The village Lux grew up in wasn’t anything special. Just one more smattering of dark huts on the vast, pallid gray canvas that was the eternal winter, close enough to one of the towns to be considered moderately fortunate. They had the orchard they grew thanks to the power of a minor ley line, their main source of fruit and a valuable asset for trade; no one wanted to get scurvy and die, after all. They had the woods for hunting and, no matter how untrustworthy they were, they had the sheep. That meant having wool, for warm clothes capable of warding off the worst of the chill, and savory cheese to eat. It was, all in all, an average place to live in, except for one thing: they had a song. 

Calling it a song might be a bit generous. It was more of a clumsy nursery rhyme kids liked to recite as they played games outside, a string of well practiced words to keep the rhythm of the swings of their ropes as they jumped. Still, every single child was taught the song and every single child was made to swear they would never let anyone outside the village hear it. The older folks said a terrible event would befall them, were the nursery rhyme to fall in the hands of the wrong person. They never specified who the wrong person was supposed to be, or what kind of terrible event they might trigger. 

Lux had broken that rule when they were nine by singing the nursery rhyme to Marion one night, after she’d woken up with nightmares clawing at her and tears stinging her eyes. They’d expected Daphne and Granny to get angry. Instead, Daphne had hugged them both so close they could smell traces of dried lavender on her knitted shawl, while Granny got them two mugs of hot milk sweetened with precious dollops of honey. 

As they walked through the crowded streets and toward the temple, Lux wished they could gather Marion in their arms like Daphne had done, singing the silly nursery rhyme to her until the past had slithered back into the mucky darkness it came from. 

Instead, all they could do was match her long, purposeful strides as they hurried down the crowded streets, weaving through the mass of clamoring masked townsfolk. They’d caught Tobia looking between the two of them with his head tilted in curiosity, which meant they might have to deal with his questions later on top of everything else. Once again, they were struck by the irrational thought that such a sheltered boy had no business being this perceptive. Especially considering it seemed to work on and off, if the way he’d waltzed right into Wynn’s trap was of any indication. Lux squashed that thought as soon as it came: blaming Tobia for the pistol trained on him wouldn’t bring them anywhere, no matter how tempting it was. 

Once they were within sight of the temple, the four of them found a deserted alley to hunker down. To anyone passing by, they would look like they were just taking a break from the chaos of the festival, as unhygienic as sitting on the ground was. If need be, Lux could even fake a good retching. Folks tended to get tipsy fast when festive occasions gave them the excuse to warm themselves up with alcohol, and the mask hiding their face meant no one would know Lux was still too young to buy alcoholic drinks.

“So,” they asked, eager to break the ice before someone else could say the wrong thing and set Marion off, “what’s the plan?”

Sneaking inside the temple unnoticed would usually be a pretty daunting task, but the place was bound to be crawling with people on the day of the festival, providing them the perfect window to blend in. Moreover, because of Wynn’s sister taking care of security herself, the place was almost devoid of any guards.

“I couldn’t tell Deirdre what I’m planning on doing,” Wynn explained to them. “She needs to be able to claim plausible deniability to resist that man’s orders, but she will know it’s me if she spots us through any of the automatons or the silver eyes on the ceiling. Unless he notices us too, she won’t mobilize anything against us.”

Technically, the words should have been reassuring. They had a plan, it seemed solid enough not to land them all into hot waters at the drop of a hat and Wynn looked far too distraught about their sister for this to all be a rather contrived trap on their end. Still, Lux kept looking over at Marion with growing apprehension. 

They didn’t know all the details—she’d never told them and they would never pry, not about something like this—but they knew enough. Marion’s parents had been murdered by someone who knew her mother’s true name, a former lover the woman had put too much trust in. He’d found them one evening, years after Marion’s mother had managed to escape his reach, and that had been the last, bloodied glimpse of her family Marion had caught. 

Someone’s true name was the first thing etched into their cape at birth. Like every other cape mark, no one except for the owner could make any sense of it; to others it would all just look like shifting, incomprehensible shapes. It was the Mother’s way to protect her children, despite the wounds they’d inflicted upon her. Which meant people didn’t just know other people’s true names. It was information that had to be given out voluntarily, and very few were willing to do that. Not when knowing someone’s true name gave you near-absolute authority over them.

Only lovestruck fools did it, and almost always regretted it down the line.

“Do you know where the target is?” Marion asked. She sounded calmer than what Lux had been expecting, but that didn’t mean anything good by itself. Instead, an unsettled chill ran down their spine at the icy inflection of her voice. It was like listening to the soundless prowl of a predator, moments before it leapt out of its hiding place. 

