Elda held a folded piece of parchment in her hand as the echo of her footsteps rang through the narrow stairwell.

She rarely came here. That is to say: she was rarely allowed to come here, but in truth she visited the tower often whenever she managed to slip away from the watchful eye of Lady Merinda. Then she would climb the stairs to the upper chamber of the Bird Tower, which opened into a large room with wooden walls and narrow slits through which the birds could fly out. The walls were lined with niches and perches where the birds could rest. There they sat in great numbers: Sovric owls with their grey feathers and dark mottling, golden-brown Fendalian doves from the south, and of course the Daradalian ravens, black as night, with a colorful sheen over their feathers and bright, gold-colored eyes.

It was those ravens that had always fascinated Elda the most, and Feather in particular. For although she could never say with certainty what messages the black-feathered bird carried, he brought with him one certainty: there was news from Daradal. That alone was enough to fill Elda’s heart with joy, for Feather came from Asterfyld, and that meant there were messages from home, and sometimes even messages meant for her.

Of course, that was not always the case. More often than not she climbed to the top of the tower only to find no sign that any message from Daradal had arrived. But even then, it might simply mean that earlier messages had been received and that the raven, or ravens. had already been sent back with a reply. In that case Elda had to wait and see whether there had been a message for her. If so, she would be summoned by the duchess, who would then share what the letter contained.

Elda, however, had a strong suspicion that the duchess did not bother conveying the full contents of the letters, and passed along only whatever information she deemed important.

That suspicion had once been confirmed when Elda, in a rebellious mood, entered the tower and saw that the message Feather carried had not yet been received. She had decided to secretly look at it herself, and in it she read that Rodryc, her older brother, was nearly ready to be knighted. After his birthday he would no longer be a squire, but a true knight. The duchess had not uttered a single word about it.

But that had been a long time ago, and Elda had not seen Feather in the tower for ages. Countless times she had climbed the stairs and carefully checked Feather’s usual perch, but the black raven was nowhere to be found. At first, Elda thought little of it: it was not unlikely that Feather had arrived, delivered his message, and been sent back without her visiting the tower in the meantime. She had written several letters and handed them to the duchess, asking that they be sent to her parents. But as more and more time passed without any word from home, Elda began visiting the tower more often, until she was coming nearly every day to check.

Feather was nowhere to be found.

What had once been a secret excursion born of curiosity and defiance had slowly become a symbol of disappointment.

And now Elda climbed the stairs to the Bird Tower, having escaped the great hall under a feeble excuse. After the duke’s announcement the festivities had resumed, and new platters of food and fresh carafes of wine had been served. But Elda could no longer swallow a single bite. With every congratulation it became harder to smile, and her desire to flee the crowd only grew stronger.

At first she had tried to convince herself she ought to feel happy that she would soon be married. It would not be long, and she would be wed to a future duke. She would become Duchess of Arnallan, and Caer Twyrif would be her home.

But the king was dead, and the duke had spoken of uncertain times, times of unrest and instability. Such times sounded frightening and unpleasant, and Elda longed for nothing more than to be home. Not here, but in Asterfyld.

No matter how she tried to suppress it, she could not make herself rejoice in the announcements. It was the secretive looks of the household and Lady Merinda’s strange behavior. Mortain’s lies and the cruel remarks of the girls. Clearly she was not meant to know of this, and if she was not meant to know… it could not bode well for her.

Could it?

But now she did know, and she could not bear to sit still and wait. So she had convinced Lady Merinda that she absolutely needed to be excused, and while being escorted toward the privies she had used a noisy group of courtiers as cover to slip into a service corridor. Then she had hidden herself inside a storage room, making sure she would not be found. If everyone wished to act secretive and sly, then they could expect the same in return.

She had crept out of the cupboard, found a piece of parchment, and written a message to her parents. That was what she intended to send now, permission or not.

“I did not expect to find you here, young lady.”

The voice of Chaplain Valderic tore her from her thoughts, and only now did she notice him descending the stairs toward her. Instinctively she closed her hand around the parchment.

“Father Valderic, I—”

“—am somewhere you have no business being? Yes, I can see that.”

The clergyman blocked the passage in his neatly fastened robe, which hung loosely over his round form. His hands were hidden inside long, heavy sleeves.

“I… wanted to get some fresh air,” Elda said at last, hoping the chaplain would let her be. Nothing could be further from the truth.

“And for that you decide to climb all the way up this high tower? That is quite a lot of effort for a bit of fresh air, is it not?” As he spoke, he looked down at Elda with stern disapproval. His eyes, half-hidden beneath his plump cheeks, drifted toward her hands.

“I like the birds, and I enjoy the view,” Elda said firmly, straightening her back and placing her hands on her hips to give her words more weight.

“This hardly seems the time, nor the occasion, to enjoy the view. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had sneaked up here on purpose. Should you not be at the feast?”

“The same question could be asked of you, Father Chaplain. And if you have nothing further to say, I would very much like to continue to the tower to visit the birds and enjoy the view.”

“I do indeed have something to say, for secretive behavior serves Enkk, and that is not a god with whom you ought to wish to be associated. The servants of Morlorrim are spiteful and ill-willed. Soon winter will be upon us, and then it is their season. You will want to stand in the light of Annaaru, so that She may protect you in the dark. Truth serves the Mother, so if you have anything to confess, I will lend a listening ear.”

His eyes were fixed on Elda’s right hand. She clenched it tightly into a fist, the parchment crumpling inside her palm.

Nothing the chaplain was saying stirred even the slightest desire in Elda to reveal her intentions. She knew the gods and understood how important it was to remain in Their good graces, but she could not imagine They would condemn her for what she intended, not under these circumstances. She kept silent, watching the chaplain closely.

