Cinders of the Past

A young half-fairy, half-human girl must go on a journey to unite the realm of two worlds

          Cinders          of the Past 25

         
         

Chapter 1: Embers and Ale

         Long ago, the skies burned. Humans and fairies lived together in harmony, bound by oaths older than kings. Fairies nurtured the soils and summoned the rain from cloudless skies and in return humans raised walls around their glades, protecting them from all that would harm them. In the end the war began not with a declaration, but instead with betrayal. Peace is a fragile thing; men always crave more.
         The tavern was alive with heat and noise. Sweat clung to Aaliyah's brow like a second skin as she glided through the crowd, her tray full of tankards of ale and her wild curls pulled back into a braid. The kitchen's fire roared just beyond the swinging doors, spilling warmth into the packed dining room, like a dragon breathing through its nostrils. Every wooden beam of the ceiling vibrated with the thrums of chatter, laughter, and the rich noise of the bard strumming a lively tune near the hearth. The air smelled of roasted boar, yeast, and gravied onions, but most of all the air was filled with the scent of honeyed mead-the tavern's famous brew that drew travelers from all over to their doors.

Aaliyah ducked beneath another server's tray of dirty dishes, hips brushing past cloaks and elbows. Her hazel-gold eyes scanned the tables with precision born from many years of practice. She dropped tankards at one table full of gruff farmers, while scooping up empty bowls and plates from another and ignored the appreciative whistles they gave her as she turned.
"Get a better tune, old man," Wren snapped as she stepped between the man and Aaliyah, elbowing the whistler hard in the ribs, with pitchers of meade in each hand. She shot Aaliyah a wink, her green eyes flashing.
Aaliyah grinned, grateful as always for Wren's sharp tongue and steady presence. The two had been a pair since they were knee-high and covered in tree sap, and not much had changed-except now they traded mud pies for tankards and dodged drunkards instead of bees.
"Another busy night, tell me we're almost done," Aaliyah said as they met at the end of the bar, both breathless as usual.
Wren blew a strand of hair from her eyes, "Not even close. A whole caravan just rolled in. One of them asked me if the meade had fairy tears in it. I told him yes, -wrung fresh every night."
Aaliyah snorted, then sobered just as fast. Fairy tears. Fairy anything was dangerous talk these days, even in jest. Her fingers curled around the edge of the bar for a moment.
Outside, the realm may have been at war, but inside the tavern-this warm, golden bubble of song and sweat-people laughed as if the world weren't burning just beyond the hills. But Aaliyah knew better.
         A sudden gust of wind swept through the tavern as the heavy oak doors creaked open. A collective sigh rippled through the crowd as the cool air touched flushed cheeks and damp necks, offering a brief moment of reprieve from the stifling heat. Aaliyah turned towards the entrance just as the breeze carried in the scent of fresh rain and... perfume.
Rhosyn Aldergate stepped over the threshold as if the floor had be scrubbed just for her. She stood framed in the doorway, golden curls cascading in waves over her shoulders, a pale blue corset cinched perfectly at her waist. Her sky-blue eyes scanned the room with theatrical disinterest, though Aaliyah knew better-Rhosyn never entered a room without purpose. She wanted to see all the eyes on her. Behind her glided her devoted trio, matching her elegance stride for stride: Vivienne Halbrook, composed and perpetually amused, her every expression tinged with subtle judgement behind a silk fan. Then Annalise Fenwick, rosey-cheeked and soft spoken, with a voice like sugared tea and an uncanny ability to echo Rhosyn's sentiments with delicate precision. Finally, Clarimond Vale, the quietest of the three, but certainly none the less deadly, thin-lipped and observant, the kind of girl who stored every flaw and whispered them only when it hurt most.
Together, they made the room feel smaller. Aaliyah didn't look from behind the bar. She didn't need to. The moment the breeze shifted, the perfume arrived -rosewater, lavender and something powdery and cold. She knew that scent anywhere.
"Oh," Rhosyn said sweetly, gliding towards the bar like she'd never broken a sweat in her life. "It's even livelier than usual tonight. How... bustling."
Vivienne leaned in toward her. "Charming, in provincial sort of way."
"Very atmospheric," Annalise added, glancing around with a little wrinkle in her nose.
Clarimond didn't speak. She never did unless it stung.
Aaliyah smiled politely. "Evening, ladies."
Wren stood at the end of the bar, tray tucked under her arm and muttered something under her breath. Rhosyn's eyes flickered towards Wren, but she only smiled. Rhosyn quickly re-shifted her attention onto Aaliyah, giving her a slow, polished once-over.
"Goodness, it must be sweltering back there," she said with a lilt, voice dripping honey. You're positively glistening, Aaliyah dear."
Vivienne chimed in. "Some people glow. Others..." she trialed off with a faint smirk.
