Cormorant Run Page 2

  But…orders were orders.

  Ava reached forward, snatched the folded message from Cora’s outstretched hand and stuffed it in her satchel. “Did you read it?”

  “Of course not.” Cora pulled her shoulders back. She didn’t need to. Most of the communication from the royal family tended to put people in their place, scold those for perceived infractions or coerce others to do their bidding. With fancy words. Big, fancy words.

  Plus, as a determined professional, Cora would never break the messenger code by opening sealed notes.

  “And the salmon?” Ava asked.

  Although technically not part of the deal—Ava would be paid well for delivering the message—Cora found it best to maintain a positive working relationship with a person from a community who would otherwise shoot her on sight.

  Make yourself useful, Mom would always say. And you make yourself indispensable.

  Cora smiled. “The pink have arrived. They’re about a kilometre due north of the Cap.”

  Ava sighed and her shoulders dropped. “About time. They’re late this year.”

  Cora bobbed her head. Late salmon runs tended to have catastrophic effects on towns like Ava’s where the majority of families depended solely on the fish markets for their livelihood. “The Eyrie was also concerned. This will be welcome news for all of us.”

  Ava snorted, a guttural sound that contrasted with her delicate features. “Like any of us humans could compete with sapavians.” Ava narrowed her eyes and she leaned forward. “You’re bleeding.”

  Cora shrugged and instantly regretted the movement. The arrow wound still ached. “Just a scratch.”

  Ava pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. Instead, she straightened and lifted her chin. Her go-to body language for ending their little evening chitchats.

  “Anything else?” Cora asked.

  “Just—” Ava looked away.

  Cora frowned and waited. Sometimes, Ava had information about merchant ships planning to come in and the Eyrie traders welcomed the news.

  “Be careful.”

  Cora jerked back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ava glanced around the forest as if they stood at some town hall meeting and worried about an eavesdropper. A bit overkill. The trees told no tales in this forest. In any forest. The plant kingdom was one of the only living groups of organisms to emerge from the nuclear cascades relatively unchanged. “There’s discontent among my people.”

  “That isn’t new.” She had the arrow wound to prove it.

  “New, no. Different, yes.”

  “How so?”

  “They’ve increased patrols along the northern cliffs and strangers are passing through town.” She pursed her lips. “I’ve probably said too much already. You’ve always been good to me, though. To us. Change is coming. Be careful.”

  Cold prickled along Cora’s skin. That didn’t sound good at all. Despite the protection of the trees, the proximity of her escape route and the solitude of the night, Cora felt exposed. Her black feathers ruffled and the hair on the back of her neck stood up as if trying to spot the danger for her.

  Time to go.

  “May the winds be strong,” Cora mumbled the traditional Eyrie farewell.

  Ava flashed a small, sad smile and stepped into the shadows. “And always at your back.”

  3

  “I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.”

  Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice

  Cora moved through the Eyrie’s busy night market, careful to keep her wings tight to her body. Though all sapavians of the Eyrie had wings, some were shorter than others and some just lacked general courtesy. Stepping on someone’s wingtip was rude, avoidable and grounds for a legal knife fight, yet it still happened. In a busy marketplace, the perpetrator could easily disappear in the throng, leaving the hurt individual without anyone to spew curses at, much less take a stab at.

  After taking the night to rest following the meeting with Ava, Cora flew across Carrion Channel to the Eyrie. Home. Her tired wing muscles ached, and her sore bones begged for her comfortable bed. She didn’t want to shut herself away just yet. She’d visited the nurse first, got a stitch and then headed for the night market.

  Though she disliked crowds and socializing in general, she found the square of bustling shoppers and loud vendors full of sapavians oddly therapeutic after her solitary trip. She wanted to feel like a part of a community.

  She’d hate them all again tomorrow.

  Father often remarked on Cora’s “complexity,” though he usually used coarser words. She wanted to be invited to parties she had no intention of attending and she felt lonely when alone but hated sharing her space.

