Marisiel

Anger and helplessness began to unite as Marisiel took wing, fusing into a single coherent emotion. Yes, she had been wrong-footed by this entire situation, and no, she did not like it; she shouldn't have to think of Titania as an enemy, shouldn't have to consider how to defend herself against mankind. But she did, and someone was clearly at fault for it. If Phaedra was determined to set itself against the Valkyrie, against all sense, then the blame fell squarely upon Phaedra.

Only the presence of the queen's consort just behind her muddied the waters. Not that she didn't applaud Istomilo's decision—how could she resent him for speaking the truth and acting as Titania should be?—but it did confuse matters. Reminded her, perhaps, of why humans should not be her enemies, of how badly this could go if not stopped. And how little she could do to stop it.

Faith, she reminded herself. My Lady will know what to do.

"Now I must return to Heaven," she said by way of answer, "and deliver this news to the Valkyrie. You must remain here, and act as you see fit. I trust your judgment." Her wings tore at the air, sending her aloft. She truly did wish she had more for Istomilo, but she didn't. She simply didn't have the answers.

She soared towards Heaven, and...


... opened her eyes, staring at a wooden ceiling. Grey morning light crept in through the window, dimly illuminating the room. Anger and confusion slowly drained out of her, leaving a quiet, comfortable, wondering feeling.

Only a dream. But not the first dream Mar had had of the winged woman. No, Marisiel. I can remember her name now. She'd dreamed of the angel atop a tower, on an island, in her old home being punished... even seen her waking. She thought the winged body might have been hers, at least; she couldn't see her own face in the dreams, but it was familiar.

Maybe it wouldn't have mattered, only some of her other dreams were true. Jacob, for instance. She was sure that had happened, so maybe all her other dreams had happened too.

They had all died at Daddy's hands, and then he had gone on to find a new daughter... no, that was wrong, because of two things. First, if she were only the last in a long line of wicked daughters, she should have remembered being snatched from her home, shouldn't she? Oh, she could remember after a fashion... but only in dreams; as far as she could think back, she had lived with Daddy in Ironheart.

The second reason was that, well, he was her Daddy. She knew, somehow, that he didn't just want a daughter, he wanted his daughter. It was why, for the longest time, she had been able to convince herself that he loved her.

But he doesn't, she had to remind herself, fighting guilt. He hurts me, and I'm not going back.

She sat up to banish those thoughts, wrapping the blankets around herself to stave off the morning chill. This was already a good day, she thought. Before she came to the house, she just would've had to be cold.

That thought wrapped around her mind like the blanket wrapped around her body, and for a little while she forgot the dreams.