Her heart squeezed with a strange dread she didn’t understand. This was the last night she might see the boy; she needed to make it count.

“Trials come with the sun,” the boy said, his voice dry as brittle straw. “Better leave, little princess.”

“But I have something for you, and I’ve got to finish the story.” From the pouch slung over her shoulder, the girl took out a small book, bound in tattered leather. Inked over the cover was a black silhouette of a bird and a coiled snake. “Want to hear the end?”

The boy didn’t blink for a long pause. Then, slowly, he sat on the damp earth and crossed his legs under his lanky body.

The girl read the final pages marked in her new, palatable ending. The songbird and serpent grew to be friends despite their differences. No lies, no cunning, no tricks. Each word drew her closer to the bars until her head rested against the cold iron and one hand drooped between the gaps, as though reaching for the boy inside.

“ ‘They played from sunup to sundown,’ ” she read, squinting at her messy writing. “ ‘And lived happily ever after.’ ”

A smile crossed her features when she closed the bindings and glanced at the boy.

He’d reclined back onto his palms now, legs out, bare ankles crossed. “Is that what we are, princess? A serpent and a songbird?”

Her smile widened. He understood the whole point. “I think so, and they were still friends. That’s why tomorrow at the trials you can, well, you can say we won’t fight no more. My folk will let you stay.”

No more blood. No more nightmares. The girl couldn’t stomach any more blood from hate and war.

When the boy kept quiet, she dug back into her pouch and took out the twine. On the end was a silver charm she’d used her last copper to buy. A silver charm of a swallow in flight.

“Here.” She held out the handmade necklace through the bars and let it fall. “I thought it could remind you of the story.”

All at once the distance between them was a blessing. Any closer and the boy might see the flush of pink in her cheeks. He might see that her hope in the charm was less about recalling the tale and more about remembering her.

With slow movements the boy took hold of the charm. His dirty thumb brushed over the wings. “Tomorrow I’ll see the gods or be sent away, Songbird.”

Her stomach dipped and something warm, like spilled tea, flooded her insides. Songbird. She liked the name.

“That’s what happens when you lose a war.” The boy’s lips twitched when he placed the twine around his neck. “There’s no stopping it.”