“This one,” Jereh said patiently, “is called a carrick bend.” With a motion of thumb and forefinger, he looped the rope and drew it through itself. “It's used for nets. It holds, but gives when it must.”

Lily mimicked him; her fingers were quick but too light. The knot unraveled. She laughed at her error; that thin, pure laugh that asked for no permission.

“You pulled too tight,” Jereh told her gently. “Let it breathe. Watch.”

He repeated the movement, slower, then handed her the rope. She did the same. This time, the knot held. Evan clapped for her as much as for the knot.

Eirran watched from the shadow of a pillar, his wings folded so tightly not even an edge caught the light. They didn't see him. He watched Jereh ruffle Lily’s hair with an impatient, tender gesture; a movement that seemed instinctive, effortless. Lily leaned forward and rested her head against his shoulder; Jereh held her with that natural, heavy embrace that seemed capable of bearing a child’s entire weight.

Something shifted in Eirran’s chest, not jealousy, but something deeper, an ache he could not name. Jereh was the father, and he... He was the intruder. An Ilar knew how to keep order, to wield words, to carve the sky; this...this was like watching another’s hearth: inviting, yet foreign.

He turned away quietly, without a shadow, and left. His wings sought the air on their own. The flight wasn’t an escape; it was the breath he needed to loosen the new, hard knot that had formed inside his chest.

Keth found him in his work chamber later, standing before a map of seals and seeing none of its lines. “My lord,”Keth said, not pressing. He didn’t sit, didn’t come too close. He waited.

“What?” Eirran said absently, then caught himself speaking to the air. “Forgive me… What is it?”

“I am asking,” Keth said calmly, “if walking was harder today than usual.”

The air stilled between them; Eirran recognized that it wasn’t a joke, but a rope.

“I saw,” Eirran said finally, “what I do not have. Or what I don’t know how to approach.” The words came without struggle for the first time all day. "Jereh... He is her father in truth. And I..." He paused, closed his eyes. "I envy him for that."

Keth was quiet, knowing it was one of those moments when silence was heavier than words.

“I envy him for the ease,” he uttered. “The naturalness with which she rests her head on his shoulder, and he isn’t surprised by it. Of how he is earthly and warm and just right; and that is precisely what she needs. An embrace without thought.”

Keth was a quiet anchor in the storm of Eirran’s frustration. He listened, then offered not empty comfort, but a path forward. “The relationship she has with Jereh does not exclude the one she can have with you,” Keth said. “These are not closing doors, but two paths leading from the same garden.” He guided Eirran to a simple, profound truth: he didn't need to be Jereh; he needed to be himself, learning to connect in his own way. “Ask Jereh to teach you a knot. Not to surpass him. But to tie one next to his. Yours will be clumsier. Messier. Let her see. Children don’t always need a perfect gift. They need one that was made for them.”

The advice settled Eirran. The tightness in his chest loosened. “I will ask him,” Eirran said after a moment. “If he is willing.”

“He will be,” Keth said.

But the moment was shattered by the sudden, sharp appearance of a guard. Keth’s eyes held a glint that brought no good news.

“My lord,” he said, without preamble. “An incident in the lower circle.”

“Where?” Eirran’s voice was already seeking the wind.

“Above the fish market, on a pass above the northern pits. A group of Ilari youths descended on the masons who are building windshields. Words flew first; then hands did. The city guard broke it up before a human struck an Ilar. No blood, but there is noise. Rahl sent word. He asks for you.”

The thought about Jereh and knots retreated inside him like an unswallowed sip. His gaze sought the courtyard for a moment; it was still quiet there. Yet he felt the heavy weight of what was being postponed.

He plunged into the air from the terrace edge. The stone vanished beneath him. He was passing the windows of the south wing when one opened; Lily stood in the frame, her attention suddenly snapping to him. The air seemed to tear in two directions: toward her and downward. He didn’t look. He couldn’t. His wingtip brushed the air in front of the window next to hers, leaving behind shuddering glass. He flew on.

The scene at the crossing was a stage of pent up anger. Three young Ilari, lightly dressed, wings spread and beating, hovered over masons in leather aprons, their hands chalky and calloused.

“Move that,” one with a black chest-band shouted. “You’re ruining the sightlines.”

“It’s ugly,” another laughed, “and obstructs our flight path."

Rahl was already there, his spear held horizontally like a line dividing air and stone. The air was thick with layered shouts, one step away from a shove that could send someone falling.

Eirran landed without a sound. He folded his wings; Rahl inclined his head just slightly in respect, and the looks from both men and Ilari opened him a path.

“Who oversees this work?” Eirran’s voice was cold.

“I do,” a mason said, dark hair plastered to his forehead. “And this one tells us we’re ruining the sky. The same sky that was dropping our children.”

The youth in light green lliath landed several feet away from Eirran, and the others followed. “This is a flight path. It was never meant for human feet.”

“This is a path over a chasm,” Eirran countered. “And from today, a path for all Astochia's people.”

The tallest of the three youths attempted a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. “My lord,” he said, modulating his harmonies to a soft, appeasing accord, “we were merely saying...”

“You descended,” Eirran cut him off, “upon workers under my order. You interrupted work that saves lives. And you provoked hands to rise in a place where one wrong gesture means a fall.” He turned. “Rahl?”

“The men did not strike,” Rahl said quietly. “We held them back. One threw a nail; it did not hit. The Ilari youths raised their voices and turned their backs on the masons, crowding them.”

Eirran’s judgment was swift and deliberate. He bypassed easy fines or empty threats. “From today until the end of the month the Ilari youths will assist the masons. When a month of hard work teaches you measure, you may again ‘discuss’ beauty.”

He met their protests with cold finality. “The law could demand more. The law could demand a fall. I demand that humility teaches you. If you refuse, the Seventh House will hear of ‘insubordination in a danger zone,’ and you'll fare much worse than a few days with a hammer. Rahl?”

“We take the three,” Rahl said, his voice devoid of ornament. “Immediately.”

The confrontation ended. The tension bled from the air, replaced by the orderly sounds of Rahl giving commands. Eirran felt his own shoulders relax only when he turned the first corner of the hallway. He wasn’t satisfied; it was the patient weariness of a man who has turned a mountain lion from the path, but knows the volcano beyond still smolders.

The palace seemed quieter when he returned. The northern wind scoured the morning humidity. Flying lower than usual, Eirran searched for one specific window.

The south wing, third window from the corner. He drew closer than was proper for a prince, but normal for a father. The curtain was open; the room empty.

Without hesitation, he pressed his palm flat against the cool glass. He held it there a moment too long, as if he could push a breath through the barrier. Then he pulled his hand away. His wing beat the air into a silent shudder as he banked and flew on.

Lily returned from her lesson with chalk on her fingers. She went to the window without thinking, a place she often stood to watch the sky rest upon the city.

The glass was clear. She leaned in, and as children do, let her breath fog the center of the pane. In that misty circle, the outline of a hand appeared The impression was faint at first, but then the lines deepened: distinct, recognizable; curving into a familiar shape.

Lily placed her own small palm over the trace. It matched. She didn’t know exactly why the smile came, one she couldn’t hide. He knew when to fly, but he also knew when to come back.

Lily kept her hand against the glass longer than she meant to, as if warmth might bloom through the cool pane. The mist faded, the print with it, until only her reflection remained. But in the faint echo of lines, she thought she saw the knot Jereh had taught her, not tied with rope this time, but drawn by touch and absence; waiting, like a promise.

She didn’t know that soon strangers would be knotting ropes of their own: tighter, harsher, meant not for holding, but for pulling apart.