Mason Crafton's Arc

Chapter 9 of 15

Above the tree line, Mason knelt on flat stone and laid the items out: the pink cloth, the strand of blond hair pressed inside it, and the three words held in their mouth like a coin. The summit was still an hour up the slope, but the plan cracked open the moment Mason looked at the empty sky. The dragon would ignore any gift carried by hand. It answered to jewel birds. The princess's flock was down at the birdbath, guarding the stone, and every one of them belonged to her. Mason had the prince's pieces and no way to send them. A thin voice cut the wind behind them. A small girl in a pink sleeper stood ten steps down the path, thumb in her mouth. Lily. Mason had seen her once at the valley market, wandering between stalls while her mother shouted her name. She should not be on this mountain. Before Mason could speak, an older girl scrambled up the slope after her and caught her wrist. Emma Rose, from the same valley farms. "She followed the boys," Emma said, breathing hard. "Max and Oliver ran up here after the prince left the swamp. She trailed behind. I trailed her." Mason was about to send them both back when the laurel above the path shook. A gray, matted shape stepped out, taller than Mason, teeth bared, yellow eyes fixed on the girls. Fenwick Hollow. Mason had heard the name from traders — a thing that lived in the high scree and took goats. Emma pulled Lily behind her and drew a short kitchen knife. Mason stepped between them and Fenwick and held up the pink cloth. "The prince's," Mason said. "Smell it." Fenwick leaned in. The growl dropped to a low rattle. He did not retreat, but he did not lunge. Mason's mind moved fast. Fenwick was not a bird. But the rule was jewel birds, and Fenwick was no keeper's servant either — he answered to the prince's scent only in the way a stranger answers a badge. Mason lowered the cloth. "I need a jewel bird," Mason said, half to themselves. Emma's free hand went to her collar. A thin gold chain hung there, and on it, a single diamond earring stud, small, bright, unmistakable. "I found it by the birdbath last week," Emma said. "I was going to give it back." It was the princess's. The match to the one her birds already carried. Mason stared at the stud. A jewel, not a bird. The rule said jewel birds. Mason had a jewel and no bird, which was worse than before: now the missing piece had a shape and a name. Mason closed their hand around the cloth and the hair, and turned back down the slope toward the flock at the birdbath. To send the gift, they would have to take a bird from the princess herself.