His heart jerked to a painful stop. The last thing he could do was tell the truth.

Anril slowly stepped into sight.

"F..father." He swayed in place, touching his head with a hand. Anril winced. There was a bruise there.. "When... did you get in here?" He made his voice as uncertain as possible. Panic crawled up his throat, slow fingers inching upward and pulling the remainder of his stomach along in tow.

Dothwin stood beside the cold, clean swept fireplace. One of the nearby chairs had been cleared of its books. Roughly. Anril felt his jaw clench as he stared at them. Several lay open with pages folded down on themselves. He forced his gaze back up, burying the anger

Dothwin frowned. "Where did you come from?"

Swallowing, Anril bit the inside of his lips. Hand still against his head, he looked around the room, letting a bit of his daze show through. "I don't..." he winced as he turned his neck too far to the side and pain ran along his spine. His teeth drew blood against the inside of his lip. "I don't know. The corner by the wardrobe. The last thing I remember is going towards the bathchamber."

Dothwin's eyes narrowed a fraction, gaze flicking over his filthy clothing. The corner wasn't clean, but it was a stretch to imagine him having gotten nearly this dirty from it.

"I think... I fell." Taking another step, he swayed, grabbing at the bed. He let his breathing slip towards where it had been before, a little ragged at the edges. "I think... I had a fit, and hit my head."

Dothwin came forward. Anril felt his whole body tense. He doubled over to hide it, hand clenching against the bed. "I--I need someone. I think something's wron--" Anril cut the last word short with a low hiss. The inside of his skull throbbed and he reached up to hold it. At least it wasn't a hard lie to sell. He probably looked half dead.
Focusing on the bed, he avoided his father's searching gaze. The quilt had delicate stitching in silver and gold. His fingers dug further into the mattress.

Dothwin's hand touched his back. Anril yelped, jerking away.

"Sit before you fall," his father snapped. "I'll be back in a few minutes, and for One's sake, don't let any servants in to see you like this."

Anril groaned, not looking up. The longer he looked at the bed, the more tempting it became. His door banged shut behind Dothwin, rattling on its hinges.

Pushing off the bed, he pawed the end table open. The drawer came free in his hands. Anril dumped it onto the bed, fingers shaking as he went through it. Pens and paper sat strewn across the quilt. After a moment, he pulled out a fat coin purse, stuffing it into the pouch at his side.

Next he went to the wardrobe, pulling out an armful of his clothes and throwing them onto the bed. His back throbbed in protest. Most of them were exactly like what he had on; long robes with gold stitched shepherd crooks at the hems. He carefully pulled his filthy one up over his head, letting it fall in a clump on the floor. Anril dressed as he moved, returning to the wardrobe.

Boots sat in the far back corner. Kicking his slippers off, he pulled the stiff leather on.

His heart hammered inside his ears. There was a book bag slung over one of the chairs. Reluctantly, he dumped the books out with the others already on the floor. He stuffed two more sets of clothes into it, buckling on a heavy riding cloak.

Going to the door, he carefully pulled it open. The hallway stretched empty as far as he could see in both directions. Slipping out, he shut it silently behind him.

He sprinted down the hall till the first intersection came into view. Slowing, Anril glanced down the side corridors. His father would have gone to the right, the same way the aviary was. He started down the hall at a trot. Another intersected it and he slowed again to a more reasonable pace as he passed. A servant glanced up at him from partly behind a large vase. Her duster paused for a moment as her eyes went over his grimy face.

Anril didn't meet her eyes, moving down the hall. The less memorable he made himself the better for them both, if that was even possible. He was only an initiate of the Order, barely but a servant himself. Anril willed her to look away, breathing out a small sigh when she did.

The hall turned. He came to a stop, leaning out around the corner to look down it. Another servant scrubbed the already shiny white tiles of the floor. Beyond her a man carefully worked on sliding a statue as tall as he was free of its alcove. The statue rested on a small rug, and the servant pushed and pulled it free, working slowly so he didn't scuff the floor.

