Sunkissed Feathers & Severed Ties

by Kellie Doherty

  Chapter Seven

  THE TWO NIGHTS SHE spent in confinement passed slowly. The medico had done tests on how far the Blood pendant’s power stretched out before her. Tense moments where the Moon shield was lowered and a knight inched closer and closer to Misti until they could feel the orb’s power. It appeared to be twenty or so paces. Having only seen the power a few times, the medico weren’t sure if the pendant’s power could bubble outward like a sphere, but no one wanted to touch it anymore. Not since the death of two of their best men.

  Her stomach growled. She dragged her attention away from the guard standing by the door just outside the orb’s range, watching and guarding the rest of the hall, and turned to her side bag. She had shooed Dylori and Arias away, refusing the food or water, saying she had supplies in her little corner and a chamberpot in the smaller room off to the side. While Vivia could craft a cage to contain the pendant, she had said many times that they had to study the orb. It had been two nights, and they had gotten nothing yet. The pendant seemed dormant for now. It hadn’t burned since the deaths of the two men. In fact, it felt calm.

  She sat on the cot and nibbled on the bread Arias had given her, staring at the place where Lari and Hiru had died. The rest of that day had passed by in a blur. Vivia and Arias shouting and dropping the shield, Mar and Dylori dragging the bodies away, Vivia snatching the letter from Misti’s hands and barking orders, everyone leaving the room, leaving her alone. Misti pressed her hands to her forehead. She couldn’t stop thinking of Lari’s empty eyes staring at the ceiling or Hiru’s mouth slightly parted. Their last moments were burned into Misti’s mind, how Hiru had raised an eyebrow at her in relief, how Lari had lunged for her in order to try something new. Two men dead because of her. Because of the thing she carried with her.

  I should’ve been faster. Stronger. Said something as soon as the thought about physically touching the orb hit me. I could’ve saved them. Guilt twisted her stomach like a knife, and she curled up even more, wrapping her arms around her knees and setting her chin on top. Pulling her gaze from the empty floor, she watched the sun rise pink and orange and blue over the city wall.

  The light caught the edge of her sister’s letter, perched atop her open pack. She had re-read it this morning, and it had dawned on her that perhaps she was more like her parents than she thought. She quickly forced that thought away. She hadn’t wanted to kill those men. That was the difference.

  Her younger sister came to her mind, too. Char had once been Misti’s best friend, a calm and thoughtful presence. She loved her classes and spent her spare time with her head in any and all books she could find. A writer. A memory tugged at Misti, faded around the edges but gentle.

  Char sat outside, dappled in moonlight with a soft daygem brightening her workspace and the notes strewn about. She hunched over their picnic table, scribbling madly, but Misti knew from the way her hand flew across the page she wasn’t working on her schoolwork.

  “Journaling, again, dear sister?” Misti asked, wrapping a thick blanket around Char’s thin shoulders and settling down next to her on the bench.

  “Yes, I had quite the adventure earlier and I want to remember it.” Char set her quill down and took a sip of her hot honeyed tea. A slight breeze lifted her blonde hair, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  “And what adventure was that?” Misti tilted her head to read Char’s journal, catching only a snippet before her sister snatched it away.

  “Zaru was being an ass again. When I’m a famous scribe, I want everyone to know how terrible she truly is, so I have to document it now.” Char closed her journal.

  Misti laughed. At eleven seasons, Char was in her fourth round of classes, and Misti, now sixteen, remembered the fourth round as being a terrible time. Kids were vicious. Zaru was a particularly greedy Vagari in Char’s class, always asking for more than her share of food and credit and taking more than she earned. Greed was a dishonorable trait to have as a Vagari since it did nothing for the balance of the beasts save making others go hungry, and since it was one usually weaned out while young by their parents, Zaru’s actions ruffled more than one set of feathers. Char had a dislike for her since night one, and they butted heads more than once. Misti was proud of how Char handled herself against Zaru’s verbal attacks.

  “Of course,” Misti replied. She knew better than to ask for more. Char was protective of her journals, but Misti had the honor of reading them before anyone else did.

  Char lifted the corner of her blanket, and Misti scooted closer so they could share warmth. “Thank you for bringing me this blanket. I would’ve headed in soon.”

