Mizen was just down the hall, standing at the doorway of my father’s study. His brow was drawn and his lips tight, arms folded over his chest and his mallard drake wings twitching at the slightest sound.
“Where were you?” he said, brushing his mousy hair from his face when I reached him. Though he tried to keep his voice low, a snap of anger steamed behind the words.
“Sorry,” I said. “I tried to call for you, but you vanished.”
“I thought you were right behind me. The blood-scent disappeared, so I turned back.”
“It didn’t disappear, though,” I said. “It led to the door of the ‘Combs.”
Mizen’s pale purple eyes widened, and his nostrils flared, but he said nothing else. Instead he nodded toward my father’s private study.
Within, half a dozen amüli cleaned the remains of my father’s items from our Soulbound Family in China. Mother slid books back onto shelves in slow, methodic movements, and Father stood behind his desk, glowering as he thumbed through ledgers and documents.
Tonight, my father was garbed in fine trousers of soft brown leather and a vest of emerald green. The vest had two tails in the back, and two shining rows of copper buttons ran down the front, with embroidered ducks around them and along the hem. His wings—mallard drake wings, like Mizen’s—fit neatly through a hole on the back of the vest. A green ribbon gathered his long, black hair at the nape of his neck, and unlike many of my uncles, Father’s beard was neat and trimmed with only a few scant gems and beads.
My uncle Jyntre, captain of the Krune Guard, was there as well, along with two soldiers. Cut emeralds glittered in the black curls of his beard, and a few beads of brown stone and wood almost vanished against the dark hair. Unlike Father’s Western garb, Jyntre wore a green shirt and vest of a master warrior along with traditional Chinese trousers.
Our House flag bore a pair of green mallards on a brown banner, so the guards wore brown trousers and green tunics more closely resembling my father’s attire than Jyntre’s.
Broken glass shimmered across the floor beyond the enormous doorway. Chairs, small tables, and books—dozens and dozens of them—had been toppled to the ground. Some drawers from Father’s desk stood askew, and one was even beside the doorway.
I leaned over and began stuffing the contents back inside. Mizen took my cue and gathered up a bunch of the fallen books.
“What happened?” I asked, straining to keep my voice neutral.
Father turned toward us, his lavender eyes scanning my face, as if he didn’t quite recognize me. “What is he doing here?” he said to Mother. “Boy, aren’t you supposed to leave for Lendre tonight?”
“No, sir,” I replied. “Not until the morning.” Tomorrow at dawn, I was meant to leave the city and train as a page beneath one of my father’s liege lords. With everything happening tonight, part of me doubted the trip would happen.
My mother, a stately woman, silently slid an unbound book back into place before she turned her tired eyes on me. She exhaled, her shoulders sloping forward. Her wings—white, speckled in brown and red—almost drooped to the floor. Like most women in Drüssyevoi, she wore tight leather leggings hidden beneath long, loose robes of silk. The colors of her outfit matched Father’s, though she wore brown embroidered in green, the embellishments far more subtle.
My parents’ clothing reflected the spirit of our Soulbound Family, and we often wore silks and other fine cloth gifted to us. The Lis, once a prominent family in China, had hosted our souls for hundreds of years. They had fallen from power at the end of the Tang Dynasty in AD 907.
“Frendyl,” Mother said, “you should be packing for your trip.”
“What happened?” I demanded.
Her voice had sounded so sweet and reassuring, but now her jaw tightened, and fear glinted behind her brown eyes. Because she was a Krune by marriage not blood, she didn’t carry the burden of my family’s pale, weak eyes. This curse our family suffered resulted from a jealous king who resented an ancestor of mine for gazing at the queen too long during court. It all sounded a bit ridiculous to me. According to the stories, it took many generations for us to regain our full sight, though our eyes still remained sensitive to light at times. Time and new blood had done our House good.
“You are not to ask such things,” she said, that melodious lilt replaced by something tight and nervous. “Go and pack. You leave tomorrow at dawn.”
“I don’t—”
“Just go.” She waved a thin arm in my direction, her long, narrow face contorted in uncertainty, her eyes darting between my father and I. “Go prepare for your trip.”
Mizen stepped forward. “Frendyl discovered something.”
Father frowned but nodded for me to speak.
“Mizendrel and I followed the intruder’s blood-scent into the mountain,” I said.
Those words grabbed my father’s full attention, and he whipped his head toward my cousin. “You did not mention this.”
Mizen shrugged before explaining, “I struck a dead end. The scent vanished.”
“And you, Frendyl? Did the scent vanish for you?”
Pride welled in my chest at Father calling me by name. “No, sir. It faded a bit, but I followed it to the door of the Catacombs. I... I think the intruder went inside.”
Uncle Jyntre waved a dismissive hand. “Then he will be lost forever. A thief who takes himself to our prison. How convenient.”
I shook my head, but my uncle longer paid me attention, and neither did Mother.
Father, on the other hand, stared at me with curious intensity, never once blinking. “Is there more?”
“Yes, sir. I... I think he came from the Catacombs.”
His eyebrows arched and his lips parted in surprise. “That’s quite a claim, lad.”
Jyntre snorted. “No amüli knows the way out of the ‘Combs. Don’t listen to the child.”
But my father raised a hand, cutting him off. “Explain to me what you think happened.”
“I...,” I paused, unsure how to explain it. “I think this person figured out how to leave the ‘Combs. I’m not sure how, but it must have taken a long time to learn the patterns of the rock.”
“The rock doesn’t move in patterns,” Jyntre snapped. “To enter and exit, you have to....” He raised his hands and shook his head. “I apologize, Ilbondre.”
Father ignored him and narrowed his eyes at me. “How do you know this?”
I considered just shrugging but felt that would be too passive. No, if I wanted his respect, I needed to explain my accomplishment. “I followed his blood-scent, but I didn’t go inside the ‘Combs.” I paused, not knowing how he would react to that. Perhaps I should have followed the intruder in.
“Did you see him?”
“No.” I shook my head, my shoulders and wings sagging. “He was gone by the time we found his scent.”
Father rubbed his beard. “Describe it to me.”
“Honeysuckle,” I said. “And saffron.”
He turned to my uncle. “Well, Jyntre, I think we’d better have a look and see if the lads are right or not.”
Uncle Jyntre snorted and waved a hand at the servants to continue clearing the mess. “If it must be so.” He paused then pointed at me. “You, come with us. Mizendrel, see that children are safe.”
Mizen pulled me aside before leaving the room. “When you’re in there, trust yourself to know where to go. That’s how you get out.”
My brows knitted in confusion, but before I could ask him to clarify, Mizen whirled away and hurried toward where we’d left the children outside.