Anril turned the corner quickly, boots padding lightly on the tiles. How did you look casual when there were cobwebs in your hair? Skirting around the girl and her puddle, Anril watched the end of the hall. It stretched straight and narrow before forking far ahead. The left led to another corridor, and then stairs up to the aviary. The sound of footsteps came down the right hallway at a trot.

"In his room.... you said?" panted a man, his voice carried breathlessly.

"Yes."

Anril froze. His father. If he made a break for it they'd see him. His heart stuttered. Frantically, he looked around the hall. There was nowhere to hide. Except...

Except for the alcove.

He broke into a run, sliding up next to the man.

"Here, I'll help." His pulse thundered in his ears. The servant gave him a baffled look.

"Sir, you don't--"

"I want to," Anril insisted, squeezing past the statue into the alcove. "I'll push from in here, you pull."

The man stared at him for a moment. "Yes, sir..."

He started to pull. Anril hooked his fingers into a fold in the stonework cloth. The model for the statue was some long dead mage, and his stone robes had been sculpted as if in a wind. Perfect for getting a firm grip. The man grunted and pulled again, Anril strained to hold it in place. Pain ran up from his fingers and over his entire body.

Between the edges of the statue, a shadow moved across the floor. His hands tensed farther. Setting his feet, Anril pulled backwards with all his weight. The statue budged an inch back.

"Is it stuck?" Anril ignored the servant, eyes fixed on the shadow. His father came into view, moving at a trot. A portly man tottered along at his heels. His robe trailed the floor, in need of being taken in an inch or two. He kept stepping on the ends and jerking them up in large fistfuls. Sweat slicked hair to Anril's face, trickling into his eye. He rubbed the side of his face against his trembling arm. The robe strained over the man's middle as he hurried past, stomach jiggling.

"Walk faster," Anril's father snapped, moving out of view again. The man huffed and walked bit quicker, vanishing on his father's heels. Anril shut his eyes, leaning his head on the statue. He let out a low breath.

The statue slid forward. Stumbling, Anril caught himself just short of spilling out onto the floor.

"My lord!" the servant rushed forward grabbing his arm in an almost painfully tight grip as he steadied him. "I'm so sorry. I told you, you needn't help me."

Anril glanced down the hall around the man. The end of the mage's robes slithered around the corner and out of sight. Anril gulped down a deeper breath. Turning to the servant, he flashed the man a smile.

"I'm fine." Anril straightened one of his sleeves, still smiling. "See?"

The panicked look didn't leave the edges of the man's eyes. After a heartbeat, the servant nodded, stepping back. "Yes, my lord."

Sliding to the side, Anril moved around the man and broke into a sprint down the corridor in the direction his father had come from. A wave of giddiness went over him. His stomach went light, a prickling shooting through his head. Anril curled his fingers into the soft fabric of his robes.

The corridor forked and he whipped around the left turn. A servant sprang back with a yelp that quickly turned into muffled apologies. Anril didn't pause. A spike went over his spine. Gritting his teeth, he staggered, then caught his footing and continued.

A group of nobles froze ahead of him in the middle of the hall, their conversation coming to a stop. Anril sprinted past them.

"Isn't that Dothwin's son?"

"Is everyone in the Order so..." A man tisked. "Ill mannered and abrupt? It's like they have no courtly understanding. Honestly."

"I heard," a woman's shrill voice said, fading behind him as he ran. "A mage once-" The rest of her sentence was lost as he turned another corner.

A set of busy spiral stairs opened up in front of him.

Hurried people came up and down them, some stepping out into the hall, others continuing down to lower levels of the palace. A man brushed past him, arms full of small, precariously stacked crates.

People dressed in traveler's garb and fancy robes alike rushed by each other on the stairs.

Slowing, Anril joined the flow of people moving up them. After only a handful of steps, the muscles in his strained calves began to ache.

