out an amused huff of surprise when my first sip was instead a series of gulps, mouthful after mouthful of the bitter liquid burning my throat. “I was right, youdidneed a drink,” he said. I set down the empty glass and he promptly refilled it.

This is good.

Everything that was too loud and too big and too harsh about this world, this empty body, was a bit duller. Easier. I no longer felt as unsettled by what I had just witnessed.

I liked this.

“What has you in such dire need of wine?” Meajqa asked, then chuckled and shook his head. “That’s a ridiculous question, isn’t it?”

I did not know what he meant. Instead of answering, I just stared at him. He was dressed differently than he had been in Caduan’s meeting. Or… no, his clothing was the same, just looser and disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned, the wrinkled dark blue fabric now falling open past his sternum to reveal smooth scar-nicked skin. A strip of blue fabric, which before had been neatly draped over his shoulder, now fell haphazardly over his arm. One wing was tucked behind him, arranged to avoid the back of his chair. The color of his feathers was especially entrancing here in the darkness, with so many twinkling lights to reflect—with every shift, they could be silver, or copper, or bright gold.

It was so beautiful it seemed garish compared to his other side.

The stump was close enough to touch. Where silver-gold feathers would have spread into a majestic wing, they were instead interrupted by a vicious wound, the feathers failing to hide darkened, gnarled flesh. The shape of the bone jutted a few inches beyond the rest, as if whoever responsible had difficulty making the cut there.

“You seem to admire my best feature,” Meajqa said.

My gaze flicked back to his face. The smile had not faded.

“I’m not offended,” he added. “Everyone loves to stare.”

“She did that to you.”

“She?”

“The Aran queen.”

It seemed strange to refer to her that way when I knew her not by syllables on a tongue, but by the way her jagged mind felt sawing into mine.

A barely-there twitch in that smile. “She did. Though she had some help with the harder parts.”

“Why do you not hide it?” Most of his kind, I had noticed, did not keep their wings visible unless they were being used.

“Why should I?”

“A question is not an answer.”

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