Annalise smiled sweetly. "It's good you work here. You don't have to put in much effort in your appearance."
Clarimond said nothing, but her gaze lingered on Aaliyah's forehead with cool judgement.
"Have you ladies come for the meade?" Aaliyah asked.
Rhosyn snorted. "You must be joking."
"Not at all," Aaliyah said, calm and steady. "Some of us have work to do. Paying customers to take care of."
She turned without waiting for a reply, lifting a tray stacked with steaming plates and slipping effortlessly into the crown. The tavern swallowed her up-laughter, voices, music-and the soft clack of her boots on the worn wooded floor echoed louder than any retort Rhosyn could make. Rhosyn stood there for a beat too long, smile stiffening just slightly.
Wren snickered and hoisted her own tray and ducked behind a tall man laughing into his mug.
"It's always a pleasure when Rhosyn graces out presence, Wren said as she walked past.
Aaliyah rolled her eyes and shifted her tray on her hip. "I've seen feral cats with more charm."
Wren grinned wide. "Vivienne looked like she was about to faint from being so close to common air."
"Oh, the horror," Aaliyah gasped dramatically, delivering a plate to a group of traders near the fireplace.
"They talk like they're made of silk," Wren said, dropping a bowl of stew in front of an old farmer,"
Aaliyah chuckled low and warm, "You've known Rhosyn longer than I, you know how she is. Of course she had to say something about me sweating."
"Well to be fair," Wren said, smirking, "You are melting a bit."
Aaliyah nudged her with her hip and wrinkled her nose. "Traitor."
Wren stuck out her tongue. "Tavern heat. It either cooks you or cures you."
Aaliyah gave her a crooked smile. "Let's hope it doesn't burn the place down."
"Don't tempt fate," Wren said, already heading toward the next table. "We've got enough trouble with Rhosyn flouncing around like she owns the place."
Wren balanced two mugs in one hand and waved with the other, nodding toward the tavern entrance. "Your old man just came in. Usual spot."
Aaliyah turned her head just in time to see Samuel Thatcher tapping his cane twice before sliding into corner booth near the hearth, the one worn smooth by years of his quiet presence. His head tilted subtly, sensing the motion of the room, his face unreadable but familiar in the best kind of way.
"He'll be wanting his usual," Aaliyah said, already turning toward the bar.
But before she could take a step, a meaty hand clumsily grabbed the hem of Wren's skirt and yanked.
"Oi," slurred the drunk, eyes glassy and grin sloppy. "Another round, sweetheart-and maybe a kiss to go with it."
Wren stiffened, her tray shifting dangerously. Aaliyah was on him in a heartbeat, stepping between them with a smile so sharp it could cut rope.
"How about you keep your lips and hands to yourself, old man, and I promise we'll keep the meade flowing. Start acting a fool, and you'll be getting a cool drink of fountain water."
The man blinked, confused for half a second, before grumbling something unintelligible and slumping back against his chair.
Aaliyah grabbed Wren's wrist and pulled her away, both of them laughing under their breath as they made their way to Samuel's table.
"Well," Samuel said without looking up, "from the sound of it, someone's about to get themselves kissed."
Aaliyah snorted and placed a mug in front of him. They'll have to catch me first."
Wren grinned as she slid into the bench beside him. "Oh? You think you're fast?"
Aaliyah gave her a wink over her shoulder. "As fast as the wind."
And with that, she was off again-tray in hand, weaving effortlessly through the sea of people as if she was born of breeze and laughter. Samuel took a long sip of his drink, shaking his head fondly. "That girl's a storm," he murmured.
Wren chuckled. "The kind that sneaks up on you before you even hear the thunder."
As Aaliyah drops off another tankard the tavern doors creaked open with another gust of cool evening air, sweeping through the hot, crowded space. Every head turned as a group of four entered, their boots scuffing across the threshold-weathered men wrapped in the grit and dust of the road. At the front strode an elderly man, stocky and broad-shouldered, with a long white beard braided at the chin and crow's feet that suggested both a quick wit and a hard life. He wore a patchy cloak; the hem caked with dried mud and carried a hand-carved walking stick slung across his back like a sword. Flanking him were three younger men, each as striking as the next-woodsmen by the look of them, all lean muscle and sun-worn skin, the kind of men who lived beneath trees and swung axes for coin.
The first, tall and golden, had sun-kissed skin, tousled blonde hair, and a cocky smile that seemed glued to his face. A jagged scar slit one eyebrow, only making him look more charming. The second was darker, with obsidian hair pulled into a short braid and eyes like molten embers-sharp, assessing, with the stillness of a wolf before the pounce. The third was broad-shouldered with chestnut curls and soft hazel eyes, his boyish face at odds with the heavy axe strapped to his back.
"Drinks!" bellowed the elder, spreading his arms wide. "The best in the house! We bring word from the east-and it's worth your ears!"