A flight of stairs passed in a buzz of conversation from the people around him. Anril hugged close to the inside wall as he moved, giving everyone as much space as he could, and not looking up from the floor beneath his feet.

Another flight. Eleven more until he reached the top of the aviary. The steps cut shallowly into the stones, the curve wide and open as it was packed with faces.

The ache in his legs turned to a burning, then a searing that shot slow throbs into his back each time he moved. His teeth dug in against his jaw as he grit them.

Stones beneath his fingers trailing against the wall turned to frigid glass. Anril paused, taking a shaky breath.

The window stood taller than him and wider than he could hold his arms out if he stretched. Frost cobwebbed the corners, making a slow battle against the dull warmth of the tower.

A man at the other end of the window glanced over at him. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

Anril blinked. "Who?"

"The palace." The man tapped a finger against the glass. "The world from so high." He gave Anril a nod, tapping the window again. He stood motionless for a moment, then edged forward, looking down.

Other towers stood across a massive courtyard, surrounded by tall stone walls. Guards moved along them, small as processions of ants from the distance. Banners with the Queen's sigil fluttered in a stiff wind, the winged roses snapping in on themselves and looking like maybe they actually could fly.

The ground was very, very far away. Anril felt his belly do a prickly dance that rolled up into his throat and set it tight. His breath left a misty spot against the glass as he pulled back.

"It's... high."

The man chuckled. "It's more than high at the top, this is nothing here."

"It's more than halfway up thirty-two floors," Anril muttered, taking another step back, gaze breaking from the distant walls and their guards and the palace banners and everything so terribly far down.

"Even the top of the aviary isn't so high if you're a true child of the sky," he said. Brushing dark curls from his face, he stepped back from the window. "I hope you find a little peace a the top, good luck with wherever you're going." The man stepped around Anril, moving down the stairs.

Anril watched him as he joined the endless line of people moving back towards the castle and away from the aviary. How lucky they all were to be going in the right direction. After a moment, he began moving again, each step felt like it added a lead weight to his calves.

The farther up he went, the colder the air grew. Anril passed a window nearly iced over, then one that was. He tugged the cloak tighter around his shoulders, pulling it over his hands and snugging it over the front of himself. How many more floors was it now? Four? Five? They all bled together into ever shrinking landings with windows until there were no more. Lifting a hand, he rubbed at his face, pausing again to lean into a wall.

A dull pulling went from the base of his skull on the left down to his shoulder. His neck hurt to turn too far to that side. Sighing, he shut his eyes, fingers moving to press against the tense muscles there.

"Anril?"

He jerked upright. Someone had found him. He hadn't been fast enough and his father had found him. A sickening wave passed over him.

A girl with kinky brown hair came to a stop in front of him, an armful of cloth tucked under her chin.

He slid a step away against the wall. Something in her eyes was familiar. She worked for his father.

No. No that wasn't it.

A smile broke over her face. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and the tip of her chin pressed farther into the bundle under it. Her whole face lit like a brightly polished lamp. "I'm Soffie," she said. "Soffie Morin." Shifting the cloth about, she awkwardly produced a hand and stuck it out at him.

Anril stared at it. "What?"

Stepping forwards, she took his hand and gave it a shake. There were calluses over her fingers from hard work. "It's fine, we only met once. You treated my brother. He broke his leg, nearly had it taken off, really."

A blond boy with a leg half snapped clean off laying on a stretcher, tears streaking his cheeks. A year or two older than Anril, fit from active work, but unlikely to find his way back to it any time soon. The smell of blood thick in the air like a sickly perfume.

Anril shook his head to clear it, blinking. "I remember him. Didn't a gryphon do that?"

She nodded. "Yeah. He'd catch those fierce wild ones folk like to use in their racing, not like the kinds we raise here. Never knew when to stop..." The light in her face darkened, and the smile slipped, just a fraction, for just a heartbeat. "He lived though, thanks to you."

