The One Who Could Not Fly

by E G Stone

  Ravenna swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She had made an error, thinking that Davorin’s reluctance to fight her or make her a bedwarmer stemmed from a dislike of violence where she was concerned. The assured power in his stance and his voice should have told her that, but Ravenna had slipped. She was not arguing with Crispinus or Desarra. She was facing far worse than being tripped down the stairs. Jazer had been openly cruel and power-hungry. Davorin was much, much more subtle.

  “Captain,” Davorin said, waving casually to Nadezhda. The female strode forwards, leering at Ravenna. “Bring Ravenna to my tent. And have Warrith send two of his most discreet soldiers to me as well.”

  “Yes, my liege,” Nadezhda purred, bowing at the waist in a mockery of the respectful sign it should have been. The Captain straightened and grabbed Ravenna’s arm, her fingers curling into claws that bruised. Ravenna folded her wings flat against her back, a flush rising in her pale skin. She felt shame at her nakedness, in the way that the soldiers looked at her, in the feel of Nadezhda’s fingers wrapped around her arm. Mostly, though, Ravenna felt shame for being so foolish as to think that her weeks training in the Pits made her strong enough to take on the world.

  Davorin’s tent was the large one that stood next to Ravenna’s. It had furs on the ground to keep the sand out. There were pieces of furniture that were far more solid than the bedroll Ravenna would have to live with. There was a strong desk and the lamps that lit the tent were crafted from the finest wrought iron. It was opulent and a foolish set of things to have to carry from encampment to encampment. Unless, Ravenna realised with a sinking stomach, it was to prove a point. Whoever Davorin was in this world of humans, he was not one to be trifled with.

  Firstborn Son of the Salusian Empire, he had called himself.

  She did not know what the other words signified, but she knew what Empire was. And none of the tomes had claimed it to be a good thing.

  Davorin strode into the tent just as Nadezhda threw Ravenna on the ground. The sylph did not try to stand again. She just wrapped her wings around her and tried to hide the fear in her eyes. Two soldiers, both male and both looking like they had been bred for violence, stepped into the tent a few moments after Nadezhda left. Davorin walked to his desk, seemingly ignoring Ravenna.

  He drew the sword that hung on his right hip, leaving its twin in its sheath. Davorin ran a tanned finger across the edge and shook his head slowly. “Hold her wings open,” he ordered.

  Ravenna bucked and scrambled backward, but she was no match for the soldiers. They pounced on her in an instant, pressing her flat to the furs on the ground. Ravenna struggled, trying to keep her wings flat against her back. For a moment, she succeeded, but even that, too, was for nothing. They spread her wings open as wide as they would go and to keep her from struggling, lay their torsos across them. Ravenna blinked away tears from her icy eyes.

  “Just because I do not see fit to turn you into my concubine, nor do I want to put you into the arena like a mindless brute, does not mean that I do not demand perfect obedience. You may not be the divine being our religions tell us you are, but your existence alone means something. And you are mine to control,” Davorin said. His voice snaked to Ravenna from behind her. She whimpered, unable to see him and know what torture he was going to inflict. Would he tear out her feathers? Cripple her wings?

  “Tell me you understand,” Davorin said. The tip of his blade touched Ravenna’s back and she stilled. He was pressing the sword to the sliver of skin between her wings. It ran along every sylph’s spine and was where some of the more delicate muscles connected to the spine. A deep cut there would take months to heal properly. Out here in the desert with no sylph healer to help the wings, it would probably not heal properly at all.

  “I understand,” Ravenna breathed.

  “Good,” Davorin said. “Then this will not be a difficult lesson.”

  Before Ravenna could react, he had drawn his sword down that line on her back, splitting the skin. Pain sang through her back and Ravenna barely managed to hold a scream in her throat. This was not like the brand that Jazer had put on her hip. This was sharper, more precise. Ravenna could tell by the way her wings were trembling that Davorin had not severed any muscles, but the amount of blood that flowed into her feathers and onto the furs told Ravenna that it would scar.

  She whimpered again.

