A northern gust hit Aleeya like the discontented breath of a god, forcing her from a reverie about Veritas. She hooked her wingclaws deeper into the fissures of tree bark. Her wing membranes fluttered in the stiff breeze, settling as the wind dissipated.

Letting out a deep breath, she adjusted her position in the conifer treetop, moving lower. She sat on a thick branch, picking at the dry scab on her right hand where she’d stabbed herself. Slightly more than a week since she did that, and the Zhorkun salve had worked wonders on the wound. All of them. Even the old slave-collar scars on her neck.

What is keeping him? she thought.

Since she, Veritas, and Gallus had disembarked from the Engarran ship, the Phane Arua, onto the main pier of Lanubro, Aleeya had wanted some time alone with Veritas to talk about his debt and her future as a freed slave.

I suppose it is our future now.

But between Veritas’ flights to the island and Aleeya’s recovery, a week had passed and still she hadn’t found a private moment with him.

This rendezvous was his idea—meet in the forest east of Lanubro, at the first tributary’s confluence to the Salvus River’s clear alpine waters.

She shifted on the branch to a more comfortable position, peering down at the convergence of tributary and river. From this distance, the rush of water created a peaceful, constant song that distracted her from the murmuration of her mapped creations.

Even a week after Aleeya mapped the island into existence, birthing it from the seafloor like the goddess she apparently was, she still found survivors escaping from the violence of that genesis.

She felt them on her left wingtip, where she had mentally placed the flashes of sensations constantly received from the island and her other two mapped creations. If she concentrated on the mental map on her wing, or if she had the original map in front of her, she could feel every blade of grass, every turn of leaf, every step of each creature on the island.

The treads concentrated in Ástmar’s Haven; the town she mapped for the Xianit religious faction called the Zhorkun. Nearby, their warships were trapped behind steep slopes in a watery caldera where they flagged in her goddess-inflicted penance. Aleeya’s heart ached for their plight, but it was what the Zhorkun leadership deserved after what their general did to Kaja. Eventually, Kaja and the Oshon, the Zhorkun’s more reasonable persons, would find a way to rescue them.

But when Aleeya sensed footfalls far afield from those two locations, she alerted Veritas or Gallus to retrieve the newly found survivor. They, in turn, sent Syed or Cixa Indux—the slave smugglers who had originally stolen her from the Temple of Nesha.

That morning, the smugglers had flown to Ástmar’s Island with the vilicus of Lanubro. One of their healers and a scribe from their small Temple of Cha’ac, god of fishermen, also flew to the island, presumably to provide assistance and record the new island’s population, if needed.

Gallus hadn’t left her alone until this morning. He refused to leave her side, even after she assured him time and time again she wouldn’t leave him behind. She suspected her frequent mental trips to Ástmar’s Island fueled his ideas of abandonment.

Aleeya had thought, if Veritas was with Gallus checking on the reports from Ástmar's Island, then Gallus was probably assured she wouldn’t fly away from Lanubro.

Blessedly, it had worked. Gallus hadn’t put up a fuss when she’d left for the forest. So, Veritas’ plan to slip away, leaving Gallus with Cixa, and then meet up with Aleeya in the woods should be successful.

Should…

Aleeya peered at the position of the sun in the clear blue sky. It was well past midmorning. A sigh escaped her as she accepted that Veritas’ plan hadn’t worked. Admittedly, it was cruel. Gallus might think that they’d both left.

The boy plagued her, but she couldn’t help smiling at how well he responded to the presence of Veritas. Syed provoked poor Gallus into endless arguments and fights, whereas Veritas seemed to corral the boy’s excess energy, channeling it into better control of his growing wings.

Though she still thought Gallus should go back to Ka’ai, to the Temple of Nesha where he would be safe, she’d finally accepted he would be part of her chaotic life—which now seemed to include Veritas.

About him, she had so many questions. The most pressing: how to pay off his debt.

Aleeya stood and scanned the horizon towards Lanubro.

Her breath caught.

A wingman in the sky flapped towards her.

But it wasn’t Veritas. She knew his silhouette as certain as the ink stains on her hands. For a panicked moment, she thought it might be a stranger, but the wingman turned his head, scanning the treetops.

“Gallus!” she called, jumping up and waving a wing to guide him. A twinge of worry quivered through her wings. Where’s Veritas?

Alighting on the branch beside her, Gallus frowned and wrapped his leathery black wings about his person.

“You were going to leave me,” he pouted.

His voice had stopped cracking and was much deeper now. Only fourteen, he towered above her. He didn’t appear perturbed, just his normal adolescent sulkiness, so Veritas must have been detained for some innocuous reason.

Pushing aside her disappointment, Aleeya tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “You don’t really believe that. We only wanted a few moments to discuss things in private.”

“But I want to be part of your plans,” he said. He snapped his wings against his back, his hands clenched in fists. “I have good ideas!”