  Cora sighed and navigated through the crowd. She preferred it like this. Anonymous in a sea of people. Just another face. No obligations to make pointless conversation.

  Too late to report to the Spy Master who coordinated the messages, Cora drifted through the marketplace, enjoying the throng of people and the smell of seafood. The Eyrie castle and surrounding town stood as a solemn reminder of the world of man before the apocalypse and the world broke apart. It wasn’t really made for sapavians and it showed with its narrow streets and park benches. The ruling clan had ripped most of the benches out, but a few still stood as relics, reminders of a time long ago.

  The Eagle Clan would probably have to remove those soon, too, for more room. A sign of overcrowding, the packed marketplace had become busier and busier. Sapavians were running out of space, and with angry, bird-hating humans populating the closest available land to the south, there wasn’t anywhere to go.

  Hopefully, King Edgar would figure something out—something that didn’t involve mass extinction.

  A familiar whiskey jack sapavian slipped a few quality otos to a merchant and leaned in for the Seagull Clan member to whisper something into his ear.

  Cora cringed and turned to move the other way.

  “Cora!” Jack yelled out.

  She winced. Damn it. She slowly turned back to see Jack leave the merchant’s stall with a wide grin. Whiskey jacks had the reputation for being the Eyrie’s social butterflies, and it was a well-earned stereotype. Members tended to gravitate toward gossip, acting as town criers, and working as reporters for their niche in society.

  Jack was gorgeous. One of those sapavians with naturally wavy hair that always looked like rumpled bedhead. Or maybe he constantly had nights filled with glorious sex. Cora didn’t know and she never planned to find out. Jack might have a strong body that looked more apt for building towers with his bare hands than cutting down Eyrie residents with his harsh written words, but Jack’s interest with Cora wasn’t romantic.

  “Hello, Jack,” she said.

  He rolled his beautiful blue eyes and dipped in a shallow, mocking bow. “For the hundredth time, my name is Marcus.”

  His name was Marcus Jack, but whatever. The more she remembered his role in society, and not how his bright white smile flashed in the moonlight, the better. Her heart had never been in danger around Jack, but her integrity and job security were. She had to guard her words.

  Jack leaned in and sniffed. “Did you just get in? You carry a certain sea spray freshness.”

  What a lovely way to tell her she smelled. Thanks. “What do you want, Jack?”

  He shrugged. “Word on the Eyrie is more sapavians are headed to the waystations to look for places to live. The albatross aren’t returning home as often and you’ve been very busy.”

  “Are you watching me?” She left at the ass-crack of dawn yesterday. Surely, he didn’t sit on the city walls to watch for her departure.

  He shrugged. “More like noticing your absence.”

  “That hardly means I’ve been busy. I don’t like crowds.”

  “No, you don’t.” He glanced around the busy marketplace and the sapavians weaving carefully around each other. “Yet, you’re here.”

  “So?”

  Jack examine
d his perfectly trimmed nails. “So, you tend to surround yourself with the very crowds you hate after you return from a trip. I figure you need to feel like you’re not quite alone after such a lonely excursion.”

  She scowled at the whiskey jack. Not only were these birds full of gossip, but they also excelled at reading people. Exceptionally well, apparently.

  She threw her hands up. “What does it matter?”

  “The daughter of the Cormorant Clan leader always matters, despite what you might tell yourself.”

  Her scowl deepened. The rumours of Father’s alleged betrayal never truly faded. This whiskey jack kept poking around trying to uncover some devious plot to confirm his conspiracy theories. And if he couldn’t get that he’d happily settle for gossip or any tidbit of news to fill his column.

  “What have you seen?” he asked.

  “What do you think I’ve seen?”

  Jack shrugged again. “I’m hoping it’s either new land or salmon. I’d be happy to report either. An exclusive scoop would really help me out. What do you say?”