  Davorin’s mouth was next to her ear, his words dripping like oil, “One wound for your disobedience. Do not forget again, Ravenna, or I will have to take more drastic measures.”

  “I understand,” Ravenna whispered once more. Hoping it would be enough.

  “Release her,” Davorin snapped. The soldiers let her wings go and Ravenna jumped to her feet. She wrapped her wings around herself, keeping the feathers away from the blood that ran down her back. “Take her to her tent and fetch a healer. Oh, and for goodness sakes, get her some clothes.”

  “But her wings won’t—”

  Davorin turned to face the male, loathing was sharp across his features.

  “Figure. It. Out.”

  Ravenna fell asleep that night to the throbbing of her back and the tears on her cheeks. She wanted to go home. She would happily endure Desarra’s taunts and Tacitus’ disappointed sighs when she didn’t concentrate hard enough. Ravenna would smile and bow through every horrible memory if only she could be home again and feel safe once more. She missed Tacitus and the kind touches that he would give when she had a bad day. And her grandmother, who brooked no nonsense and demanded Ravenna’s best, all while smiling and making her feel valued.

  Ravenna wanted these things more than anything. Rubbing her eyes with a tear-soaked hand, Ravenna knew that it was unlikely to ever happen. She knew that the punishment for sylphs to venture to the mainland, this den of death, was exile. She had to adapt to this new life, horrible as it was. It did not stop her from missing home.

  Chapter Eleven

  The next day, the camp was packed up and the army set out across the desert. Ravenna was put on one of those strange beasts they called horses. She supposed she should be afraid of the animal, given how alien it was to her and how they had scared her during her first trip through the desert despite reassurances, but she could not bring herself to care.

  Davorin had instructed Ravenna briefly on how to ride, and then she was hoisted into the saddle and on her way. Her wings lay behind her on the horse’s rump, both to keep them out of the way of the pounding hooves and to keep the strain off her back. The cut had been seen to by a healer, but it still stung. And Davorin’s satisfied expression that morning did not help.

  “When we get to the Red Palace,” Davorin instructed, his horse close to hers, “I expect you to be on your best behaviour. I assume you know how to behave in the presence of royalty.”

  Ravenna nodded.

  Davorin curled his lip.

  “You will speak only when spoken to. Your eyes must never meet those who are not slaves unless they ask you to look up.” Davorin turned to study her again. “At least your eyes aren’t black. I would have a hard time describing you as anything but an Angel of Death if that were the case.”

  Ironic, Ravenna thought. Her ice-blue eyes had always been a source of shame on Shinalea.

  “You will be respectful. You will not talk about your time with that fool Jazer and the Pits. If you are asked how you came to be a slave, you will spout some story about how you were weak and struggling after becoming unable to fly—you are flightless, correct?—and how I offered to take you on as an indentured servant until such time as you were able to fly again. And you will not do or say anything to ruin my plans.”

  Ravenna nodded, tightening her grip on the reins in her hands. Hands now calloused from sword fighting. “And what are your plans?” Ravenna asked softly so none of the other soldiers could hear. She didn’t know where the Captain was and hoped that Nadezhda wouldn’t appear to cuff her on the head for her words.

  Davorin remained silent for a few moments, the s
un making it difficult for Ravenna to see his expression. “I should give you another wound for your insolence,” Davorin began. Ravenna tensed, feeling the long line on her back stretch at the motion. “But you are right to ask. How can you know not to interfere if you have no idea what you’re interfering with?”

  Should she nod? Agree? Kick her heels into her horse’s side and run headlong into the desert? The last one appealed most, but Ravenna was barely keeping herself on the horse’s back as it was.

  Davorin continued speaking and Ravenna did nothing. She knew the consequences, but a shiver of regret still slid down her wounded spine. Ravenna shoved the thought away. In its place, a black emptiness grew, swallowing all of her fear and shame and regret until there was only the emptiness and her anger.

  “I am in the process of courting the Red Queen. Do you know of her?”

  Ravenna shook her head, her mouth pressed together in a thin line.

