He cawed softly, the cord thrumming with something like recognition. One day old, and he was nearly as large as my torso. In less than a week, he would be a fledging, his wings a flurry of feathers as he fought to build strength, to learn the feel of the wind.

And then we would escape Illucia.

“We’re going to have to stock up on a lot of meat,” I whispered to him, stroking the soft feathers at the top of his head. He nipped affectionately at my fingers, and I tapped his beak, earning a quiet squawk of protest.

“What now?” Caylus sat down beside me as I unwrapped the chicken in my lap and fed Res a small piece.

“He should start showing signs of magic any day now,” I replied. “Is someone going to come knocking if he makes noise?”

Caylus looked around his haphazard workshop. “They haven’t yet.”

I rose to join Caylus at the workbench, and Res let out a low screech. His feathers fluttered as he tried to follow me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I reassured him, but when I tried to step away again, the cord between us tugged. Sighing, I returned to his side and wrapped the blankets carefully about him, then scooped him into my arms.

“Only until you fall back asleep,” I said as he snuggled into my embrace.

We spent the rest of the day working on some of Caylus’s projects, though I wasn’t much help with Res in my arms. Despite what I’d said, I held him long after he’d fallen asleep.

I’d nearly started to doze myself, lulled by the sound of Res breathing and the warmth of his body, when something struck the workbench and Gio yowled.

I sprang to my feet, whirling to find Caylus staring mournfully at an overturned beaker of yellow liquid, Gio having narrowly escaped atop a pile of books. Blood trickled from Caylus’s temple, a sharp-edged hanging basket still swaying from where his head had struck it, causing him to overturn the beaker.

“Are you okay?” I gently set the still-sleeping Res back down in his pile of blankets, then grabbed Caylus a clean towel as he dropped into a chair. He touched two fingers to his head, then pulled them back, staring at the blood.

“I think so.” He stiffened as I pressed the cloth against his wound.

“I thought measuring was my job,” I teased.

“Yes. I… You were with Res. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Well, next time, bother away.” I poked his arm.

A blush rose in his cheeks, and he averted his gaze, studying Gio as if he’d never seen a cat before.

“Maybe you ought to reorganize your workshop,” I suggested, dabbing gently at the scrape. It wasn’t deep; it’d barely required a bandage.