Excerpt from Nightbirds by Kate J. Armstrong, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Prospective suitors, she means. The army of bores she will pour onto Matilde's and Æsa's dance cards, trying to push them both into an advantageous match.

"Really, Dame," Matilde says. "We only just got here."

Her dame lowers her voice. "You've already had too many single Seasons. People are starting to talk of it."

Matilde rolls her eyes. "I'm not a prime cut of meat at market. I won't start to stink if you leave me in the sun."

She doesn't know why Dame froths over the issue—most Great House boys would eagerly wed a Nightbird. They apply to Leta, their Madam, for the privilege, even though they don't know who they're getting engaged to. From what Matilde has seen, they don't seem much to mind. The suitors are Great House born, and always diamonds. But choosing from a small, curated jewel box isn't the same as choosing for yourself.

She goes to hook an arm through Æsa's, but Dame beats her to it. Æsa looks like a fish caught on a line. Matilde has the notion that her dame is pushing Samson toward Æsa—not that he needs the encouragement. With red-gold hair, lush curves, and green eyes, she is stunning. She has no money, but being a Nightbird is a dowry all its own.

She wonders if Æsa can see her dame's machinations. Since she arrived, she's seemed too homesick for the Illish Isles to see much at all.

"I'll take a turn first," Matilde says. "Do a bit of my own surveying."

Dame frowns. "The last thing we need is you causing mischief."

Matilde tugs at one long, silken glove. "I wasn't planning on it."

Dame sniffs. "You never do."

Samson closes one eye behind his umber-colored mask, as if he might block out the brewing argument. "Really, ladies. Must we?"

Samson won't be chastised for the cut of his outfit or made to dance with some sweaty lord with an underbite. Resentment burns hot on her tongue.

"Never fear," Matilde says. "I don't imagine I'll break any rules between here and the refreshments table."

Dame is clearly about to argue when Gran cuts in.

"Oura, it's Matilde's first party of the Season. Let's allow her to enjoy it."

Matilde waits as her dame pretends to consider it. She is not the head of House Dinatris, after all.

"Fine," she says at last. "But don't be long, Matilde. And no cocktails. I mean it."

With that, she heads toward their table, tugging Æsa along with her. The girl looks back with don't leave me eyes, her bright hair burning in the shifting light. Matilde should rescue her from Dame's clutches, and she will—eventually. Samson follows, swiping a glass of Leta's signature cocktail and raising it in a mock toast to Matilde.

Gran turns toward her, the grey-blue sequins of her simple mask winking. "Don't mind your dame. You know how she worries."

Matilde adjusts her own mask. "I've forgotten what she said already."

It's a lie, of course. Dame's words from that afternoon are still circling. You cannot fly free forever. Eventually you must settle down and build a nest. Matilde doesn't want to nest with someone who only wants her for her magic. She wants the freedom to choose a future for herself.

"She's right, though," Gran goes on. "You will have to choose soon."

Marriage is expected of a Nightbird, so she can pass on her gift to a new generation of Great House girls. It's practically demanded. The thought makes something tighten in her chest.

Gran adjusts Matilde's corsage of winglilies, their House's floral sigil, and gives her a secretive smile.

"I had adventures in that dress, you know. It has tricked many into thinking the girl beneath was soft and biddable."

Matilde's lips tilt. "Are you saying you got up to mischief in it?"

"Perhaps." Gran taps the back of her hand with two fingers. "Fly carefully, my darling."

Matilde smiles at the Nightbird watchwords. "I'll do my best."

Excerpted from Nightbirds by Kate J. Armstrong. Copyright © 2023 by Kate J. Armstrong. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.