  “I thought not. She rules the desert lands from the No Man’s Land where the Slave Markets are located to the base of the Iron Mountains, claiming all the oases and the riches that are buried beneath the cliffs and sand. Despite the scrubland that you see around you, these lands are extremely rich. Queen Lenore rules over the desert lands from her stronghold in the Red Palace. I intend to wed her, and in so doing, marry her lands to the Empire. You are going to help make certain that happens.”

  “I do not know anything of your Empire or of the Red Queen or any of your human lands,” Ravenna said, her voice flat and emotionless. Nor do I care, she thought.

  “You will learn,” Davorin said. It was a command, made by one who expected his orders obeyed. Ravenna ducked her chin in acknowledgement. Davorin hummed, frowning. He was about to speak again when another horse came up to him on the other side of Ravenna. She turned and caught sight of Nadezhda. The Captain scowled. Her right eye was swollen shut and a shade of purple that Ravenna had only seen in the deadliest blooms. Apparently, hers was not the only wound received last night.

  “Have you prepared your ‘gift’?” Nadezhda sneered at Ravenna.

  Davorin straightened in his saddle, his left hand twitching towards his sword.

  “Is there something you needed, Captain?” Davorin asked cooly. Nadezhda winced and frowned at the colourless desert beneath the horse’s hooves.

  “Warrith says we can reach the Red Palace by midnight if we don’t stop, but someone is going to have to pass out provisions for the soldiers to eat in the saddle.”

  “Is there a question in that statement? We continue on.” Davorin nodded firmly and the Captain sighed in response, turning her horse back to the trail of people following their leader.

  “Am I your gift?” Ravenna asked after a few moments’ silence.

  Davorin quirked an eyebrow.

  “You are far more intelligent than I would have expected, given where I found you.”

  Ravenna wanted to bristle at the quiet insult. Her feathers went so far as to rustle together before they stilled. Why bother? This male…no, what did he call it? This human, this man, he owned her blood and her wings. He controlled her life and could demand exacting obedience. He could insult Ravenna as much as he liked, and she could do nothing. There was no point in fighting it, in bristling and readying her words to defend herself. Ravenna closed her eyes for a heartbeat. Two. Three.

  When she opened them, the part of her that wanted to prove Tacitus right and show the world that she was strong and capable and worth more than anyone might ever know, that part fell behind her. Left in the desert sun to wither and die.

  Good riddance, Ravenna thought. She let the emptiness stretch its bounds a little more.

  The Red Palace appeared suddenly on the horizon. One minute, the sky was as dark as Ravenna’s wings, only broken by the points of endless stars. The next, a monolith the likes of which Ravenna had never seen winked into existence, lit by countless torches. Beside her, Davorin straightened in his saddle, eyes glinting in the dark.

  “We ride on!” Davorin called out to the soldiers. They let out murmurs and spurred the horses into a faster pace. Ravenna’s mount followed Davorin’s. The increased pace exacerbated the stiffness that Ravenna felt, along with the sores on the insides of her legs. Even the most convenient things about these humans seemed to cause her pain, she thought dully.

  As a distraction, Ravenna focused on the Red Palace. It was exactly as its name would suggest, a massive palace carved out of red desert stone. The palace rose up with towering domes and spires that grew more detailed the closer they drew. Stretching out before the palace was a series of gardens, cultivated and tame—nothing like the wild oasis of the Slave Markets or the forests of Shinalea. There must be a series of springs under the palace, just like the Slave Markets, Ravenna realised as the air grew moist and the desert seemed to disappear.

  The gardens were not filled with plants that had no business in a desert, but the palms and the scrub bushes were stronger, greener, than their counterparts in the dry. There were exotically coloured flowers, large trees with leaves that were broad enough to provide shade for a sylph. There were vines and ferns, stretching towards the sky. It was like a forest, Ravenna decided, if forests grew in places where heat was predominant and moisture never a problem for desert plants.

  “We stop here,” Davorin announced as his horse’s hooves touched the line where the gardens began. He swung out of the saddle just as Nadezhda came up next to him, already leading her horse by the reins. “Have everyone unpack their bedrolls. We don’t want to be setting up camp on Queen Lenore’s doorstep. Tomorrow, we’ll get more settled.”

