arms, flaring my wings and catching a current of air. As we rose high...higher, I angled us in the proper direction.
Other avian leaped into the air, giving chase to act as my guard. About twenty in total. Only half were mine. The other half must have come with Tempest. Let them follow. Let them see.
I carried Ashleigh toward the coliseum, wind whipping her dark locks in every direction. When I rolled around a cloud, she laughed and spread out her arms, drawing a smile from me, which hastened the return of my scowl.
I couldn’t allow her to affect me anymore. It had to stop.
After today’s battle, I’d spoken with Everly about Adriel’s treatment of Ashleigh. I’d then instructed one group of soldiers to fly over the competition field once all the spectators had left and another group to surround the place with torches. Neither group had abandoned their post. The flyers still swooped over the field in circles, their feathers floating to the ground, illuminated by a haze of flickering golden light that radiated from nearby torches. A storm I’d had created for Adriel, to really drive my lesson home. I’d planned to make him pick up every feather by sunrise, while standing, dealing with his healing legs.
Instead, Ashleigh would get the honors. “You will pick up the feathers,” I told her as I set her on her feet. “Every single one. There should be bags scattered over the ground.”
I expected protests. Complaints. Something. Again, she surprised me. She brightened.
“Tell me you’re teasing. Because, Saxon?” she said, the sides of her mouth actually lifting, “this is just too terrible. I’m going to rue the day I was ever born and probably suffer with nightmares for the rest of eternity.” She faked a shudder. “Whatever you do, don’t tell me I have to keep the prettiest feathers. Please. Don’t make me suffer such an indignity, or I’ll be forced to demand some kind of restitution myself.”
I...had no idea how to respond to that. “Do you feel you deserve restitution, Ashleigh?” My curiosity was genuine.
“Yes. I thought I’d made that clear. But really, I don’t think I need it. I’m pretty sure you’re already punishing yourself.” That said, she skipped across the field as if she hadn’t a care, gathering feathers along the way, leaving me to reel.
She was proving to be so much more of everything than I’d ever dreamed possible. Wittier. Kinder. Smarter. Far more resilient. Mostly, she was utterly enchanting, rousing my keenest desires.
With a squeal, she held up a feather as if it were a treasure, so happy it almost hurt to look at her. So happy over something so simple. “This one matches my eyes.”
Leonora hadn’t reacted so enthusiastically for diamonds.
I scowled. Hoping distance would grant me some kind of inoculation against her allure, I flew into a shadowed section of the stands and leaned against a pillar, crossing my arms over my chest.
The distance didn’t help. Like most avian, I could see great distances quite clearly, and I remained on edge as I watched the princess work.
For the first hour, she gathered as many feathers as possible into a pile and stuffed her favorite colors into the bodice of her dress. The second hour, she tired and her motions slowed. All the while new feathers rained down.
She welcomed every shower, putting back her head and lifting her arms.
How many times had I imagined laughing in her face as she failed at each task I assigned her? How often had I anticipated my enjoyment over her constant defeat? I experienced no such amusement or enjoyment tonight. Only a fresh rise of guilt. She was right, then. By punishing her, I was punishing myself. It was the most unfair trade in history.
As she eased onto the sandy ground and lifted her skirts, she revealed two sticks she’d strapped to her thigh. She tied each end of the ribbon to the end of a stick, creating a tiny rake. Leaning over, she scooted multiple feathers her way.
My princess was intrepid, I’d give her that. This was strength of wit in action. She was always strength of wit in action, using every tool at her disposal, making the best of bad situations—bad situations I put her in.
I massaged the back of my neck, considering our last conversation. She believed herself to be Cinder. Though I hadn’t changed my mind about the tales, I had to admit she reminded me of the prophesied character more and more.
Farrah used to say the