Swallowing, he took a step around her. "It's my job." The way she kept looking at him made it hard to think of a better reply. "I put people back together."

"Even the stupid ones?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

"Uhh, yeah. Them... them too." She stepped out of the way, eyes still on him. Anril watched her a moment as he slid past.

"Are you traveling somewhere?"

He nodded. "Yes. I have Order business."

"Oh? I can help you find a mount if you want."

He glanced back at her. That would make it easier. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do once he reach the aviary, steal a gryphon? Maybe.

Having someone who worked there saddle one and walk him out was infinitely better. "You can? Yeah, of, of course." Anril hesitated, glancing at her. "I think I left my note from the Order in my room giving me permission to use their mounts. I'm already late, is there any way..."

Soffie laughed "It's fine. Everyone knows you're with them, you're the son to the Queen's adviser. Besides, you magefolk are always forgettin' things."

A small twinge shot through him at the lie. "Thanks." She wouldn't get into too much trouble, besides, he'd give the gryphon to the Order faction at Towerwatch, it wasn't like he was even really stealing it. He was practically a member already anyway. She began to walk, and he followed after her.

A distant howling began as they climb, drowning out the chatter of others moving through the tower. It grew stronger and stronger till it seemed to vibrate in his bones and the air went from chill to freezing cold. All the aches still plaguing him sharpened, every muscle tightening.

Anril took another step, eyes on the floor. Then another. Then there were no more. Looking up, his eyes passed over a large room with massive open doors on the other side. Beyond it, the floor opened up into a huge room. Soffie moved towards it without pausing. Anril slowed, the sounds of his feet against the stones was devoured under the screaming wind outside the aviary.

The edges of his cloak fluttered, flipping around in front of him where he held it shut. He passed through the doors, and the breeze against him turned into a sharp, cold wind. Hair blew into his face, and he brushed it aside, moving after Soffie.

People rushed around the room like a kicked ant hill. Someone led a gryphon from a strip of stalls a few rows off the wall. A man approached, and swung up into the saddle. The stable hand backpedaled quickly, vanishing into the crowd of others. The rider shifted the reigns in his hands, then the gryphon began to run forwards.

It ran straight at the far wall. Or, where a wall would have been in a different building. It was a long, open space with no way to close, open to rain or sun, winter and summer, and always, the screaming wind.

The gryphon reached the end of the floor, and threw itself out into the open air. Sparks exploded off the floor in a shower, eaten by up the wind as the creature's back claws raked against stone already marred with long scratches by hundreds of other flights. The gryphon plunged from sight. Anril shivered.

A hand gripped his shoulder. Anril jumped, spinning to face the person attached to it.

Soffie raised an eyebrow at him, jerking her head towards a stocky building against the far wall. She gave him a tug, then let go. The way she moved reminded Anril of watching a rabbit scampering back towards its burrow.

Opening the door, she held it as he caught up, edging around her. It shut with a hollow sound, severing the wind mid howl. Anril breathed out a small breath of relief, brushing hair from his face again.

"So, how often have you ridden?" Soffie asked, coming around him. She used a foot to hook a crate out of a bottom shelf, dropping her armload into it. Looking up at him, she kicked it back into place with a grin.

"Not often," Anril muttered, eyes following the crate as it slammed against the wall.

"You'll want a placid mount then."

His teeth caught against the inside of his lip, pinching it between them till it hurt. "I want a fast mount," he said finally. "My mission is urgent."

Frowning, Soffie eyed him over with her bright green gaze. Anril shifted, unable to be still under it. "If you're sure." Stepping up to a wall cluttered with bags and hooks, and long ropy leather strips, she hefted a saddle down. The soft leather bent against her shoulder. Uneasiness twisted in his belly. That was meant for speed more than comfort, and probably more than safety too.

"You'll want some saddle bags for your things," she said, eying the wall of gear. "And a pair of..." Trailing off, she plucked riding glasses off the wall. The thick lenses where set in hardened leather. "These." Turning, she tossed them at him.

