Skyward Manor was back to its bustling self the next day, servants going about their business, although the air was just as heavy with mourning. All avvir staff had bound their wings – the only exceptions being the guards and messengers – and the humans wore their own symbols of grief. Ellanor had not been surprised when Tara showed up in a dark grey dress paired with a black apron that morning, breakfast tray in hand.

“Which dress should I prepare?” the handmaid asked, pulling back the curtains from the arched floor to ceiling windows. The sky was cloudfree and promised a warm spring day ahead.

Ellanor took a sip of her tea, her eyes observing the mountains outside. “I will be meeting my father today,” she mused. If the statement came as a surprise to Tara she did not let it show. Ellanor turned toward the human. “What do you think I should wear?”

Tara tilted her head slightly to one side and considered. Her curtain of black hair shifted with the movement, sliding loose from behind her ear. Ellanor remembered the first time she’d asked for her handmaid’s opinion. It had been a simple question, one that only required a yes-or-no answer. What it had been about Ellanor did not care to remember, but she recalled the expression that had flashed across Tara’s face, the submission and fear that had been replaced by surprise and calculation. Humans held no rights in Avvyr and they certainly were not allowed an opinion, let alone to voice it. Despite this, Tara had straightened her back and spoken her mind and Ellanor had in that moment decided to never let go of the girl.

“It would depend on what you want Duke Dalton to see,” Tara answered after a moment’s thought. “Will you present as a niece in grief, or as the new Madam Skyward?” There was a glimpt in her eye as she spoke, her clever mind already weighing the outcomes. Ellanor smiled and took another sip from her tea.

“Indeed, what façade will I put up, and what will Dalton expect?” She leaned back against her pillows, keeping eye contact with Tara whilst twisting the afternoons meeting in her head. The handmaid held her gaze steadily. Eventually Ellanor put her cup down, threw her covers back and slid to her feet. “Fetch my cream dress, the one I got when we last went to God City,” she said, Tara jumping to action and disappearing into the armoire. “And a sash!”

By the time Tara returned, Ellanor had slipped behind the folding screen in the far corner of the room, her nightgown slung over the top. Letting her handmaid help her into the various layers of the dress Ellanor thought over the afternoon’s meeting once again. Duke Dalton would expect young Ellanor to be in grief, as would anyone in Skyward’s social sphere. Avvir could live to see five centuries – just like any Immortal of the Known World – with a few having come close to six, and even though most of them reached mental maturity around the same age as humans they were considered young until a hundred. Ellanor was twenty one, a child still in many people’s eyes, now with a Madam’s title and a manor to run. They would expect her to crumble under the pressure, to ask for help from someone like Dalton. Maybe he expected it too.

Ellanor let Tara unwrap her hair and remove the pins that had held her curls in place over the night. With it loose her hair fell to right below her chin, reddish dark brown and thick, one of the features people complimented her on the most. She usually wore it down but today she opted to pull it back into a knot at the base of her skull, letting a few loose curls frame her face.

Looking at herself in the mirror the new Madam Skyward smiled. The cream coloured dress and her up done hair gave off the exact impression Ellanor wanted it to: adult, elegant, bold. The cut was modern – not the flowy robe like gowns of Avvyrian tradition, no this dress had the dramatic silhouette of Teiralish noble fashion. Billowing skirts, a structured corset, the loose sleeves gathered at the elbow meeting lace gloves. The same lace made up the neckline, climbing up her neck and down the bodice. It was a dress fit for royalty, a statement.

Tara appeared behind her lady, their eyes meeting in the mirror. They looked like opposites, one in white the other in black, the only thing disturbing the picture being the sash in Tara’s hands.

“Thank you, Tara”, Ellanor said, taking the piece of fabric and wrapping it around her chest. The sash was the same colour as the dress, making it discrete – private. The kind of thing that should be noted but politely not asked about.

“You ready?” Tara’s voice was low, passive, but her eyes held worry.

Ellanor threw one last look in the mirror, looking over the details. She adjusted her gloves and turned to the door. “Let’s go for a walk in the gardens.”

***

So this was her father.

Ellanor could not really see it.

The duke was seated in an armchair across from her, his riding attire spotless except for some dust on his boots. His bone white wings were bound with a black sash behind him but Ellanor knew it was not the source of the uncomfortable look on his face. Tara had served them tea a few minutes ago and since then it had been quiet.

With a forced cough Duke Dalton broke the silence. “I am terribly sorry for your loss, miss Skyward.”

“Thank you”, Ellanor said with a nod.

“I’m sure you know this, but I am at your disposal.” He straightened a bit putting his cup down. “Lourelle was a dear friend of mine and Skyward has always been like a second home.”

Ellanor studied Dalton for a moment, not bothering to respond. Tor Dalton was handsome – as it was well known – with a narrow face, high cheekbones, and bright green eyes. His skin was pale in a way that only came with red hair, but it had a shine to it that told of many years spent in the sun, of flying. There was nothing in him that resembled Ellanor’s dark skin and brown eyes, save for possibly the red in her hair. She leaned back, casually sipping her tea.

“Lourelle gave me your letter. In her will”, she added.

A plethora of emotions shifted across the Duke’s face as her words settled in. “I see”, he said, folding his hands in his lap. His gaze jumped for a moment to Tara standing in the corner behind Ellanor before returning to her. “That changes things, yes. Then I suppose you know–”

“I didn’t read it.”

Dalton’s face dropped and he blinked at her. “Why?”

“Because”, Ellanor said, unable to stop the tip of her tail from swishing back and forth, “you owe me an explanation in person, you owe me more than a letter.” She set her cup down with more force than needed. “Whatever you wrote that was so important I’m sure you’ll feel better telling me personally.”

The Duke looked about ready to bolt, but with a breath he composed himself. Once again he glanced at Tara. “We should speak alone”, he said, caution colouring his tone.

“She stays.”

Dalton was quiet for a moment, considering. Then he sighed, deciding not to argue. “Very well.” He watched Ellanor, seeming to think over his next words carefully. Eventually he spoke:

“The letter was about your mother – she is solely the reason I left you in Lourelle’s care. You see…” He fell quiet again, hesitating.

“Go on with it,” Ellanor huffed, but on the inside her nerves were eating her alive. What could possibly be so hard for him to tell her? “I grew up believing both of you dead, so just–”

“She was human.”