Perches lined the room, each occupied by scores of brilliant jewel-toned birds with extravagantly long tails. They huddled together, their heads tucked under their wings—ruby, emerald, sapphire, and bright yellow.

They’re beautiful, Han thought. What a shame they’re hidden underground.

Keeping his eyes on the birds, Han soft-footed it across the room toward a door on the opposite side. Halfway there, he stepped on something that rolled under his foot and hit the wall with a clatter, nearly tumbling him to the ground.

Crow swore inside Han’s head. Han looked to see what he’d stepped on, and realized it was a skull. It was then that he noticed the floor was littered with piles of bones, completely clean of flesh.

He looked up to see that several birds had pulled their heads from under their wings and opened their eyes.

Feeling like a fool, Han clapped his hands over his ears and began singing in a loud voice as he strode across the room.

Oh, the Gray Wolf Queens are lusty, as lusty as can be.

If you’re a man of woman born, they’ll bring you to your knees.

Hanalea the Warrior, the northern armies led.

But the greatest war she ever won was the battle of the bed.

Oh, the Demon King, he came to her, his weapon long and hard….

Acutely aware of Crow listening in, Han faltered, embarrassed, forgetting the next lines. And then he heard it—the most marvelous music, music that tugged at his heart. He lowered his hands and looked up, transfixed. The birds opened their beaks, their ruby throats vibrating with sweet music that clouded his head and soothed his worries.

He sank to his knees, enchanted, besotted, drunk with pleasure. He forgot the Armory of the Gifted Kings—he could no longer remember his own name.

“Alister! Alister, what did I tell you?” Crow shouted in his ear, but it was like the buzzing of a nasty wasp next to this beautiful melody. Han wanted to follow it wherever it led. He slid forward until he lay flat, cradling his head on his arms, knowing that, whatever happened, however long he slept, his dreams would be sweet.

Han heard the soft whisper of wings as birds alighted on his back and shoulders. He flinched a bit when their needle-sharp beaks tore through his clothing and into his flesh. Ah, well, he thought dreamily, you have to pay the piper, after all.

C H A P T E R  T H I R T Y - O N E

THE ARMORY
OF THE
GIFTED KINGS

And then, suddenly, he was picking himself up off the floor and lurching forward, waving his arms, wildly brushing birds from his body.

“But it’s beautiful,” Han tried to say, but found that he was no longer in control of his voice. Please, he thought. I want to stay and listen.