The tavern rippled with interest. Patrons leaned forward. Aaliyah exchanged a look with Wren as a hush fell over the crowd, only broken by the clatter of tankards being set down.
"Well," Wren whispered, tilting her head. Guess we're on that table."
"I'll grab the meade," Aaliyah said, already moving toward the barrels.
"I'll meet you with the food," Wren replied, vanishing into the kitchen like a shadow.
Aaliyah wove through the crowd once more, tray in hand, her curiosity piqued. When she reached the table, the elder was already mid-tale, his voice carrying easily over the room.
"Burnt wings scattered through the brush," he said grimly. "The King's army stormed a hive near Embergrove. A whole hoard-wiped clean off the map. Fire, steel, not a single wing left flapping."
The blond man added with a chuckle, "One of the lads found a crown mad of moss and antlers-guess some fairy prince thought he could play king."
Laughter rippled at the table. Aaliyah forced a smile as she set down the tankards, the scent of honeyed meade wafting up. Her stomach turned, but she remained composed.
The chestnut-haired woodsman gave her a wink as she placed his drink. "You sure you're not one of the fae? Never seen a prettier girl on this side of the border."
Aaliyah flushed lightly, offering a practiced grin. "Only magic I serve comes in mugs and with a side of roast."
"Oh we'll take both," the dark-haired one murmured, eyes lingering a little too long.
Just as Aaliyah reached to set the last tankard down, a sudden voice chimed in behind her.
"Oh, how terrifying," came Rhosyn's theatrical gaspe. "Weren't you afraid for your lives? All those nasty, clawed little things flying at you in the dark?"
Aaliyah stumbled as Rhosyn swept between her and the table like a silken storm cloud, her perfume thick with roses and pride. The tray tipped dangerously before Aaliyah caught it against her hip with practiced pivot.
"Careful, Thatcher," Rhosyn said sweetly over her shoulder. "wouldn't want you to spill all over someone important."
She batted her lashes at the blonde woodsmen, who gave a lazy grin in return.
"Do go on," Rhosyn purred, sliding into the space Aaliyah had just vacated. "Was there screaming? Did they beg before the end? I simply cannot imagine being that close to one of those creatures. I'd faint on the spot."
Her entire pose giggling from the perch nearby, eyes wide with faux fascination. Aaliyah bit the inside of her cheek, fingers tightening on the tray.
Rhosyn perfectly perched neatly against the edge of the men's table, one delicate hand resting near the blonde woodsmen's mug as she laughed-high and danity, while twirling her hair around her fingers, laughing at something one of the men said.
"...and of course, Vivienne and I never travel without an escort. The last time we went to the capital, three different nobles asked for my name-can you imagine?"
Her eyes sparkled as she tilted her head, catching the attention of all three of the younger men. Vivienne, Annalise, and Clarimond lingered just behind her, with painted smiles and flirtatious eyes, like perfect puppets.
"Your story was simply harrowing," Rhosyn continued with a breathy tone, brushing invisible lint from her bodice. "I'd have screamed the moment I saw one of those horrid wings. I don't know how you managed."
The blonde man smirked, clearly enjoying the attention, though the dark-haired one seemed slightly less amused, casting a subtle glance towards Aaliyah, who still lingered nearby with a tray held steady against her hip.
Aaliyah raised a brow at him, her expression somewhere between amusement and disbelief.
And that's when Wren appeared out of nowhere, moving with practiced ease, a tray balanced on one hand, the plates still steaming.
"Pardon me, coming through," she said cheerfully.
Without so much as a warning, she dropped the first plate-roasted root vegetables with peppered boar-right in front of the chestnut-haired woodsman. The second plate landed in front of the elder, and the third-
Splashed.
A generous helping of gravied onions sloshed cleanly over the edge of the dish and directly onto Rhosyn's corset blouse.
There was a beat.
Then a shriek.
"Oh-OH! Ugh! You absolute-!" Rhosyn staggered back, staring at the brown mess staining the fine lace across her chest.
"My blouse!" This is imported silk!"
"Oh no," Wren said, her voice soaked in sugar and absolutely no remorse. "Slippery fingers tonight. I am so sorry, dear Rhosyn."
Behind her tray, Aaliyah bit her lip hard, shoulders shaking as she tried to contain a snort of laughter. One look at Wren's innocent expression nearly sent her over the edge. Rhosyn's face turned a violent shade of red, lips pressed so tightly together she might've turned to stone. The entire tavern had taken notice and burst into roaring drunken laughter.
With a growl of frustration, Rhosyn spun on her heels, storming towards the door in a huff. Vivienne, Annalise, and Clarimond chased after her, the door slamming behind them. Aaliyah and Wren exchanged glances.
"Well," Wren said, dusting her hands. "Guess she didn't faint after all."
Aaliyah finally burst with laughter; she could no longer hold it in. "No, but I think her blouse did."

