I startle awake, the remnants of a nightmare quickly melting away with the sudden awareness that someone’s arms are coiled snugly around my waist.

What in Ivory’s name? Who- oh whales, its Avarice.

He’s curled himself around my torso, even more tangles than last night, unbelievably flexible for his build. He slept more soundly than I’d ever seen, then again, I didn’t have much to go off of since I’ve never been this close. It’s sort of nice to see him so peaceful, trusting me not to stab him in his sleep

A thought comes to me then, I didn’t have to worry about being attacked with the Goddess’ boon, nor were my wings damaged anymore. I can escape!

I squirm only for his arms to tighten.

“Stop it, it’s too early, Hestaria hasn’t risen yet.” Avarice mumbles exasperated, burying his face in my feathers.

“Get off and go canoodle your baby dragones, my wings are not a pillow!”

“Don’t be crass Zaki-Waki, you’re giving me a headache with your yelling.”

“‘Zaki-Waki,’ huh? Now you get to keep that headache.” I say, finally wiggling free and tumbling off the bed.

Avarice, rather quick for someone with a hangover, caught my ankle just before I broke my nose on the hardwood floor. “Boy, you sure are clumsy.”

“I hope your headache gets worse.”

“Oh, I’m sure it will.” He lets me down as gently as one can, which isn’t very gentle on my neck.

“Have you ever slept alone?”

“Of course I have.”

“Really now, since when?”

“I-” Avarice paused. “I don’t actually know.”

I am not able to pry anymore secrets out of Avarice on the flight from his home to The Fallen. He won't even look at me, short of speaking. I want him to at least acknowledge me and it disturbs me how upset it’s making me.

We arrive and he practically drags me in by the wrist. I note how careful he is not to claw me with his sharp nails.

“My Goddess.” Avarice greets, dropping my wrist to sweep into a bow so low his hair pools on the floor. “We’ve made a discovery.”

“Oh? What kind?” Her tone is amused but she leans in. “I hope it’s not about the Lerverii, I already know about last night’s attack.”

“It’s related, I took an arrow to the leg and Blue took it upon himself to heal me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “He healed you? It wasn’t some hallucination resulting from alcohol poisoning?”

“That was one time- yes, I am very sure, we can show you.” Avarice picked up a knife.

I seize his wrist before he can bring it down on his forearm. “Stop that, this is reckless and healing isn’t easy, It’s draining.”

“How else should we show her?”

The Fallen lifted a hand, silencing us. “My mirror will show me, there is no need for anyone to get hurt.” She beckoned me to follow and led me into a backroom. Hidden behind it’s curtained arch was a small cavern, a hole in the ceiling spilling light over the white tree at its center. The Fallen stepped behind the tree and emerged with a mirror nearly as tall as myself, it’s opalescent surface of swirling colors glowing softly. There are images but they shift away too quickly for me to pick them out.

The Fallen hung it up on the wall, waving her hands just over it’s glassy surface and muttering to herself, or maybe to the mirror. The colors blanched.

She turned to me, taking my hand and pressing it to the surface, which felt less like glass and more like a thin sheet of ice. Her hand over mine kept me from pulling against the sudden cold stabbing into my palm and crawling up my arm. The blank cover of the mirror shifted, the whole thing buzzing with magic beneath my fingertips. My mother appeared and then the world fell out from under me, taking the light with it.

I came too on the floor of the Fallen’s tree room, my head cradled in her hands. She smiles down at me, helping me sit up.

“I am quite surprised, I figured Lady Ivory would have already killed off all my descendants but here you are.”

“Descendant… No, I must be dreaming.”

“I’m afraid not, It’s silly I didn’t realize the moment I met you. You look so much like me and you have Zorzallaz’s attitude.”
I sober immediately. Zorzallaz is the ancient king of Ecrye, the cult of the White King worships him like a god and they’ve terrorized Cloud Spire since it’s youth. It’s followers swallow mild acids to destroy their vocal cords, “gifting” their voices to the one without his own. Charmeine’s friend Melek escaped only after they stole her voice and now lives her life in hiding, refusing to consume anything she didn’t forage or grow herself.

