by E G Stone
It was Davorin’s turn to blink. Ravenna’s presence in the land was sure to have brought about whispers, but the number of people who had seen her was relatively low. And Seraphina did not have any spies in the Red Palace. Davorin had made certain of that.
“A powerful omen,” Seraphina purred. “If you believe such nonsense. What did you do, tie wings onto some unsuspecting girl and parade her around far enough away that people couldn’t quite see her?”
Davorin smirked. “Actually, dear sister, that is one thing that hasn’t been warped by rumour. She is a true angel. Calls herself a sylph, a winged woman. She is stunningly beautiful. More beautiful than you, even. And extremely capable. She killed a desert lion just last night.”
Seraphina curled her lip and stared at the gold leaf encrusting her skin. “Would that I could believe you, Davorin. But magic and magical creatures vanished from this land generations ago. Anyone who still believes in such nonsense is a fool.”
“Perhaps.” Davorin shrugged. He looked around the opulence of the tent. “Where is Baldur? I would have expected him to be here to greet me.”
“Out on patrol,” Seraphina said. “He will be here this evening and you can ask him all about his rise to power.”
“If he is the leading High Warlord of Southron, what does that make you? His Queen? Or his spymaster?”
Seraphina rolled her eyes. “You assume too much scheming, Davorin. That will forever be your downfall. Baldur managed to unite the tribes of Southron on his own. If he asked for my advice, then I gave it. But it wasn’t some ridiculous bid for a kingship. The constant warring between the tribes was going to tear Southron apart. Did you know they had nearly dissolved the Tribal Council?”
Davorin sighed and leaned back. “I’m sorry. I know how ambitious you are, though. It’s hard to believe that this could have happened without your scheming.”
This time, Seraphina smiled fiercely, her grin nothing short of dangerous. “Just because this happened without my input doesn’t mean I won’t enjoy the benefits. Besides, Baldur now needs to think about the direction he is going to lead the country. How better to help him than to use my experience with the Salusian Empire?”
“Which is why you’re gathered on the border of the Red Desert?”
“This again?” Seraphina huffed. Davorin leaned forwards so his elbows rested on his knees and he was close enough to his sister to see the intelligent gleam in her eyes. Seraphina, for her part, did not blink.
“I have the Red Desert under control,” Davorin assured her through gritted teeth. “This gathering of forces has the Red Queen concerned.”
“Ah, now we see your real reason for being here!” Seraphina crowed. “Tell me about your lady love? Does she know that you are after her kingdom as much as her heart? Or has the distant Davorin finally fallen for a woman?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Davorin grumbled. He should not have said so much. If anyone would exploit this information, it was his sister. “I am working for the betterment of the Empire.”
“Adding the resources of the Red Desert to the Empire would certainly appease Father. And it would prevent Baldur from having to go to war.”
“You cannot seriously have been considering fighting the people of the Red Desert?” Davorin had not thought Seraphina that stupid.
“The united tribes of Southron are a far more formidable force than you realise,” Seraphina purred. She traced a golden finger over the embroidery on her yellow robe, almost an absent gesture. Davorin understood far more than that; Southron was more than just dangerous, it was wealthy, also. A more formidable pairing, he did not know.
“I will have the Red Queen as my wife very soon,” Davorin vowed. Seraphina smirked, tilting her head.
“As you like, dear brother. I shall give you a month. If you do not have control of the Red Desert by then, Southron will march. I know you are working for the betterment of the Empire, but really, we cannot wait forever.”
No, Davorin thought grimly. His sister’s ambition, no matter how she downplayed it, would not last that long. If he failed, not only would the Empire be worse off and his father’s doubts be confirmed, but Southron would have control of a considerable power. They would be his enemy. Davorin didn’t dislike his sister enough to want her dead. Just controlled.
“Very well,” he agreed. “One month. I’ll send the notice of the wedding by my fastest horse.”