  “No, Char, you wouldn’t have.” Misti grinned. “You stay out here for hours on end, and then I get in trouble for not reminding you to sleep.” It was near daybreak, and they should all be sleeping by now.

  But her sister’s infectious smile made her want to stay up late again, like they always did. Getting in trouble when their parents awoke always paled against the fun she and Char had together. So even when the sun began to rise over her sister’s shoulder, washing her in a yellow and pink glow, Misti stayed awake with her, sharing stories, confessing loves, discussing problems like only sisters could.

  When the sun rose too high for them to be safe, she guided Char into the house and made their third cup of honeyed tea and spiced bread, resuming their now-hushed conversation in the quiet of her room. When they finally grew too tired to stay up longer, Char fell asleep first, sunlight streaming in from the windows, curling up on Misti’s bed and hugging Misti’s pillow. Misti settled down, tucking the blanket around them both and falling asleep next to her younger sister.

  “Misti?” Dylori’s voice caught her attention and she blinked the memory away, closing the pack over her sister’s letter. She tilted her head to Dylori, heart skipping a beat at the sight of her friend at the door wearing a simple brown tunic and matching pants. Charming, even in common clothes. Beautiful, as usual. Misti’s spirits lifted a little at seeing Dylori, but her surroundings and situation dampened them back down.

  “Dylori, how’s Zora?” Her heart ached to be with her vulnix, but the pendant would hurt her.

  Moving further into the room, Dylori waved off the guards, lesser in rank than her, and marched to Misti’s cot. Before Misti could stop her, she hopped up on the bed beside Misti, slipped an arm around her shoulders, and put a hand on her knee. Such an intimate gesture might’ve sparked a reaction before—a blush, a tingle, a flutter—but Misti couldn’t think of that now. All she could think about was her Zora and her past and the two dead men.

  “She’s healed and anxious to see you. Almost came in with me, but I asked her to stay with Dis instead,” Dylori replied.

  Good, Misti thought, her eyes filling with tears. That’s good. I’m dangerous to her now.

  Even though Dylori shouldn’t be this close, Misti couldn’t help but welcome the soft touch. Dylori was strong enough to break bones, but she had always been gentle when Misti needed it throughout all their friendship. So with Dylori holding her, she burst into tears—ugly, shaking, loud tears that coursed hot down her cheeks, over her lips, off her chin. Her nose started to run, her head pounding with every shaking sob. It went on for so long that Misti couldn’t be sure what she was crying about. Images of the two dead men swamped her vision, but Zarious’ face looming over her saying she was removed from the Moon Knights and her sister’s letter were there, driving the spike deeper into her heart.

  When the fit finally ended, she sniffed, wiping her sleeve across her eyes. “I killed them,” she said.

  “Misti.” Dylori gave her a little shake. “You didn’t kill them. That sunbaked pendant did. You’re only its wearer.”

  “No.” Misti frowned. “I did kill them. I knew what the pendant was capable of. I even thought—”

  “We didn’t know it could kill people, Misti,” Dylori replied, the hand on her knee tightening.

  “But I suspected—” Misti proteste
d.

  Dylori shook her head. “Be that as it may, before, it only weakened people. It didn’t kill them.”

  Misti took a shuddering breath. “Blood crafters can kill people. I should’ve known their pendant could kill people, too. I thought it might.”

  “No one knew what the pendant could do. Not really. I suspected, though I was afraid it might kill you.” Dylori removed her arm from Misti’s shoulders and put that hand on Misti’s knee, too, a comforting weight. She needed that feeling, that weight grounding her so she wouldn’t float away on a sea of panic. “I’m glad it didn’t.”

  “It might kill me yet.” Misti rested her hands on Dylori’s, wrapping their fingers together in a handhold, needing a more secure anchor. She kept her eyes down, settled them on their joined hands, not wanting to meet Dylori’s intense look.

  “It won’t. We won’t let it.” Dylori ran a thumb over Misti’s. “You didn’t kill them. That Blood pendant did, and that sunbaked banished one who put it on you did. Not you. Don’t put that burden on yourself. Put it on him.”

