The One Who Could Not Fly

by E G Stone

  “Two months ago,” Ravenna said quietly as she turned back to Nadezhda, “you would not have been wrong. But I’m learning.”

  The Captain seemed unsure as to whether Ravenna was showing signs of rebellion or just falling into her expected role. She ran a sun-browned hand over her cropped hair. “Davorin wants to see you.”

  Ravenna nodded and fell into step behind Nadezhda. A stickiness formed on her back the closer they got to the gardens, despite the crispness of the early morning air. Davorin was waiting, his worn leather armour exchanged for oiled pieces with gold designs etched into the material. His sword belt now gleamed, though the two swords in the sheaths were the same worn blades he had used to slice open Ravenna’s back. Davorin turned to Ravenna, his brown eyes taking her in without any outward show of what he thought.

  “I see you opened up your wound again,” Davorin said. Ravenna reached around to touch the space between her wings and found that the stickiness had little to do with the increased moisture in the air. Her fingers came away touched with red. “No matter. It will make the story for Queen Lenore all the more believable.”

  Even as he spoke the words, a bare-chested servant came running up the path, the billowing trousers and nearly-black skin startling Ravenna into thinking it was Tacitus moving towards her. Of course, it could not be. The sylph was days away, enjoying his time reading through the ancient tomes. This servant was not even that dark, charcoal ash colour, nor did he have the burning amber eyes and golden wings that Tacitus had. Another human. Another pain.

  Davorin leaned over to whisper in Ravenna’s ear as the servant approached, “Remember, Ravenna. No matter what I tell the Red Queen, you belong to me. My plans are all that matter. If you do not comply, I will tear every feather out of your wings and burn them on a pyre.”

  Nothing she had not done before. Still, Ravenna nodded and silently vowed to do as she was told. Everything would be better, then.

  The servant approached Davorin and inclined at the waist, palms flat on his thighs. He straightened and started at the sight of Ravenna, her wings flared slightly, letting the dawn light pass through her feathers. Davorin allowed the staring for a moment before pointedly clearing his throat.

  The servant bowed again. “My lord, Her Majesty has requested that you attend upon her in the Great Hall.”

  “Very well,” Davorin said, sounding bored. This was probably some intricate political dance that the humans performed, Ravenna mused. She just kept silent and did her best to ignore the stares of the soldiers and the servant. “Lead the way.”

  Another bow and the servant turned, leading Davorin to the steps of the Red Palace. Ravenna walked just behind, taking in the splendour of the gardens. She spotted tiny birds with magnificent feathers, lizards that almost blended into the plants where they rested, even the gleaming eyes of a larger creature that slunk through the shadows so smoothly it was impossible to see. At least her new home would be beautiful.

  The Red Palace was more intimidating up close than from a distance. The carvings that were only slightly apparent from afar proved to be so intricate that one detail flowed into the next without hesitation. There were plants, trees, humans, scenes, all carved directly into the red stone. The eyes of the humans seemed to watch the approaching intruders with an accusing stare. Ravenna folded her wings closer to her body, ignoring the pain that brushing her feathers against her back caused.

  They were led into the palace, where the air was cool and crisp, and past many stately statues and doors. The servant did not hesitate in throwing open a door thrice as tall as he and striding through. His shoulders seemed to straighten and his steps became almost graceful. The chamber they entered truly deserved the name of Great Hall. It was long and wide, the floor polished until it gleamed red and cream, the pillars stretching impossibly high to touch the ceiling. At the far end was a dais, on top of which was a simple throne. Various attendants, dressed in the loose styles of the desert, stood near the throne.

  But the woman who sat on the red stone throne was what drew Ravenna’s attention. She had golden skin, not the golden-brown of Davorin or the acquired tan of Nadezhda. This was a tone perhaps three shades lighter than that of the sylphs, of Desarra. The woman’s hair was a red-auburn that shimmered like fire. It was piled on her head in a mass of tiny plaits interwoven with gold. She wore a flowing orange tunic that reached her ankles. They were called…dresses, Ravenna thought. Her fingers were tipped with shining copper claws and her shoes were woven leather sandals.

  She was perhaps only a few years older than Ravenna, but her presence matched that of the Queen of the sylphs. This, more than Davorin or that pretender, Jazer, was a true ruler. A human who held true power.

  “My Queen,” Davorin crossed a hand over his chest and bowed at the waist, almost as low as the servant who had led them there.

  “Lord Davorin, yes?” the woman asked. “This is the third time you have graced my halls and yet I still do not know what to expect from you. I was woken this morning with the news that an army had all but materialised on my doorstep.”

  Davorin straightened, looking contrite. Ravenna kept her face impassive, though disgust flowed through her. “You have my most sincere apologies, Queen Lenore. I did not mean to alarm you. I was merely moving my people through your land on my way to the Iron Mountains. They were in desperate need of rest and resupply. I did not mean to trespass on your kindness.”

  Lenore lifted her chin. “Your words are so smooth one would have thought them rehearsed, if not for that grain of truth.”

  Davorin bowed his head. “I would never speak falsely to you, my Queen.”

  Lenore put her hands on the arm rests of the throne and relaxed. A female servant wearing billowing pants that tightened at the ankles and a loose shirt, much like the Aerial City fashions, approached the throne with a bowl of dark fruit. Lenore selected one and ate it slowly before speaking again. “The last two times you came here, you came unattended. Now you bring a servant wearing a cloak of feathers. Certainly impractical for the desert.”

