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Chapters (45)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgements
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. THIRTY-SEVEN
  42. THIRTY-EIGHT
  43. THIRTY-NINE
  44. FORTY
  45. FORTY-ONE

“Falcon, indeed!” Magpie declared. “It’s that lad. Let him come.” With a twinkle in her eye she added, “Let’s give that skin a good test. Come on!” and she doubled her speed, zinging so fast forward the wind unworked her braid in no time and had her hair streaming loose behind her.

The crows sighed and groused. “Don’t she know we’re no spring chicks?” Bertram grumbled, but the birds picked up their pace behind her.

009

And farther back, so did Talon. When Magpie sped up he followed suit and found with a thrill that the faster he flew, the smoother he glided and the easier it was to stay aloft. He hadn’t soared like this since early sprouthood when his father, keen to accustom his small son to the rush of flight, had carried him in his arms.

Those times were like little jewels he kept wrapped in velvet in his memory. Sprouthood had veered after that into darker times, when the other sprouts had lined up on the ramparts, gathered their courage, spread their wings, and leapt. Some had soared on the first try. Others had faltered and fallen into the waiting arms of uncles and aunts, to be carried up and encouraged to try again. He alone had never stood there and leapt. Not until today, leaving Nettle and Orion behind with their mouths hanging open.

He smiled and flew on.

It wasn’t how it had been in those young days in his father’s arms, though. He could still remember the feeling of swimming in sky, the way the air swirled and eddied around you, tangling itself in your hair, filling your mouth. The weavework of his falcon skin was like a glove, muting that sensation, so when a cool whisper of pure air hit his neck, he knew something was wrong. He remembered the lass’s djinncraft knife pressed to his throat and he swore.

“Bilge!” he cursed, trying to see the hole. “Skive!” But he had no more luck seeing his own throat than was to be expected, and he couldn’t pause to feel it with his fingers without dashing himself out of the sky. “Skiving blast!” he muttered, and he began to slow.

The crows and the lass were growing smaller in the distance, and the air hitting Talon’s throat was more than a whisper now; it was a steady flow. His perfect falcon skin was unraveling.