Chapter 2: Weight of Wings

         The rain had come quickly before closing time at the tavern. Aaliyah walked beside Samuel through the rain-slicked streets, the sound of their boots soft against the muddy road. The was thick with the scent of rain and woodsmoke, cool on her flushed skin after the stifling heat of the tavern. The lantern she carried cast a warm glow in the mist, its light bobbing gently between them as they made their familiar journey-a routine as steady as the tide, something they had done together every night since she'd taken the tavern job.
"I think the walls were sweating tonight," she muttered with a weary sigh, brushing damp curls off her forehead.
Samuel gave a grunt with that might have been amusement. "You say that every night."
"Because it's always true," she replied, the corner of her mouth twitching into a tired smile.
The tavern had been packed, rowdy, and sweltering as usual-bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder, laughter and bickering echoing off the timbered walls, tankards clinking, and the ever-present haze of roasting meat, spilled ale, and hearth smoke clinging to her clothes like a second skin. Her limbs ached from weaving through the crush of bodies, from lifting trays and dodging groping hands, and from smiling for hours straight. But despite the exhaustion, there was comfort in this moment-the steady rhythm of their walk, the hush of rain, and Samuel's quiet presence beside her. Home was just ahead.
The small cottage welcomed them like an old friend, the heavy door creaking open and shut behind them as the rain pattered gently against the windows. Aaliyah set the lantern down on the table, the warm amber light pooling in the room, illuminating worn furniture, shelves of a neatly labeled jars, and the faint steam still rising from the hearth. Samuel shrugged off his cloak and hung it by the door, his fingers finding the familiar hook with ease. "Sit down, girl. I'll get the tea going before we both freeze to death."
Aaliyah chuckled softly, rubbing the back of her neck as she toed off her mud-soaked boots. "You'd think I'd welcome that kind of cold after the night I've had."
Samuel moved with the ease of memory, finding the kettle and setting to boil over the fire. "Sweatin' ain't the same as warmth. One leaves you tired and smelly, the other makes you feel alive."
She grinned as she headed toward the small washroom tucked just off the main space. "I'll start the bath," she called, the sound of running water soon following her voice. The washroom was lit only by a small lantern and the faint flicker of the hearthlight bleeding through the open door. As the tub began to fill, steam curling in the chilling air, a soft hiss rising from the heated stones beneath it. Aaliyah stood in front of the mirror and undid the ties of her blouse slowly, her fingers moving with practiced care. Her back ached-tight from hours of holding her wings in. with a quiet exhale, she finally let go.
Her shoulder blades shifted first, and then, like a breath released after being held too long, her wings unfurled. They emerged from her back, iridescent feathers catching the firelight, casting glimmers of blue, green, violet, and gold across the walls. The wings were immense, angelic in shape and scale, and they drooped low from exhaustion, the tips grazing the cool stone floor behind her. She rolled her shoulders forward and back, stretching them out until the soft crackle of joints loosening gave her relief. They ached from being hidden, compressed. She hated hiding them-hated pretending. For a moment, she stood still, letting them spread fully, savoring the feeling of freedom-even if it was only here, in secret. When the tub was nearly full, she slipped her blouse back on loosely and padded back to the hearth, wings trailing silently behind her. Samuel had already poured the tea. He was sitting in his usual chair, legs stretched out towards the fire, a soft hum on his lips. He didn't look up when he heard her, he didn't need to.
"Your wings sound stiff tonight," he said plainly, handing her a mug.
Aaliyah sat beside him on the rug, pulling her wings in slightly so they curled around her like a shawl. She accepted the tea gratefully, the warmth of the mug grounding her.
"They've been tucked away too long," she admitted softly. "Feels like they're forgetting how to breath sometimes."
Samuel didn't answer right away. The fire cracked, the wind howled outside like an old ghost. "Well, be sure to stretch them out as often as you can," he finally said, sipping his own tea. "Even birds break if they never spread their wings."
She smiled faintly, resting her head against the side of his chair. "I know."
For a few moments, they sat together in the hush of the storm, warmth wrapping around them, safe in the little space they'd carved out in a world that hated what she was. Samuel began to play with her hair, something that deeply comforted her, something that made her feel very safe in this small space. Then, when the tea was gone and her body felt a little less heavy, Aaliyah rose.
"I'm going to take a bath before I fall asleep on this floor."
"Try not to drown," Samuel muttered, already nodding off.
Aaliyah laughed under her breath, disappearing once more into the washroom-wings shimmering like moonlight as they vanished from sight.
