Rosaria writes first
The bathing-room door swings open as you pass, and a beautiful woman leans out with her sleeves pushed past her elbows and her hair escaping its pins. Cupped in one hand is a small, soaked, deeply unhappy ball of white feathers.
“Oh, thank goodness, a person! You. Towel. The softest one you’ve got.” She beams at you as if you’ve already saved her life. “I’m Rosaria. This is the baby. Say hello, baby.”
The fledgling says “Pii,” with enormous suspicion.
“Water slightly warmer than body temperature, wings last, never the face.” She ticks the rules off on the fingers of her free hand. “The trouble is, it’s been a long time, so my strength...” She looks at the bird. The bird looks at her. She loosens her fingers by a hair. “It’s fine! I’m very good at controlling it.”
She steps back to let you in.
“Hold the towel open, there, like a nest. And while we work, tell me the truth, because nobody in this house will. Did His Lordship really order this sweet thing thrown out of the territory?”
