30. Brett

I'd never seen a damn thing like it in my whole life.

Okay, that wasn't quite true.

I'd seen many an owl, and recognized the shape easily. Balthazar was a horned owl, the kind whose ears looked a little like great hooked horns. Many of his clanspeople were that, or various other sorts of owls. Spots, stripes, ears, no ears, various shades of brown and gray and black—while they were some of the most diverse creatures, they also all looked very similar, in some ways.

This was no different, except that it was.

Paris was as white as the snow piled on the roof, the only color on him tiny black feather tips and bright brown-gold eyes.

He was . . . stunning.

As always.

And he hadn't struggled at all with flight. Most of us, when we reached our cresting, took at least a few tries to get it down. It wasn't a normal human instinct, leaping from the ground and taking to the skies, even if we all knew we could do it. Spending decades on the ground as children, no one ever immediately took to flying.

Except Paris.

The Owl Clan was known for their wisdom, and during the time I'd known Paris, he'd been... if not clearly, overtly wise, he'd been wise in a different way. He didn't spout clever things that it took me time to comprehend like Balthazar sometimes did. Instead, he had an innocent sort of wisdom. His complete lack of hesitation when he wanted to go help Esmerelda. The way he'd shared the plans for the sleigh with us while asking nothing in return.

Maybe most would think those actions entirely unwise, and maybe, if he'd been anywhere but where he was, they would have been. But Paris was in Hawk Clan territory. He was among people who took what he gave them, and accepted it as who he was. By giving the plans, he'd proven himself generous without having to be asked for favors. By going to help Esmerelda, he'd proven that he was willing to consider other people before himself.

Even now, by interfering in the fight with Orestes, he'd been protecting me. And maybe Rosaline, who had been distressed. How else could she have felt about it? She was still dealing with the guilt of having been forced to kill Clio. Me paying for it in any way was hurting her.

Damn Clio and Memnon and their selfish fucking plotting.

I watched Paris and Rosaline, snuggled up on the roof of my house, looking like it was right where they belonged.

Paris's eyes were a little wide, but... well, I was the asshole who hadn't explicitly explained what Avianitis meant—what would happen to him, since he'd survived. He'd been shocked by the transformation, and now he was on the roof. It had to be overwhelming.

Meanwhile, everyone in town was busy being charmed by him, as always.

Every sweet, kind, selfless thing he'd ever done was multiplied by the fact that he was one of us now, in their minds. He wasn't just that nice boy from Urial who'd helped without being asked. He was a Hawk.

Or rather, an owl, and of the Hawk Clan. That kind of thing was rare, and didn't happen often other than by marriage, but there wasn't a tiny bit of hesitation in any member of my clan. Not even Esmerelda, who was usually the last to accept an outsider, since she'd grown up among them, and usually said she "knew better to be afraid of outsiders than anyone."

And now? Esmerelda was standing on Owen's doorstep, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, smiling up at Paris like he was the son she and her husband had never had.

Orestes came up behind me, making Paris give another screech, but I held up a calming hand and turned to him. "You're making my people nervous, Orestes."

He held up his hands in something like supplication and inclined his head to Paris where he perched. "I yield. Brett has proven the correctness of his assertion that Clio attacked him." He lifted a brow at me, lowering his voice. "Not that I ever truly doubted you, but... a man from Urial just put himself between you and danger. People are going to start talking soon. Perfect Brett, blessed by the winds themselves, so much that even people from Urial love him."

I reached out and gave him a shove, and he laughed.

That, finally, seemed to make people realize that the situation wasn't entirely what it seemed. The tension went out of the air, but not out of Rosaline. She hopped a pace away from Paris, leaning toward me and giving a few angry screeches.

I'd worried her. Let her think my life was in danger. And she blamed herself for it.

I went to the edge of the street and looked up at her. "I'm sorry, Rosie. I didn't realize you were watching at first. Orestes... he was Clio's brother. But he's my brother, too, in a way. We spent years together on the wall. He's a man of honor. He had to come here, to challenge for his family honor. But he knows I'm not a murderer."

The angry screech turned into a low, mournful noise, and I scowled. "No one in this town is a murderer," I said, voice hard and flat. "No Hawk would kill someone for no reason. You're my people, and I trust you all entirely. Clio tried to murder me, and she died for it. That's all there is to it."

I turned back to Orestes, who was looking at me with something like understanding, and he nodded. When he spoke up, it was loud enough for everyone on the street to hear. "I challenged you because I thought my sister's death required justice. We fought. You won. The rightness of the thing can't be disputed. If my sister was in the right, you wouldn't have beaten me. The winds decided it."

Rosaline seemed to understand him, hopping back over to lean into Paris, who watched the exchange with interest. With his usual quiet cleverness. Maybe he understood too.

Owen came over, blankets in hand, as Brandon gathered up Paris and Rosaline's clothes from the ground. He motioned to both of them, toward himself, then waving the blankets, and after a moment, hesitantly, Rosaline came down to join him, becoming human once more and letting Owen wrap a blanket around her shoulders.

Paris continued staring for a moment, like maybe we were all insane, and he was going to go ahead and move to my roof forever. It was hard to blame him, but even as impressive and fluffy as he was, clearly built for snow, he needed to come in. We all did. He was still sick, and needed some food and the fire.

I just had to convince him of that first.