“You have great ideas, but there are things I need to talk—”

“Talk or do?” He leered.

She swatted him with a wing. “Gallus!” Heat suffused her neck and ears. “Is that what this is all about? What we do privately is none of your concern.”

“I know it's not.” He glanced at his booted feet, a new-to-him pair gifted by Blossia, Veritas’ cousin. They were her husband’s old pair. Not a perfect fit, but close enough.

With a wingtip, she brushed the cuff of her own soft leather boots that fit so well she was sure Veritas had purchased them. A cost they could ill afford, but a flutter coursed through her chest each time she touched them.

“I really do fear you’re going to leave me,” Gallus said. “You’ve tried several times.” He gave her an accusatory look.

Passing her hand through a length of hair, she blew out a breath. She needed to find time for a haircut to keep it short like most wingmen and wingwomen. “I know. And I’m sorry. That’s no longer the case. I’ve changed my mind. Against my better judgment, I want you with me. Just not by my side every waking moment. Understand?”

He nodded and gave her a tight uncertain smile.

She gave him a brief hug with her wings, the top of her head almost beneath his chin.

Has he grown by another hand?

He would soon be taller than Veritas.

She backed away so as not to crane her neck. “And you know the plan: return to Ka’ai to negotiate a lower debt for Veritas, find out what we can from the oracle and Ke-Avidai, and then onto Gwich’an—in that order.”

Exactly how they were going to do that without running afoul of anyone who might want to steal her away, she had no idea, but they’d figure it out.

Gallus nodded.

She let out a relieved sigh. Maybe now she’d have a private moment with Veritas. “Where’s Veritas?”

“Oh, I almost forgot. He wants you to hide.”

“What?” Her heart raced and her wings lifted, ready to take flight. “What’s wrong? Have the general’s elementals escaped the caldera?”

Many of the Zhorkun’s air elementals, the loftkastaris, had survived and so had their lone fire elemental, the eldkastari, but they were all trapped in the caldera. Or had been the last time Syed had checked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Gallus said, hands out. “There are four Sugia messengers with two praetorians from Djamoi at Lanubro’s curia asking about you.”

She blinked, her wings lowering. “How do they know about me?”

“They’ve been to Ástmar’s Island.”

Aleeya winced.

The Zhorkun had no qualms divulging to anyone who sailed into their new port the story of their island’s creation. Though the Zhorkun generally hated wingmen—considering the entire species an affront to their winged god—that hadn’t stopped them from telling the story of how their god’s avatar had created Ástmar’s Island for them.

The gods graced the Zhorkun with ignorance, and most didn’t even know Aleeya’s name. They only referred to her as their vephreaz, their word for avatar.

Aleeya had sent a letter to Kaja, one of the only reasonable loftkastari, asking her not to spread details about what Aleeya could do, but as yet, had gotten no response.

She swallowed.

Only a week’s rest, and it begins again. Will I forever be pursued?

“Where does Veritas want me to hide?”

“Back at Blossia’s place. He said to go straight there and stay inside until he can get rid of them or send them on a ‘blue seahorse.’ What does that mean?”

She frowned. The coveted massive blue seahorses were notorious for leading fishermen on long meandering dives into the deep oceans, often leading to their deaths rather than the chance to capture the elusive creatures. “I think he means to send them down an errant path. One that they think would lead to me but doesn’t.”

“Oh, I wonder what he'll tell them. Anyway, he said you shouldn’t fly. They’d pick out your shorter wingspan immediately.”

Chewing her bottom lip, she nodded. Yes, that was smart. She had to trust Veritas and not grab what few belongings she possessed and fly out of Lanubro like a startled bat.

“Let’s go,” she said, stopping herself from sending a prayer to Somnus, god of impossible dreams, to keep Veritas safe.

Somnus used to be her favorite deity, but They never listened. Now that she was a goddess, she couldn’t imagine Them answering so many prayers, let alone hers.

“I’ll go first,” he said.

He stepped off the branch, cupping his black wings, filling them with air as he glided to the forest floor. His wide wings snagged on a few branches on his way down.

Aleeya followed; her stubbier brown wings designed for short strong sprints between the trees. She could flex and turn with a flick of a wingfinger. She arrowed past him in bursts, air intermittently whistling through her wing piercings. She alighted on the springy bed of needles a few moments before Gallus.

“Don’t show off,” Gallus said.

She suppressed a grin. This wasn’t the time to revel in her budding flying skills. After she recovered from mapping Ástmar’s Island, Veritas insisted she exercise her wings every morning. It resulted in nights filled with ropes of sore back muscles, but also improved flying abilities.

“I’m not showing off,” she said. “This way.”

A fishermen’s trail followed the Salvus River from its upper reaches, cascading over rocky ledges filled with boulders the size of small houses, down through Lanubro, and finally to the Aegnia Sea. She picked her way through the forest ferns that brushed against her hips. Climbing over logs and debris, they angled towards the river’s roar.