A yelp escaped him as they hit his chest and bounced off, nearly missing his wildly grabbing fingers. Her quiet eyes were on him. "Not one for catching things, then."

"Sorry." His cheeks grew stingingly warm. Anril turned the glasses over in his hands, fingertip brushing the smooth glass.

Soffie moved around the room in the corner of his eyes, pulling things down and collecting an armful of various items. "Try those on, just to see that they fit," she said, stepping back over to him. She let a large saddle bag drop to the floor near his feet.

Looking up, he blinked. "What?"

"Try the glasses on to see if they'll work."

"Oh, right." The warmth in his cheeks spread. Anril fumbled the leather on the glasses' strap loose of its clasp, sliding them on. He gave them strap a tug. They bit in against his face and he winced. It felt like his eyes would pop out.

"Here." She stepped forwards, brushing his hand away with her fingers. The glasses shifted slightly as she did something to the straps, the tip of her tongue caught between her teeth as she focused. Her warm breath passed over him, touching the front of his chest and the side of his neck.

The glasses loosened, and she stepped away. "There."

Anril swallowed, taking a step back. "Thanks." Kneeling quickly, he tugged the saddlebags open, stuffing his bag into them.

Soffie waited quietly, then led him out into the wind again as he shouldered the heavy bag. They made their way in silence across the large room housing the stables. It took a few minutes to reach the far side. The wind was less strong here, and he could hear their boots against the floor again.

She moved up to a stall, and slipped under the door, vanishing from sight. Anril glanced around. There were people everywhere, dashing about in the chaotic sort of order that came with having been immersed in the bustle for years. Among them wove the less certain, waiting for their mounts to be saddled, or someone to return. Any at all might be spies for his father. His fingers tightened on his cloak again, and he ducked his head.

Along the open wall, a continuous stream of gryphons came and went, almost out of sight from this angle. One flew in, landing with a spray of sparks.

Hinges creaked behind him, and he turned back. Soffie led out a sleek gryphon with honey colored fur. Black spots covered it. The creature fixed him with a single, intelligent eye. His feet moved back without thinking, keeping a wide space between himself and the golden beak.

Her laugh was soft against the wind. Anril didn't take his eyes from the gryphon. "She won't hurt you," Soffie said, voice raised slightly to be heard.

"Yeah, that's what everyone says, up until they get hurt." Anril didn't move closer. Her brother had been practically killed by one of them, and she still worked here? How?

Soffie rolled her eyes in the corner of his vision. "Well, she's the fastest the Order has here, so unless you want to pick again, I suggest you come say hello."

Anril took a long breath, forcing himself to edge up towards the gryphon, skirting around the till he wasn't near her beak. Her eye followed him as he moved, head turning slowly to keep him in her sight. The dark brown feathers of her head turned into lighter, speckled ones beneath her chin. White dots stood out against her neatly folded wings.

Soffie had saddled the gryphon, but that somehow didn't make her seem any more tame. The eye fixed on him felt wild and unpredictable. But gryphons were both of those things by nature. The exception being the small ones noble ladies kept as lap pets instead of a dog or cat. This gryphon was a far cry from the docility of those.

Reaching up, Soffie ruffled the feathers beneath the creature's chin. Its eye flicked away from him, sliding partway closed.

"She'll listen to me?" Anril asked, eyeing Soffie's fingers among the feathers. They looked soft and had a layer of downiness exposed every few moments by her scratching.

"She's well trained, don't worry." Soffie drew her hand free to push hair from her eyes. The wind tugged it back. She didn't seem to notice.

He didn't believe that for a heartbeat, but found himself nodding along anyway. Stepping another few inches towards it, he carefully brushed the fur along the creature's shoulder. It felt like silk stretched over steel.

