I originally wrote this for Marissa Meyer's fanfic contest, but I missed the deadline by an hour, so I never submitted it. I re-discovered it on my computer this afternoon, and decided that I would post it in celebration of the release of "Winter." It's interesting to see how much my writing has improved since this past September...

Enjoy.

"Hey, listen," Kai said. "I know that you're probably really busy, but would you be able to fix one more thing for me?"

Cinder, who was examining Nainsi, paused and shrugged. "Probably. Why, what do you need repaired?"

In response, he pulled out a bejeweled bird from the pocket of his gray hoodie. Cinder took it from him with gentle fingers, admiring its delicate body and the way it threw rainbows against the walls of her booth.

It was surprisingly light for a mechanical bird, too, especially when you realized that it was inlaid with various precious metals. Without her portscreen, Cinder wouldn't even have recognized half of the jewels, although the diamonds, rubies, and sapphires were easily identifiable.

But with a start, she realized that she didn't even recognize the metal of the bird's body. But even if it was made up of far too many unknown components for her liking, she couldn't deny that it was one of those pieces with all-around beautiful craftsmanship.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" the prince stated, startling her.

With more-than-slight embarrassment—but not a blush—she realized that she'd just been examining the bird for a while now, probably longer than what what was socially acceptable considering that the prince was in her stall.

"Uh huh," Cinder agreed quickly. Holding it up to the light, she rotated the bird in her hands, looking for the designer's emblem—and frowning when she saw none. "Where did you get this?" Cinder asked. "This bird isn't like anything I've ever seen before. I mean, I don't think that I even recognize half of the materials used to make it."

From the wry smile and slight purse of his lips—not that she was watching his lips, mind you—Cinder guessed that the answer wasn't a pleasant one.

"It was a gift from the thaumaturges when they first arrived here on Earth," Kai said. "All on Queen Levana's behalf, of course."

Cinder's eyebrows shot up. "I thought that Levana hated anything with a personality chip. You know, androids and the like."

"Well, I won't claim to understand the technology that makes it function, but I was promised that the bird has nothing resembling a personality chip. I mean, it doesn't even have wires. It only has one purpose, and it's to sing."

"No offense, but that kind of seems like a useless gift."

Kai's lips quirked. "It's supposed to be more symbolic than anything else."

"Symbolic?"

"Uh huh."

"How does a singing bird have symbolism?"

Kai hesitated. "Promise you won't laugh."

Although Cinder half-wondered why it was necessary, she promised him anyway.

"Okay," Kai began. "See, the gift is based off of an old fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen called 'The Nightingale'..."

Kai was clearly in his element as he regaled Cinder with the story of the Emperor and the Nightingale, and how the artificial bird took the place of the real one—until, of course, the artificial nightingale eventually broke, and the real bird was reinstated.

By the end of his retelling, Cinder couldn't hold in her laughter for any longer. "Stars," Cinder managed to say a minute or so later, still half-smiling. "That is some awful symbolism."

"I know, right?"

"But now I'm kind of curious. Did you ever have a real nightingale living in your gardens?"

"Not that I know of. But then again, the Emperor didn't know about it either until it was published in a book, so..." he trailed off suggestively, making Cinder laugh. (Again.)

With some reluctance, Cinder cleared her throat. All of the laughter was making the nearby passerby look at them oddly, and if Prince Kai's cover was blown, Cinder didn't want to be trampled in the resulting horde of fangirls. "Alright, then, the bird," she said. "What about it needs to be repaired?"

The prince rubbed the back of his neck. "See, that's the thing. It's been having maintenance problems for a while now, but no one has actually been able to tell us what's wrong with it."

Cinder raised her eyebrows. "Wait. So you don't actually know what's wrong with it, then, just that something is wrong?"

"Well… yeah, pretty much." Prince Kai gave a sheepish smile, and Cinder resisted the urge to sigh. "They were throwing around a lot of different terms, and as someone who barely knows the difference between a nut and a bolt—"

"Speak no more," Cinder interrupted. Honestly, she was kind of impressed that he knew even that much. "Look, I'll see what I can do about the Nightingale, okay? Sorry, but I can't exactly make any guarantees."

"Fair enough," Kai responded with a shrug.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Kai coughed. "Listen, it's been fun. I wish that I could stay for longer, but..." Kai trailed off, but he didn't have to finish the end of his sentence for her to understand.

"Hey, it's okay. You probably have responsibilities back at the palace, huh?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Do I need to pay you in advance for the Nightingale?"

Cinder would've blushed if she could have. Thank you, cyborg body. "Oh, you don't have to pay at all—"

"I insist."

"Oh," Cinder took a deep breath. "Okay then. In that case, no; you can just pay me after. There's no guarantee I'll be able to fix it, and if you can trust me with this"—she points to the jewel-encrusted, very valuable nightingale—"then I'm pretty sure that I can trust you to pay up."

Kai gives her a quick nod. It's oddly formal, especially when compared to the mannerisms of the boy she just laughed with, and Cinder realizes with disappointment that he's already started to slip back into his role as the prince—and future Emperor—of the Eastern Commonwealth.

"It's has been a pleasure, Lihn-méi." Prince Kai says, and even though Cinder responds quickly with a "likewise," she is strangely melancholy.

Fifteen minutes later, there is a scream as Chang Sacha, the woman across the street and the owner of the bakery, is discovered to have the plague. But the sirens weren't what drew Cinder's attention. Pecking through the sticky buns was a small, gray bird, and it had begun to sing.

As the crowd flees the marketplace in a mass exodus, Cinder stays behind, lying on her stomach so she can peer through the narrow slat of her booth's steel door. Throughout all the chaos, she keeps her eyes on the gray bird until it sings its last few sweet, mournful notes and flies away.

(Iko would've been crushed in the crowd, anyway.)

Hope you enjoyed.