As the Crow Falls | ✔

Chapter Thirty-One

The fifth object of the hour—a chair pillow—smacked against the wall of Isaiah's room as he paced back and forth like a caged animal. His foot hit a previously thrown pillow, which he snatched up and promptly threw again. It struck the window, making the glass rattle fiercely. That window was unlocked, but led to nothing but a three-story drop. The balcony too remained accessible, but his mother had ordered the removal of all the closest branches on the tree outside, and stripped Isaiah's bed. He'd slept curled beneath spare clothing the night before, shivering and feeling scarcely human.

After that, he'd given up trying to keep a clean image. Books, pillows, and personal effects he hadn't taken with him littered the floor of his room. He'd donned his most comfortable clothes that morning, knowing full well his mother would tell him to change out of them before coming to see her, and not caring in the slightest. And that was if she called him today at all. She'd always used wait times as a power play, leaving him to pace his room, trying not to spiral, for anywhere from hours to days before she deigned to see him. It had worked too well in the past, driving him into a pit of despair that stripped him of his fight. This time was different.

Unable to sleep, he'd dismantled his room in the last half-day. Drawers stood upturned, their contents scattered. He'd flung all the pillows from his bed and chair; dumped the paper, pen, and inkwell from his desk out the window into the garden below; and tested every clothing item he had for its rope-making potential in the event that he had to escape again. Only the routes he paced across the floor remained clear.

He'd be forced to clean all this up. The very thought tempted him to say no just to see what would happen. He'd already done enough to lose the last of his freedom, and he knew he was stronger than his mother. Even if his shoulder still ached from his capture the day before. If Meribah Cantor came to slap him again, he no longer knew if he would take it, or snap and lash out in return.

The window rattled again. Isaiah froze. In the silence that followed, something chirped outside. He crossed the room in a heartbeat and flung back the latch. Pekea dove straight into his arms, chirping up a storm as he swept her up and hugged her close.

"You got away safe," he whispered.

She wormed out of his arms, making for his face with single-minded determination. When she slithered onto his shoulder, she sniffed across the bruise on his cheek, then around his head and over his shoulders.

"I'm fine," he said, stroking her wings before scooping her down again to check her, too. She chirped in protest. "Hold still."

She must not be hurt, because she flatly refused to. When she'd screened him to her satisfaction, she chirred and snuggled across the back of his neck. Her head lifted, sniffing the air. The chirrup that left her then was one she'd begun to make when greeting Niccola, as though assigning her a name. Isaiah's throat tightened. When he didn't respond, Pekea nose-poked him and made the sound again.

"She's not here," he said.

Whether Pekea understood the words or simply his tone, he would never know. She heatbutted the side of his neck.

"I'm stuck here, Pea."

His lack of movement was not satisfactory. Pekea leaned forward the way she did to guide him, directing him towards the door. She made another squeaky noise of frustration when he didn't obey. She slithered to the ground. Isaiah frowned as she scuttled to one corner of the room, where a furious rustling and the scrape of wicker indicated she was burrowing behind his blanket chest. "Pea, what are you doing?"

She jumped to his bed a moment later, triumphant. Isaiah crossed the room and sat on the mattress. Pekea approached him like she expected to be scolded. She shied back when he reached towards her, so Isaiah put his hands in his lap and waited for his guide dragon to set something very gently on top of them. He picked it up. It was a beaded silk slipper.