Chapter One

Dahrian remembered the rain. It was a sort of pour that seemed to seep into your bones and cut your skin with its cold fingers. No matter where you went, who you stood behind, you were still left shivering and wet on the cobblestone pavements.

She remembered how she had kept her head down to avoid the icy wind stinging her eyes.

She remembered peering out of the dark ringlets of her damp hair, only making out the base of the stand where a man stood. She knew that he was important somehow. High in rank. Much higher than her parents’.

She remembered her mother’s hand in her right hand and her father’s in her left as the man spoke words and phrases that Dahrian couldn’t exactly understand. She was only a young girl after all. But at the time, she did understand what it meant for her. She couldn’t live in Zephyrus anymore.

Bad omen, words would whisper in marble hallways, where they thought Dahrian could not hear.

A jinx.

A cursed child.

They called her many things in those hallways, and no matter how hard she tried to block them out or clamp her small wings to the side of her head, those cruel words crawled their way into her young mind. Scraping… Scratching… Clawing…

And here they were again, all spoken aloud right in front of Dahrian. She deservedthis. She deserved to be exiled.

She remembered her mother crying. She sounded more like a wounded bird than a person. A loud, sharp noise that skewered Dahrian in the heart.

She remembered her father pulling her close and telling her something important that she should never forget.

Except she did.

She remembered her mother cupping her face with her pale, milky hands and saying her name over and over again, tears flowing from her golden lashes.

But Dahrian couldn’t remember her face. Or her father’s face, for that matter. Or anything else from her childhood.

It was all just… gone.

Dahrian Brown opened her eyes, and the rain vanished. The wooden ceiling stared back at her, obscured in the shadows of early morning.

After her heart stopped thudding and she could breathe somewhat normally again, she sat up in her bed. She hadn’t had that dream in years. She figured she probably outgrew the nightmares but perhaps not.

Turning towards the window, she viewed a fresh blanket of snow upon the side yard of the Brown Manor. She figured she had about an hour to spare before the town of Warmhaven would officially start the day. The sky was dark, but hints of gray and blue floated over the pines. She rubbed her eyes, already dreading what the new day would bring.

Hopefully not laundry.

Her winged ears ached, and she touched one subconsciously. She probably slept on them funny. She combed her fingers through them, soothing any ruffled feathers. For probably the thousandth time in her life, she felt jealous of the town girls with their normal, fleshy ears. At least they could wear earrings. And after about five minutes of staring at the wall, she stood up and began to get ready for the day.

Her room was small, but it never bothered her—she was the adopted one after all. Her bed sat in the back corner, right next to the window. A small desk with an oil lamp perched adjacent to it, and a wardrobe stood opposite to it. On the far wall, near the door, she had a large mirror that nearly touched the ground. She pulled a few items of clothing from the wardrobe and began to change. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She crossed to it, feeling strangely drawn to the glass, her feet cold against the stone floor. She touched her visage, looking for her parents’ features. Her father’s nose, maybe? Perhaps her mother’s curls? She raked her fingers through her unruly hair and sighed. She turned away from her image, shame darkening her heart.

Cruel how grief stabbed the heart at fortuitous moments.

Perhaps it was just the dream that salted old wounds.

She read about her people often, combing through books and tomes for any signs of her or her parent’s existence. The pale faces etched into the manuscripts stared at her carpingly, almost as if they were accusing her of treason themselves. Beady yellow eyes glaring and sharp teeth snarling.

A small part of her was thankful that she didn’t fully resemble them.

Since the writings were often by the hands of humans, she found them quite disturbing or even laughable. It wasn’t often that one found themselves on the wrong side of a race war. Especially when that person resided with the losing team.

Though the Fallen War took place over four thousand years ago, the rest of the countries liked to pretend it happened yesterday. At this point in her life, Dahrian was already used to the dirty glances from her fellow neighbors in the hold. She knew what they thought—heard what they said. It was unfair that they faulted her existence rather than anything she did wrong. It’s not like she could change what she was.

Dahrian pulled the gown over her undershirt and looked outside again. After a moment, she aptly put on a coat. She didn’t want to catch her death out there. Oclen was nastily cold in the autumn. Just as she was putting on her stockings and lacing up her shoes, voices spoke outside her door.

She recognized them instantly. Her adoptive mother, Lady Betris, and the manor’s maid, Claire. They spoke in hushed tones as if they believed that Dahrian was still sound asleep and definitely not crouched with her ear to the door.

Whispers meant secrets, and in the Brown Manor, secrets typically meant something bad was about to happen.

“…nice family and a very wealthy one for that matter,” Claire whispered. “They have power. The people won’t talk as much.”

Dahrian froze. She had a few guesses as to what they were planning. None of them were pleasant or involved her opinion, for that matter.

“The family could use more money… And Dahrian could use a little real control over her life. She spends too much time with that damn sword or with Tessa. She’s eighteen—almost a spinster! We should’ve married her off when she was fifteen or sixteen. We should’ve never put it off for this long.”

She heard her mother pacing the floor. “I just hope Dahrian doesn’t object to this marriage…”