“What does Zorzallaz have to do with me?”

“Ah, I forgot, no one knows the real Zorzallaz like I do.”

“He’s Alive?” I shriek.

“Oh, no, he’s been dead for centuries.” She casts a forlorn look at the white tree and stands. Approaching it, she beckons me to follow and presses her ear to the trunk. “I visit the tree whenever I find myself missing him, it reminds me that He’s not truly lost to me.”

There’s a faint whispering emanating from deep within the white wood, too quiet and too many different voices to define words. It’s Zorzallaz’s voice, or rather all the voices he’d stolen from people. 

“The Ninoit and the cult have turned him into the monster he never was.” She continues. “He only took from those who deserved it, I promise.”

“How am I related to Zorzallaz? How did you know him?”

The Fallen blinked slowly at me, expression blank. “He is the father of my child. How are you so oblivious?” She breaks off in a chuckle. “Oh, you truly and wholeheartedly are descended from Zorzallaz.”

I shake my head desperately. “But that can’t be true, I don’t look Ignaisin! There’s no way I have the blood of The White King coursing through my veins.”

“Is it really so hard to believe?” She waved a hand at her mirror, an all white Ignaisin dressed in black appeared, he was holding a scarlet rose, offering it to Zaki- or rather The Fallen in what would have been her youth. “You don’t have to look like him to be his family. You shouldn’t look like him, my daughter left Ecrye and never returned. Granted she left to make the Cult of the White king in honor of her father some years, I don’t remember exactly, after my superior Ninits captured him and dropped his severed head in my lap right in front of her. By then I’d already been imprisoned and could do nothing to save him, nor stop my daughter.”

“Stars, that makes me the heir to that dreadful cult.” I bury my face in my hands. “That also makes me the heir to Ecrye too.”

“Not exactly, yes you have the cult but the country is out of the question. You see, Ecrye has created a Matriarchy in Zorzallaz’s absence.The current Matron Mother is sort of in hiding due to the Leverii threat. Their monarch has her eye on Ecrye, to take the country she must kill the Matron mother and her brood, which would leave the country utterly defenseless.” The Fallen informs me. “Whatever hope you might have of taking power from them is better off buried. Ignaisin’s are fiercely protective of their matron.”

“They can keep it but the Cult can’t know who I came from. They’ll hunt me down, take my voice, and force me to lead their organization.”

She nodded. “Zorzallaz would be ashamed of what his daughter had done, it needs to go.”

