Thwack!

“Ow!” yowled Ellie, stumbling back and falling hard on her rear. She clapped a hand to her forehead, already feeling the knot that would swell there. “You cheated!”

Across a courtyard of stone, a tall boy in a blue tunic laughed and twirled his staff. Like Ellie’s, it had a large hook on one end, with a smaller one protruding opposite. The boy’s hair was dark and long, tied in a ponytail, while his wings were the glossy white of the Swan clan. “No, you were overthinking your defense again. Every time you do that, you get slower.”

With a huff, Ellie took the hand he offered and bounced back to her feet. She shook out her reddish-brown wings, shedding dust and leaves.

“Again,” she said.

“We’ve been sparring all morning,” sighed the boy. “Don’t you ever rest?”

From atop a carved bear statue, a small, freckled kid let out a snorting laugh. His wings—one brown, one white—spread to steady himself. From the collar of his shirt peeped a tiny furred face with two white horns between its ears. “Rest? Ellie Meadows? She’s never even heard of the word!”

“Nobody asked you, Twig!” shouted Ellie. She blew a flop of hair out of her eyes and dropped into a defensive stance, her lockstave lowered like a sword. “C’mon, Charlo. Let’s go again. I’ll be ready this time.”

“Well, I’m tired,” said Charlo. “And hungry.”

With that, he plopped down and snagged a nearby satchel with the hook of his lockstave, dragging it to himself and taking out oatbread, goat’s cheese, and lavender honey. Ellie rolled her eyes and continued practicing on her own, swishing her lockstave.

The village of Cloudstone was so well hidden that Ellie still had trouble spotting it when she was out on her morning flight. She and her friends had been lucky the night they’d found the place. They’d been fleeing Goldwing knights, with no idea where they might hide. Usually, they’d been told, the clouds blanketed the mountain slopes, concealing Cloudstone entirely. But that rare night had been clear, and the lamps in the windows had guided Ellie’s little band of fugitives to safety.

They’d had no idea what they’d find when they landed, and to Ellie’s initial alarm, they soon learned nearly all the people in Cloudstone were members of the Restless Order.

She’d only ever met one other member of the Restless—an old woman named Granny Tam who had nearly burned Ellie and her friends alive in an attempt to rob them. But as it turned out, she’d been an exception, and the other Restless monks were quite welcoming. In fact, most of them were fugitives, people who’d fled their lives in the Clandoms for a thousand different reasons. Here in the safety of the mountains, they lived just out of King Garion’s reach.

Ellie spun through the air, using her wings to thrust herself farther, then landed in a crouch at the edge of the courtyard, in front of a tall stone door carved with spiraling patterns.

“When are you going to let me go in there?” she asked.

“Not my call,” said Charlo. “Only Elder Rue can invite you into the Sanctum.”

“What are you people hiding, anyway?” She rapped the door with her staff.

“Skeletons and hoards of gold.”

“Liar.” She’d been poking around the big, solemn door for weeks, trying to sneak inside to spy on its secrets. Anything worth locking up was worth discovering, in her opinion, and her curiosity only grew stronger every day.

Charlo laughed. “The others will be down here soon for noon meditations. You gonna join us this time?”

Ellie shook her head. “I still don’t understand this whole Restless Order thing. How do you stand it—all the sitting still and staring at nothing?”

“We don’t stare at nothing. We stare at nature.”

“It’s just so … boring.”

“That’s because you’re not staring properly.”

The courtyard was surrounded by short, gnarled trees. From their branches fluttered many white ribbons, filling the air with a soft susurrus. The mountains rose sharply on every side, rocky cliffs dotted with cleverly concealed doorways leading to the villagers’ homes.

Ellie whirled and spun her lockstave over her head, striking at an invisible enemy. From the ground, Charlo called, “Too slow again! If you’re going to use our weapons and way of fighting, at least try to do it right.”

“I am trying!” She wiped sweat from her forehead and performed the move again.

She was about to fly off to find lunch of her own but had to wait as a stream of Restless monks began swooping into the courtyard for their noontime meditation, all dressed in matching blue tunics and white leggings. Each carried a lockstave just like Ellie’s, which they wielded with practiced ease. She paused to admire how they flew, using the hooks of the staffs to grab hold of poles anchored in the stone, allowing them to change directions in a blink. She’d been practicing that for weeks but still wasn’t nearly as agile as the others.

Twig happily jumped down to join them. They nodded politely at Ellie, then seated themselves around the outside of the courtyard, facing away. Each one focused on a different object—a rock, a leaf, a crooked tree growing out of the stones—and let their gazes go vacant as they meditated.

