The dawn tiptoed silent as a thief. Pale sunlight spread through the thin layer of clouds, and sprinkled a faint glittery dust over the water of the sleeping bay.
Mirna, awake since the first signs of light had crept over the horizon, was making her way towards Lily’s room, walking in that swift and deliberate way of a woman who abhorred wasting time. She carried a tray of bread, butter, and a ceramic jug. Steam rose from the jug’s mouth, leaving the scent of sage and lemon in its wake. She nudged open Lily’s door quietly, almost afraid to disturb her healing sleep.
In the half-light she saw Evan sleeping on the carpet, curled up under a blanket. A book was spread open across his chest, and in his right hand he still clutched a half-finished wooden seagull. Mirna’s lips drew into a tired, tender smile.
“Evan,” she whispered, setting the tray down on the table. She bent and gently nudged his shoulder.
Evan startled, blinked, his hair tousled, eyes still half-closed.
“Is it morning already?” he mumbled.
“Sure is,” she said, drawing back the curtains. Pale light spilled into the room, white and blinding.
“Go wash up and eat your breakfast. Lily won’t go anywhere.”
He shook his head, but slowly rose, stretching like a cat.
“Just wanted to show her…” he muttered, glancing at the gull in his hand. “It isn’t finished yet, but I wanted her to see it in daylight.”
“She’ll see it later,” Mirna said gently, but firmly. “Now go. She needs to rest, and you need soap and a change of clothes.”
The boy rolled his eyes, yet obeyed. As the door closed, Mirna heard his footsteps dragging down the hall, and the faint sound of him humming an old fisherman’s song. She recognized the tune. The same one Lily liked to sing whenever she cleaned fish, knee-deep in the shallows of Ulm. These days, she’d hum it while helping Mirna with the garden. It was a place she always came back to, when the weight of the sky fell too hard on her shoulders.
When they were alone, Mirna turned toward the bed and saw that Lily was blinking away sleep. Color had begun to creep back into her cheeks, although the shadows beneath her eyes still held traces of fatigue.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” Mirna said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “How did you sleep?”
“Good,” Lily nodded, looking around. “Where is…”
“I sent Evan to wash up and get something in his belly. He’ll come back later.”
“And Uncle?” the girl asked, sitting up slowly.
“Smoking his pipe in the garden,” Mirna replied, propping her pillows. “He does it more often now. Since he stopped going to the docks, he has to let the thoughts out somewhere.”
Lily smiled carefully, as if afraid laughter might hurt. “Tell him not to worry. I’m not coughing anymore.”
Mirna helped her up and brought a hairbrush, sitting behind her to part the dark strands.
“I’m tired of lying down,” Lily said.
“I know,” Mirna sighed. “Just a little longer, darling. Your body needs time to heal.”
Lily nodded. When Mirna finished brushing, she helped her into a thin grey robe. The girl walked to the balcony, leaned against the doorframe, and drew in a breath. Breakfast could wait a moment. The air was fresh but not harsh. Soft sunlight filtered through the blanket of clouds, and a gentle breeze caressed her skin like invisible fingers.
She closed her eyes and let the air current play her body like strings. It came naturally these days, like breathing, loosening something inside her she’d never known existed.
Mirna stilled her hands, watching her. It looked as if she were speaking with the wind, as if the air whispered something to her, and she answered with the tilt of her torso, the quiet sway of her shoulders. Mirna wanted to say something, but didn’t. Some things should never be broken by words.
“I’ll leave you to your breakfast,” Mirna said eventually. Lily opened her eyes and smiled. Sunlight touched her cheek as she turned, making her skin alight. In that particular moment she was a portrait of Ilari ethereal grace. Then she answered with a sharp, childlike nod, which broke through the spell.
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Mirna blinked, smiling. She took in the way Lily wrinkled her nose. “And stop grimacing. It’s good for you.”
“And I’ll drink it,” Lily answered. “I don’t have to like it, though.” She added more quietly, closing her eyes and basking in the gentle sunlight.
Mirna shook her head and turned to leave when the door quietly opened and Eirran walked in.
He paused when he saw Mirna, inclining his head in respectful greeting. “Good morning.” Before she could answer, he added, “I just came to make sure recovery is progressing well.”
Lily opened her eyes and turned her head to face him, grinning. Mirna’s eyes crinkled as her entire face lifted in a smile. “As you can see, it’s progressing more than well,” she answered, looking back toward Lily. “Our princess is back on her feet, even if it’s only a couple of hours a day.”
Lily rolled her eyes at the tease. “I’d be up and about full time if somebody let me.” She pierced her aunt with a hard stare.
Mirna placed both hands on her hips. “Somebody has to make sure you don’t overexert yourself.” She gave Lily a stern look, then pointed to the tray. “Now go eat something and drink the tea before it goes cold. Don’t make me tell you twice.”
With another eye-roll and an exasperated sigh Lily walked back to the bed, broke a piece of bread, and shoved it into her mouth. That seemed to appease Mirna, who turned back to Eirran. “And you,” she pointed a finger at him, “make sure she listens. I’ll come back later. That tray better be empty.”