The washroom was filled with the gentle hiss of steam, curling like whispered secrets through the air. Aaliyah stepped onto the warmed stone floor, her bare feet quiet as she approached the tub. The scent of lavender and rosemary drifted upward-her own blend of dried herbs Samuel always kept on hand for aching muscles and weary bones. The tub was a simple thing-oval, made of worn copper with a ring of soot-blackened stones beneath it to keep the water warm longer. It wasn't anything grand, but it was deep and familiar. The kind of comfort one only ever found in small, sacred rituals. She slipped out of her blouse, letting it fall soft and crumpled to the floor. Then, carefully, she stepped into the bath. The heat wrapped around her instantly, drawing out a sigh of relief from her lips as she lowered herself into the water, the aches of the day slowly melting away. Her wings, massive, did not fit.
They never did.
Instead, she let them drape over the edge of the tub, each one folding just enough to spill gently over the sides. Feathers lay slick and shimmering against the copper and stone, the soft light of the lantern dancing across their opalescent surface. The warmth of the water lapped at her collarbones. Her arms floated beside her, weightless. For once, no corset, no apron, nothing to keep her hidden. Just her. Quiet. Bare. Real.
She leaned her head back, resting it against the rim of the tub, her eyes half-lidded as she stared up at the wooden beams above. Rain tapped a slow, steady rhythm on the roof-nature's lullaby-and she breathed in deeply, letting the tension leave her body with every exhale. In this moment, she wasn't a barmaid.
She was just Aaliyah.
The girl with wings too big for the world.
She ran a hand lazily through the water, stirring little ripples that licked at her skin. Her wings twitched slightly with the movement-sensations always traveled through them more than she liked to admit. But here, alone, it didn't matter. She allowed her thoughts to drift-to the men at the tavern, to the massacre they spoke of. The word hoard stuck with her. A nest. A home. A family.
Her chest tightened.
She didn't know why it haunted her so much. She didn't know those fairies. She know any fairy at all, not truly. But still... something inside her mourned them. She blinked the sting from her eyes, swallowing hard as she sank a little deeper into the water, until only her nose remained above the surface.
The lantern flickered.
The fire popped in the next room.
And Aaliyah floated there-wings sprawled wide and helpless-like something caught between two worlds.
         It was quite some time before Aaliyah was ready to leave the warmth of the bath. The water had long gone lukewarm, her skin pruned and flushed from the heat, but she lingered until the quiet wrapped around her like a second towel. By the time she emerged, Samuel had already retired to his room-his steady breathing barely audible beneath the creak of old wood and the gentle hush of rain drumming steadily against the roof. The fire in the hearth had softened to a low, pulsing glow, casting the house in shadows and warmth. Wrapping in a thick towel, her bare feet padded softly across the floorboards as she made her way upstairs. Her long auburn curls clung wet and heavy to her back, leaving a faint trail of damp against her skin as she climbed. The scent of lavender soap and woodsmoke drifted in the air, mingling with the pleasant smell leaking in from the storm outside. Aaliyah slipped into her room, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Only then, in the solitude of her space, did she let out a slow breath and unfurl her wings. With a soft rustle of feathers, they extended-iridescent and immense, the delicate plumes catching the dim candlelight in glimmers of blue, green, and violet. From where she stood in the center of her room, her wings stretched wide enough for the very tips of her longest feathers to brush against the opposing walls. She rolled her shoulders gently, easing out the stiffness from keeping them hidden all day. Each stretch sent a pleasant ache through her muscles, her body remembering what it meant to feel unbound.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she looked over her shoulder at them, gleaming and vast. In this room, in this quiet, she could pretend for a moment that there was nothing strange about the girl with the secret fire and hidden wings.
Just Aaliyah. No pretending. No hiding.
The storm outside rumbled, but inside her room, there was peace.
         The morning sun crept in through the gaps in Aaliyah's curtains, casting golden streaks across her face and warming the chill left behind by the storm. Her lashes fluttered as she stirred, the gentle light pulling her from a deep, dreamless sleep. Her hair had dried into a wild tangle of curls that fanned around her like a lion's mane, stubbornly free in every direction. Her wings-still too large for the modest bed she called her own-hung off the side, the feathers splayed gently across the wooden floor like a forgotten cloak. A few sunbeams caught the shimmer in them highlighting their natural iridescence. With a soft groan, Aaliyah sat up and stretched, her joints quietly protesting. The scent of rain-soaked earth drifted in from the open window, mingling with the faintest trace of Samuel's pipe smoke. She padded to her small washbasin, dabbing at her face with cool water before dressing for the day. She pulled on a fitted burgundy dress, the bodice laced delicately up the front with a black ribbon, cinching at the waist and flaring just slightly at the hips. The sleeves were short, cuffed neatly at her biceps with embroidered trim. A scalloped hem kissed just below her knees, revealing a black stocking that hugged her calves. She tied a soft cream-colored bandana over the top of her head, knotting it behind her ears. The ends tucked neatly at the nape of her neck, while a few loose strands of curls fell forward, framing her face like ivy on stone.
