She’d only snapped the keel shut when she’d retrieved it from the lictors; her harness straps were tied together and tucked out of the way. Cristof sat at a table in the back. She locked her wings upright, out of the way of other patrons, and walked over to him. The tips of her metal flight feathers brushed the cobwebs on the ceiling beams. The exalted slouched in his chair, staring at a tall pint of ale. His pocket watch was open next to his drink, gently ticking. Taya glanced at its mother-of-pearl face. She was just on time. Filling out the paperwork to reclaim her wings had taken her longer than expected. “Can we talk here?” she asked, turning a chair around and sitting down. She folded her arms over its back. “In generalities.” He reached forward and picked up the watch, closing it with care and slipping it into his vest pocket. “All right.” She gave him a level look.