Chapter Twenty
This was not the first time Ravenna had woken in pain. When she had pulled out her feathers as a child, the days after had been agony. When Jazer had branded her, Ravenna had woken with tears in her eyes. So, this was not the first time she had woken in pain, but it was the first time that she had woken with someone else’s hand in hers.
Ravenna blinked her eyes open, squeezing them against the dryness. She swallowed and coughed. The resulting spasm of her muscles had her rearing her head back and arching her back up, her wings struggling as they lay pinned under her body.
“No, shh, relax.”
The voice was soothing amidst the cloud of agony. Ravenna glanced sideways. Miska was there, wearing the same black tunic vest and breeches he had been wearing…when was it? Last night? A few hours ago? Ravenna did not know.
“I need you to relax. I know it hurts, but you need to relax. Breathe,” Miska ordered. He put a hand on her right wing as it beat uselessly against the bed.
She forced herself to take a deep breath, letting her muscles relax a touch and took another breath. After counting to ten, the pain lessened slightly.
“What happened?” she croaked.
Miska brushed her hair from her forehead.
“You killed a rabid desert lion,” he said, then smiled at her, gentle and beautiful. “You saved me.”
“It scratched me.” Ravenna remembered twisting the creature’s neck, but she did not remember just how severe the damage was. Judging by the way her neck, left shoulder, and chest were throbbing, she imagined it was quite severe.
Miska nodded. “Yes,” he breathed. “I thought you were going to die. Warra had to mix up a special poultice to draw the madness poison from your blood.”
“How bad?” Ravenna asked, her words hardly more than a breath. It did not matter. Miska understood.
He turned and fetched a small round object, holding it above Ravenna’s head so she could see. It was a mirror, and what looked back at her was not her reflection. Or rather, it was, but harsher, sharper. The top most wound started at the point where her left shoulder met her neck. The three beneath it stretched from the top of her arm across her chest, ending just above her right breast. On her left wrist was a circle of puncture wounds from the lion’s fangs.
Miska took the mirror away, trembling. Ravenna lifted her right hand and grasped his, wondering why he looked so stricken. Miska tried to smile, but the water gathering in his eyes belied that. “I should have been more aware of my surroundings. If I weren’t so useless, so hopeless, you wouldn’t have been hurt.”
“I have been hurt before,” Ravenna said. “I will probably be hurt again. I’m glad I was there to help you.”
Miska scoffed and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He tried to pull the other out of Ravenna’s grasp, but she tightened her grip. “It was all my fault,” Miska said.
“No,” was her simple answer. “It was mine.”
Miska recoiled, his shoulders snapping to attention. Ravenna wanted to turn her head away so he would not see her pain, but he would not be able to understand what she said if that happened. She forced herself to keep her head turned towards Miska, though she allowed her eyes to drift downwards.
“I have always been accustomed to being on my own. And then my movements were restricted by Jazer, by Da…by my being a slave. And then here, I could run on my own. It was natural to do so. I should have realised that someone would follow me. Would want to keep track of me.”
There, it had been said. Ravenna turned her head away, ignoring the twinge
it brought in her wound. She felt Miska brush her forehead gently, pushing her hair aside. She closed her eyes, unable to stop the single tear that fell. Maybe Miska hadn’t seen.
He brushed the tear away, too, and then he whispered in her ear, “I did not follow you because I was bid, my dear Ravenna. I followed you because I was worried about you. Because I wanted to.”
Miska’s lips brushed Ravenna’s forehead. It was like a fire had been sparked at that spot and ran down the length of her spine. Ravenna’s eyes flew open. She searched desperately for a sign of something in Miska, something she could not quite identify. He looked back at her with a sad smile, deep green eyes intent on nothing but her. To her surprise, Ravenna smiled back.
“What are you doing?!”
Ravenna jerked, alerting Miska to the intruder.
He turned on his stool and shrugged sheepishly at Warra.
The old woman bustled in with a suspicious look in her eyes.
“Ravenna is awake,” Miska explained.
