Sir Bird goes down in a tangled mass of feathers. I can only tell which one he is because so many other birds are trying to kill him. I grab his foot and yank him free of the pile, cradling him to my chest and diving into the fire.

I pull the grate shut behind us, not a moment too soon. Black bodies slam against it, beaks straining through the gaps in the pattern. I tug it tight, leaving no space at the top like the one Sir Bird used to get in.

I do not know how badly Sir Bird is hurt, but my fingers are slick with his blood. I tuck him into the crook of my elbow where I hold my ruined hand against my chest. The pain is so all-consuming that it’s a relief to focus on something else: figuring out what I am supposed to do now that I am crouched in a roaring fire.

Sir Bird croaks and jabs his head toward the back of the fireplace. It’s solid bricks, stained with years of soot.

I look up—the chimney narrows into two pipes. There’s no way I will fit in either of them. Not even Sir Bird could, were he able to fly. I suppose he meant for me to hide here, but it won’t take the nightmare man long to find me. If his bird knew I could sit in the fire unharmed, surely he will know as well. I take a deep, smoke-free breath, and collapse to rest against the bricks until I am discovered.

Thus it is I am greatly shocked to fall straight through the wall into a small, dark passage.

Ten

SIR BIRD CROAKS REPROACHFULLY, AND I VOW to never again question his directions. Half laughing, half sobbing, I crawl using my knees and my one good arm. Every bump and jolt sends a scream of pain through my hand. The ground is cold stone slick with layers of grime and—judging by the overwhelming smell—bird droppings.

After what feels like an eternity, I see tiny cracks of light ahead and crawl faster, desperate to take a full breath and to be out of this cramped, dark place. I push my shoulder against rough wooden slats and a trapdoor flips down on spring hinges. Taking Sir Bird in my good hand, I gently lift him through and then wriggle my way out of the opening, grateful, for once, for my corset.

I’m free. I’m free! I stand, every muscle quivering, and again tuck Sir Bird against my chest, trusting him not to touch my hand. I finally force myself to look at it. My fingers are a blue-and-purple mess, knuckles bent at wrong angles. Three are split open and bleeding, and I see slivers of white I can only assume are bone. Even after I get them properly set, they will never be the same.

My stomach threatens to give out on me again, but I refuse. Finish escaping now. There will be plenty of time to mourn my writing hand later. I follow the small space between the gray bricks of a house and the hedge, and arrive at an opening large enough to squeeze out of. Valuing speed over caution, I shove myself through, hair catching on twigs and dress ripping as I burst into the cloud-dimmed light of an Aveburian afternoon.

I turn to my right and am unsurprised to see Finn, standing on the step of a fine townhouse, cane poised in the air midway to knocking on the door. It was his shadow, after all. His angular shoulders droop, and even his hair appears dimmer than usual. But his dark eyes are fixed on mine, and his mouth is frozen open in the pleasing round shape of an O.

“For spirits’ sake, do not knock on that door.” And then I collapse onto the ground.

“Jessamin!” He kneels beside me, hands hovering as though he isn’t sure what to do with them. “You must want me to explain everything.”

“No.” I watch in horror as a massive plume of smoke shoots out of the chimney and transforms into a cloud of black birds so thick it obscures the sun. “I want to run away from here as fast as possible.”

He follows my eyes and curses, then slides his hands beneath my legs and back.

“What are you doing?”

“Picking you up so we can run!”

“Don’t be daft, my hand is broken, not my feet!”

“Right, that was stupid. Stupid.” He helps me up by my elbow. “This way!”

We run across the lane and down the street. We’re surrounded by solid row homes, finer than any I’ve ever been in, with attached walls and no alleys or side streets to offer us escape. The cloud of birds circles overhead, a swirling mass of terror.

There are a few people out, but judging from their dress they are all servants. They glue their eyes on the ground and hurry in the opposite direction of us. Is this so normal an occasion for them that it does not merit so much as a shout of fear?

I do not realize I am cursing in Melenese until Finn—one hand on my elbow and the other waving his cane in mad circles overhead—gasps, “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that my hand hurts so much I want to die and will you kindly shut up and let me focus on running?”

“If you will kindly shut up and let me focus on a spell to save our lives!”

He glares at me but then stops dead, nearly jerking me from my feet. “One of the familiars is with you!” He raises his cane, eyes blazing with murder toward Sir Bird.

“Don’t you dare!” I hunch my shoulders around Sir Bird, angling him away from Finn.

“We haven’t time for this!”

“So keep running!” I shrug away from him and continue my mad flight.

He catches up to me quickly, falling into pace though I do not doubt he could outrun me in my current state. “That bird belongs to him.”

“This bird saved my life.”

“I am saving your life!”

“You were ready to give in! I saved my own life. You are simply keeping me company on this leg of my escape.” Sir Bird caws brokenly in support of my statements.