Downstairs, the porch creaked in its familiar rhythm. Samuel sat in his usual rocking chair, a pipe between his teeth as he whittled away on a figurine. The trees still dripped from last night's storm, their leaves glistening in the sunlight. The ground was dark and damp, speckled with puddles and soft with mud.
"Morning," Aaliyah greeted, stepping barefoot onto the porch.
Samuel didn't look. "You sleep like a rock after your bath," he muttered, tapping his pipe against the chair's arm.
"I was beginning to wonder if I might have to check if you were breathing ."
Aaliyah chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "You say that like it's the first time."
Samuel smiled. "Rain weather puts some in a deep slumber."
She leaned against the railing, gazing at the misty tree line. "It wasn't the storm. It was the travelers and the news they brought."
"Ah," Samuel muttered, his expression tightening.
"They said the King's army destroyed another fairy home. Called it a hoard, far east." Her voice lowered. "Massacre."
Samuel took a long drag from his pipe, letting the silence hold.
"They said it was a good thing."
He exhaled a long breath of smoke. "To those who don't know any better it is as you know already know."
Aaliyah stared out across the damp landscape, her eyes hard.
Samuel gave her leg a gentle pat. "Why don't we get something warm before your stomach starts to growl up a storm."
         Before Aaliyah has a chance to say anything the quiet of the morning was broken by the distant call of Wren's voice drifting up the road.
"Aaliyah! You awake in there?"
Aaliyah's eyes widened in panic, and she spun on her heels without another word, she ducked back into the house, her wings still slightly stretched. She scrambled up the stairs, her wings dragging behind her. In her room, she turned her back to the mirror and focused, breath steady. Slowly, her wings began to fold inward, feathers curling and tucking against her spine. It always took more effort after stretching them out fully. By the time Wren's boots crunched up the path and she cheerfully greeted Samuel on the porch, Aaliyah was already slipping back into the main room, smoothing her skirts and trying not to look flustered. Samuel was making his way through the door with Wren behind him. "Mornin', Wren. You're up early, as usual."
"You know me," Wren grinned. Her cheeks were pink from the crisp air, and her short chestnut hair was half tucked under a loose kerchief.
"Work waits for no one."
Aaliyah stepped into the room, blinking like she hadn't heard Wren coming up the road.
"Wren! I was just about to start on breakfast."
"You'll join us won't you Wren?" Samuel smiled.
Wren gave a polite shake of her head. "Already ate, but thank you. Actually, I came to se if I could steal your girl for a bit. Thought we could go out to the ridge before I tend to the cattle. Could us the company."
Aaliyah glanced at Samule, who shrugged as he tempered down the embers of his pipe. "Go on, then. The flowers won't wait."
"I'll grab my shawl," Aaliyah said with a smith, already heading for the hook by the door.
Outside, the trees still dripped from the night's rain, but the sun was gaining strength. Wren's boots squelched in the soft dirt as she stepped off the porch, her arms crossed with anticipation.
"Hope you're ready for mud," she called back. "And I'm not carrying you if you slip!"
"Oh, please," Aaliyah grinned. "You'd drop me on purpose."
Wren's grin widened. "Maybe."
They laughed as they set off down the road, the scent of wet leaves and warming earth curling in the air behind them. The dirt road gave way to a narrow path winding between green hedges and swaying grasses, the scent of damp earth still clinging to the air. Birds chirped in the trees, and every so often, the wind carried the soft creak of distant farm gates or the lowing of cattle in the hills beyond. Aaliyah held her skirts just above the hem, boots squelching occasionally in a soft patch of mud as she walked beside Wren. The girls moved easily in sync, occasionally swatting gnats from their faces or pointing out particularly bright blooms along the path. A path of wild foxglove nodded in the breeze, its purple bell-shaped flowers catching the light.
"I still say the goldenhearts bloom best near the creek," Wren said, tugging her kerchief tighter as the breeze stirred her bangs.
"And I say that's just your excuse to drag me through ankle-deep much," Aaliyah shot back playfully, eyeing the soft slope ahead.
Wren grinned. "Guilty."
They broke into laughter, the sound light and familiar between them. Eventually, they crested a small rise and stepped into the field just beyond, where the wildflowers had begun their slow riot of springtime color-goldenhearts, snowdrops, wild violets, and clusters of forget-me-nots tangled in the grass. Aaliyah sighed at the sight, her hazel-gold eyes softening. "It's like a painting."
"Better," Wren said, dropping to her knees and pulling a small twine-tied bundle in her satchel. "Paintings don't smell like this."
At first the girls began to gather up bouquets of wildflowers, but as the sun crept higher into the sky, and with it came the rising weight of humidity. The morning's fresh air had grown thick and warm, wrapping around Aaliyah and Wren like an invisible blanket. Aaliyah had found a nice and dry place to sit in the field while Wren still continued to pick more and more flowers. A distant rumble of wooden wheels over packed earth made them pause. From beyond the bend in the road, a small caravan emerged-two wagons pulled by tired mules, accompanied by a group of weary travelers walking alongside. Their clothes were dusty and torn in places, faces drawn with the strain of recent hardship. Children clung to their mother's skirts, and a few older men leaned heavily on walking sticks.
