She had not understood what it had been like for him to live his entire life underground, chained and beaten and crippled—until then. Until she heard that noise of undiluted, unyielding joy. Until she echoed it, tipping her head back to the surrounding clouds. They sailed over a sea of clouds, and Abrams dipped his claws in them before tilting to race up a wind-carved column of cloud. Higher and higher, until they reached its peak, and he flung out his wings in the freezing, thin sky, stopping the world entirely for a heartbeat. And Manon, because no one was watching, because she did not care, flung out her arms as well and savored the free-fall, the wind now a song in her ears, in her shriveled heart.

Heir of Fire