Chapter 2

My vision blurs and, for a moment, the harsh lines of the Ministry’s top floor soften into the swirling green mists of my dreams. The warden before me changes. His armor shifts from steel gray and red to hues of gold and steel and pitch. The barrier of his helm melts away, morphing into the face that haunts me. With hair as black as the decals on his armor and blue eyes that sear my senses. 

“Wren!” My mother’s voice jerks me out of the fuge. “Do not shame your family.”

I jerk backward and blink up at the warden, who is once again clad in steel and red, his helm covering his face. “Oh. Oh!” I drop to a knee and bow my head. “My apologies, Aegis Warden, for my transgression on your person.”

A low chuckle emerges from the warden. “Do not trouble yourself, Miss Strand. The day I can’t handle a little bird running into me is the day I hang up my sword. Rise, and know there is no trouble.”

There’s a soft clink of metal. 

Then a massive, gauntleted hand appears before me. 

I risk a glance upward, finding the Warden has removed his helm, revealing a man with long hair of deepest red and eyes the color of twilight gleaming with what might be mirth. A mouth that could have been sculpted by the old masters curved into a slight smile. 

His voice drops to a low whisper. “Come now, Starling.”

Starling. The word feels like an endearment, which is impossible, yet it does strange things to my insides. I can’t seem to speak, but I manage to place my hand on his—I lay my fingers on his palm and can’t help but marvel at the way I could barely wrap my hand around his thumb. 

He guides me to my feet. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Strand. I am Captain Alexander Ironside of the Aegis. In all my dealings with our esteemed Senator, she never said her younger daughter was just as lovely as her eldest.”

My eyes widen as he bows over my hand—bows!

Don’t say anything weird. 

“I guess you weren’t expecting younger daughters to run into you, either.” I wince at my words, painfully aware that was not an approved comment. 

“I’ll admit it’s rare to not be seen. I find I enjoy the novelty.” He smiles down at me and his deep chuckle that tugs on my insides. I find myself grinning back, enjoying the completely unfamiliar sensation of being regarded by a man who is flesh and blood, who is holding my physical hand. 

And yet, somehow I feel disloyal. 

“Move, dear.” My mother’s voice is smooth, and yet her words still manage to slice through me. “Your transgression has been forgiven. It is time to assume your place and let the delegation enter.”

Oh, shit. I am in the way. 

“Ah, right. Yes. Apologies.” I stumble back inside the room, and hurry off to the side, assuming my pre-approved position beside the sideboard, leaving a clear path to where mother and Dove stand by the room’s central operational desk. I don’t need my mother to tell me it’s too late for me to leave. 

Good. 

I might have fumbled the initial introduction, but the Warden Captain forgave me. Now the meeting will continue as planned, and I can prove to my mother that I can handle the threat of a titan attack just as well as her. A few tremors are nothing—it’s a fact of our daily lives that the earth will shake as the titans move around. 

It doesn’t mean an attack is imminent. 

And if one is? 

Well. Citizens of Vanhold persist. 

We do not let fear stop us. I will not let fear of an attack stop me. No matter what my mother thinks, I will prove I have worth. That I can be of service—even if the academy doesn’t want me. My original goal for the day stands: I will support my sister in this meeting—I will pull the information requested with all the skill I possess, I will guard my words, and I will ensure I do nothing else strange. 

I draw in a deep breath as the delegation enters. 

Two Ministry heralds enter, their expressions solemn and their hands clasped before them, their charcoal robes without adornment—a mark of their neutral state within Vanhold. They are flanked by three more wardens, making it a full squad. Rare. These discussions must be more sensitive than I knew. 

It’s an impressive retinue. 

Far more than expected, which makes my mother’s stiff posture even stranger. She should be reveling in the honor of having a full guard at her negotiations. Yet her senator-mask seems more fixed than usual, and there’s no obvious pleasure in her gaze when the delegates enter. They appear to be a couple, a man and a woman by Vanhold standards. Their clothing—bright fabrics that are patched and bear signs of being redyed mixed with woven leathers—mark them as members of a migrant village. Both delegates hold their heads high, but I can feel desperation rolling off them. 

They are here to beg entry into Vanhold’s protective walls. 

