“Welcome,” the king proclaimed, voice loud and booming, reverberating through the hollow core of the palace and past the open doors of the entrance hall, so all their guests could hear.
Lyana’s gaze jumped from wall to wall, taking everything in. She and her family sat at the helm, guarding the doors to the sacred nest, facing east so they had a clear, uninterrupted view through the atrium and down the stretch of the entrance hall, which was currently lined on either side with all the doves who had come to enjoy the show and, Lyana suspected, one owl, hidden somewhere within the folds.
The representatives from the other six houses sat on platforms fanning out on either side of her own, three to the left and three to the right, turning the domed atrium into a kaleidoscope of color, with each dais decorated to match its house. The red-and-gold banners of the House of Song. The yellow uniforms and bronze shields of the House of Prey. The deep black leathers of the House of Whispers. The bright purple-and-green silks of the House of Paradise. The liquid-blue garb and sunny orange flowers of the House of Flight. And finally, subdued yet still wondrous, the white clothes and amber accents of the House of Wisdom. The kings and queens of each house sat on thrones, just like her parents, surrounded by their guests, all dressed to represent their monarchs. And each royal dais had open seats ready to welcome the princes and princesses, who were currently waiting outside for the signal to present their gifts to Aethios on behalf of their patron god.
Every courtship trial began the same way—with the parade of offerings, which was truly just a way for each house to engage in little showing off. Each house except Lyana’s, of course. She was there to humbly receive, though she wasn’t quite sure she’d be able to keep her eyes from widening in wonder or her lips from opening with a thrilled little gasp. Nothing had even happened yet, and her heels already bounced with excitement beneath the many layers of her gown. She couldn’t help but start as her father’s voice boomed again, giving life to the story of their ancestors, as was tradition.
“A thousand years ago, we were little more than slaves and servants to unjust rulers who wielded their magic to keep us weak and small and submissive. But we had something they did not, something more powerful than all the magic and all the weapons in the world. We had faith. Faith in our gods, faith that they would one day come to save us, faith that they would set us free—and they did. They gave us wings. They lifted our lands into the air. They gave us the home we’d prayed for, a home of peace and safety and prosperity. So we gather here, on the eve of our most sacred ceremony, to give thanks to the gods who broke our chains and gifted us the open sky. I declare, on behalf of Aethios, to let the parade of offerings begin.”
The parade always began with the isle to the east of Lyana's own, since it was the one Aethios first blessed with sunlight in the morning. And then the remaining houses presented in a path that followed a sundial’s movements, circling around her home, until all the gifts were presented. Even though she knew who would be first, Lyana’s breath still caught in her throat when the doors at the other end of the entrance hall slid open, sending a wave of cool air into the palace.
She heard them before she saw them—the gentle trill of a high-pitched whistle, followed by another, and another. Lower, then louder. Then higher, and louder still. Then soft but lingering, stretching on and on, until suddenly, the first bird slipped into view: a masked girl with a mix of brilliant red and dusty-brown feathers—the Crown Princess of the House of Song. Following her, also in a mask, the younger princess with wings of soft blue and orange. Both wore dresses in their colors, deep ruby with gold trim, and each held a log in one upturned palm to represent the gift their house had brought—wood, as was tradition. The bulk of their offering had already been stored in the warehouses on the outer isle, so this piece was just for show, as befitted the parade.
The two princesses flew slowly but with purpose. When they crossed the first third of the entry hall, the song that had announced their entrance burst forth again, with a rising and falling whistle, as the rest of their party soared into view in a flurry of bright colors and even brighter sounds. Red wings. Blue wings. Orange wings. Yellow wings. So many different feathers fluttered together, moving this way and that, a cacophony of color. The walls reverberated with their song, which filled the entire space as their voices echoed, colliding, chaotic yet controlled. High pitches and low tones followed in an arrangement Lyana couldn’t recognize, yet instantly loved. The two princesses were perfectly poised, as if unaware of what was going on behind them. There was a pattern in the mess, an organization in the hurried movements and flowing notes, in the highs and lows, in the dance and the song.
Lyana's mother sighed, her lips moving ever so slightly as the softest chime sifted through them. Her wings were still, but Lyana recognized the itch ruffling through her feathers—the ache to rise and join and soar. These were her mother’s people. This song was her song. And the bluebird inside her longed to get out, just for a few moments, to be with her flock once more.
But she was Queen of the House of Peace now. A dove, no matter what wings she possessed. And she remained on her throne—a sacrifice all the second-born royals in this gathering understood.
A sacrifice Lyana herself would soon know.
The princesses came to a stop before the dove thrones and landed gently on the floor, dropping into a low bow with their offerings held high. The song drew to an end as they rose, one single note holding steady until the princesses joined in and the rest of the voices faded away. The two girls sang proudly for what seemed like an impossibly long time before swiftly coming to a close and allowing a soft echo to linger.
The King of the House of Song stood from his throne, deep crimson cardinal wings stretching wide as he gestured toward his daughters. He was her mother’s brother, and the two girls were Lyana’s cousins, though they had never met. But she knew their names before he spoke them. She’d read about them in her mother’s letters—something she wasn’t supposed to do but, usually with Cassi’s help, did anyway.
“May I present Corinne Erheanus, born of the god Erhea, Crown Princess of the House of Song. And her sister, Elodie Erheanus, born of the god Erhea, Princess of the House of Song.”
As the king spoke, his daughters remained still, tall with wings wide, skin a soft peach like her mother’s. Corinne proudly displayed a brilliant ruby ring on her finger, the royal seal of her house. But Lyana was drawn to her sister, unable to glance away from the brilliant green eyes sparkling in the shadows of Elodie’s mask, eyes that reminded her of her own. It was almost strange in a way, to see a bit of herself in someone who was, for all intents and purposes, a stranger.
“May we gift our offering to the god Aethios in the name of Erhea, god of the love that exists between mates and kin,” the songbird king continued. “Wood from our homeland to keep the House of Peace warm, and our gratitude for all that you sacrifice on our behalf in serving our god Aethios, the highest of them all.”
The princesses quietly placed each of their logs in the long basket at the base of the dais where Lyana sat with her family and took their seats on the empty thrones to either side of their parents. The rest of their house followed.
In the silence, the anticipation of the next arrival grew, the buzz of whispers and wondering, as the door at the other end of the entrance hall swung open again.