The southern-wing courtyard gleamed in the morning light.
Water in shallow bowls caught splinters of sky, and thyme shoots in Mirna’s garden pushed timidly through moist soil.
Eirran and Lily stood by the low wall, leaning on opposite sides of the same stone slab.
In his hands lay a wooden map etched with fine lines tracing wind currents through the palace passages – a thing that looked half like a game board, half a weather chart.
“Look,” he said, tapping two etched circles. “Here and here. These are the palace’s weak points. When the wind shifts, it breaks there first. If you’re in a passage, step into a niche before you feel the first chill.”
“And if it’s too late?” Lily asked.
“Find a rough stone – chipped, cracked. Hook your foot there. It will hold.”
She nodded. He was already using the tennat board’s logic to teach her how to break space into smaller, safer squares.
Light, floating footsteps approached, and the air immediately changed taste.
A group of Ilari in shimmering lliaths swept into the arcade, ribbons flaring at their waists, wings catching the sun. They laughed with a crystal, fractured sound that never attemped to sound human.
Eirran’s glance barely brushed them, but something in him shifted: his shoulders straightened, his face closed.
“Venn V’Asanii,” said the tallest, inclining his head in a gesture that was neither greeting nor bow. “A meeting on the upper terrace in three turns of the hourglass. V’Serra wishes – oh, I see, you’re busy.”
His eyes slid over Lily. The girl with a pearl hairpin looked at her as if she were a fly.
Eirran stepped half a pace back – just enough for the gesture to be read as “appropriately distant”. Just enough for Lily to feel the message.
“Noted,” he said. His multivoiced harmony was even, devoid of warmth. “I’ll see you above.”
The group passed in a ripple of silk and wind.
A burn flared in that vague space between Lily’s heart and stomach. Her mind knew private was one thing, public another. But inside, something hurt – a pebble lodged in her throat.
She said nothing, only stepped back as though retreating before a tide.
Eirran saw the movement, saw the shadow cross her face. Nothing he could offer was permitted. His gaze lingered a heartbeat, then slid away.
“Niche,” he said at last, the foolish word that meant I’m sorry. “Remember the niche.”
Lily gave a stiffly nod, and, before she let the ache under her breastbone blossom into tears, she turned and slipped into Mirna’s small kitchen.
“Uncle?” she called at the door. She needed to leave the palace. At this time of day Jereh usually went down to the docks, and she wanted to join him. “Are you…?”
“In town,” Mirna said without looking up from the soil she was crumbling over a basin. “With Evan. Men’s business.” A faint smile. “Today they’re mending nets at the dock.”
Her sharp eyes caught Lily’s shifting weight, the way her hands gripped her dress. “And you… come here.”
She handed Lily a basket and something better than words – a task.
“Take this,” she said, passing a small canister. “Sprinkle lightly along the edges – just enough for the soil to hold moisture. And see these young sprouts? Pull them out and replant them with the spacing of three fingers.” She showed the measure.
Lily knelt and lost herself in the simplest order: three fingers, sprouts, water, earth.
Whenever thoughts drifted to the place where wings had scrubbed the air of human warmth, she brought her hands back to the soil.
Mirna was silent but present – the kind of medicine that heals without speech.
By the time the last part of soil drank its sip, Evan and Jereh came in smelling of salt and rope.
“Look, Lily, I’ve tied a perfect carrick knot,” Evan said proudly, showing Jereh. “Dad says it can hold even a full basket on a hook.”
“It holds when it has to,” Jereh said, winking. “Yet lets go when it must. Remember?”
Lily smiled just enough to say: I remember.
She washed her hands and went upstairs.
By midday, sunlight spilled through the arches, dragging long shadows across the terrace where Lily sat curled in the shade.
In her lap lay one of the books Eirran had brought her, filled with birds she would never reach. In the pocket of her dress, hidden and worn thin from too much touching, lay the letter.
“My dearest Lily…”
Three weeks had passed since he had read her mother’s words aloud. Three weeks she had whispered them to herself until she knew every line by heart.
Then came the voices.
“Look at her! Muddy squats in the corner again!”
Five Ilari children stood on the fountain’s rim, wings flashing.
At the front was Lioran in all his glory, the silver ribbon of status coiling his waist like a serpent.
Not again.
Lily clutched the book tighter. Don’t react. Just walk away.
“Silent as a fish the prince tosses her – among other charities,” one laughed.
“Maybe she is a fish. Always near the water.”
Heat thick with anger rose in her chest.
She remembered Eirran’s words: True victory lies in patience.
She rose to leave, and a careless motion shook something from her pocket.
Noemi’s letter slipped onto the stone, quiet as breath.
She reached for it, but Lioran was faster.
“Well, well. What have we here?” He snatched up the sheet and held it before his face.
“Give it back,” Lily said, reaching. He skipped away, wings flaring just enough to taunt.