It’s my mother’s favorite task as senator. Yet there’s no satisfaction glinting in the corner of my mother’s eyes. 

I start to frown and barely stop myself. 

There’s nothing my mother enjoys more than correcting the bands of traveling townships, who think the way to survive the titans is to avoid them. The migrants travel the continent, evading titan hotspots and hoping they’re too small to be of note. Until they realize they can’t—that the only way to survive the titans is the fortitude of armored havens like Vanhold. 

My mother takes every joining as a personal victory. 

So why isn’t she thrilled? 

Or maybe she is, and it’s my presence that’s casting a cloud on her day. Yeah, that’s probably it. She’s probably worried I’ll do something else to smear her reputation. My chest tightens at the thought, and I force my chin up. 

I stand, silent and still in the corner, as my mother glides through introductions to the delegates and the wardens. 

Names and details wash over me. 

Oh, I try to focus. But my brain wants to determine which warden has captured my sister’s interest. 

I glance at the Captain, then quickly avert my gaze. He’s charming and handsome, sure. Yet if he’s accepted a meet with Dove, he’s awfully good at giving no indication of a prior acquaintance. He’s shown her no particular attention. And given he bowed over my hand and called me starling after a casual blunder…

I just don’t think it’s him.

Perhaps it’s selfish, but I study the other three from beneath my lashes. 

Whoever my sister’s warden is, he’d better show her some favor. He might be an augmented warrior, honed to protect empaths and battle titans hundreds of times his size. But if he messes with Dove, well, no armor is defense against how intensely awkward I can make things. 

The blond warrior standing to the right of the captain is handsome, with half his shoulder-length hair contained by a warrior’s braid and all of it gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck.

The red sigil on his shoulder marks him as a heavy weapons specialist, and the almost smug tilt of his mouth tells me he’s skilled—and he knows it. 

Too smug, not Dove’s style. 

The next one is older, bald and with a bold scar running from his forehead, across his left eye and down his left cheek. His expression keeps veering toward grim, and I must be imagining a slight tremor in his left pinky finger, because no active warden can be anything less than one hundred percent active. Still, I know without being told that he’s seen too many battles to want to chase after love. 

Which leaves lucky warrior number three. 

He’s handsome, like the others, though seems younger than the rest. His dark brown hair is woven into tight braids that framed his scalp and hang down the back of his armor like the tails of a flail. The slight scar on his top lip adds character. And… I catch my breath when he looks at Dove, because his dark eyes light as if the sun rises with her.

Oh, my heart. 

He seems stunned and grateful to be in the same room as my sister. I might have to spare him. 

Mystery solved, I try to catch up on the conversation. 

The group are gathered around Dove’s desk, with the heralds, migrant delegates, Dove and our mother closest to the piece, all bent over what appears to be a map. While the wardens ring the outside, a steel line of defense. As anticipated, they’re discussing the terms of a small, migrant village joining.

They must feel so fortunate to be on the brink of safety. 

“Your people will be given the opportunity to join the workforce in the outer vallies,” my mother is saying. “After you have proven yourselves, you will be given access to aptitude testing for other positions across Vanhold.”

“How generous,” the male delegate murmurs. 

“Yes,” my mother says, an edge to her tone, “it is. As well, we will provide your children with the safety and opportunity only available within the higher walls of Vanhold. They will be cared for and educated within the North Shore Academy. They will be tested. And if they show aptitude, they will be transferred to the Aegis Academy.”

“What?” The woman jerks. “No! You cannot—”

“We… we understand.” The man grips her shoulder. “They will be protected at this academy, yes?”

“Of course,” Dove says. “It’s the safest location in Vanhold.”

“Then…then we’re grateful.” The woman’s voice wavers.

“All citizens of Vanhold are,” my mother says. 

There’s subtext in her voice, one I don’t understand. It makes my teeth hurt. 

I study the way the delegates lean together, their fingers twined and their shoulders slumped. It’s not a pose that speaks to relief. I stiffen as a sudden wash of emotion fills the office. Gripping the edge of the sideboard, I try to steady myself, to block out the sensations. But it twists through the air and tightens my throat. 

No. Not now that I’ve been allowed to stay. 

This feeling needs to stop—I don’t understand it or the subtext that hangs thick around the gathering. 

