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    rasp of his breath and the thunder of his pulse.
    With hands that shook a little, he lifted the plume and brushed it over his racing
    heart. Good. Twister ‟ s balls, that had been good.
    * * * * *
    23
     
    When Lise returned to her office the following afternoon, her first impression was
    that the chamber had somehow shrank, crammed wall-to-wall with male muscle and
    feathers. When she blinked, the confusion resolved itself into Miriliel the Burnished, his
    elegant lips compressed with impatience, and someone else, the biggest Aetherii she ‟ d
    ever seen.
    “Hullo, Mirry,” she said calmly, seating herself on the stool behind the desk and
    settling her wings behind her with a rustle. Her heart squeezed a little at the sight of
    him, as it always did, but she smiled pleasantly. Gods, how she hated to fail! But she ‟ d
    been too boring, too sensible for a man as different as Miriliel the Burnished.
    Determinedly, she pinned the smile in place. The world needed common sense as much
    as it needed brilliance—more in her opinion.
    “What can I do for you? And,” she shot a look of enquiry at the other Aetherii—
    Veil-it, the tips of his wings nearly brushed the ceiling, “your, ah, friend?”
    “Daxariel the Burnished,” said Mirry. “My cousin. He ‟ s fresh in from the Eyrie,
    never been to a Grounded city before. Dax, this is Liseriel the Gray, Jan ‟ s second.”
    He flashed her a grin, completely oblivious of his effect on any female who wasn ‟ t
    clinically dead. “She ‟ s a good friend.”
    Lise nodded, unruffled. “Your cousin. Yes, I see.” And she did.
    Daxariel ‟ s hair was the same astonishing gorgeous mix of sunset colors as Mirry ‟ s—
    russet, auburn and terracotta streaked with soft gold—but his wings were a much
    deeper hue, true bronze, shading to a dark metallic green on the flight feathers. The
    lamplight sparked deep, lambent gleams off them as he shifted. Burnished indeed.
    There the resemblance ended. Where Mirry was all lean, lithe grace and beauty,
    Daxariel was brutally broad and solid. Where Mirry ‟ s facial structure was pure and
    refined, almost too beautiful for masculinity, his cousin ‟ s was four-square and
    uncompromising. He looked like the result of an unlikely mating between some kind of
    primeval raptor and a passing mountain.
    Lise tried to estimate his wingspan and gave up.
    “Please,” she said, “be seated.
    Daxariel grabbed at a stool, nearly upsetting it in the process. A flush running up
    under the golden skin of his cheek, he muttered an apology and sat. Lise stifled a sigh.
    What was she supposed to do with this great lump?
    As if he ‟ d read her mind, Mirry said, “We want you to train him. Show him how
    you work.”
    “ We ?”
    “Jan and me.”
    “Train him? To do what, exactly?”
    Mirry remained unperturbed. “He ‟ s a good man in a fight, but find out what he ‟ s
    best at, Lise.” Another devastatingly sweet smile. “You ‟ re good at that.”
    24

    Thank the gods she was over Miriliel the Burnished. These days, the memory of
    their affair was bittersweet rather than painful. Jan… Well, Jan she admired and
    respected, but he was a difficult man to like, let alone love. He could be so intimidating,
    so cold. She didn ‟ t know how Fledge managed them both, but the fact remained that
    she did. The little Grounded was such a darling, and much tougher than she looked.
    She must be, because Mirry and Jan had never been happier.
    At least Lise had been able to give Jan exactly what he needed. All she had to do
    was live up to the reputation of her clan. The Gray were famous for their dedication to
    public service.
    She turned to the big Aetherii. “What are your talents, Daxariel the Burnished?”
    If anything, the flush intensified. “I fly very well,” he said in a slow, deep rumble. “I
    honor my word. I ‟ ve done the proper fight training.” A pause. “Ah…good with
    children.” He fell silent, his tail curling