Birdie

People bustle about the capital city, moving quickly to escape the air that grows colder and colder with each passing day. Men hurry by with their coats tightened close around them, escorting women with shawls or cloaks wrapped around their bodies. Autumn is fleeting in what seems like a whirlwind decision with winter close on its heels, bouts of frosty wind whipping at its feet. I pull my own cloak tighter to keep warmth against my skin.

"Are you cold?" asks Pierre. He wears his usual formal attire; trousers and polished shoes and a waistcoat over top of an under shirt. He is unaffected by the weather as his faery flesh is as resilient as a shield is to an attack.

"Yes," I blush and allow the faery to wrap an arm around me. His skin leaves me in more of an icy state than the air but the gesture itself brings warmth to my very core. "I have never been one for winter."

"Be lucky that it is not winter yet," he jokes and a smile finds its place on my lips. "We're almost there. Come on."

Minutes later we arrive at Paladrome's shop of tools and various metals and hurry inside to feel its warmth. Unlike most of my other visits, the shop is filled with people roaming around and lifting random things to their eyes to examine them, determining whether it is the right thing for them or not. Paladrome and Flintlock are in their usual places; Flintlock on his stool behind the counter and the ginger warrior woman sitting atop the counter itself. She greets us with a welcoming half-smile but does not move.

"Is it the usual order?" asks Flintlock as we approach. He is dressed in a wool sweater and pants. A shaggy brown beard hangs from his chin and his green glint with resentment for the winter. Pierre nods to him.

"Yes, but do make it a double order."

"Why the need for extra? If I may ask," Paladrome inquires with a cocked brow. Feeling flush, I fiddle with the hem of my dress. In all honesty, a lot of thanks are owned to the warrioress. If she hadn't spawned the idea of getting into the palace during the King's feast, I'm not sure I would have ever gotten to meet him as quickly. It had only been on good luck that Anastas had received the invitation only days later.

"Uncle's mechimals have been endorsed by King Avedin. He's to present them in the King's Square in just a matter of days," I explain. The ginger haired woman slimes and claps her hands in excitement. "He's determined to craft a few more prototypes to show to the public."

"Well, do tell him congratulations for me! He's been buying supplies from my shop since I first established it. Who would have thought that he'd be using my materials to make such a fine invention?" she flashed a look of pride and also gratitude. "I may just end up buying a mechimal for myself."

"We would have to gave you such a special bargain on it. Without you, none of this would have happened. You supply us with the most premium metals and tools, and gave me the advice and courage to seek out the king and present Uncle's work to him. You are the reason all of this is happening. So, thank you, Paladrome," I say with a flush and a slight curtsey. The woman simply shakes her head and a sadness grows within her eyes.

"I have done many things in my life, child, and I know when to accept credit when it is due to me. But this is not one of those circumstances. I gave you a mere suggestion, and you found a way into the castle of your own accord. You sought out the king. You had the courage to informally present a product that will revolutionize our Kingdom," she says softly. Pierre comes to stand closer to me and he places a chilling hand on my arm. The caress is gentle and calming. "Do you not see it, child? All thanks should be yours."

"She's right, you know," Pierre agrees. Flintlock then returns from the back room and sets a rather large crate upon the counter. I feel silly for I hadn't even noticed that he had left the room. I give him a smile of thanks and turn my attention back to the slim, tattooed beauty.

"Well, then I will have to begrudgingly make peace with the thanks I have been given," I laugh. "I'm just happy my wishes have all come true. Uncle is happy, the product will bring great business and fortune, and life just seems fantastic in general."

"I am glad for you, Skye," she coos with a smile lacing her lips. But there is that sadness hiding behind her eyes again that sends a rapid shiver of uneasiness through my being. I feel so scared and alone and I find myself clutching Pierre's wrist. He gasps in discomfort as my long nails dig into his porcelain skin. "But wishes are often corrupt. Beware, dear, for when things are the brightest, shadows grow much larger."

No one dares to utter a word after that. As if in silent agreement, Flintlock lifts the heavy crate up onto his shoulders and escorts us out of the shop and into the wintery world just outside. I feel as if I can't breathe, as if there is something slowing down my heart and tearing at my lungs. Paladrome had been right before. I have become a fighter in the last few weeks; I been training in combat and I sought out a king just so that I could get what I hoped for. If one of her predictions had been made true, it makes me fear for what shadows may raise from this light.



Upon returning to the manor, Pierre and Anastas take the large crate of materials and head for the workshop to unload them. I had considered helping but most of the metal is much too heavy for my assistance to actually be of use, so I settle on sitting at the dinning room table and eating a fey apple. It's purple flesh releases a bountiful splash of flavor into my mouth, and a million tastes of sweetness dance upon my tongue.