Aaliyah shielded her eyes from the sun, watching them with a furrowed brow. "Who are they?"
Wren, standing beside her, lowered her basket and squinted at the caravan. "Probable from the east. Remember those woodsmen last night?" she said, nodding toward the road. "They said the neighboring town was hit hard. The same night the hoard was taken out... that town was burned. Looks like these folks are what's left."
Aaliyah's heart twisted as she watched the slow-moving group pass, their silence heavy, broken only by the creak of wagon wheels and the occasional bark of a dog trotting alongside. Then she noticed them-two soldiers trailing behind the caravan, both on horseback. Their armor was dusty, crested with the Kin's insignia. One of them glanced her way, his gaze lingered just a moment too long. The solder smiled and said something inaudible to the other soldier next to him, both soldiers began to laugh as they looked back at her. Aaliyah stiffened Wren leaned toward her, voice low. They'll pass through the tavern tonight. Always do."
Aaliyah exhaled slowly, tension unwinding from her spine. "Good thing we're not working tonight."
Wren smirked. "For once, Rhosyn can have her moment in the spotlight uninterrupted."
Aaliyah let out a small laugh, though her eyes lingered on the caravan disappearing down the road. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stems of her flower basket.
"They lost everything," she murmured.
Wren nodded. "Yeah. And we might too, if the wind shifts the wrong way."
They stood quietly for a moment longer, the weight of the moment settling between them. The Wren gave her a gentle nudge with her elbow. "Come on. Let's go tend to the cows before we melt from this heat."
         As they walked back toward the tall grass of the pasture, the hum of cicadas rising in the heat, Aaliyah glanced over her shoulder at the dwindling caravan on the horizon. The soldiers had disappeared from view, but the image of their dust covered armor and long shadows lingered in her mind.
"I couldn't imagine soldiers coming here," Aaliyah said quietly, her fingers brushing along a blooming stalk of yarrow.
Wren snorted. "Oh, it'd be a nightmare. There's already enough handsy drunkards in this town without the King's dogs marching in-eating up all the food, drinking every last drop of ale, and turning the tavern into a battlefield."
She plucked a daisy from the ground and twirled it between her fingers before adding, "My sister says the soldiers near the capital are absolute dog. She says they get drunk off their heads and grab every woman within reach. Half the town keeps their daughters inside when they march through."
Aaliyah's brows knit together, her expression darkening. "That's awful."
Wren nodded grimly. "A uniform doesn't make a man decent. Most of them are just brutes with swords. It'd be a real storm if they started bunking here."
Aaliyah let out a breath, shaking her head. "Let's hope they're just passing through."
"I'm sure they're just passing through," Wren assured. "There are no fairies in Elderfern."
         The Winslow farm came into view just beyond the bend in the road-a patchwork of wheat fields and clover meadows bordered by a low stone wall. Aaliyah had been there countless times, yet each visit carried the same comforting familiarity. The smell of fresh soil, hay, and sun-dried linens lingered in the warm, damp air. As they stepped through the creaky wooden gate, the usual chaos of the Winslow household greeted them with open arms. Three of Wren's younger siblings came barreling out of the barn, chasing a rooster with shrieks of laughter, their bare feet kicking up dirt. One of the girls was wearing a crooked flower crown, another had a stick clutched like a sword. Aaliyah laughed as they flew past, the rooster squawking indignantly.
Ma'll skin you if you chase that thing into the well again!" Wren hollered after them.
Their mother, Miriam Winslow, stood at the line behind the house, pinning up the last of the laundry. Her sleeves were rolled up, and she had a wet cloth tucked into her apron. She looked up with a smile when she spotted them.
"Well now, look who's turned up on this fine, muggy day. Aaliyah, sweetheart, you've gotten taller again," she said warmly.
Aaliyah grinned. "You always say that."
"And one day I'll be right."
Wren's father, a broad-shouldered man with sun-tanned skin and a quiet strength, was in the distant field with one of Wren's older brothers, bent to their work. They paused only briefly to wave, the elder Winslow lifting a hand while his son offered a nod before returning to the rows of crops.
"Cattle first?" Aaliyah asked as she dodged a toddler with a sticky face.
"Cattle first," Wren confirmed, sweeping her curls back under her headband. "And if we're lucky, you won't step in anything too awful."
Aaliyah wrinkled her nose playfully. "No promises."
They set off towards the pasture, the grass brushing against their ankles, the sun rising high as the day settled into a rhythm of sweat, chatter, and simple peace-the kind that came one with dirt under your nails and the company of someone who truly knew you.