I swallow hard and try to focus on other things. 

The way the delegate’s bright yellow shawl is incongruously bright in comparison to the subdued hues of the heralds’ robes. It makes me think of sunshine. It makes me sad, because once she joins us, she’ll never be able to wear it again—that kind of hue invites too much attention. 

My gaze shifts to the row of glasses on the sideboard. 

I study the way the light catches the water, bending the white beam into an arch of color on the black counter. It’s these tiny glimmers of beauty that help me through the worst moments. Slowly, I work to control my heart rate. The sensation begins to fade, washing away like ink in rain. 

Until the rainbow light wobbles.

The movement is slight, almost faint enough to pretend it’s nothing but my own knees trying to give way. It’s nothing. Probably nothing. And even if it is something, there’s no reason for concern. Tremors are simply part of daily life. Whatever had brushed near our part of the ocean would keep swimming. 

Holding my breath, I stare at the water. 

Did I just see it ripple?

No. No way. A distant titan wouldn’t be able to make the surface do that. I must be imagining things. Just to be safe, I lay a hand on the polished stone counter and wait, searching for the slightest hint of a tremor. 

One second passes. Then ten. Then twenty.

I exhale. It must have been me—

The stone trembles beneath my fingertips. 

Oh. Shit. I whirl toward the gathering. “Dove! There’s a—”

My mother’s brows snap together and she jabs a finger at me. “Wren, we will discuss your comportment after this discussion is complete. This is an important conversation. I will not waste the delegates’ time with your…”

The eerie wail of the city’s sirens drown out the rest of her reprimand.

This time there’s no denying the tremor that runs through the floor. 

A titan is coming. 

It feels impossible. All my worries each morning and this is the first time I’ve been in a vulnerable location when a titan attacks. I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Normally, all I can feel are distant rumbles—and all I see are clips of footage as the Aegis releases updates for the city’s vidcomms. 

Normally, I’m in the lower archives.

“We shall remain calm and continue our negotiations,” my mother says. “An emergence does not mean an attack. This is likely nothing more than a test of the city’s defenses, something quickly deterred by the wardens.”

“Senator…” The slighter delegate looks alarmed. “Perhaps we should take shelter?”

“No need.” My mother waves a hand. “It’s rare for a titan to breach the wall—”

The building bucks beneath us. It kicks the regular people into the air—as my feet leave the floor I catch sight of Dove and the delegates flying upward. On the way down, through the strands of my hair that has fallen out of its braid, I see the wardens haven’t budged. Of course.. Their massive suits of armor won’t let them. 

I hit the ground and bend my knees to soften the impact, but the air still rushes from my lungs.

The Captain grabs my arm and pulls me forward. 

My vision is a blur of armor and the fabric of my ministry jacket as he shoves me into cover behind the heavy piece.  

Hot breath brushes my ear, and a deep male voice says, “Stay low, Starling.”

Then he’s gone, charging toward the row of windows with the other wardens.

I should stay low—I know it. But I can’t. I grip the edge of the desk and peer around the corner, watching as the captain and two of the other wardens reach the glass. They hit some command and an entire slab of the glazing begins to retract. 

I gasp—I had no idea the row of windows could open.

My sister’s beau has positioned himself before the desk, in front of my mother and sister. Behind us crouch the heralds. I glance around and realize the pair of delegates are standing in the middle of the room, forgotten.

“Here!” I shout, motioning for them to join us behind the desk. “It offers protection!”

They stare at me, as if unable to comprehend my words. I stretch out my hand toward them and the woman does the same. Our fingertips brush, and I start to close my hand, to pull her toward me. 

The ground rumbles, and a soul-rending screech blasts the air. 

The wall of glass explodes. 

An invisible force strikes us and the woman’s hand disappears from mine. I catch sight of yellow fabric flying into the far wall, then I’m being slammed downward. I hit the cement floor hard enough to see stars. 

Gasping for air, I clap my hands over my ears and roll to the side as shards of glass rain down around us. Something bites my shoulder, and a painful line scratches down my left arm. I keep moving until I reach the relative shelter of the desk. 

There’s ringing in my ears, so loud I can’t hear anything. 

My entire body trembles as I push myself up. I shove hair from my face and struggle to make sense of what I’m seeing. 