Oblivious to the brittle ground they were treading, Wynn said, “Drust is nothing but a filthy coward, which means he spends most of his time holed up in his quarters, down in the basement. That’s where it’s safest, plus he’s got Deirdre close by. The control room where he keeps her is, like, two doors away. Close enough that she would hear him if he screamed for her help.”

“We’ll split in two teams,” they continued. “My sister has direct orders to neutralize me on sight if I try to approach the guy’s room, so I’ll go guard her instead. You three can pretend you need spiritual guidance, or whatever, to get to Drust. You don’t have to kill him. I’ll take care of that myself once you drag him back to me.”

Setting aside how comfortable with violence the sweet-faced young child in front of them was, the course of action seemed pretty straightforward to Lux. The others must have thought the same, because no objections were raised. They just held each others’ gazes through the shadows of their masks in silent agreement. Wynn finished explaining a few more things about the underground floor of the temple, sketching a poorly drawn map of the place on a piece of scrap paper that had food stains on it and mapping out their route in thick graphite. After that, they all poured back into the main road to join the many people headed for the temple. The flow of bodies and laughter carried them, the smells of fried dough and herbal liquor tickled their noses. No funny business, the guard at the gate had said; the poor sucker would have quite the long day ahead of him if the four of them could just manage to pull this off.

From up close, the temple projected its imposing presence outwards, like a dancer jutting their chest forward. The stone archway was decorated with garlands made out of whatever people could spare: painted pinecones, colorful scraps of cloth woven together into long braids, the glint of buttons and old horseshoes. None of those things even remotely resembled a feather, but the braids of cloth did look a bit like tongues of fire licking at the wall. The overall effect was a merry clash between the solemn Old Times architecture of the temple and the flashy handiwork of the townsfolk.

As they walked past the threshold, Lux couldn’t help but gaze upwards. They already knew where the silver eyes on the main floor nestled, but they could have sworn the small, beady things were blinking back at them today, whirring softly as they followed them. It was, predictably, rather unnerving, even with the knowledge that Wynn’s sister would look the other way if she saw them. 

Truth be told, Lux was trying not to think too hard about the whole thing. Stopping to consider that they were trading someone’s life for someone else’s made nausea roil in their stomach; no matter how much of a slimebag this Drust was, he was still a living person. The bitter taste of guilt stung Lux’s tongue when they felt relief at the idea that Wynn would be the one dealing with him. 

To make things harder, their skin felt as if it was prickling with thousands of needles pressing against it, prodding at their discomfort, now that they knew they were being watched. No matter how surprised they had acted earlier, Lux had started suspecting the temple had a Favorite under its belt around a year ago. Since the day they saw only two guards standing by the feather for the first time, they’d glanced at the plated automatons lining the walls with the cold bite of fear nibbling at their ankles. 

After all, it was the only explanation that made any amount of sense. Temple guards were invaluable resources, trained specifically for the job of keeping the Apostate’s feathers safe. Relocating a bunch of them elsewhere was not only unheard of, it was flat out foolish. Back then, though, Lux hadn’t wanted to think about the implications of that. 

So they hadn’t. They’d walked up to the altar where the feather rested among its bed of smoldering embers, they’d kept their hands steady as they let some of its fire curl inside their lantern, and they’d walked back home to reignite the village Spark. Like they’d done countless times before, and like they’d do countless more times in the future.

“Everything okay?” Tobia whispered next to them.

Lux didn’t jump out of their own skin, but it was a near thing. 

“I should be the one asking you, city boy,” they replied, matching his volume. “Your continued survival hinges on this daring rescue mission, after all. Feeling up to the task, or have you given in to the unfathomable depths of despair?”

Tobia made a sound that was halfway through a huff and a moan, which Lux thought encapsulated rather well his personality as a whole. Before they could start feeling bad for thinking that, Wynn cleared their throat twice. It was the sign they had arrived at the stairwell that led to the basement. A small, unassuming door sat in the stone wall, hidden by the shadows cast by the pillars surrounding it. Hadn’t it been for Wynn, they would have all walked right past it without noticing it. 

“This way,” Wynn said. They went in first, followed by Marion and Tobia. Lux went last and closed the door behind them slowly, careful not to make the old hinges whine in protest. 

The stairs were lit by the strange, glassy torches people from the Old Times used to shed a sort of artificial glow, so they didn’t have to walk in the dark. Lux was starting to feel as if maybe they could do this, when they saw Tobia stagger in front of them. They opened their mouth to ask him what was wrong, but he acted faster. He whipped toward them with a stricken expression on his face and a wavy blade clutched in his hand, looking as if he’d seen a ghost.

For a suspended, surreal moment, Lux thought he was going to stab them. Then, the burly arm of a wolf grabbed their shoulder and threw them out of the way as the blade collided with something above their head.