Soffie tapped the gryphon's other shoulder, and she crouched obediently, wings folding snugly inward. "There's a compass built into the saddle here, see?" She touched a place just above the pommel where a compass the size of his fist was set into stiffened leather.. The rest of the saddle fit to the animal like a glove. Her nail tapped it lightly and the needle jiggled. "It'll get fogged up in the wind eventually, once you land and it gets warm again it'll be fine though."

"Alright." Hesitantly, Anril reached up and grabbed the pommel. The girl gave him a smile, and he lifted a leg to slide over the gryphon's back. A pained hiss slipped from between his teeth. The constant groaning of the wind ate the sound.

"Alright!" Soffie moved to where one of his legs hung. "Let me get you strapped in, mage boy."

She brought a strap over his leg as he bunched the robes up out of the way. The chilly leather bled cold in past his thick stockings, and her fingers brushed over them as she worked.

It wasn't a long process, he still found himself shifting about every few moments, fingers tapping against the saddle. He needed to plan, but it was nearly impossible to focus through the dull howling of the wind and the unpleasant dance in his stomach.

Soffie straightened, dusting her hands off. "Here, give me your bag." She reached up, waiting as he eased it off a tender shoulder and let it slip down to her. Soft clicking came nearly inaudibly from the straps as she fastened it down behind him, then gave it a firm jerk to test it. The gryphon wobbled slightly, glancing back at her with a reproachful eye.

"All ready." Soffie moved around to the front of the gryphon, and took hold of the reigns. She gave a small tug.

The creature shifted under him, muscles moving and sliding beneath the saddle. His stomach dropped a fraction as it rose to its feet, it's shoulder only a few hands below Soffie's own. He shivered, fingers clinging to the pommel till they left crescent indents from the tips of his nails. A wing brushed his leg.

Soffie led them back across the aviary, towards the open space in the middle of the room. Holding the reigns up, she looked at him. "You all settled?"

Swallowing, he took the reigns. Anril breathed out slowly, struggling to collect himself enough to remember his minimal amount of flight training. It had been years since he'd had to take a class for it when he joined the Order. "Ready."

Soffie gave the gryphon's shoulder a light scratch, stepping back. "Good luck!" she called, turning to walk away. After a moment she looked over her shoulder, voice raising to a shout to be heard over the wind, "Her name is Flameheart!"

His fingers dug even more tightly into the saddle. "Flameheart." She shifted under him, and his eyes clenched shut. Anril breathed through his teeth, cracking an eye open again slowly.

Reaching up, he checked the riding glasses, then took another deep breath. He pressed his knees into the gryphon's side.

The creature lurched forwards, almost a pounce without the height. She raced for the opening, claws clattering over the stone and kicking up small sparks. Anril hunched low over the saddle, heart thumping against the sides of his chest, pulse echoing in his ears. Wind clawed over him, snatching at his clothes.

The end of the floor rushed up. Fifteen feet. Ten. Five. Anril shut his eyes, stomach rising up against his throat like a battering storm of nausea.

Her muscles tensed through the saddle, then the pressure in them exploded, and they shot upwards. Anril's eyes opened against his will, the floor of the aviary vanishing out from beneath them into open sky.

She fell.

They dropped down along the edge of the tower, a falling sack of fur and feathers. Courtyard and palace walls soaring towards them, a toothy maw. Anril's stomach rushed up with it.

He screamed. The air ripped past, snatching the sound away as they plunged. The ground came closer and closer till he could see guards patrolling the walls, and the stones of the courtyard. One protect me. Anril's body clenched like a fist locked shut.

He was going to die trying to escape from getting killed. A hysterical laugh bubbled up in him and came out soundless in the screaming wind.

A noise like banner snapping taut cut through the wind. The world jerked, tipping upwards. His stomach ripped itself free and was left behind for a dizzying moment.

Everything banked hard to the left. The aviary tower spun by in a blur of stone. Anril's stomach lurched back into him as they turned the other way, then leveled out.

Flameheart's wings beat against the open sky, her body undulated under him like a storm tossed ship.

Anril lurched to the side, gagging.