I close the door to the music room and walk a little way down the hall. I look over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone. I don’t see any brothers or helpers, only a few old faces in paintings of Daddy’s parents and their siblings. But they won’t stop me.

I pull my dress up to my ankles and run down the hall. My slippers slap against the shiny wooden floor. The walls are a gold and brown blur. It’s not long before I slow down, because I’m getting close to the front parlor. There’s usually someone in there, even if it’s just the gardener freshening up the flowers in the vases.

I let go of my dress and smooth it out. I walk in with my hands folded in front of me. I look at the sofas and recliners to my left and see nobody but Mr. Tielswen. He’s pouring sugar from a tin bigger than his fists into a bowl on one of the two coffee tables in the middle of the room. Mommy must be having company over later. Daddy wouldn’t, since he always sees his guests in his office upstairs.

I definitely can’t run in front of Mr. Tielswen. Daddy says the bronze-skinned, broad-shouldered elf has been with this family since Granddaddy was a baby, and that he “allows no shenanigans.” I just wave at him when I reach the stairs on my right.

Mr. Tielswen finishes filling the bowl and waves back. “Your music lessons are done, then, young lady?” I always liked how the light plays around his silver hair when he moves.

“Yes, sir. I have the rest of the day off, so I thought I’d do a little reading before dinner.”

Mr. Tielswen bellows with laughter. “Good graces, girl, dinner’s hours away! Aren’t you famished after studying with that prim professor of yours all afternoon?”

My stomach grumbles slightly. He’s only a little right.

“I suppose so, sir.”

Mr. Tielswen points the sugar tin at the archway on the other side of the stairs. “Master DiRossi and young Mr. Bastien took their lunch on the rear terrace. I removed the remnants to the kitchen, but the sirs remain outside. Fussing about Mr. Bastien’s training, so it seemed.”

I gasp. “Bastien’s got new chicks in?

Mr. Tielswen puts the sugar tin on a serving tray and lifts the tray by its wooden handles. “I would hardly call it a chick, but go on, Miss Klóe. See for yourself.”

I smile and take two quick steps away from the staircase. Mr. Tielswen clears his throat.

I freeze and shut my eyes. I peek out of my left eye.

He stares at me from beside the nearest sofa. The tray is still in his hands. He taps his foot.

My smile shrinks. “Sorry, sir?”

Mr. Tielswen takes a deep breath. He nods at the archway. “Go on, then. Slowly.”

I lower my head and walk around the corner, through the little hallway, into the dining room, and finally into the kitchen. I can’t quite reach the countertops, but a few cooks are already here to prepare food for dinner, or Mommy’s visitors, or both. One of them puts half a chicken salad sandwich and some celery pieces on a plate for me. After I promise not to let it spoil my dinner, I take the plate with both my hands and walk toward the terrace. The cook opens the right-hand door for me. I thank her and hop over the stupid little bump that always tries to trip me.

It’s warm and sunny outside, with only a few fluffy white clouds in the sky. The wind isn’t blowing hard enough to move the clouds, but I like that it tries, because it mixes up all the different flower smells from the courtyard gardens.

The terrace is almost as big as the music room, but without the walls. On the sides are tall, blooming rose bushes. The other end of the terrace turns into a ramp onto the courtyard, where pathways join together like a wagon wheel made of stones instead of wood. Flowers with big bulbs and strong smells live in the spaces between the paths, but in the middle is a great big stone circle taller than my waist with the family crest on it.

The DiRossi crest looks mean. It’s a gold shield with a wreath of oak leaves around the top and sides. That part’s okay, but on the front of the shield is an angry red bird with its wings spread wide. It looks like its wing feathers are falling off, but they look more like fire than feathers. Its feet are almost fists, with the sharp claws on the end reaching forward. A banner under the crest says something in what Donovan promises isn’t Elven, but one of the ancient human languages. In fact, none of my brothers will tell me what any of it means, and Mommy and Daddy always say that “all that matters now is that it means ‘family’.” That’s better than hearing Max say “I’ll tell you when you’re older,” I guess.

Daddy sits in a dark metal chair behind a white metal table at the right-hand corner of the brick-and-stone terrace. He picks up a crystal pitcher of what I hope is lemonade and pours it into his glass. His back is to me, but I know it’s him because he talks like a lion.

“That stray,” Daddy says to Bastien, “is making you look like a novice.”

At the lower end of the ramp, Bastien tries to get his reptilian, orange-scaled student to cooperate. Bastien has one hand up high like a fist and points the other at the ground. His sky-blue training jacket is zipped all the way up to the collar, and the matching trousers are tucked into his brown boots. Bastien’s more than twice my age, and he acts even older than Mimi does. The noni he’s trying to train doesn’t care.

From its feet to its snout, it looks about as tall as my hip. It has pretty brown and silver feathers going down the middle of its back and sticking out around its head, forearms, and calves. Even its short tail has a few large, stiff feathers poking from its tip. The reptile hops up at my brother’s raised fist as he shouts and demands its attention.

Bastien lowers his fist, then yanks it away from the raptor’s snapping jaws. When the jaws shut, he grabs the raptor by its snout with both hands and forces it to look up at the sky. It wraps its dulled front claws around Bastien’s arms, but then just breathes heavily.

After a big sigh, Bastien turns to Daddy. “I’ve been training neighborhood deinonychuses for over a year. I’m ready for a challenge, Dad.” Bastien looks at me and nods. “Good afternoon, Klóe.”

I almost wave, but keep my hands under my plate. “Good afternoon, Bastien, Daddy.”

Daddy puts the pitcher on the table and turns around in his chair. I see that he’s wearing the gray, white-striped business shirt I picked out for his last birthday and smile at him. He smiles bigger for me.