Uncle finds me a while later, face lit up with a grin. His eyes are focused and he walks slowly, hands holding something behind his back. I greet him with a skeptical look. "Uncle?"

"Listen, I just want to thank you so much for everything you've done here," he begins.

"Uncle, you have given more praise than could last my life time," I say softly. I appreciate his gratefulness but I cannot accept more thanks than I truly deserve.

"I have said my thanks time and time again, I know, but Skye I haven't given you anything to really show my thanks. If you wish for me to stop praising you so, so be it, but please do accept this gift in my gratitude." He smiles sadly and moves his hands in front of him, revealing the item he'd been hiding. A small silver picture frame with a photo inside. He brings it to me and places it in my hand. The photo is of a couple on their wedding day. The woman is tall and slender with beautiful curly brown hair, glinting hazel eyes, and a soft look of affection toward her husband. The groom is a strapping blond gentleman with familiar blue eyes. It is my parents.

"Oh, Uncle..." I say as I choke back developing tears. I try to stay strong, and though I usually can fight back tears, this time I cannot. It is the first time I have actually seen their faces, aside from in my dreams, since they left that day to ride the Sky Train. The day they met their untimely fate. But here they are again; happy and in love and that's how I want to remember them.

"I didn't know if when they came to get you, to place you with other families, if they let you take anything from home," he explains, looking over me fondly. "I found this a few days ago and thought it would be perfect to give to you. I love my sister dearly, and I miss her more than you know. But this picture must mean so much more to you. Priscilla loved your father and Livius loved her just as much. And they loved you more than they loved each other."

"I was their whole world," I whisper and run my fingers over the glass of the frame. They're smiling and will always be smiling. "I miss them so much."

"I know you do," Uncle coos and comes to wrap his arms around me. "I have to return to working, but know that I love you."

"I love you too, Uncle."

He takes his leave back to his workshop but I remain in the dining room. I seat myself and stare my parents for awhile longer. I miss them a lot. I miss my father smelling like freshly cut grass and my mother making me hot tea before bed. I miss the way they loved me and the way they cared. I miss everything about them, down to every last detail. I really do.

I lose track of time and before I know it, Pierre is just walking in just after the sun has gone down. The moon is shining through the big bay windows, though it dims or lightens as mid-winter clouds pass in front of it or dodge out of its path. There are no stars but the moon is enough to illuminate the night. The faery, as usual, looks graceful in the moon. Ash hair becomes silver and skin becomes snow white. I give him a disinterested nod of the head and continue gazing at the couple who raised me.

"Are those your parents?" Pierre asks when he gets close enough to see. He pulls out a chair and sits himself to my left. I nod and slide the picture in the space between us. He looks over it with kind eyes. "He looks like you, your father. You have his eyes, and his smile."

"You really think so?"

Pierre leans in real close and gazes into my eyes. He's not just looking at them but rather into them, like he's looking into me. I feel as if I'm vulnerable in this moment and that he can see everything that I am. My past and future, my heart and soul, my fears and expectations. It's all his, right in the palm of his hands. His lips crook up in one corner.

"Yes." His voice is silk on my skin. "The blue is the same; the honesty and pride is something you both also share. As well as compassion and determination." He trails a cold hand against my cheek with his cocked smile. "And you have the beauty of your mother. The same dark hair and complexion."

"Thank you," I say and retreat before the distance between us closes. "Really. But looks are just that. That doesn't make me like them. I'll be honest with myself. They were great parents but they weren't good people."

Pierre doesn't question this. He knows what I mean. My mother would bake me cookies when I felt sick but she wouldn't give a second thought to a man without a home and would leave him in the rain. My father loved his little girl but he had eyes that wandered from his wife. They weren't perfect parents but they were much better at that than everyday interactions.

"I understand," Pierre says at last. "My parents are the same way. They saw me maybe four times in a week and were as kind as could be and I loved them in those times. Most of the time I was just passed from maid to maid until eventually they stopped caring and I could raise myself. I then found out what my parents were doing instead of raising me; being the duke and dutchess of the Fey Kingdom, they were making laws and judgements and beheading nearly two thirds of those who came to see them."

"I'm so sorry." I place my hand on his shoulder but he reaches up and brings my hand into his own. He stares down at our fingers with empty eyes that play memories I cannot see.

"It's just so nice to have someone who understands something about you."

"I know exactly what you mean," I exhale softly and lace our fingers.