When the feather touched her forehead, the cliff slipped away, replaced by a corridor of ships. Mara found herself aboard a vessel that smelled of tar and pepper, standing in a cabin where a man was packing a small satchel. He looked up with eyes like hers and set the satchel down, then hesitated, turning once toward the window where the coastline lay far and white. He reached for the door, then stopped, and picked up a photograph—the very one Mara had released. He smiled, and a laugh pushed out of him like a surprised gust.
The world was split by a line of light and ice. On one side, the air hummed with the golden heat of Summer; on the other, it held the sharp, silent breath of the North. Wings of Starlight
"For what is lost," she said. "For what has been forgotten." When the feather touched her forehead, the cliff
The bird considered. "Each asking takes a piece of what you hold. The cost is yours to pay." He reached for the door, then stopped, and