“Muddy holding something that isn’t mud? A miracle.”
The children laughed – five voices sharp and cold as glass.
Evan stood a few steps away, his face tight.
“Please don’t do this,” he said softly.
Lioran ignored him and lowered his eyes to the letter. “My dearest Lily… This is fun.”
“Give it back,” Lily said, her voice breaking. “Now.”
Grinning, Lioran let the letter fall into the fountain.
The paper sank at once; black ink bled into the water, smearing to nothing.
For a breath she could still see the curl of her mother’s hand…and then it dissolved like smoke.
Something in Lily shattered.
A cry that was more beast than child tore from her throat. She lunged, hands closing on Lioran’s neck.
They crashed to the stone, Lily on top, her face twisted with a rage fierce enough to freeze her tormentors.
“Lily, no!” Evan locked his arms around her waist, pulling her back.
“Let me go! Let me – argh!” She clawed at his grip like an angry cat.
Lioran lay stunned, scratches across his cheek, his silver belt half torn.
The others stood frozen.
Evan held fast as she thrashed.
“Stop,” he whispered in her ear. “If you strike him, they’ll kill you.”
In the back of her mind, Lily knew he was right.
A human hand on an Ilari face was a sentence without trial.
Ink swirled in the water like an accusation.
Lily finally stilled, trembling on the edge of hysteria. “Let me go,” she whispered.
“I can’t,” Evan said, eyes fixed on Lioran’s wound. “Look.”
The silken sound of wings and robes descended from the upper terrace.
Vareth V’Lorath, Lioran’s father, swept in, his gaze assessing: blood on Lily’s nails, Evan’s hands on hers, the fountain.
“What is this?” His eyes widened, harmonics stretching. “The insolent half-breed has attacked a member of the High House. Do you know the penalty, girl?”
Lily’s stomach knotted. Evan tightened his grip.
“She didn’t start…” Evan began.
“Silence, Mudborn,” V’Lorath snapped. “Your word is nothing here.”
Another sound cut the air – light, deliberate, unhurried.
Eirran V’Asanii descended into the terrace.
He landed without a sound, his feet touched stone light like a leaf on water.
Sunlight bent around him instead of claiming him.
Tall and composed, pearlescent hair gleaming, silver embroidery catching the light, wings folded in flawless order – he shone so brightly it hurt to look.
This was not beauty; it was a weapon.
His expression held no anger, no fear – only pure, cold and mercilless Ilari attention.
He had been in his study when the shouting began.
From the high window he had seen the moment Lily leapt at Lioran.
The sight had cut him in half; the muscles at his jaw tightened before he smoothed them away.
He had flown faster than thought, and now, with Vareth present, he had no margin for error.
So he did what he always did best: locked his heart away and stepped into the game of facades.
His gaze flicked to the fountain, to the black ink bleeding into the water.
Recognition widened his eyes by the smallest fraction.
“Lord V’Lorath,” he said, voice like interwoven blades. “Honor. I heard commotion.”
Vareth’s face was tight. “Your… ward attacked my son.”
Eirran raised one perfect brow. “Did she?” He turned to Lioran. “Are you wounded?”
The boy touched his cheek. “She…”
“Scratches,” Eirran cut in, soft and dangerous. “Does anyone see a graver harm, my lord?”
“That is not the point,” Vareth snapped.
“The point,” Eirran said evenly, “is that a child of the Sixth stole and destroyed a letter sealed by the Fifth.” He inclined his head toward the fountain. “A letter of more worth than your son can grasp.”
The titles were rank-markers even the servants knew by color; the hierarchy needed no explaining.
Whispers stirred among the servants.
“Your brother…” Vareth began.
“My brother commands the Antarrila,” Eirran interrupted. “I rule this city.”
A thin smile. “Tell me, V’Lorath, how many schools and lanterns in Astochia burn oil I’ve personally secured?”
Silence followed, heavy and counting.
“We will issue a formal apology to the Fifth,” Vareth said at last.
“Wise,” Eirran murmured. He turned to Lily, eyes unreadable. “We’ll go.”
Evan slowly released her wrists.
They passed Lioran, who mumbled something unintelligible.
Lily walked beside Eirran through the cool corridors, a complicated relief tightening in her chest.
He had come. He had put himself between her and the blade.
Yet the memory of that cold step near the wall rubbed against the warmth of his defense like two stones that didn’t fit.
“The letter…” she whispered. At last, the tears came. “It’s gone.”
“I know what it said,” Eirran replied gently. “I carry those words within me.”
Evan looked between them. “What happens now?”
Eirran paused by a window; morning was just giving way to day.
“Nothing,” he said. “Today.”
But his eyes held what he did not speak: Tomorrow is another day. And sooner or later, all debts come due.
Next chapter: https://earthbornnovel.com/2025/09/26/earthborn-chapter-25-the-girl-who-does-not-exist/
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