“Yes, blaggard. I can see that. The question is why you didn’t come fetch me the moment she woke!” Warra shuffled over to Miska and whacked him on the back of his head.
Miska winced, but his eyes were sparkling.
“And you!” Warra pointed at Ravenna. “Have you no better sense than to go fighting a rabid desert lion? They’re dangerous enough at the best of times. You’re lucky to be alive. As it is, you’ll be weak for ages.”
Ravenna nodded. “Yes,” she rasped.
Warra clucked her tongue. “And that fool didn’t even give you any water. Miska! Help the girl sit up.”
Miska’s attention was distracted following the veins atop Ravenna’s hands, earning him another thwack to the back of his head. He looked up, wide-eyed. Warra repeated the instructions, her own eyes twinkling fiercely.
Ravenna was not sure she would ever understand these particular humans, but she did like them quite a lot.
Warra saw to Ravenna’s thirst and then to her wounds. As she was caring for the long scratches, her snapped remarks to Miska fell away to softer remarks to Ravenna. She was informed she had been asleep for two days. The cuts had stopped bleeding, but if Ravenna worked too hard, they would open up again. Warra applied a poultice, waited for it to dry a touch and then put on bandages as best she could manage. With Ravenna’s wings, it was nearly impossible to wrap them all the way around the wounds.
“Now, you’re to stay here for at least another day. Then we can see about getting you back to your own quarters,” Warra said, shooing Miska away to clean up the mess. “And you’re not going to like it, but you’re going to have to be very careful before you do anything physical. No running, no jumping, and no fighting. Those slices are long, but they’re also deep. You need to give your body time to heal.”
“I understand,” Ravenna murmured. She did, but it did not help that it felt as though the small freedoms she had were being taken away. There would be no more training with Vareis. Maybe she could convince Miska to bring her books from the library. She hadn’t gone through all of the journals by Lenore’s sylph ancestor, yet. Still, there was the sense of being trapped.
“Hmph,” Warra sniffed. “You’ll be on your feet before I tell you, back here trying to figure out why you’re not healing. Well, don’t come crying to me if your wounds open up again!”
“Thank you, Warra,” Ravenna said, trying to smile at the healer. The older woman returned the smile graciously and smoothed the bedclothes around Ravenna.
“You saved our Miska, here,” Warra said, glancing over her shoulder to be certain that Miska was focusing his attention elsewhere. “We are all grateful. Miska is well loved here. He is a good man.”
“Yes,” Ravenna agreed, catching her eyes following Miska’s frame as he moved about the room, tidying up with a pleased expression on his face. “He is.”
Warra nodded, as if Ravenna had confirmed something, then bustled off. Ravenna watched the others’ movements for a few moments. She blinked heavily and, before she could see Miska retake his place on the stool beside her bed, fell asleep again.
I learned from my dear Yvette that some thousand cycles ago, it was considered common for humans to wield magic. She told me that the dragons’ disappearance led to a dearth of magic in the land and that now, only some three humans are said to wield magic. Two of those are but names, otherwise lost to the mists of time: Nicaros, Ilucia. The third is called Oterian, a man said to possess the visage of an elf dipped in shadow, with skin as dark as night and eyes like the stars. He is said to have been alive during the Fire Wars and to have convened with the leader of the Stormbringers, Veritus. Stories of the Stormbringers are rare enough on Shinalea, no longer part of our history but lost to lore and therefore irrelevant to the Intellecti. I, myself, know only that they were legion and fought on the side of the dragons, for all the good that did them. There is much we can learn from our human counterparts. If only the Intellecti had been open minded enough for…
Ravenna tossed the tome aside, thoroughly bored. She had always been a keen reader on Shinalea, absorbing the histories and lessons Tacitus taught her with a fervent zeal. But after having nothing to do for three days but sit in her bed, reading, she was growing more than a little tired of tomes.
