What did she do to deserve being thrown into the realm’s most notorious prison?
We duck beneath a stalactite clinging to the brown ceiling. “She was Scathian, using a glamour to get into the castle,” Braith says under her breath, as if being born with wings is the worst fate imaginable.
My palms begin to sweat. “And the castle doesn’t hire Scathians?” I assume.
Her nose wrinkles. “Heavens, no. They say it’s to give the Tuath a chance at a decent wage, but I really think it’s to keep us from mixing with the lofty birds.”
Growing up Scathian, I never really thought of the disparity between Scathians and Tuath. And why would I? This has always been the way things were done. The Tuath are born without magic, destined to serve their winged employers. Wynn and our other servantsseemedhappy enough with their lot in life.
Living among the Tuath for only a handful of days has taught me otherwise.
Even I’ve started to resent the obvious wealth and lofty towers. The lavish parties I once attended. The lazy days spent lounging in the sun without a care in the world. But as much as I resent them, they’re still a part of who I once was.
I press a hand to the wall to keep from slipping down the steep slope and into the river at the bottom. “How did they know she was Scathian?”
One by one, those closest to the river strip down to their shifts before stepping into the water and wading toward a waterfall.
“The waterfall is enchanted, removing glamours from those who pass through.”
My breath stalls in my lungs.You’re not wearing a glamour, I remind myself. But what if the water removes the dye used to color my hair? What if someone sees my scars and asks what happened?
I didn’t make it back to Kumulus only to end up in prison.I’ll have to find some other way into the castle.
When I turn to leave, my face collides with the hard chest of yet another Scathian guard.
He sneers down at me, his dark eyes sharp as flint. “Going somewhere?”
“No. Of course not. Just admiring the scenery.” The scenery?Really? It’s a dark, damp cave. What is there to admire?
Too quickly, it’s Braith’s turn to enter the river. Before she does, she steps up to a table situated at the edge of the water.
A guard waits on the other side, hunched over a thick tome, an ink pen dangling between his thick fingers. “Name?”
“Braith Nightingale,” she replies.
He records her information in silver ink that instantly vanishes. “Age?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Birthdate?”
“July twenty-third.”
“Experience?”
“Four years with Lord Timothy Weatherby and another two before that with Lady Audrey Markham.”
After recording all of Braith’s information in the book, the man motions me forward.
Do I give my real name? With the way the ink disappears, the book clearly has some sort of magic. What if it somehow knows Allette Rittey has no work experience—at least, not in this realm. What if it knows I’m not Tuath?
“Name?” the man asks.
I’m going to end up in the pit. I just know it.
The man’s ice-blue eyes lift to mine. “Name?”
I need a name. Any name. Why can’t I think of a bloody name? I clear my throat.Just give him a bloody name!“It’s Wynn. Wynn Caelis.”