“Someday it will.” And chances are, Melek will be the one to burn it to the ground.

~~~

Avarice read the letter aloud. “Dear Brother, My oh so foolish servants have prepared far too much food for my lunch, I demand you come help me eat it, immediately. ~Lezabel  P.S. Bring your famous Birdie, I'd like to meet him.”

I frown. “Can we skip it?”

“Nope.”

The villa we approach is surprisingly homely at first glance. Large triangular windows, low-slating tile roof, and a sky light. The house itself is surrounded by a well kept garden. Ferns, flower patches and trees arranged in ornate patterns.

A pink woman stands in the main entrance, a shower of lengthy obsidian hair, and wearing a black form-fitting dress to accentuate her curves. The lewd display heats my face and makes me avert my eyes.

“You actually brought him.” The woman regards me with high interest.

“Lezabel.” Avarice replies steadily.

“And what do you call your little bird?” 

“Zavarice, but I call him Blue for short.”

“How adorable~”

An armored Ignaisin materializes from the brush, seizing Avarice’s bow. He does not take kindly to a stranger trying to wrestle his weapon off his back and (verb) into a heated argument with the assailant. This turns out to be a deliberate distraction, I too am ambushed but not by a guard.

Lezabel has me by the chin, her spindly fingers pinching my skin, forcing my head back so I have no choice but to stare into the lightless voids of her eyes. She leans in close, the potent scent of sweet pea and carnation assaulting my nostrils. Lezabel studies me, her eyebrows knitting together in either frustration or confusion; maybe both. She drops my chin just as Avarice is turning back around, muttering. “Damn it all, I can’t charm you.”

“Huh?”

“Oh Sir Scales,” Lezabel croons. “Your prized peacock here is a fairy.”
“Hh-How do you know that?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“A lady never reveals her secrets~ Come, you’re missing all the fun, Morfran has already passed out in a bowl of soup twice in the past half hour.”

We’re led through a small maze of perfumed halls, not nearly as suffocating as Alpine’s castle and half as offensive. I catch little glimpses of some of the rooms we pass, a bathroom, the kitchen, and a few bedrooms. The short tour ends with the veranda, Avarice promptly abandons me to nag none other than Revel who takes up a third of the platform at least. I hang back by the door, daunted by the ten Ignaisins (Revel included) locked in idle conversation. One stands and approaches, it takes me a second to realize why I recognize him.

“You’re Zeldris!”

He considers me and snorts.

“Wait, what’s your deal? First you knock me out, then you carry me for Avarice. It makes no sense.”

“I didn’t hit you, you fainted when I got you cornered on that cliff.” Zeldris points at a distant plateau. “Not all Ignaisins are beasts like Revel. Now go away.”

“I… Thank you for not hitting me but, again, why did you-”

“I don’t wake up everyday with the overwhelming urge to punch faces and burn chapels.”

Startled, I backpedal right into a spidery lady. 

“It seems a minnow has swum right into my net. Let me show you where to find more agreeable friends.” Guiding me by the sleeve toward the yellow Ignaisin lying face down on a table. Except a man intercepts us before we reach them, eyeing me as if I were a particularly appetizing slab of meat. “Lurida, darling, what have you here?”

“A lost chick in need of its mother.”

“Don’t patronize me while I’m standing right here!” I snap.

“Feisty thing~ What’s your name, doll?”

“What’s your name?”

“Why, I am Mistress Lezabel’s most trusted manservant. But you may call me Draven.”

Lurida shoulders past him, tugging me along and sitting me down next to the sleeping Ignaisin and taking up the vacant seat on my otherside. To my distress, Draven slides Lurida away, pulling up his own chair and sitting uncomfortably close to me.

“So...” Draven’s fingers walk their way up my forearm. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-three. why does it matter?”

“Perfect~” He purrs. “Old enough to drink-”

“Okay, I've had enough of you.” I say, ducking away as he tries to lean in closer.

“Wait,” He whines. “We were just getting to know each other, doll.”

A newcomer descends upon us, batting Draven’s hand away. “Don’t even think about it, leave Blue alone, you dirty little maggot.”

“What an adorable nickname~” Draven grabs me by the collar. “Seriously Avarice, you’re jumping to conclusions, I haven’t done anything to him... yet.”

“Draven-”

But he’s not quick enough, Draven runs his tongue over the length of my face. By the time I've overcome my horror, he’s pulled away and I’ve introduced his cheek to my open palm. Draven is unfazed, he’s cackling like a crow. “Oh I do so love ruining your evenings, Sir Scales! Your anger rivals even Zeldris, quality entertainment.”

“You nasty little bastard, how dare you!” Avarice lunges for the much smaller Ignaisin, who leaps out of the way, emitting a feral cry of mirth. While I'm scrubbing my face with the force of a thousand angry sharks, using a handful of salt as a substitute for soap, Avarice tackles Draven into a lounge. Said piece of furniture splinters under their weight.

“White King curse you both!” Lezabel shrieks. “That was one of my favorites, you idiot-”

“I’ll replace it.” Avarice promises, his arm wrapped tight around Draven’s throat.

“Then stop trying to strangle my manservant.”

“No, no, I don’t mind.” Draven cuts in.

Avarice drops him immediately, grimacing. “Gladly.”

“You’re strong~”

Lezabel hauls Draven to his feet, giving him a shove. “Shoo Mutt, you’re spoiling their appetites.”

“As you wish, m’lady.” Then quietly to Avarice. “I’m going to teach him so many swear words.” This earns him a slap to the back of the head. Unfortunately, it does not knock the wry smirk off his face-or off his feet-and he blows me a kiss before he turns to leave.

If I'm lucky, I'll never have to see that creep ever again.