The sky above the kingdom of Aethelgard was dark and purple, like a deep bruise. The warmth of the sun did not come freely. It came at a terrible cost.
Princess Lyra stood on the palace balcony, gripping the cold stone. Below her, the people were cheering. There were banners, music, and painted faces. It felt like a festival. That was the worst part.
They were celebrating the Tithe.
Today, the Feathered Queen would take twelve firstborn children from noble families. In return, the sun would stay warm for another twenty years.
"Smile, Lyra," her father, King Alaric, whispered. "The people must believe we are willing."
"We are not willing," Lyra replied. "We are afraid."
"It is the only way," the king said softly. "Without the Queen, the land will freeze and die."
A deep humming sound filled the air. The clouds opened, and a huge flying ship appeared. It was made of shining metal and white feathers. This was the Aurealis, the Queen's ship.
The twelve chosen children were led forward. Lyra was first. She wore a heavy gold dress that made it hard to breathe. Some of the others cried. Some stood still, pretending to be brave.
A tall man wearing a mirror mask greeted them on the ship.
"Welcome," he said quietly. "You will keep the world alive."
As the ship rose into the sky, Lyra watched her father grow smaller below. She felt angry. And alone.