By the time she was on the stone staircase, leaping them three at a time, the yells had grown, accompanied by running footsteps. The foyer was teeming.
Wren spotted Lova’s gleaming blond fur. She was barking at one of her warriors. “Bring me my cannon! I won’t let that beaked bastard get away this time.”
Wren pushed toward her. Lova was already striding outside. It had been raining all day. Wren was soaked through in an instant. Around the grounds, the Hannos’ remaining soldiers sprinted about. A few spotted Wren and came over, requesting orders.
She ignored them. Catching up with Lova, she asked, “What is it? An attack?”
“I wish.”
“Is my father back?”
“Someone else,” the lion-girl spat, and pointed to the sky.
Wren blinked the rain from her lashes. The sky was dark. It took her a few moments before she saw what Lova was indicating: the familiar outline of widespread wings. A bird demon—soaring straight toward them.
A growl rumbled in Lova’s throat. To Wren’s other side, one of the archers her father had left under her supervision, a teenage Paper boy called Khuen, strolled up lazily, as if coming out to admire the view. Twirling an arrow between his fingers, he drawled nonchalantly, rain slicking his dark curls, “Want me to shoot them down?”
Wren didn’t answer. Her eyes were locked on the fast-approaching figure. There was a rumble of thunder. A flash of lightning. But Wren didn’t need it to know who it was. She’d seen this particular bird demon flying enough times to recognize him from his silhouette alone.
Merrin was back.
They brought him to a windowless room off the foyer, her soldiers throwing him inside with a roughness Wren didn’t reprimand.
“Guard the doorway,” she ordered.
A few hesitated. Like Wren, they knew who Merrin was, had lived with him and liked him for so many years—and they knew of his betrayal. Most of the guards stood with their weapons still pointed where Merrin sagged on the floor, water dripping from his feathers. His head was bowed, as if he knew one look at his guilty face would be all it would take to break their self-control.
“Leave,” Wren commanded the guards, harder this time, imitating her father’s authoritative tone. They moved away. When Khuen made to go with them, she stopped him. “Not you.”
The boy shrugged. He reset his position at her side, a notched arrow trained on Merrin.
Lova huffed. “Baby archer gets his bow, but I’m not allowed my cannon?”
“Your cannon would blast half this building to rubble, demon,” Khuen retorted. “My bow and arrow might not be as flashy, but they’re efficient. Far less cleanup.”
“That’s half the fun.”
“Anyway,” the boy added, “the way the old owl is looking, I could probably take him down with a child’s slingshot.” He cocked his head toward Wren. “Want me to try?”
“I’ll do it,” Lova offered quickly.
Wren shut them both down. “The bird is to be kept alive.”
For the first time since he’d landed, Merrin made a sound. It was a laugh, a rough noise at the back of his throat. “The bird?” He raised his head, and his molten orange owl eyes, just as piercing as Wren remembered, finally met hers. “You’ve never called me that before.”
“And you’ve never betrayed us before,” she shot back. “At least, I assume so.” Her anger was rising. “My father trusted you with our lives. He took you in when you were six years old, when your clan was slain by soldiers for refusing to join the King’s army. You helped him find me when those same soldiers came for my own clan. I grew up with you. And after all of that, everything we went through, what you did…”
Merrin looked gutted by her words. His soaked robes clung to his thin frame. A puddle of rainwater pooled around him.
“Lei,” Wren said. “Nitta. Where are they?”
Merrin didn’t answer, gazing at the floor with sad eyes. In turn, Wren glared down at the demon she’d known all her life. He’d once been a gangly limbed, keen-to-please, careful, sweet bird-boy her father trusted enough to leave her alone with when she was just a toddler. She’d even thought once that he was her actual brother, because of how much time they spent together. And he’d cared for her like one. Just like Kenzo. The only people her parents had trusted with her true identity, along with Caen. Merrin and Kenzo’s feathers and fur and her own paper-thin skin hadn’t mattered. They’d been family. They’d taught her what trust looked and felt like. What it meant to have someone’s back, no matter what.
Now, one of them had also taught her how terrible it felt when that kind of trust was broken.
“Where are they, Merrin?” Wren repeated coldly.
“Nitta is safe,” he started, speaking quietly. “Her back… it was broken in the battle. I brought her to a renowned healer in the Red Sand Valley I’d heard about. I worked as a hunter for the healer’s clan to pay for her care, and as soon as Nitta was well enough to leave, we came here—”
“Where is she?” Wren interrupted.
“She’s hidden nearby. I—I wasn’t sure if you would shoot me directly upon sight, and if you did, I didn’t want her to be injured in the fall.”
“You left her alone?” Lova spat, advancing on him. Outside, rain was still lashing down. “In this?”
She sounded more indignant about a cat demon being left out in the rain than alone and possibly defenseless after a serious injury.
“Directions,” she demanded. “Now.”
The second she had Nitta’s location, Lova turned to Wren. Though her face burned with determination, she hesitated. “I can send one of my cats instead if you want me to stay.”
Wren shook her head. “Go. Nitta should see a familiar face. Take a horse from the stables and ask the maids to prepare a room—”
Lova was already stomping off. They heard her barking orders from the atrium.
Wren returned her attention to Merrin. Slowly, carefully, she said, “What about Lei?”
Merrin went to say something, faltered, and suddenly Wren found herself shouting.
“Lei! You remember her, don’t you? The girl we rescued from the Hidden Palace after she stuck a knife in the King’s throat? The girl you traveled with for months? Who helped us gain the White Wing’s allegiance—which you went on to lose? The brave, beautiful girl who hurt so much for you when Bo died, who would’ve done anything, anything to help you, to help any of us—”
She fisted her hands, controlling herself in an instant.
When she spoke next, it was through clenched teeth. “Where is she, Merrin?”
He looked more miserable than ever.
Wren hissed at Khuen, “Take out a wing.”
As the boy drew back his arm, Merrin muttered something.
Wren held out a hand. Khuen halted.
“Louder!” she snarled.