So she’d kept walking, all the way to the moonlit aerie, where her uncle wouldn’t dare go. The wyverns of the Thirteen had been curled up on the floor like cats or perched on their posts over the drop. To her left, Abraxos had watched her from where he’d sprawled on his belly, his depthless eyes wide, unblinking. When she’d come close enough to smell the carrion on his breath, she’d said, “I need somewhere to sleep. Just for tonight.”
His tail moved slightly, the iron spikes clinking on the stones. Wagging. Like a dog—sleepy, but pleased to see her. There was no growl to be heard, no glint of iron teeth readying to gulp her down in two bites. She would rather be gobbled down than face whoever had been in her room.
Elide had slid down against the wall, tucking her hands under her armpits and curling her knees to her chest. Her teeth began clacking against each other, and she curled tighter. It was so cold in here that her breath clouded in front of her.
Hay crunched, and Abraxos sidled closer.
Elide had tensed—might have sprung to her feet and bolted. The wyvern had extended one wing toward her as if in invitation. To sit beside him.
“Please don’t eat me,” she’d whispered.
He’d huffed, as if to say, You wouldn’t be much of a mouthful.
Shivering, Elide rose. He seemed bigger with every step. But that wing remained extended, as if she were the animal in need of calming.
As she reached his side, she could hardly breathe as she extended a hand and stroked the curving, scaly hide. It was surprisingly soft, like worn leather. And toasty, as if he were a furnace. Carefully, aware of the head he angled to watch her every move, she sat down against him, her back instantly warmed.
That wing had gracefully lowered, folding down until it became a wall of warm membrane between her and the chill wind. She’d leaned farther into his softness and delightful heat, letting it sink into her bones.
She hadn’t even realized that she’d tumbled into sleep. And now … they were here.
Abraxos’s reek must be concealing her own human scent, or else the Wing Leader would have found her by now. Abraxos kept still enough that she wondered if he knew that, too.
The voices moved toward the center of the aerie, and Elide gauged the distance between Abraxos and the door. Perhaps she could slip away before they noticed—
“Keep it quiet; keep it secret. If anyone reveals our defenses, they die at my hand.”
“As you will it,” Sorrel said.
Asterin said, “Do we tell the Yellowlegs and Bluebloods?”
“No,” Manon said, her voice like death and bloodshed. “Blackbeaks only.”
“Even if another coven winds up volunteering for the next round?” Asterin said.
Manon gave a snarl that made the hair on Elide’s neck rise. “We can only tug so much at the leash.”
“Leashes can snap,” Asterin challenged.
“So can your neck,” Manon said.
Now—now, while they were fighting. Abraxos remained unmoving, as if not daring to draw attention to himself while Elide prepared to hurry out. But the chains … Elide sat back down and carefully, slowly, lifted her foot just a little off the floor, holding the chains so they wouldn’t drag. With one foot and one hand, she began pushing herself across the stones, sliding for the door.
“This shadowfire,” Sorrel mused, as if trying to diffuse the brewing storm between the Wing Leader and her cousin. “Will he use it on us?”
“He seemed inclined to think it could be used on entire armies. I wouldn’t put it past him to hold it over our heads.”
Closer and closer, Elide edged for the open doorway.
She was almost there when Manon crooned, “If you had any backbone, Elide, you would have stayed beside Abraxos until we left.”
32 
Manon had spotted Elide sleeping against Abraxos the moment they’d entered the aerie, and she’d become aware of her presence moments before that—tracking her from scent alone up the stairs. If Asterin and Sorrel had noticed, they made no comment.
The servant girl was sitting on her ass, almost to the doorway, one foot in the air to keep her chains from dragging. Smart, even if she’d been too stupid to realize how well they saw in the dark.
“There was someone in my room,” Elide said, lowering her foot and standing.
Asterin stiffened. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” Elide said, keeping near the doorway, even if it would do her no good. “It didn’t seem wise to go inside.”
Abraxos had tensed, his tail shifting over the stones. The useless beast was worried for the girl. Manon narrowed her eyes at him. “Isn’t your kind supposed to eat young women?”
He glared at her.
Elide held her ground as Manon prowled closer. And Manon, despite herself, was impressed. She looked at the girl—really looked at her.
A girl who was not afraid to sleep against a wyvern, who had enough common sense to tell when danger might be approaching … Perhaps that blood really did run blue.
“There is a chamber beneath this castle,” Manon said, and Asterin and Sorrel fell into rank behind her. “Inside it is a coven of Yellowlegs witches, all taken by the duke to … create demon offspring. I want you to get into that chamber. I want you to tell me what’s happening in there.”
The human went pale as death. “I can’t.”
“You can, and you will,” Manon said. “You’re mine now.” She felt Asterin’s attention on her—the disapproval and surprise. Manon went on, “You find a way into that chamber, you give me the details, you keep quiet about what you learn, and you live. If you betray me, if you tell anyone … then we’ll toast to you at your wedding party to a handsome Valg husband, I suppose.”
The girl’s hands were shaking. Manon smacked them down to her sides. “We do not tolerate cowards in the Blackbeak ranks,” she hissed. “Or did you think your protection was free?” Manon pointed to the door. “You’re to stay in my chambers if your own are compromised. Go wait at the bottom of the stairs.”
Elide glanced behind Manon to her Second and Third, as if she was considering begging them to help. But Manon knew that their faces were stony and unyielding. Elide’s terror was a tang in Manon’s nose as she limped away. It took her far too long to get down the stairs, that wasted leg of hers slowing her to a crone’s pace. Once she was at the bottom, Manon turned to Sorrel and Asterin.
“She could go to the duke,” Sorrel said. As Second, she had the right to make that remark—to think through all threats to the heir.
“She’s not that ruthless.”
Asterin clicked her tongue. “That was why you spoke, knowing she was here.”
Manon didn’t bother nodding.
“If she’s caught?” Asterin asked. Sorrel glanced sharply at her. Manon didn’t feel like reprimanding. It was on Sorrel to sort out the dominance between them now.
“If she’s caught, then we’ll find another way.”
“And you have no qualms about them killing her? Or using that shadowfire on her?”
“Stand down, Asterin,” Sorrel ground out.
Asterin did no such thing. “You should be asking these questions, Second.”
Sorrel’s iron teeth snapped down. “It is because of your questioning that you’re now Third.”
“Enough,” Manon said. “Elide is the only one who might get into that chamber and report. The duke has his grunts under orders not to let a single witch near. Even the Shadows can’t get close enough. But a servant girl, cleaning up whatever mess …”