When Lux stepped into the wooden squat hut, Daphne was sitting in front of the fireplace with her sock-clad feet propped on the hearth. She looked as if she had something gnawing at her, but she hurried to hide the sheen of weariness the moment she saw Lux and Marion standing in the threshold. Or at least she tried to. “Our brave little scouts are finally back!” She clapped her hands twice, smiling with clear relief in her brown eyes.

Granny turned back from where she was heating something on the stove, tipping her head in the direction of the door as a greeting. The hut smelled of cloves and drowsy sweetness, the sign that Daphne had been greeted with a steaming mug of mulled wine coming back from the hunters’ expedition.

“All we did was check on the grove,” Lux said. “The one that’s right outside the village, y’know? Plus, I think the term ‘little’ stopped applying to Marion after she grew taller than our doorframe.”

“How is my height more relevant in this discussion than our respective ages?” Marion asked airily, with the tone of voice she used when she wanted to lord her elder sister status over Lux’s measly sixteen years of age. Measly according to her, of course. 

They didn’t dignify her provocation with an answer, so she dumped the knapsack on the wooden table with a huff and a roll of her eyes. A few oranges rolled out of it from the impact. “Anyway, Lux is right, Auntie. You’re the one who went off into the woods.”

Daphne twisted backwards in her chair to grab an orange from the table, but Lux could spot the weariness creeping back into her posture from the crooked slant of her shoulders. They couldn’t help but wonder if she’d had to shift, if her speckled brown cape felt suffocating with the weight of countless feathers trapped inside. She’d never been fond of letting the bird-like features take over the rest of her. Most people shared her distaste. Even faeries tended to dislike shifting, though the only thing that changed for them was their hair.

“We crossed paths with a bear, near the old mill,” Daphne said in the end. She tossed the orange peels into the fire as she ripped them off the fruit. “Male, appears to be alone, so we don’t have to worry about any cubs. We also spotted some human footprints.”

Marion, who was trying to shoo Granny away from the stove and toward a chair with little to no success, let out a questioning hum. “Travelers?” 

“We thought so too, at first. What kind of fool with a death wish leaves the main road to walk through the woods in this weather, though?” Daphne said around a mouthful of orange. She tucked one of her twists behind her ear. “It looked like they might have tried to cover their trail, but they made a darn clumsy job of it.”

A slow sort of realization dawned upon Lux. “They’re hiding,” they said, careful not to sound excited about it. “From someone, or something. That’s the only explanation.” 

Daphne didn’t respond, instead choosing to pop another orange slice in her mouth with a sullen expression. She looked like she was bracing for impact, and Lux could take an educated guess at what she was thinking. Marion and Granny could too, judging by the twin disapproving looks they were sending Lux’s way. 

“Fledgling…” Granny started, with a bone-deep weariness in her words. Her tone felt like it was tearing at the seams of Lux’s heart, but they shook their head at the warning in her voice. Ever since Lux had grown old enough to handle chores without constant supervision, this had become a regular argument in their family. It felt well rehearsed by now, to the point of being scripted.

“If these people mean trouble,” they said, “that’s all the more reason why someone should make sure we can handle it.” 

The village’s defenses against the cold had grown thinner once again, as the sacred embers in the temple grew dimmer by the minute. One time, the fire had died out in the middle of a days-long blizzard. Back then Lux had thought the bite of the winter would never unhinge its frosted jaw from their neck. They had thought they’d never know warmth again. 

“Why does that someone have to be you?” Granny asked. She’d turned the stove off, but she’d made no move to pour the rest of the mulled wine into the three empty mugs sitting on the counter. “You may have walked down to the town countless times, but that doesn’t make the road any safer.”

“I’m the best flier in the village,” Lux said, resolute. Daphne looked ready to argue, which meant they had to barrel on before she could get a word in, or they’d be at it all day. “It only makes sense that I go, especially if the other avians are tired from hiking through the woods all morning. Plus, I’ll have Marion there with me.”

At their words, Marion heaved a long, exasperated sigh through her nose, pressing her lips into a thin line. “I don’t like this,” she said, clipped, but she didn’t try to deny what Lux had said. They both knew she would never let them go alone, no matter how much she wished they would stay put for once. 

Daphne and Granny still wore unconvinced grimaces on their faces. Neither said anything, though; years of arguing had taught them just how deep Lux’s inherited stubbornness ran. Lux forced themself to ignore the too-familiar sting of guilt as worry darkened the eyes of the people they considered their family. 

There’s no need to feel bad over something like this, they wanted to say, but all that came out of their mouth was, “I’m going to tell the other elders that I’ll rekindle the Spark this time, then. Marion?”

“I need to drop these off anyway,” she said, picking the knapsack back up. 