“Why, Klóe DiRossi, as I live and breathe!” Daddy stands up and pulls out the chair to his left. He takes my plate and puts it on the table. “What brings you all the way out to the terrace this fine afternoon?”

I put my hands on my hips. “Why, I live here!”

“Ah-ha – so you do!” Daddy picks me up by my underarms and sits me down in front of my food. “That would explain all that beautiful music coming from the rehearsal room. You’d been working so hard all day that I nearly forgot I even had my one and only daughter.” He ruffles my hair, which, because of the pigtails, doesn’t move nearly as much as my brothers’.

I laugh. “Well, Mommy didn’t forget about me. She stayed after Mimi left and watched my whole singing lesson.” I pick up a celery stalk and bite down with a crunch.

Daddy smiles at me. He’s tall and strong, with a sturdy jaw and short, straight brown hair. Even though he stands over me, I always feel like he looks me straight in the eyes.

“I’ll have to stop in at your next lesson, then, Princess.” Daddy drinks from his glass. “I’ve been preoccupied.”

“With what?” I ask.

Daddy leans close to me and whispers, “Some folks are coming to Atlantia to talk to me, but I don’t want to talk to them.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Klóe, these are very mean people. They want to take things from me.”

I gasp. “Oh, no!”

“Don’t you worry.” Daddy pokes my nose and winks at me. “I’m sending some friends to tell them that they can’t have anything of mine, since they want to be so rude.”

I nod once. “Well, good!” I pick up my sandwich and turn around in my chair.

My brother finally gets the noni to sit down and be still. Its stubby tail sweeps the stony path.

I gasp at them both. “Good job!”

Bastien waves at me, but keeps his eyes fixed on the noni. He slowly raises a slim stick of beef in one fist, and the noni starts to growl. Bastien hides the treat behind his back and stoops over the raptor. It quiets down.

I lay my cheek onto the back of my chair. “Wow. Somebody must be paying Bastien a lot of money to get that one under control.” I take a bite out of my sandwich. It’s really tangy and a little crispy from the toasting.

Daddy puts his serious voice on. “That’s not the case, unfortunately. That whelp is a stray one of my clients found wandering the edge of the Mystic Prefecture. No tags, no brands, nothing. I had planned to send it down to the Menagerie, but Bastien caught wind of the situation.”

The noni watches the treat with all its attention for one second, two seconds. When Bastien drops it, the stray stands and gobbles it up before it touches the ground. Bastien slaps his hands together to rub the grease in. He smiles at his hungry student.

Daddy claps three times for Bastien and laughs. “He begged for the chance to train it. ‘I’m tired of training old ladies’ soft and spoiled laplizards,’ he said.” Daddy keeps his smile and shakes his head. “Fifteen years old, and he’s already worried about reaching his peak.”

Bastien calls for the noni’s attention to start learning a new trick. I turn around and sit properly in my chair. Daddy keeps watching Bastien with a small smile. I have another bite of my sandwich.

“It’s so great that you’re letting Bastien tame a deinonychus, Daddy.”

Daddy blinks and looks at me. His smile gets wider, and his friendly voice comes back. “Yes, well, he made some very good points during a long negotiation period. Once its hunting claws came off, it was as good as Bastien’s.” Daddy picks up an empty glass and fills it halfway with the drink from the pitcher. “So, what about you?” He hands me the glass. “Why don’t you sing me one of those songs Mrs. Archer has been teaching you?”

I take the cup with both hands and drink from it. It is lemonade! I drink slowly to enjoy it. I also try to think if I actually like any of Mrs. Archer’s songs well enough to sing. I sort of remember one, but I don’t like the way she plays piano with it. But since the piano isn’t here, and Daddy hasn’t heard us play the song before, I think I can get away with doing it my way.

Daddy sits down before I finish my lemonade. I put my empty glass on the table and slide off the chair. I stand next to the table and smooth out the wrinkles in my dress. I look over my shoulder, and Bastien is again struggling with the feathered reptile. I fold my hands over my heart and turn back to Daddy.

“Have you heard of ‘Like My Home’?”

Daddy shakes his head. “I can’t say that I have.”

Even better! I clear my throat and think of the song. I feel my thoughts fall into the rhythm of the music as I hear it, not as Mrs. Archer plays it. My heart slows to the tempo of where I like to sing the song, not where Mrs. Archer makes me say it. I take a deep breath and, instead of singing what I was taught, I sing what I feel.

“I spent nights chasing moths through meadows
Childhood days dancing in the sun
A farm-town girl who loved the world
Through the tiny slice I’d seen
Now out here beyond the fields
I see all that I could ask for
I can taste and I can feel
Life that leaves me wanting more
All my days a treat
But still I think
No matter where I roam
That there’s —”

“No! Stop!”

I end my song. Daddy hadn’t said anything. His smile turns into a frown and he sits up straight. Daddy’s looking at – no, past me?

Something hits my back and knocks the wind out of me. I barely put my hands in front of me before I hit the terrace stones. Something grabs my dress at my hip and back, and it’s pinching my skin, and it hurts. I think I’m screaming, but then a thousand needles bite down over my shoulder and I know I’m screaming, and there’s so much shouting and shattering glass and the needles yank me to the side and it’s so bright it hurts so much it burns DADDY, PLEASE, MAKE IT STOP IT BURNS IT’S SO LOUD I CAN’T BREATHE HELP ME I CAN’T MOVE, IT HURTS TO TRY and it’s so bright and so loud, but not so much anymore, and I’m so cold, but I burn all over…

Is that you… Daddy…?

It was… so loud… I think… I hear you

You made the noise stop… It’s still very bright, though…

I’ll just close my eyes…