40. Brett

Cold.

So. Very. Cold.

Every mile we flew north made it colder, and my poor hollow bones were struggling to find the will to continue on.

Paris, in owl form, with his fluffy downy feathers, seemed fine, so that was something. After a lifetime of fighting, I thought maybe Killian was immune to all kinds of pain, so even though the beautiful, graceful crane that was his, a mostly white bird with a blood-red crown, was better suited to warmer climates than even I was, he didn't seem to shiver nearly as much as me.

So I, outmatched in every way by the birds I flew with, felt a bit alone in my hatred of the cold.

Really, though, why would anyone choose to live with and accept this climate? It was torture.

We made a final landing in Vulture lands before reaching the border with Urial, and as was their way, the Vulture Clan welcomed us with open arms. They were a genial, happy people, and I prayed that my own actions wouldn't lead to yet another never-ending war for my people to face, this time turning the happy Vulture Clan instead of the graceful, artistic Crane into dour warriors.

Not that I didn't love the Crane as they were. I simply also loved the Vulture as I'd always known them.

Priam, leader of the Vulture Clan, welcomed us into the town nearest his northern border with open arms, smiling that bright smile of his, and ushering us into his home. His people maintained the ground where we had our autumn meet, but they didn't live there. They were often as nomadic as the tents on the meeting ground implied, though, so it was a surprise to find them in the tiny border town, especially when the winter was as bad as it was.

This was the northernmost point of their lands. Why ever stay there in the dead of frozen, awful winter?

Still, the warm fire and blankets were greatly appreciated, so I wasn't going to complain about where his people chose to winter.

Killian clearly had no such compunction. "What the hell are you doing this far north in the dead of winter? Has your whole clan taken leave of their senses? The solstice is coming. There's a reason the winter clan meeting is in my lands."

Priam laughed at that, shaking out another fur and wrapping it around Killian's wide shoulders. It was like he didn't know how to take offense, even when Killian was his bluntest.

"We'll be at the meeting next month, of course," Priam told him. "It's always a nice retreat from the cold. The youngsters fight for the spots to come alongside me to Crane lands. Especially with your beautiful palace. It impresses them all."

And that was Priam. Killian was mildly insulting, and he responded with a compliment.

Then he gave a little shrug. "Our oracle said this winter would be the coldest we'd ever had, whether we wintered in the south or not. And that perhaps if we stayed in our summer homes, we'd be able to do someone some extra good." He winked at me, offering me the last fur he'd brought. "Aren't you glad we were here?"

I couldn't deny it. We'd been prepared to take clothes from a stash and bed down in one of the tents available at the meeting ground, then continue on to the Montague residence the next day. Being able to get a better night's sleep next to a fire, then maybe borrow some of the sturdy, Vulture Clan horses to ride to the Montagues' home? That did sound better. At least I wouldn't be returning Paris to his home in ill-fitting clothes, looking like we'd rolled him in dirt before bringing him back, and not even given him a horse.

That sort of thing never bothered a Nemedan, but it was different in Urial. They didn't have a shift, and it changed everything about their social structure in ways I struggled to comprehend. Only meeting Paris and realizing that he was a treasure had made me truly stop and think that perhaps their way wasn't fundamentally wrong, but simply different from ours.

The Vulture filled us with hot stew and warmed spiced mead, and gave us wonderfully soft beds to sleep on, and it was almost as good as being at home. Almost.

Not quite, since Priam automatically gave me a separate room from Paris, and as much as I wanted to, I didn't feel right sneaking into his bed and snuggling against him in another clan leader's home, while enjoying his hospitality.

Not when my carelessness might be about to bring war down on that clan leader's home.

The next morning, Priam's beloved packed us a bag with food for the road, and their son brought us a trio of beautiful horses. They were the kind that had clearly come from Urial stock, that the Vulture clan had traded for over the years. They were highly prized in northern Nemeda, so loaning them out to us without hesitation was just another show of who Priam was—generous and kind, perhaps to a literal fault.

If I could keep my mistakes from touching his people, I promised myself, I would. The Vulture Clan deserved better.

"You're thinking so loudly that any moment, your head is going to crack open and start shouting about your guilt," Killian said, once we were settled onto the road toward Paris's friends' home.

I ducked my head, but the comment had drawn Paris's attention to me as well. "What? What guilt?"

Killian looked over at him, a nonchalant smile on his face. "You know about the war with the southerners?"

For a fraction of a second, Paris's face drew into a scowl, but he smoothed it again quickly. When he spoke, though, his voice was cautious. "I do."

"The Vulture, the clan you just met, are those on the northern border of Nemeda. If your people reacted to the truth as the southerners did, those people would soon be at war. A few centuries ago, my people were as soft as theirs. Brett is convincing himself that in a few hundred years, his terribly selfish actions will have resulted in the Vulture becoming as hard and unyielding as I am." He said it all as though we were discussing whether it would snow soon—sadly, the answer to that was almost certainly yes—and he couldn't care less about the answer.

"They're innocent," I said, scowling at him, then gave Paris an apologetic look. "I don't mean to insult your people. I just... wish I hadn't put you in this position. It was cruel and thoughtless of me."

Killian, of course, snorted. "Yes. Falling in love. Cruel of you. And anyway, stop it. The people of Urial aren't the southlanders. They're different. They aren't going to start a war. They don't want a war. They think themselves above us in every way, and if we have birds, it only means that birds aren't worth having." He turned to Paris and shrugged. "No offense. You seem lovely enough. But the people I've met from Urial aren't going to give two shits about birds more or less after they learn the truth."

I swallowed hard and looked at Paris from the corner of my eye. Sure enough, he was looking at me, not Killian. I doubted he'd taken offense to Killian's attitude. The words "falling in love," though? Well that was something else entirely.

Something I was going to have to answer for. Because Paris was already in love with someone else. An urge bubbled up inside me to turn around and go back. Let Killian handle this. Not because I didn't want to help Paris, but because I didn't want to look into his sad, pitying gaze as he told me I was sweet, but he'd never be able to love some Nemedan bird-worshipper. He had a prince, after all. What did he need with me?

So I drew my coat tighter around myself and concentrated on the road before us. I could deal with how fucking pitiful I was when I got home alone and had to pack Paris's things and send them back to him. And his prince.