A smile grazed Eirran’s face and he nodded, watching Mirna disappear through the doorway. For a moment he stayed where he was, hands clasped loosely behind his back, beneath the feathers, letting the quiet settle. He crossed the room and stopped beside Lily’s bed.
“How are you feeling today?” he asked softly.
“Better,” she said, after swallowing the bread. “Every day a little better. I still get tired quickly, but it’s not like before.” She rubbed at her nose, the motion so distinctly Lily that his mouth quirked upward. “Mostly I’m bored. There’s nothing to do except read, or play tennat with Evan. I’ve already read most of the books, and Evan…” She inched closer, whispering, “He cheats.”
Eirran raised a brow. “Really?”
“M-hm,” Lily nodded, taking another bite of bread. “He won’t admit it, but I’ve caught him more than once.” She shrugged. “And when I have nothing else better to do, I stand over there.” She nodded toward the balcony. “I like being where I can feel the wind. I realized that when I listen to it, really listen, it sounds like it’s talking. Not with words. But with this… I don’t know. Feeling.” She lifted her hand and fluttered her fingers. “Like it tells me where it is. Where it’s going.”
Eirran stilled. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully. He’d witnessed instinct in her before, but it sounded like it was growing stronger. More importantly, that she was becoming increasingly aware of it.
She blinked, puzzled by his sudden focus. “It’s hard to explain. When I stand out there, I feel the air. Not only on my skin. Inside, as well.” She tapped the center of her chest. “Like it wants me to lean. Or turn. Or breathe differently. Like it holds me. And I can follow it.”
“Lily…” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “When did this feeling start?”
She shrugged. “Soon after you started taking me flying. At first, it only happened in the sky. Next, in water. I realized I could feel the water the same way.” She blinked. “Lately, I’ve begun to feel it on the ground. First randomly, and now it’s all the time. Whenever I close my eyes and choose to listen to the air, the air whispers back.” She lowered her eyes. “I know it doesn’t make sense…”
“It makes perfect sense,” Eirran said, fighting the tightening in his throat. Lily’s eyes shot up, large and curious. He knelt beside her.
He had hoped to delay this particular conversation until she was old enough to truly comprehend its weight. But if this ability had strengthened enough for her to be fully aware of it, he had to address it, before it could fall on the wrong ears.
“Lily.” He began. “What you’re describing is something very old,” he murmured. “A feeling Ilari know from the moment of our first flight. It’s how we read the air. How we know where it will lift us or drop us.” His voice softened. “It’s called sense of sky.”
Lily’s eyebrows lifted. “Sense of sky.”
“Yes.” A small smile touched his mouth. “Aerial knowing. Instinct. Some say it’s Ellevath’s Light inside of us. All Ilari have it.” Briefly he thought of the Antarrila and the ruthless training that served to hone this innate ability into lethal blade. “But you… you shouldn’t be able to have it at all. Let alone feel it this strongly.”
“Because I don’t have wings,” she said simply.
Eirran paused, weighing his words. “You know the scriptures say how, in the beginning, Ellevath had spun the Ilari from his hair, and gave us wings and long lives as the eternal marks of our divine lineage?” He waited, watching her eyes narrow, and her chin dip in a careful nod. “They say He then shaped men from clay, and to draw the line between the two races, He proclaimed the Sky the place of the Covenant.” He paused. Lily watched him with the stillness of a doe. He let out a long breath. “He made the sky inaccessible to humans. The fact that the children of both races, such as yourself, are born wingless was interpreted as a sign of divine disfavor. So Ilari never raised mixed children. They were kept away from the sky.”
“I know what the Book of the Condemned says.” The words came out of her lips in a block of ice.
Eirran blinked, which was not something his kind did often. “You know. But you don’t know that you yourself are the proof it is wrong. That all of it is wrong.”
The ice cracked. Her eyes grew impossibly wide. He took hold of her hand. “Because the sky is not closed off from you. If what the Condemned says was true, then you shouldn’t possess this gift. But you do.” He smiled. “And that means that none of it, not the love your mother and I had, nor your birth, has ever been a sin. It means that Ellevath not only does not curse the mixing of blood, He blesses it instead.” He smiled as he watched Lily’s mouth fall open.
“But if it’s true, then, then…” Lily began, almost frantic with sudden excitement, but Eirran lifted a palm to stop her.
“We can’t let anyone know this, Lily.” His voice turned grave. “Not yet.”
Her face fell. “Why not?” The hurt in her voice pinched something in his chest.
“Because,” he began, “those who want to hurt us, to hurt you, do not care about the truth. Some would even see it as a blade aimed at their throat. And they would fight it even harder than before. Do you understand?”
He watched her nod softly, the calm mask on her face slipping beneath the increasing shine in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“No, I understand.” She rubbed at her eyes, attempting a smile. “It’s just another game of tennat, right?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but didn’t get the chance.
