“Ah, but she loves me,” Wolf taunts, chuckling as Cyrus’s frown grows more severe. “The first time she showed me her face was after the last beating you and Falcon gave her. I suppose I should thank you. After all, it was your mistakes that drove Iris straight to me. Every beating, every fight you had with her, everything you ever did made me look like a saint by comparison.”
“But we know that isn’t the case, don’t we?” Cyrus accuses, watching his brother’s eyes carefully for any signs of anxiety.
“What do you mean?” Wolf grows very still, suspiciously waiting for his brother’s next words.
“I know,” Cyrus bluffs, hoping Wren’s observations about Wolf’s underhanded activities are true. “I know about everything you’ve been doing. The real question is whether or not Iris is aware of it too.”
“You know nothing,” Wolf exclaims, but his words fall flat. Cyrus can see the way blood drains down his lower cheeks. Wolf’s eyes dart down the road that leads away from the House of Vultures, searching for an unknown informant.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Cyrus whispers smugly, knowing that at least for now, he’s won. “I guess we’ll have to let Iris be the judge. If she can look past it, then I’ll have no option but to accept that I’ve lost her. But I have a feeling she’ll be as disgusted with you as I am!”
Wolf stumbles away from Cyrus’s side, calculating his options. He says nothing else to his brother, leaving Cyrus to bake once more under the warmth of the sun on a cloudless day. However, Cyrus does not mind this fate, for he is too preoccupied with his wonderings. What is my brother up to? How can Wren find out about Wolf’s schemes? The sooner I know what leverage I can use against him, the better!
***
“What do we do now, Siri?” I shout as we reach the boundaries of the Pith. The River Sangre flows mightily on its path to the ocean, but from this height it appears to be little more than a tiny trickling stream. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to flying, I worry as vertigo threatens to overpower my sense of self-preservation. The dizzying, spiraling motions of the water’s rushing waves beckon me, and I long to heed their call, plunging head first into their icy cool bed.
“Iris! Focus! We need to get close to the people,” Siri warns, curling her long neck in my direction, her wings never missing a flap. “The Ddraigs need to be near the people to determine if their Cadogans are there.” And I need you to get control over yourself! She adds through our mental connection.
Everything still seems so foreign to me. Ddraigs, Cadogans, Carreglas, leadership—I don’t know how I can manage to juggle all these new parts of my life. Even the feel of the wind against my unmasked face jars my senses. I feel like shards of glass are ripping into my cheeks with the passing breezes. How am I supposed to adjust to all these changes so quickly?
“Sorry, Siri,” I mutter under my breath, my fingers tracing sparkles of light that glitter over my Ddraig’s scales.
What plagues me the most is the new information that I learned from the Carreglas about Cyrus and Cane. Cane, the wolfish protector I thought I knew so well, is nothing more than a jealous bully that nearly killed his own brother. And Cyrus, the very man that used to haunt my dreams in the role of enemy, was once my dearest friend and confidant. I can hardly believe that the man I hated in a condor mask could possibly be the same little boy whose conversations were once the highlight of my girlish days. Is the Carreglas ever wrong? Does it ever misrepresent the past?
“Iris?” Siri interrupts my swirling thoughts, and I can detect a measure of annoyance in her voice. “Where do you want us to go from here? We can’t keep flying without a destination!”
“Well, we’re close to the minor house markets,” I suggest, pushing away the faces of my friend and my foe, now uncertain as to which young man fulfills each title.
The thought of returning to masked life in Cassé fills me with a more pressing dread. Everything’s changed for me, but the world I live in is still the same. How do I explain all that I’ve learned to people who are practically blind? It’s like we’re speaking two different languages, and our topic of conversation is an earth-shattering crisis. Siri, it’s impossible!
“We can do this, Iris. Now show me where the markets are located!” Siri demands as she reads my thoughts.
I’ve only visited this marketplace twice in my lifetime. The first time was right before I joined the House of Vultures, and to my bone-weary seven-year-old eyes, the marketplace was far more precious than piles of shiny treasure. The woodsy scent of a fire drew me to the place. I slunk into their camps like a half-wild animal, searching for scraps of food to fill my starving belly. I had just stolen a half-eaten chicken breast when an elderly woman spotted me.
“Come here, child,” she beckoned, and in my terror, I was frozen in place. “I won’t harm you,” she cooed, but I was not convinced. It wasn’t until she held out another morsel of food that I inched to her side. To this day, I have no idea what kind of meat she handed me, but it was delicious.
“Thanks,” I sniffed as I wiped my chin, savoring the juices that dribbled down my fingers.
“Come with me,” she whispered, carefully guiding me into the heart of the marketplace.
The image of the vending stalls appears immediately in my conscious mind. The minor markets never have as much of a selection; most of their
