A Night in the Feather Tower
The Feather Tower is the nicest prison anyone was ever locked in — a round room lined with down, with one window looking out over an ocean of moonlit cloud. It is still a prison. The door is very locked, and dawn feels very close, and Sera lies with her grey wound toward the wall so you won't keep looking at it.
“The old way means the Sky Trials,” she tells you. “Three tests, before the whole Court. Pass, and the Queen's justice frees us — more than frees us. Champions can ask a boon, Madison. We could ask for the sky itself to hunt Vespera. But the Trials are not gentle, and if we fail…” She doesn't finish.
You are still working out how to feel about that when something goes tap tap tap at the window.
It's the smirking boy — floating outside on his pet storm cloud, cape fluttering, grinning like a jack-o'-lantern. He pushes the window open with a creak. “Hi. Prince Nimbus. Official disgrace of the Cloud Court. I heard what you said to Mother — nobody talks to her like that, it was amazing — so here's the thing.” He leans in, dropping to a whisper. “I know where the wolves were seen tonight. Near the Dawn Herd — your herd, guardian. Mother won't send riders till her precious Trials are done. But my cloud fits three, and I know a window that doesn't lock.”
Dawn in an hour. The Trials — or the window.