Ellie still didn’t understand most of what they did, or why. Still, she did appreciate their style of nonlethal fighting, and their unique weapons, the lockstaves. What she’d first taken for an odd staff she’d come to learn was a tool with many different uses, from disarming opponents to changing directions without losing speed.

Once the sky above was clear, Ellie took to the air, leaving the acolytes to their ritual. Charlo waved from the ground, where he sat cross-legged with the others.

Ellie spiraled upward, slipping from breeze to breeze; the winds around the mountains were narrow and always shifting. Flying on them was like leaping across logs floating in a river. But she’d gotten the hang of it pretty quickly, and enjoyed the challenge of reading the air around her before she maneuvered herself into its flow.

She spotted Gussie perched on a stony ledge, tinkering with her collection of odds and ends as usual. No point in waving; when Gussie was inventing, it was better to leave her to it rather than risk getting your head bitten off for interrupting.

At the peak of the highest mountain, she found Nox.

The Crow boy sat against a jagged rock, out of the worst of the cold wind.

Ellie recognized the look in his eyes and was careful as she dropped beside him. He said nothing, not even looking at her. He was staring at the eastern horizon with an intensity that made his black eyes seem to smolder, like coals that might crack open at any moment to reveal hidden fire. Out of habit, she glanced at his back, where his shirt opened around the joints of his dark wings. There was a fresh pink scar over one of them, where he’d nearly had a wing sliced off the day they’d fled Thelantis.

In his hand was the blue skystone that had caused them all so much trouble—the magical rock that had once been the eye of a gargol, the stone monsters who roamed the skies on cloudy days. That bauble was the reason they were on the run, the reason they’d lost everything. Its mysterious ability to float like a soap bubble and heal the terrible disease called wingrot made it more valuable than any gem in the world. And she knew if King Garion ever got hold of it, he’d destroy it without hesitation.

“I was talking to Gussie this morning about leaving,” she said. “She says it’s too soon.”

Nox’s hand tightened on the skystone. “We should have left weeks ago.”

Ellie picked at her thumbnail. “I’ve been thinking. This place is special. It’s … like a clan all its own, made of people of every feather.”

She saw his jaw clench harder, but he said nothing.

“Charlo said if any of us chose to stay, they’d let us.”

“So you’re staying.”

“I … haven’t decided yet.” Why did she feel so guilty? How could she make him see she wasn’t like him—born to fly alone? “But I am thinking about it.”

“What about the skystone? You said you wanted to use it to heal people?”

“I do! I just don’t know how to do that yet, without attracting the king’s attention. He’s dead set on destroying it. So for now … I don’t know. I guess I just want someplace to call home for a while.”

She thought sorrowfully of Linden, her hometown, and the Sparrow clan. As much as it pained her to admit, she knew she could never return there, not after being branded a thief and thrown in King Garion’s dungeons.

“Do what you want,” said Nox stiffly. “I don’t care. But I’m not sticking around much longer.”

“I know what you want to do. And I understand. But it’s so dangerous, and you’re still healing.”

“I made a promise to my mother. And I still haven’t kept it.” He finally looked at her. “I have to get her out of that prison, Ellie.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence for another few minutes, listening to the wind whistle over the peaks. Nox resumed staring at the horizon, in the direction of the island prison where his mother had been held for years.

She felt for him, she really did. And Ellie wasn’t one to shy away from danger or noble missions—far from it. But this mission … it felt too big, too fast. The Crag was the most secure prison in the Clandoms. They were lucky they hadn’t ended up there themselves.

A sudden flutter to Ellie’s left drew her eye. It was Charlo, winging frantically toward them.

“Oh, look, it’s your boyfriend,” intoned Nox, his eyes narrowing. He quickly dropped the skystone under his shirt, out of sight.

“He’s not my—oh, shut up.” She shoved the Crow and then launched into the air, meeting Charlo halfway.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He was panting, his wide wings spread on the wind. “It’s Elder Rue! She wants to see you.”

“Me? Why?” Ellie had only glimpsed the leader of the Restless Order twice in all the weeks they’d been in Cloudstone. Her impression had been of a severe, humorless old woman best avoided, which wasn’t hard to do since she spent most of her time locked away in the Sanctum, doing who knew what.

“There’s only one reason Elder Rue sends for anyone lower than a novice,” he replied breathlessly. “It must mean she’s had a vision of the future—a vision about you.”