They broke through a screen of bushes festooned with bright-red flowers, a sweet scent enveloping them, emerging just above a waterfall where the tributary dropped into the main river. It spilled over a bisecting cliff face painted with moss and wind-gnarled trees clinging to the rock. It filled an emerald pool before joining the main channel. A small secluded glade hidden behind a wall of thick firs had been her hopeful rendezvous with Veritas.

Now she had to leave that behind.

Aleeya turned downriver. The narrow trail zigged-zagged the forested flank of the cliff face, moving away from the river for several wingspans before returning. It took them an hour to walk down what they could have flown in moments.

“Did you see the Sugia messengers?” she asked when they were far enough away from the waterfall they could converse at a normal volume.

“Yes,” Gallus said. “They were gorgeous. Long legs with enormous black wings almost as wide as Veritas’.”

Without stopping, she twisted to throw a glare over wing-and-shoulder. “And they were likely much too old for you.” She turned back to the rough trail, rocks, roots, and divots demanding her attention. “I don’t care if they were gorgeous. Does that mean they’re all female?”

“No,” Gallus said, a cheeky tone in his voice. “Among the Sugia: three female, one male messenger. The praetorians: one female, one male.”

She sucked in a breath, crouching to maneuver down a large drop in the trail, her wings aloft to keep them from dragging on the ground. “A scant quarrel. I wonder why so many. I thought the Sugia messengers traveled alone?”

“Veritas would know.”

Biting her lip, she nodded, though Gallus probably couldn’t see her nod hidden behind her raised wings.

The Sugia—an elite messenger corps—only recruited the best flyers, tested and chosen for their speed and endurance. Many of the maps Aleeya had drawn for the senate of Ka’ai were done according to their specifications. And all her maps included Sugia flight times between destinations along with the skyways and skylanes the Sugia favored. Their flight speed set the bar high. Someone like her, an Eastern Wild, could never hope to match their speed.

“Did they say what they wanted?” she asked.

By the gods, I hope they don’t want me to destroy the island I just created.

Ástmar's Island felt so much a part of her, she couldn’t bear to see it sunk back into the sea any more than she could cut off a wing.

“Let me think… um, you. They said they wanted you.”

“Gallus.”

“I don’t know,” he said, patting his wings against the tree boles as they passed. “We were on the curia’s deck. The sun felt good on my wings. That place must bake in the summer.”

“Focus,” Aleeya said.

“Right. Yes, we were on the deck with the vilicus’ assistant. He was reciting Syed’s latest patrol report when the Djamoians flew in. They made a big show of it. Circling the river mouth in unison before touching down on the deck in perfect sync—their wingbeats timed perfectly.”

“Timed?”

Parade antics. Western Helacons were all about pomp and pageantry.

“Yes. It looked impressive!”

“Then what?”

“The assistant greeted them. Asked if they’d seen the island yet. They said they were just coming back from there. That’s when Veritas told me where you were and to get to you fast and tell you to hide.”

“Veritas didn’t even wait to see what they had to say?”

“No, but I heard a little as I left. They asked if anyone had seen a wingwoman with brown wings.”

“What did the vilicus’ assistant say?”

“I don’t know. I was too far away by then. But Veritas would say something to throw them off, right? The blue seahorse thing?”

“Yes of course.” But what if he couldn’t?

The Djamoians would find it odd that a praetorian from the City of Ka’ai happened to be in Lanubro when an island sprouted from the sea. They’d want to interrogate him. She bit her lip, hastening her steps.

They walked in silence for some time, coming to a flatter part of the trail where it ran close to the riverbank. The water’s roar filled the forest, pulsing through her wing membranes.

She started running, holding her wings aloft and jump-gliding the sections where the trees were far enough apart.

“Hey!” Gallus called. “I can’t do that! Slow down!”

She stopped and turned to wait. “Just glide between where you can fit,” she said when he caught up.

He gave her an annoyed expression, pursing his lips. “There’s no way I can get enough lift in such a short distance.”

“Even if you jump?” Aleeya said, a grin spreading over her face though she knew she should hide it.

In Ka’ai, where only scrub-covered towering mountains surrounded the Five Fingers, a large fjord system with wide open spaces above the sea, the wide wingspans of Western Helacons ruled the skies. But in the forests, she’d discovered that her shorter wingspan, and even the shape of her wings, allowed her to outmaneuver Gallus and Veritas.

“Now you’re rubbing it in,” Gallus said. “A goddess should never make her subjects feel like dirt.”

She gaped. “Gallus!”

He laughed.

She swatted him with a wing and continued, jump-gliding where she could and waiting for Gallus when she couldn’t. Though she kept the mood between them light, her heart galloped. She didn’t want Veritas facing the Djamoians on his own.