What would she do if he refused to let her pass? She couldn’t very well push him aside. Such behavior would be unthinkable.

“Well, young lady. Is there nothing you would like to share?”

“Father, if I had anything to hide, I most certainly would not dare keep it to myself. So if you would excuse me now, please let me pass.”

Elda did not wait for a reply and attempted to step past him. The chaplain, however, spread his full breadth and continued to block the way.

“What do you have in your hand, young lady?”

Instinctively Elda hid both hands behind her back and pressed herself against the wall. “Nothing!” she cried, startled.

In a flash, the chaplain’s hand shot from his sleeve toward her clenched fist. Elda leapt aside, but his fingers caught her sleeve and held her fast in an iron grip. His other hand emerged as well and seized the shoulder of her dress. Elda struggled with all her strength to free herself, but she could not move.

“Do not thrash about so, my child. I only want to know what you are holding!”

Again he reached for her fist, but Elda jerked it away so quickly that Chaplain Valderic momentarily lost his balance. In an effort to steady himself he shifted his foot, but it slipped off the stair’s edge, and he staggered. Elda felt his grip loosen on her shoulder and quickly stepped back so she wouldn’t be pulled down with him.

Then the chaplain lost his balance completely. He toppled sideways, past Elda, landed hard on his backside, and slid down two steps before catching himself against the wall.

Elda stared in shock but did not dare help him. She stood silently as he pushed himself upright, groaning and grunting, all the while keeping his robe carefully closed. Yet she did not miss that he was hiding something beneath the folds of cloth.

“What were you doing in the tower?” Elda asked.

The chaplain had not yet fully recovered and snapped at her, “What do you think I was doing?” Then he straightened, winced, and bent slightly forward again before continuing in a softer, more amiable tone. “I was checking for messages.”

“At this hour?” Elda now stood several steps above the chaplain, and after the embarrassing spectacle of a moment ago, it felt rather satisfying to question him for once.

“At this hour, yes. There are always messages, young lady.”

“If there is a message for me—”

“Then you shall receive it when the Gods deem it necessary.” His voice had turned soft and kindly again, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile that made his beady eyes nearly disappear beneath his cheeks. “Trust is a virtue, young lady, and after what you have just done, I would advise you to give some thought to how you might behave with greater virtue.”

“I will,” Elda managed to say, forcing the words out as she looked at the chaplain from where she stood. “Old goat,” she muttered under her breath. The chaplain said nothing. For a moment they remained on the stairs, staring at each other, Elda holding her breath. Then he straightened his robe, turned without another word, and descended the staircase with a hunched back and one hand pressed to the wall for support. Only when Elda could no longer hear his footsteps did she finally dare to breathe again. She continued up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder every few steps.

The chaplain was a wretched man. He spoke of virtue, the will of the Gods, the Holy Purpose and the Great Balance, and could twist any situation into an opportunity for a sermon. At first Elda had cared for his words, but very soon they had begun to grate, until now she felt gooseflesh rise whenever he opened his mouth. She could no longer bear to listen to his rambling.

As soon as she entered the Bird Tower, she was greeted by the gentle cooing of doves. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment. She waited until her breathing had calmed, then opened her hand. She examined the piece of parchment. It was creased, and she carefully smoothed it flat. After assuring herself that her message was still legible, she rolled the sheet and looked around the tower chamber.

Doves were gathered in niches lining all the walls of the octagonal room, which tapered upward toward the tower’s pointed roof. Each wall had a single narrow window that could be opened to let the birds fly out. Now only the eastern window stood open, admitting a narrow beam of moon- and starlight that cast a cool glow and laid a white stripe across the floor of rough wooden planks scattered with straw. Owls and ravens perched on their roosts.

In the pale light, Elda let her gaze travel across the ravens until she found the one she sought. Feather! He sat upon his usual perch, tilting his head as he regarded her with his bright golden eyes. He was large: when he spread his wings, his span had once been greater than Elda’s height. But that was long ago. Not long past, she had come into the tower and Feather had seemed smaller than before. She had not realized how much she had grown. Perhaps she was now taller than Feather was wide. She walked toward the bird and smiled.

“Hello, Feather.” She stroked his head and ran her fingers along the feathers of his wings.

Kra! the bird replied. Even in the dim light, Elda could see the green sheen along his feathers. They were so dark that the faintest glimmer of light could bring their color forth. She slipped her hand beneath his wing, and Feather jerked irritably.

“Do you not want to be petted there? I thought you always liked that so much.”

Kraa!

“You weren’t here yesterday. Did you bring a message from Asterfyld? You must have, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Then I was right. If I had come a little earlier, I could have taken your message before that dreadful Chaplain Valderic got his hands on it. I hope he wasn’t unkind or rough with you.”

Ka!

“Well then, good. Because I have an important task for you. Do you see this letter? You must take it to Asterfyld, and as quickly as you can!”

Kra–a!

“Good, brave Feather.” Elda stroked the raven once more, then tied the message to his leg. She raised her arm to carry him toward the window. Feather hopped from his perch and landed on her arm, his talons nearly piercing through the fabric of her dress and into her skin.

“Ah! Careful, Feather! You are never this rough!”

Krrrra.

“I know you’ve just had a long journey, but this truly cannot wait. There is secrecy everywhere, and I don’t trust it anymore. The only people I can rely on now are Father and Mother. You must take this letter to them, do you understand?”

The bird looked at her one last time. Elda stroked his head, and with a powerful thrust of his wings he pushed off her arm and flew out the window. She watched him go as he disappeared into the darkness, heading east before angling southward.

Strange, Elda thought. He always flies straight toward Asterfyld. Perhaps Feather had sensed a more favorable wind current. Daradalan ravens could find their way to their destination without fail, after all.