  Cora’s harsh response got lost in squeals of excitement. She surveyed the crowd and realized they were all watching something in the sky. With a deep sigh, she turned away from Jack to confirm what she already expected.

  Sure enough, a male member of the Eagle Clan hovered above the Eyrie, holding hands with a woman from the Hawk Clan. Her long wavy brown hair whipped around in the air and the eagle’s court armour.

  “Who?” she murmured, not wanting to hear the answer.

  “Lord Liam Eagle and Lady Azure Hawk.”

  Not Ronin.

  She drew breath again, relieving the ache in her chest.

  The eagle sapavian was the king’s nephew, not the heir of the Eyrie.

  The crowd cheered again as the couple embraced and fell toward the island. Everyone around her held their breath. When the couple broke apart above the rooftops to swing back up, the crowd screamed with delight and encouragement.

  Cartwheeling.

  The eagle mating ritual.

  Coded in the very bird DNA that helped create sapavians a long time ago, members from the Eagle Clan retained the urge to complete this act when they found someone they loved.

  Cora turned away from the spectacle and pushed her way through the throng of sapavians and stopped dead.

  A few feet in front of her, the crowd had cleared for another special viewing event.

  Ronin Eagle, the Heir of the Eyrie, stood in front of her. Tall, strong, and built like a warrior, he wore the shiny silver and gold armour identifying his position as a member of the royal court. His brown hair had turned white during adolescence, marking him as a mature eagle.

  With his angular face turned up to watch his cousin, the prince didn’t see her. He wouldn’t recognize her even if he did, despite the shock of white in her otherwise black hair and the scar running down her face. No, that wasn’t quite right. He’d recognize her, maybe, in a flippant way, but she wouldn’t elicit any emotional response. Recognizable or not, she was beneath his notice. Not even his hawk guards looked her way.

  Being invisible wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, it’s where she needed to stay. Bad things happened to good people when the royals noticed them.

  “Oh! The heir.” Jack perked up. She hadn’t noticed he’d turned with her. “Later.”

  The whiskey jack left her side to weasel his way through the other spectators, aiming for the prince. A number of “ladies” from the Hawk Clan and Eagle Clan already stood by his side, trying to fawn, hair-flip and eyelash flutter their way to his heart.

  One day, Ronin would take his bride to the sky for all to see, completing the traditional mating ritual. Every girl in the Eyrie dreamed of being that bride at one point in their life. Some never gave up hope. Cora had dreamed, too, but hope and desire to be anything other than a messenger fled the day her mother died.

  The couple plunged toward their death again, a tangle of limbs. The crowd cheered, roaring encouragement as they broke apart.

  I’m done.

  She turned away from the cartwheeling and her childhood crush and made her way from the night market to her small room in the cormorant house at the edge of town. Despite the melancholy ache in her chest, she dragged her feet. Cora constantly battled between choosing two undesirable outcomes. She could stay in the market and feel her heart crushed further, or she could return home and go to sleep where her recurring nightmare lay in wait.

  Every night, dreams and memories plagued her. Ones where she relived her mother’s murder. Ones of Ronin and his sister’s rejection. Ones of flying low over the ocean’s surface with the Sea Beast swimming underneath. But the monster never attacked in her dreams; instead, she found his presence comforting.

  And that was the scariest thing of all.

  4

  “I love the smell of possibility in the morning.”

  Cora Cormorant

  The morning market hummed with excitement from last night’s events, yet an undercurrent of nervousness and danger kept the energy grounded. Cora stepped around a man with a rotund belly and slate gray wings.

  He grunted and turned his bulging bird gaze on her. “Watch it, Crow.”

  Cora rolled her eyes. Like that was an original slur. Crows were not one of the founding birds used to create sapavians during the Scientific Experimentation Era, known as SEE in the crusty old textbooks in Father’s study. Instead, the intelligent birds sat along the rooftops and fences of the Eyrie and watched, mocking from a distance as if sapavians would’ve been better, done better, if crows had been included.