  “Are you going up there tonight?” Nadezhda asked. She sounded angrier than usual, perhaps even bitter.

  Davorin shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to spring my presence on our host so late at night. Especially not with such a gift as I have to offer.”

  Gift, Ravenna mused. That was the second time she had been referred to as a gift. Like a necklace or a pretty bauble. Did that mean Davorin would not be her master for much longer?

  She turned her head to find him watching her, eyes narrowed slightly. He stepped up to the horse and held out his hand, a silent offering and command Ravenna was loathe to obey. But she placed her hand in Davorin’s and ignored the way her skin crawled at the contact. Then, she swung her leg over the back of the horse, as she had seen done, and dropped to the ground.

  Davorin’s hand was the only thing that kept Ravenna from staggering to the ground. Her legs felt like water and her wings were stiff. Her back felt like the wound had split open again from the exertion. Ravenna wanted to do nothing more than fall to her knees and rest until her sense of the world returned. But it never would. Instead, Davorin held her upright, waiting until she was standing strong, her wings stretched partly out before he gently released her. She loathed him for that.

  “Nadezhda, find a roll for Ravenna,” Davorin ordered. “I must talk with Warrith before everyone gets too settled in.”

  Nadezhda, to Ravenna’s surprise, did as she was told without more than an annoyed look in Ravenna’s direction. Perhaps her blackened eye was paining her more than before. Ravenna followed the Captain through the throngs of soldiers caring for their horses and setting out rolls to sleep. None of them spared her more than a glance and the occasional whispered prayer. Ravenna ignored them all.

  “You will sleep here,” Nadezhda toed a particularly tattered roll that was set beside a weathered and worn soldier. He peered at Ravenna through leathery eyes and a taut frown before shrugging and returning to setting out his own place to sleep for the night. Ravenna was too tired to argue with the Captain, even if it was completely futile. She just lay on her stomach, folding her wings atop her back and resting her head on her arms.

  Nadezhda trudged off without another word. Ravenna let out a shuddering breath, squeezing her eyes shut. Her body hurt. Her spirit hurt worse. But the emptiness soothed those hurts, taking the pain and desperation and turning it into quiet, cool no
thingness. Ravenna let out another breath, calmer this time.

  “Goodnight, Angel,” the soldier breathed next to her. “And may the gods have mercy on us all.”

  —

  “Get up.”

  Ravenna woke suddenly with the hardened leather boot of Nadezhda digging into her side. She rolled to her feet instinctively; a mistake. Her wounded back split open on the rocky ground, forcing Ravenna to arch up in pain. She stretched her wings, trying to decrease the strain on her back, but it was worthless. This was a pain she would just have to shove to the back of her mind, like her anger and her sadness. After a few moments of desperately gasping at the air, Ravenna managed to relax.

  “Everyone else sees some sort of divine, magical being when they look at you,” Nadezhda spat, lip curled in disgust. “They think you’re some sort of messenger to the gods, or an avenging force. Some even say that you are the long-lost companion of the dragons, the precursor to dragon riders. Those fools still believe in magic and divine beings. They believe in their gods or the One Who Watches.”

  Ravenna dusted off the tunic and breeches she had been given, the back torn almost completely off to accommodate her wings. It was not anywhere near as nice as the pieces she had worn in the Pits. Maybe if she had stayed, some lucky warrior would have killed her by now, taking the title of Angel-killer. At the very least, Ravenna would not have minded being back in the Pits, away from these cunning humans and their deceptive ways. The people in the Pits did not lie to you like these people would.

  “And what do you see when you look at me?” Ravenna asked, her face expressionless.

  Nadezhda spat on the ground.

  “I see a weak creature who doesn’t know a single thing about the real world.”

  Ravenna looked out over the desert and slowly pivoted on her heel to see where the cultivated gardens began. They were already buzzing with motion from animals and insects as the dawn light broke over the land. Maybe under different circumstances, it would be a beautiful sight. As it was, Ravenna felt nothing. It was just another place where she would be treated as a possession, a thing to gawk at and make do your bidding. There was nothing special about that.