  Finally, Misti lifted her gaze to Dylori’s dark eyes, searching for the truth in them. Dylori’s stare held honesty and sincerity, and it held something else that Misti couldn’t quite place. She believed that look, and the truth in it, and began to shift the guilt to the banished one who gave her this pendant.

  Misti nodded. “I’ll kill him, then.”

  Dylori tightened her handhold. “That you will.”

  “How’s Arias?”

  “Good. Exploring this base as much as she can since she has me as an escort. It seems like everything here is exciting to her, and she keeps asking all these questions.”

  Someone at the door cleared their throat before Misti could ask more, and they both looked up to see Aramet’zil Vivia standing in the doorway, staring pointedly at them. Dylori didn’t jump off the bed as she probably should have; she simply bowed her head.

  Vivia frowned at them, moving into the room. “We’ve decided what to do.”

  Three more Moon Knights came into the room behind her, hands raised and eyes already glowing blue. Misti swallowed. What will they do to me? Put me up against the Aluriahian Law for a trial and then put me in chains or exile me somewhere? Kill me? She had mulled over what the consequences might be for two men’s deaths but didn’t know what Vivia might pick, and the firm line in Dylori’s jaw suggested she didn’t know either.

  “You’re to leave here and head west to Ingo. Perhaps the metal Nemora of the Seventh Circle can remove this pendant from your skin.” Vivia’s voice lifted with the order, sounding almost relieved, and her eyes flitted to the orb. “Once finished, you will bring the orb back to us for further study. We have to know what we’re up against.”

  Misti breathed a sigh of relief. Traveling to Ingo to see the Nemora was more than she could ask for. She snuck a glance at Dylori. Will she be permitted to go with me? Probably not since she has to get back to Zarious. A jolt of worry sizzled through Misti at the thought of traveling alone again. But I won’t be alone. I’ll have Zora…as long as they put the cage around the orb again. That thought made some of her worry dissipate, but then a new one crashed through her. If Dylori doesn’t come with me, when will I ever see her again?

  “You will also give up your blades and rank now.” Vivia’s frown deepened, creating deep lines in her once-smooth face.

  Misti’s heart sunk. Vivia had read the letter. While Misti hadn’t been the best Moon Knight, it stung to lose that support system, one she had relied on for so long.

  Vivia turned her intense gaze to Dylori. “T’zil, please bring those to a guard.”

  Dylori snapped to attention at the order. She gathered up Misti’s curved blade, daggers, and armor. Shooting Misti an apologetic look, she shuffled over to one of the guards who stood by the door and gave the items to him. Misti stared at the daggers glinting in the Nemora’s arms. She knew she could probably defend herself without the sword, but she had grown attached to her daggers most of all, had grown accustomed to their comforting weight on her belt.

  Vivia and her group moved closer, although hesitantly. “My comrades and I will renew the cage around that pendant, and it should hold for a few nights. A crescent at most, but long enough for you to get to Ingo.”

  At that, Vivia’s eyes glowed blue and she raised her hands, the three other Elu moving in a semicircle around Misti. Their fingers hovered a hair’s breadth away from the metal, careful to not touch the white orb itself, and each pair of eyes flashed brighter still. When they lowered their arms, the Moon cage was back, tinting the white orb azure.

  “Thank you,” Misti murmured. The three Elu left, and Misti looked at Aramet’zil Vivia. “I’m sorry for dishonoring the Moon Knights. I’m sorry for letting those banished ones get away.” Her throat closed up a little. “And I’m sorry for killing those men. For my part in it, at least.”

  “We lay the blame on the banished ones, not you. Those two men died doing their duty to the Moon Knights, and to me.” Vivia looked pained, but she gave Misti a soft smile. “We all make mistakes, Eildelmann. And don’t believe Zarious’ scoff at the vulnix bloodline. I think your kind do just fine as Moon Knights.” She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Though perhaps I won’t let them under his command again. It seems his fighting style doesn’t suit the vulnix way.”

