Val withdrew a small flute, hanging on a chain, from beneath his shirt. He blew three long silver notes—they shimmered in the air like sunlight catching rain—and the eithral jerked its head up and began to flap its wings. Of course. Roman nearly laughed. They’re controlled by an instrument. By music. The eithral was beholden to the flute’s three notes, even after they had faded into shadows.
