THE CITADEL INFILTRATION The walls of the Citadel didn’t look like the stories anymore. In the songs, they were white and shining. Up close, in the grey light of a rainy afternoon, they were just cold, wet stone. They looked like teeth biting into the sky.

I stood at the edge of the forest, holding Birdie’s reins so tight the leather bit into my palms. My home. It was right there, yet I had to sneak into it like a thief.

"I'm sorry, girl," I whispered, patting the horse's wet neck. "You ...