  Misti’s mouth fell open. The vulnix way? Like…a fighting style intuitive to a vulnix bloodline? Misti had never heard of such a thing. She knew there were other fighting styles but having been under Zarious’ shadow for so long, she hadn’t learned any of them. When she joined the Moon Knights, she went through basic training—how to wield a sword and cut to kill—but they never taught the different styles of fighting. It was understood their superiors would teach the recruits styles specific to their unit. When she was put in Zarious’ unit, he only taught one way of fighting and because it worked so well, he refused to teach any others. A knot Misti hadn’t known was inside her untwisted. The vulnix way.

  “Thank you, Aramet’zil Vivia,” she managed. “My fellow vulnix Vagari are honored by your views.”

  Vivia gave her a nod. “You’re quite welcome. Now, off with you. Return once the pendant’s power has been taken care of. I want to know what my knights are up against.”

  “I will, Aramet’zil.” Misti stood and gave her a bow worthy of her northern heritage, far deeper than standard. When she rose, Vivia had gone and the guard who had taken her armor had gone back to staring down the hall. Dylori left with Vivia and Misti wanted to shout after her, to say goodbye since Misti would be leaving shortly, to give her one last hug at least.

  But then Dylori reappeared in the doorway a few moments later and returned to Misti’s side. “We had a talk yesterday about my coming with you here to Amiin. Said I’d get a mark on my record.” Here Misti tried to interrupt but Dylori held up her hand to stop it. “One mark isn’t terrible. She also said I could give you this.” Dylori pressed a single sheathed dagger into Misti’s hands. It wasn’t one of Misti’s own daggers, but it had a crescent moon pattern pressed into the leather sheath.

  “But—” Misti didn’t know what else to say. Carrying a Moon Knight dagger when she was no longer a knight was illegal. She could get a season in jail for having it.

  “If anyone asks, it’s in honor of Aluriah, nothing more.” Dylori’s lips twitched. “Her words, too.”

  “What did we do to deserve such an Aramet’zil here in Whels? I heard the one in Ruinswick is terribly strict,” Misti muttered. Honor of Aluriah indeed. More like in memory of my time with the knights. She tucked the dagger safely in her belt and bumped Dylori’s hip. “Just think, when you become an Aramet’zil, you can be as amazing as Vivia, too.”

  Dylori gave her a dagger-sharp smile and grabbed one of Misti’s packs. “You heard her. Time to go.” Leading the way out of the building, Dylori headed to the stables. “Let’s go see Zora.”

  Misti tore her eyes off the main barracks, the
place where she had slept so many days away during her training. Excitement bubbled inside of her. “Yes!”

  “She’s ready to travel with you again, by the way. The healers were able to take care of her stomach wound.”

  Amazing healers. Misti’s smile slipped as realization dawned on her. “I wouldn’t be able to use the Moon Knight medico now anyway, since I’m no longer one of you.”

  “The healers would help you and Zora regardless. We help everyone, remember?” Dylori replied, giving her a little shove. “Or did you forget your training so quickly?”

  Misti gave her a small smile. The stables loomed over them, three stories high, made from wood, metal, and stone. Food was stored on the top floor, there was a large open space on the second for the flying creatures, and a more contained ground floor for the land creatures. They had even installed a deep pool in the back of the stables for the water dwellers. The closer they got to the stables, the happier Misti felt. Huffs and nickers, the scuffing of hooves and claws on the wood reached her ears as the familiar scents of the wild hit her nose.

  She laughed when she saw Dis lounging on his back and munching on the tall grasses there. He looked more like a pet than a powerful neades, and he huffed happily when he noticed Dylori’s return. Dylori went to see him, but Misti had shifted her attention from the pair to the vulnix speeding toward her.

  “Zora!” She put out her hands to catch the speeding arrow of a beast.

  Zora only had time for a yip in return before she crashed into Misti. Zora chirped happily, ducking around Misti’s shoulders and nuzzling her neck. Zora’s small furry body fit neatly into Misti’s arms as she folded her bright-orange wings to her back, the feathers just as soft as her yellow fur. Her oval eyes danced with joy—one blue, one orange, just like Misti’s—and she flicked her pointed ears, nudging Misti’s hand with her narrow muzzle. Front paws dipped in crimson pressed against Misti’s chest as Zora propped herself up, tucking her hind paws underneath. Her three orange-and-yellow tails—each nearly as long as Zora herself—curled around Misti’s waist, their fluffy fur narrowed to a point at their tips.