“Once.” I pull my robe on. “Or so the book said.”

“Which book?”

“One I wasn’t supposed to read.” I walk to the bathroom and pause at the door. Sensing the shower will be my salvation to sit in my sorrow, I anticipate bursting into tears between the cool, tiled walls. A small cry in privacy is not so shameful. “I’ll be ready shortly.”

I move inside, close the door, and as I wash, cleaning his cum from my thighs and stomach, I let myself feel.

Feel anger toward my childish heart, regret for my naïve tongue and wishful utterances under the veil of night when we are alone… And disappointment… Unjustified, unwelcome, disappointment.

Crown-light is nearly over when it is my turn.

Between the queen’s wing and the forest edge, there is a large silvery cage housing hundreds of birds. Birds with bright wings and insects on leaves, flowers in mid-bloom and hidden stony pathways, red-brick bird houses, flapping wings, the sound of freedom and excitement, these things make it difficult not to smile.

Tuscany and I walk a few paces ahead of a member of The Queen’s Army. A brawny, tall woman capable of lifting both of us and rushing us through fire… probably.

The contentment and ease I feel with the queen is immediate, like our brief interaction on the grass.

“I want to apologise,” she offers, “for the other day.”

I shake my head. “Please, my queen, there is no need.”

“Rome…” She sighs. “Never mind.”

I blink a few times, thinking. “I wonder why birds survived when so many other animals became extinct.” I change the subject. “It’s the Redwind that makes The Cradle so uninhabitable.” I look at her profile, her expression soft and quietly filled with contemplations. “I hear the Horizon is thousands of miles of nothing but Redwind and desert ground.”

Gazing ahead, she says, “I have never seen it.”

“No one has seen the Horizon.”

“The Redwind,” she corrects.

“What?” I stop in my tracks, inadvertently touching her shoulder, though one should never touch the queen. I retract my hand instantly. “Sorry. What do you mean?”

The Redwind is everywhere, outside The Estate, outside the towers, the aviaries, it is the atmosphere that cloaks every inch of The Cradle.

She peers over her shoulder, eyes meeting the woman behind us as she says, “You can wait by the entrance. I am in no danger with Aster.”

“But my queen⁠—”

“Leave,” she orders.

I press my lips together under her tone, a strong, curt cadence that somehow has just as much enchanting melody as her softer-spoken words.

She waits for our privacy.

When she continues to stroll onward, I follow by her side. “I have never left The Estate, Aster.”

“Never?”

“Never.”

How is that possible?

I frown, gazing at a large brick archway ahead, veined with the lost green fingers of nearby trees. Just like in the Silk Aviary, they appear to be reaching for something, seeking. True beams from the sun, I always presumed.

“What about when you were a babe?”

The curated breeze gently moves her honey-swirled brown hair around her dainty features, carrying her unique scent of sweet oranges. “There is a hidden nursery in The Estate. It is where Rome and I were both raised. All the babes born for his Collective will be raised there.”

Under The Estate—the thought comes unbidden. Like in the tunnel with the flickering overhead lights, the one I was never meant to see.

“You are the queen,” I say. “You're everyone’s mother. You visit the Common⁠—"

“Rome will not allow it.” His name and her declaration threaten to awaken the torment I left as salty tears over the shower tiles this first-light.

I swallow. “Do you want to visit them?”

The aviary goes still as she slows her step, the question almost paralysing her and the birds.

“In theory.” Her voice is detached for a blink. “He may be right after all.” She returns to her steady, graceful pace, and I mirror her. “I may not cope. I may break into tiny pieces and lose my mind… all over again.”

I knew she had experienced something awful; I could feel her suffering low inside my stomach. Maybe she will tell me one day, or maybe not, but her sorrow doesn’t seem the kind you ask questions about. It is the kind you merely cradle so it is not so lonely.

“Or maybe you heal.” I shouldn’t have said that. “Through your Purpose,” I add quickly.

“Purpose.” She breathes.

“I’m a naïve Silk Girl,” I dismiss. “I couldn’t possibly understand your great Purpose, but… imagine the smiles on everyone's faces when they see you.”

“It has been too long,” she whispers, stopping to pluck a small flower worming up between two silvery stones. “What if they do not like me?”

Turning to face me, eyes only inches away from mine, she tucks the little, yellow floret behind my ear.

I smile. “What if they do?”

A small pause circles us, and then something pulls her attention over my shoulder. “Look.”

Spinning around, I follow her gaze to the split between two branches that cup a wooden platform bedded with tangled leaves and twigs.

“There is a nest with three baby birds inside,” she says.

They are all chirping to the sky. They are big… eagles, I think. Where is their mother? Close, I imagine.

Three babes…

Maybe two boys and a girl. It doesn’t matter to their mother. They are all beautiful and… hers.

I find myself standing in The Circle, outside of Ana’s door, willing myself not to knock. Not to disturb her while she grieves. It’s such a strange feeling—loss. I knew what Rome was, what we were and what we would never be, and I fell in love with him anyway. If I feel this sick, yearning for him, then Ana’s suffering must be unbearable.

“Ana?” I call softly through the door, rapping my knuckles gently along the wooden grain. With a sigh, I press my forehead to it. I know you’re not sick… Let me comfort you. “I have a puzzle,” I say it as the idea strikes me. Lifting my head, I decide to put my entire heart into this.

I leave The Circle, go to the activity room, retrieve a two thousand piece floral puzzle, and return in haste.

Knocking again, I say, “I have a small puzzle, and I think we should do it together." I test the knob; it turns with ease.

It’s open. Shit.

Of course it is.

Our doors don’t lock.

Don’t do go in, Aster.

It’s none of your business.

She needs her rest.

Holding my breath, I gently push the door open and peer inside, seeing an identical room to the one I sleep in and an unmoving human-shaped lump beneath a gold sheet on the bed.

My throat tightens. “Ana?”

The ornamental fire on the wall emits a glow of deep yellow and warm, cosy waves.

I step inside and close the door, the puzzle clutched in my hand. “Ana?”

“Go away.”

I exhale audibly hard. “Oh, my. I was so worried, Ana.”

I walk over to her bedside and peer down at her. The golden sheet is pulled up to her chin, her fingers curled over the top, holding it there. There is a little tendril of her dark hair laying over her face, and I want to sweep it aside for her.

“Are you sedated with Opi?” I ask.

She blinks and shakes her head—no.

A long unbearable silence circles the room.

As she stares at the fake yellow flames, I slide down to the floor and press my back to the mattress.

I empty the puzzle on the carpet and begin organising the pieces by colour. “I know we are meant to make the border first,” I say quietly. “But I like to make smaller pictures first, and then fit them all together at the end to make a larger image. The Silk Wardeness used to say this was because I wanted immediate satisfaction and was impatient. But that’s not true. It is because when I make the border first and simply fill it in, I don’t get to appreciate the smaller details as much.”