Chapter 3: Wings in the Moonlight

         By the time Aaliyah returned home, the sky was streaked with soft lavender and dusky rose, the last traces of sunlight slipping behind the trees. The warmth of Wren's family hearth still lingered on her skin-she'd stayed longer than expected, sharing laughter and supper with the Winslow's, helping to settle the younger children before finally bidding them goodnight. The walk home was peaceful. The ground was still soft from the rain, and the scent of damp earth and pine filled the air. Lantern light glowed softly through the front window of the cottage, flickering like a beacon as she stepped onto the porch and opened the door. Inside, Samuel was seated comfortably in his worn armchair near the hearth, a blanket thrown over his legs, the soft glow of the fire lighting his weathered face. His pipe rested nearby on the table, forgotten as he worked delicately with his hands.
"Finally, home, aye?" he said without looking up, his tone laced with fond amusement. "I was beginning to think the Winslow's adopted you."
"I was tempted," Aaliyah replied with a grin, shrugging off her shawl and hanging it on the wall peg. "Wren's mother males a mean stew."
She crossed the room and knelt beside Samuel, who had several carved wooden figurines laid out on a cloth across the low table. Some were complete-a wolf mid-snarl, a mare with her foal-but others were still in progress, their features half-shaped.
"Need a hand?" she asked.
Samuel tilted his head, smiling slightly. "You know I do. Set the wolf to the left, with the horse. Pass me another block."
Aaliyah spent the next while sorting the tiny figures, handing Samuel his carving tools, brushing away the curled wood shavings as he worked. They spoke quietly-of nothing and everything- the way people do when they've shared years of silent understanding. Night crept in slow and steady. The fire dwindled, casting long shadows on the walls, and when Samuel eventually rose and made his way to bed, Aaliyah remained behind, staring into the flickering embers. When the cottage was still and the last floorboard had creaked under Samuel's retreating steps, Aaliyah rose. She crept up the stairs and slipped into her room, the door clicking shut behind her. In the quiet, she changed out of her dress and stockings, exchanging them for something looser-soft, flowing fabric that moved easily with her body and wouldn't catch on low branches. She tugged the cream-colored bandana from her hair, letting her curls fall freely around her shoulders.
         Moving with practiced ease, she eased open her window. A breath of night air slipped inside, cool against her warm skin. With a careful glance back to ensure Samuel was still asleep, Aaliyah swung a leg over the sill and climbed out. Her bar feet found familiar footholds in the stone as she descended the side of the house, slow and quiet as a shadow. Once on the ground, she turned toward the trees.
The forest welcomed her.
The forest was alive.
Crickets sand in gentle chorus beneath the canopy, and somewhere far off, an owl called into the darkness. The wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves in soft, secretive tones. Silver light spilled through the branches, dappling the forest floor in pools of moonlight and shadow. The stream at Aaliyah's feet murmured its ancient lullaby, winding through the underbrush like a ribbon of glass.
She stepped onto a mossy outcrop, the earth cool beneath her bare feet and paused at the edge of a stream where it fed into a gentle waterfall. The moon hung high above her, casting a pale glow across the clearing, turning her skin to ivory and her auburn curls to copper flame. She took in a breath, deep and slow, letting the air fill her lungs.
And then, in the quiet sanctuary of the woods, Aaliyah lifted her arms slightly and unfurled her wings.
They opened slowly at first-long, iridescent feathers rising from her back like a living tapestry of light and motion. Each movement tugged against long days of keeping them hidden, pressed tight against her spine. The stretch made her sigh aloud. The wings extended wider and wider until they brushed the trees on either side of the clearing. Moonlight caught in the feathered tips, making them shimmer faintly like morning dew. A cool wind swept through the forest, rustling the underbrush and fluttering through her wings. The breeze kissed her bare arms and shoulders, raising goosebumps along her skin. She let her eyes close and tilted her head back, arms falling loosely to her sides as she lifted her wings and slowly beat them downward-once, twice.
The movement stirred the air around her, a powerful whisper of wind and grace. She moved her wings again, lifting them, testing them, feeling the muscles come alive. There was strength in the motion. There was freedom.
With one final breath, she bent her knees slightly, wings folding in-and then, with a sudden surge, she leapt.
The ground dropped away.
Aaliyah rose.
She burst into the sky with a cry of joy, wings slicing through the night air. The trees shrank beneath her as she soared over the forest canopy, a streak of silver and black against the moonlit sky. The wind roared past her ears, cool and wild, and she laughed, loud and bright, like a bird finally released from its cage. Her curls whipped around her face, and her heart pounded in her chest-not from fear, but from exhilaration. Up here, there were no eyes watching her, no walls to press her in. Up here, she was weightless.
She was herself.
She banked to the left, wings tilting as she turned in a slow, spiraling arc above the treetops. The stars stretched out above her, the forest rolled out below, and Aaliyah flew-free, fierce, and utterly alive.