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

Sayer had no interest in joining her dame's old club, but she promised she would, hoping it would revive her. It didn't. And then she died, and Sayer found herself alone. Even then, she wasn't sure she would become a Nightbird. But what else was there? Her options were to scrape together coins as a coffee girl, join a gang, or go to her estranged sire: impossible. So here she is, at the heart of all her dame yearned to get back to. And all she wants to do is tear it down.

She stops to watch a maid set up a coffee service on a side table. The smell takes her back to her days at Twice Lit, where she worked despite her dame's protests. After all, they needed the coin. She liked the smell of roasted twills and the sound of students at its tables, debating the movements of politics and stars. She liked the urchins and the sandpiper gang boys who hung around the shop even better. They taught her more useful things: how to blend into a crowd, wield a knife, steal with a smile.

A partygoer brushes past the maid, making the stack of plates she's holding wobble. He uses steadying her as an excuse to move in close. Sayer can't see his hands, but the maid blushes fiercely at whatever part of her he is touching. The girl won't complain, though: The man's a lord. Sayer grimaces. In Simta, all the wrong people suffer.

Sayer steps in. "She doesn't need your help. Move along."

The man makes an affronted noise but moves on without protest.

"Oh," the maid says. "Thank you, miss."

She bobs a curtsy. The gesture makes Sayer feel annoyed.

"Can I help you set up?" Sayer asks.

The girl's eyes widen. "Such work isn't meant for ladies."

It's the same thing Dame said when she first got her job at Twice Lit.

Words Sayer will never hear her say again.

She clears her throat, swallowing down the painful weight there. The maid's refusal is just as well, as Sayer isn't sure she can bend down in this dress. It's in the latest style, its drop waist falling just below her hipbones, clinging to her in a dark, blue-black sheath. A capelet drapes down her back, shimmering with tiny beads some tailor's trickster-kissed to shoot like stars across it.

Smile, my girl, Leta said when she presented it. You are a walking constellation. One that everyone will want to wish on. But shining brightly only makes people want to steal your glow.

Later tonight, she'll become the Ptarmigan: a code name Leta chose for her because of that bird's adroit camouflage. Sayer's magic has the power to help someone blend into their surroundings, letting them walk through the world unseen. She doesn't want this life, but she made her dame a promise. For a summer, at least, she'll see it through. Leta swore she could keep the Ptarmigan's earnings; a couple months' worth will equal more than she could make at Twice Lit in a decade. It will set her up so that she never needs help, or this place, again.

From across the room, Matilde catches Sayer's eye, crooking a finger. She seems to want the three of them to be a pretty flock of fledglings, sharing outfits and secrets and dreams. Nightbirds are like sisters, Dame told her once. They are the only ones who will ever truly know you. But where were they when her dame needed them? Probably laughing around a table at some gilded party like this.

Sayer didn't come here for sisters. She came to pick these people's pockets for all they're worth. After all, she is not a star made for if only wishes. She's the kind of star that burns.

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.