My mother and the two heralds are behind the desk. A trickle of blood runs from my mother’s nose, while it looks as if the herald’s ears are bleeding. Pulling myself up further, I look past the desk and find the wardens. 

My blood runs cold as I realize they’re down. 

The wardens are down. 

It should be impossible. They’re our protectors, our fearless, augmented warriors who keep the monsters at bay. They should be on their feet, brandishing their weapons at the oncoming titan. 

Only…they’re not. The golden haired one is on his back and I think I see a red pool forming beneath him. The older one with the scar is out of view. My sister’s beau is collapsed on the floor. He’s barely in sight, but I think I see his foot moving. Hopefully that means he’s not dead—especially as my sister is crouched beside him. 

And the captain, the one who called me starling and pushed me to safety, has gone down on a knee.

He holds his blade defiantly, as if half the armor ripped from his arm. 

Before him is an enormous black beak. 

It's the size of my room and the single eye facing me is as large as my bed. I see myself reflected in its red depths. All the dead gods cry as one, it is the most terrifying being I have ever beheld. I have never seen this titan before, yet I know it. Every child of Vanhold knows this monster.

The Odinshade.

The manifestation of Odin’s final bellow—one of the deadliest titans ever recorded. 

When I was little, my grandmother sat Dove and I down and explained to us how the world changed when the last god died. That when the god of compassion drowned beneath a sea of greed, that all the protections the gods had cast upon the earth failed. How all the wild fury of the earth rose from the depths in the form of the titans—and how some of those titans stole the forms of the very gods who had caged them. 

It looks at me.

I feel it, the unbridled power, the fury that burns in its heart, and its overwhelming drive to kill the human ants who’d dare to steal its earth. Then its attention shifts and I feel it studying my sister. 

The captain swings, yet even his blade has no power against that beak. The length of steel that could fell a lesser monster in a single strike glances off the hooked end as if it were nothing more than a fly. 

He struggles to his feet, and the Odinshade’s head darts to the side, knocking him across the room as if he’s nothing. 

Then that lethal beak points at Dove. 

“Move!” I shout. “Dove, run!”

But my sister only stares upward, frozen.

The giant, blackened hook gleams as it descends toward her. But I’m still feeling the titan—its rage, and beneath the rage, an encompassing grief. Mist swirls across my vision, smokey and tinged with green. My vision wobbles, but something else inside me steadies as the fog claims me.

My heart beats against my ribs. I can’t catch my breath, can’t get any air—but  I can see the blackened thread of the titan’s grief. 

I lurch to my feet and reach out. 

“Wren, no!” My mother’s cry is muted, as if shouted from a far room and not a mere desk away. 

I ignore her. I don’t think I could have stopped myself, even if I’d wanted to. It should be impossible to grasp this thread of grief that shimmers like oil slicked across water, yet I take hold with both hands. Somehow its emotions are a tangible cord in my hands, an ethereal rope that lies solid in my hands. 

I heave on that rope with all my might. As I pull, I beg: “Stop!”

My heart feels like it's going to explode, my head is pounding. My hands burn and my vision fractures into a prism of half-formed images. It’s terrifying. I should stop, I want to stop—only I also can’t. I’m entwined with the titan, as it is with me. Its eye is on me as my hands are on its grief. 

The eye and the emotions coursing through it are brutal, sharp edged and ready to tear me apart. 

What am I doing? Is this what it’s like to die?  

I expect it to continue its strike. I expect it to change course and stab me into nothing for daring to test its grieving heart. Yet through the broken pieces of my vision, something even more terrifying happens. 

It does as I ask. 

It stops. 

How is it that moments can feel so potent, so still, it’s as if you’ve been caught in crystal. Yet simultaneously, events are rushing past, thrusting you into change so fast you can’t tell if you’re flying or falling? 

This is how I feel. 

Caught. Frozen and speeding. 

I think I push outward, releasing that thread of grief and rage along with a demand that the Odinshade enact its terrible retribution elsewhere. I think the massive form of the titan grows smaller as it retreats. Or perhaps that’s me, as my vision vanishes in a sea of fog and I crumple to the ground. 

As I lie there, gasping, willing oblivion to take me, all I can hear is my mother whispering: “Wren, what have you done?”