Footsteps skittered down the hall. The door swung in with a push of a knee and Evan stumbled inside, clutching the wooden seagull like contraband.
“Oh,” he said when he saw Eirran. “I can come back later.”
“No.” Eirran straightened, his expression easing. “Come in. What’s that in your hand?”
Evan hesitated only a moment. Then he crossed the room and held out the unfinished carving. “It’s supposed to be a gull,” he said. “But the wing looks wrong. I can’t figure out why.”
Eirran took it carefully. He turned it in his hands. His fingers brushed the carving as if greeting something alive. “You shaped the body well,” he said warmly. “But the wing… birds hold their lift here.” He pointed along the outer edge. “Look. It curves. You carved it straight. Try this.”
He traced his finger along the wing’s edge, then drew a smooth arc through the air, showing how it should curve. Evan’s eyes lit up.
“That’s why it kept looking weird,” the boy said. “I’ll fix it.”
Eirran smiled. “And if you wish, I can teach you the basic geometry. Ilari children build toy bird-gliders out of wood and parchment. You two might enjoy that.”
Evan’s grin said everything.
Eirran placed the carving back into Evan’s hands. “Now. Since you’ve both undergone quite an ordeal…” He leaned back on his heels. “I believe a reward is in order. So, tell me. What would make you happy?”
Both children looked at him, then at each other, then back at him.
Lily answered first. “Music,” she said without thinking. “I miss it. The real kind. Human. Songs that flow like stories. I sing sometimes, but it’s not the same. I miss the sound of citra.”
Eirran’s brows rose in genuine surprise. “Music.” He repeated it slowly, tasting the word in the human sense. “Alright. I will look for a human musician. Someone who can teach you. Someone who understands the flow, and the rhythm.”
Lily beamed.
“And you,” Eirran said, turning to Evan. “What would you like?”
“Horses!” Evan blurted with a smile full of teeth. “I know Ilari don’t ride but… humans do, and I know you use horses for transport. If we had horses, and learned how to ride, we could go beyond the palace. Past the city. We could reach the spring faster. And other places too. Properly. Without getting sores on our feet.”
Lily nodded so hard the robe slipped off one shoulder. “Yes, yes, please, Father. I want that too.”
“Horses,” Eirran repeated with faint amusement. “It is true Ilari don’t ride. But it is not forbidden. And the paths to the palace are now secure enough for horses…” He mused. “Yes, perhaps we could set up a stable here at the palace.” He smiled at the boy. “Alright. Both of you shall learn to ride. I’ll tell Keth to teach you. And I will have music brought into the palace.”
Lily’s eyes shone. Evan tried to hide his grin behind the seagull and failed.
For the first time since the plague, the smell of sage didn’t carry the breath of sickness, but the freshness of a new dawn.
Downstairs, in the kitchen, Mirna tied a scarf and took her basket, as she had hundreds of times before, said goodbye to Tana and set off for the market. She walked the familiar matte path through narrow streets that smelled of fish and freshly baked bread. Children chased screeching seagulls, and the merchants were chatting up the customers.
Mirna paused by the herb stall.
“Good morning, Sela,” she smiled. “You still have that fine sage of yours?”
“Freshly cut,” the woman replied, arranging the bundles. But Mirna’s eye caught how her hands moved too quickly, how her gaze avoided her own.
“Beautiful morning,” Mirna tried. “There’s never sun this time of year in Selavetia. Astochia is much warmer.”
“Yes,” said the old woman shortly.
The silence spread between them, the kind that spoke louder than words. Astochia loved gossip, and bad news traveled quicker than tidewater.
Mirna tapped her foot on the ground. Sela’s eyes lifted.
“Sela, is something wrong?” Mirna asked patiently.
Sela paused. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Another tap of Mirna’s shoe echoed across the stone. “Yes, you do. Your ears hear and your tongue keeps every rumor in the city, and clearly right now all of them are keeping one that concerns me.” Mirna said, handing her a coin.
Sela met her eyes briefly, before lowering them again. She shrugged. “People always talk, Mirna, you know that.”
“What are they talking about now?”
A pause. The air between them thickened.
“They’re saying…” Sela began reluctantly, “that Ellevath sent the plague to the prince’s palace. As a warning.”
Mirna was silent for a moment, staring at the sage leaves trembling in the harsher wind, stinging her nostrils with salt.
“Who says that?”
“Everyone. After last week’s morning service. The High Priest spoke of sinners and pestilence.”
Mirna’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know,” Sela replied. “I’m just a herb-seller. But I’ve heard people speak of the plague…” She looked left and right, lowering her voice. “How it struck at the prince’s palace, at his half-breed girl. That it’s a sign. A warning.” The woman’s eyes found Mirna’s. “For all of Astochia,” she finished in a whisper.
Mirna pressed her lips together. She said nothing more, took the bundle, and turned toward the palace. She took in how the baker stopped talking to the customer as she passed by his stand, both of them turning their heads to look at her.
She drew her scarf tighter and hurried away, silence and hushed stares trailing her all the way home.
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