The two of them walked to the door together and Lux, one hand on the knob, turned toward the two women who had taken them in without questions, without regrets. “I’ll be back for dinner,” they forced out with a wry grin. “Promise.”

“Make that mid-afternoon, ‘best flier’,” Granny said. The criss-crossed lines of worry were still etched deep around her dark eyes, but she was putting on a smile to see them off. “Marion, dearie, sorry about all this. My foolish grandchild is lucky to have someone like you in their life.”

A rueful sort of expression flitted across Marion’s face, like a dark cloud heavy with sleet, but Lux couldn’t get a good look at it before she ushered them out of the hut and closed the door behind her with a quick goodbye. Her hand lingered on their back for a while, warm and solid and steady. Lux found themself missing the soothing sensation once she withdrew it, even though they didn’t feel like pushing their luck at the moment. Or hers, for the record.

Village folks—the old, wizened ones who clung to propriety and morals as if any of that rubbish could save them from the winter—would find any excuse to drag the outsider and the unruly orphan in front of the council. Improper cape touching in public spaces sounded like a golden opportunity for that, no matter the fact that Lux and Marion were family. To those people, the two of them didn’t count as such.

Lux crossed their arms to their chest, trying to ward off the chill as well as the itch of annoyance. The walk from their hut to the center of the village was a short one, and they spent it glaring down at their boots as they walked. 

When they raised their head, the temple stood in front of them. It was the only structure in the village to sport white plaster on its walls, though it was shot through with cracks. The last person who remembered how to make some from scratch had died a couple generations before Lux was born, so nowadays the council had to hire people from the nearest town whenever things started to look a wee bit too close to crumbling down for comfort. That cost money, which would usually land it pretty low on their to-do list, but this was the temple. Not one of the fancy ones from the Old Times that guarded the Apostate’s feathers, of course, yet still crucial to the survival of their little village. It sat at the center of it all, sleepy in its cracked-plaster glory, and the rest of them simply orbited around the feeble warmth cast by its Spark. 

“I don’t think there’s going to be many of the fossils milling around at this hour,” Lux said, hopeful. “This bout of snow must not have been kind to their joints, I s’pose.” Their words didn’t seem to do any wonders for the frown etched into Marion’s features, so they opted for the quick-and-dirty course of action instead. They swung the ornate temple door open, striding inside with snow still clinging to the soles of their boots. If they could make a big enough nuisance of themself, no one would spare Marion a second glance. Lux alone already counted as suitable target practice for old bigots’ barbed quips. 

“Hello?” They called out, blinking as their eyes adjusted to the dim atmosphere inside. Just as they thought, the temple seemed pretty much deserted, with the exception of a faerie crouched next to the hearth where the Spark smoldered. Lux couldn’t see his face, but his mass of white curls and the faded green of his cape told them it was Uncle Aodh. They cleared their throat. 

“By the Mother, I’d recognize that faux respectful cough anywhere,” Uncle Aodh said, without even turning to acknowledge their presence. His hands hovered in front of the dying Spark, as if trying to shield the embers from the draft. 

“I’m nothing but forthright,” Lux replied easily. They made a beeline for the alcove in the wall where an unlit lantern was resting, ignoring the unimpressed grunt from Uncle Aodh. The intricate iron casing gleamed in the light of the Spark like a gathering of coiled snakes, curled around the thick glass panels. It was always a little impressive, Lux mused, to stand in front of an object so ancient. Something made at the cusp of time, when history itself was teetering in between the Old Times and the world as they knew it nowadays. 

That was how the King liked to spin it, at the very least, which meant Lux found it hard to believe a single word of it. What they did believe in was the Apostate’s fire. 

The nine big towns still standing guarded her burning feathers in their temples. Meanwhile, people like Lux had to make their way to the town nearest to them and kneel in front of the altar. They would mutter their prayers and the flames of the feather would come nestling inside their empty lanterns. Then they would trudge back to their villages, where the drowsy embers of their Sparks lay in wait of more fuel. Rinse and repeat.

Lux wrapped their fingers around the iron handle, glad for the extra padding provided by their gloves, and heaved the lantern up, turning to where Marion had dropped the knapsack at Uncle Aodh’s feet. He ruffled her hair as she was still bent down, then his milky eyes landed on the lantern cradled to Lux’s chest. 

“Be careful,” he said, “both of you fledglings. Don’t make old Astra worry too much. You know she’s not so sprightly anymore.” 

Marion straightened her back. She towered above Uncle Aodh’s crouched figure, yet she almost looked like the little kid she’d been when she had dragged herself to the village, all the way from the mountains where most dragons lived. “We’ll be back before sundown.”

Lux thought that, this time, it was her who was jinxing them.