  “Go peck yourself.” Cora smiled sweetly to follow up the insult. She stepped into the nearby doorway and turned away from the angry hollers of the pigeon man. Her boots scuffed the cobble stones. She closed the door behind her, shutting off the incessant racket of the bustling marketplace. Not one to skip, saunter or glide like some sort of fairy drunk on pixie dust, Cora moved like an efficient machine down the hallway on light feet and made her way to the cormorant leader’s office. Her father’s office.

  She trailed her fingers along the rough, stone walls, the familiar loamy smell and scratchy surface oddly comforting. She’d spent a lot of her childhood running through these starkly decorated halls.

  Her footsteps echoed down the corridor and bounced back; cool air clung to the walls in spite of the heat outside. Though she didn’t plan to travel today, she wore a clean set of flying leathers. The fitted pants, vest and vambraces might be hot for the late summer weather, but she never felt comfortable wearing civilian clothes. Besides, if she needed to cool off, she could always take a dip in the ocean.

  Cora took a deep breath of dust-laden air and turned the corner. Two large double doors loomed ahead, the solid oak stained dark brown and polished to shine under the natural light streaming in through the open windows. Shear, off-white curtains billowed across her path and brushed against her soft leather pants.

  The two cormorant guards standing on either side of the doorway straightened at her approach—Dax and Cam. The twins. She confused the two when she ran into one of them alone, but when they stood side by side like this, she could easily tell them apart. Honestly, as her cousins, she should do better, but they were called identical twins for a reason.

  “Is he in?” she asked them.

  Cam nodded.

  Dax leaned over and opened the door, holding it open for her to pass through.

  “Thanks,” she said and walked into the office of the Cormorant Clan Leader, Master Fisherman. Those might be his official titles, but unofficially, he was the Spy Master of the Eyrie. Kane Cormorant orchestrated the delivery of overseas messages for anyone wanting to avoid the regular pigeon channels.

  And to Cora, Father.

  The old man looked up from the large oak desk he sat behind and placed his quill down beside the parchment paper he was writing on. Thick dark eyebrows rose slightly over brown eyes so dark they almost appeared to blend in with his pupil. Hi
s hair, once inky black, now had a splattering of white and the stubble on his face was growing in more gray than black. He rested his wings, folding them loosely behind his back. He wore the black leather livery identifying his position in the royal court. At one time, before his “fall” from grace, he wore the eagle pin on his shirt over his heart. Those days were long gone.

  The door clicked shut behind her and she stepped forward. “Father.”

  The seriousness of his expression faded, and a genuine smile spread across his weather-worn face. He pushed away from the desk, unfurling his large black wings to stretch briefly before refolding them behind his back.

  He held his arms out. “Coraline, my heart. Welcome home.”

  She walked around the desk and into his warm embrace. With a deep breath, she inhaled leather and parchment—the two smells she’d long-ago associated with her father. She squeezed him back before pulling away.

  “How was the mission?” he asked.

  “Successful.”

  “No return message?”

  She shook her head.

  “Something is going on over there in Iom and my contacts have grown silent. I don’t like it,” he said. His gaze drifted to the angry wound on her shoulder. He couldn’t possibly see it through the neckline of her flying leathers, but her stitch itched as if his gaze had locked on it and gave it a tug. Those nurses must’ve told on her.

  Her father reached out to cup her face. He ran his thumb along the scar that ran down her cheek from beneath her right eye to her jaw. His gaze flicked to the lock of white hair that rested along her shoulders. Sadness welled in his eyes. She knew the look. Memories of their past flooded his mind. Thoughts of a happier time. Thoughts of Mom.

  His contacts went silent once before. They’d received no warnings and Father hadn’t been there when the humans attacked the keep. The ultimately unsuccessful siege left Cora scarred and her mother dead. Moments like this proved her father still hadn’t forgiven himself for not being there for them.