Three times a day, Miska came by with a tray of food and drink, Warra trailing in his wake. The little healer allowed Ravenna ten minutes to walk around, use the necessary, stretch her wings and get out some of the energy she had building in her blood. Then, it was back to sitting in bed to eat and regain her strength.
These little moments of exercise were extremely frustrating, not because Ravenna wanted to do more, but because she couldn’t. She fairly collapsed back in her bed after each interval, her heart pounding and her wounds throbbing. It was frustrating to no end.
“Well, if you hadn’t already been weak,” Warra had said, clucking her tongue as Ravenna did her best not to glare at the healer. “But you know as well as I that you hadn’t been eating properly for at least a month before this incident. You arrived here half-starved, for goodness sakes! Not to mention your training with Vareis. You were strong, but a body can only take so many abuses.”
“Yes, Warra,” Ravenna had grumbled.
Now, she was more than a little tired of reading about Lenore’s ancestor. The former Intellecti seemed to have left Shinalea not because of some accident, like Ravenna, but because he chose to see what the rest of the world held. He was frustrated with the restrictions of the Intellecti and the sylph society, preferring to do as he wished. Only, he was not often mistaken for a deity or divine being, like Ravenna. Perhaps it was because there was still magic in the world back then. Whatever it was, Ravenna didn’t care. She was tired of reading about his complaints regarding the Intellecti and philosophical musings on events that had happened ages ago.
Ravenna sighed and looked around her room, hoping for some entertainment besides the stack of books beside her bed. Lenore kept bringing more, never staying for long, her eyes apologetic and a little afraid. Of what, Ravenna didn’t know.
She sat up straighter in the bed and stretched as much as her wounds would allow. Her wings flexed wide, the feathers separating and shaking as the muscles tightened, then relaxed. She flapped once, settling them down again, and nearly knocked over the books. Ravenna let out a sound of disgust and fell back against the pillows.
“You do not look happy.” Miska’s head appeared in the doorway, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Ravenna sighed dramatically.
“Do you know how unnatural it is for a sylph to have her wings pinned down like this? We never sleep on our backs or sit with our wings against a wall. Yet here I am, unable to do anything but sit here with my wings pinned, because if I lay on my stomach, the scratches would open up again.”
Miska approached Ravenna’s bed, carrying a small tray with a large flagon and a pastry that looked like it had been made of slivered layers of butter. “It’s a b
it early, but Queen Lenore is having a dinner tonight and these were amongst the treats that the kitchen is preparing. I thought you’d like some.”
He sat on the edge of her bed, not even bothering to ask her permission. Secretly, Ravenna was glad. She disliked having Miska, of all people, so formal with her. He finally seemed to have gotten over his aversion to further injuring the person who had saved his life. Now, they could be friends again.
She took the drink and sipped it. “It’s cold!” she said, holding it away from her. “And sweet!”
“It’s an iced cream drink. There is a tiny ice room deep in the bowels of the palace where we get the ice for the iced drinks and creams. Do you like it?”
She nodded. “I do. Thank you.”
He handed her the pastry without a word and she devoured it before she could ask what it was. He tossed his head back and laughed.
“I, ah…I’ve finished the books,” she said after a moment.
His eyes widened.
“I have nothing else to do.”
He sighed. “You’re bored. I wish things were different. You should be up, training with Vareis and enjoying your days. I should be the one injured and on bed rest.”
Ravenna reached out and touched his arm. He looked at her in surprise. “Miska, let’s get this straight once and for all. If I had not run out, you would not have been in danger. But if I had not been there and you were in danger, you would have died. You are not a fighter, not accustomed to harming others or to taking a life. I am not a killer, but I would do what is necessary to protect those I care about. It is too late to change things, so you may as well accept what has happened.”
Miska tightened his fist, struggling to keep his expression impassive, as though he had not heard her. But he was not as capable of concealing what he felt. He had not Ravenna’s ability to conceal her mind, nor her history to enforce it. After a few moments of struggle, he just gave up completely.