  Davorin cast his dark brown eyes to Ravenna and she lowered her own. Her role was clear. She stepped forwards, conscious of the fact that she was neither clean nor dressed well enough to appear before such a person. “It is not a cloak, my Queen,” she said softly, barely loud enough for Lenore to hear. Then, Ravenna flared her wings as wide as they would go.

  Lenore dropped the fruit in her hand, and the servant nearly fumbled the bowl. Slowly, Lenore rose to her feet and stepped off the dais, walking towards Ravenna with eyes wide. She got close enough for Ravenna to see that even they were almost amber. Not quite sylph-like, but close. Ravenna’s heart beat faster in her chest.

  Lenore reached out a hand towards Ravenna’s left wing, as if to touch. Then, she hesitated and flicked her eyes to meet Ravenna’s icy-blue gaze. “It is impossible.”

  “Yet here I stand,” Ravenna murmured. Lenore’s eyes filled with tears and she clasped her hands over her mouth.

  “I found her festering away in the Slave Pits,” Davorin said, stepping past Ravenna’s wing. He put a hand on Lenore’s shoulder. While the servants all tensed at the act, no one moved. Lenore did not shrug off the touch. “She has been cursed, though I don’t know how, when magic is all but forgotten in these lands. Her wings no longer carry her in flight.”

  Lenore reached out a hand again, her fingers stretching for Ravenna’s wing in pure desperation. She looked at Ravenna, eyes begging permission, and the sylph nodded once. Too many humans had put their hands on her wings, one more would make her feel no more dirty than she already did.

  The queen’s fingers were gentle. The pads of her fingers brushed against Ravenna’s feathers as though they were made of silk. The touch lasted only a few seconds. Lenore turned to look up at Davorin. “The Slave Pits? With that monster Jazer?”

  Davorin nodded. “I couldn’t leave her there, not a true Angel. So I brought her here to you, in the hopes that she could heal. She has
pledged to serve however she can in exchange for her freedom.”

  Lenore looked at Ravenna, her delicate features sharpening. “Is this true?”

  “Yes,” Ravenna said. “My freedom is worth more to me than anything. I will happily serve in your house so that I might be free.”

  All true. Ravenna surprised herself with the intensity of truth behind her words. She had already decided to obey Davorin, to do as he asked and coax this queen into his plans. But that was before meeting Queen Lenore, before seeing the power and the peace on her servants’ faces. Before seeing her eyes sent a pang through Ravenna’s heart. The emptiness had not spread that far, yet. She would keep her head down. She would let Davorin think she was complying with his wishes. But with Lenore lay hope.

  “Of course,” Lenore breathed, tears filling her eyes again. “Of course, you may stay in my household. But I could not ask you to be anything other than what you are. You may have free reign of my Palace. If you need anything, only ask.”

  “You are very kind,” Ravenna bowed her chin, slowly folding her wings. “Thank you.”

  Lenore replied only with a smile, the corners of her eyes wrinkling gently and the tears that had gathered in her eyes slipping silently down her cheeks. She took a shaking breath and wiped her tears away. Lenore turned and gestured to one of the male servants. He approached and bowed, first to Lenore, then to Ravenna. He wore the style of the desert, flowing trousers and a sleeveless shirt, his arms bare, revealing lean muscle. He looked much like the other servants, but for the fact that his skin was not dark or golden-brown, but a reddish-brown colour, and that he was of a height with Davorin. His hair was dark brown and his eyes a vibrant green.

  “This is Miklos,” Lenore said, putting a hand on the servant’s shoulder as he smiled at her. “He will take care of you.”

  Ravenna nodded. She looked at Davorin who graced her with a warm smile she recognized as intended to mask the fire and the cruelty. “It is alright, Ravenna. You are safe now.”

  She said nothing, only followed an eager Miklos out of the Great Hall and into a passage behind the throne. Safe. Never before had such a blatant lie rung so loudly in her ears. No, Ravenna would never be safe in this world of gaping-mouthed, bloody-handed humans. But at least she was not defenceless.

  Chapter Twelve

  Miklos practically raced Ravenna through the halls of the Red Palace, hardly giving her time to gather her bearings. After a while, though, Ravenna realised that they were moving downwards. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She stopped, flaring her wings slightly.

  “Stop,” Ravenna demanded. Maybe if she established her authority with these servants early on, they would be more likely to leave her alone.

  Miklos kept walking, not even turning his head to look at her.

  Ravenna frowned. “Stop!” she repeated louder.

  Still, Miklos kept moving, walking through the halls with almost perfectly silent steps, his body displaying an artless grace that reminded Ravenna of the tawny cougars that roamed Shinalea. They were perhaps the only real threats to the sylphs but were beautiful to watch and usually preferred to hunt smaller prey. Miklos was not a cougar; Ravenna refused to be cowed by him. She remained still, her arms at her side and tensed for Dalketh should he turn and see her inaction as insubordination.

  Miklos reached the end of the hallway before realizing that Ravenna was not following. He paused and turned, blinking at Ravenna in confusion. “Why did you stop?” he asked.

  Ravenna baulked at the sound, stepping back. His words sounded off, wrong. It was almost like the rough accent that all the humans spoke with, but not quite. The words were a little quieter, the consonants enunciated sharper, the vowels controlled. Combined with his deep, musical voice, it was a little unsettling.

  He stepped towards Ravenna, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. “I am taking you to a healer…Angel?”

  “I am not an angel,” Ravenna muttered, wishing that everyone would stop calling her that.

  Miklos tilted his head and frowned.

  “If you aren’t an Angel, then what are you?”

  Ravenna flinched a touch, her feathers rustling. He was not meant to hear that. She shook her head and tried to brush dirty strands of hair from her face. “Your name is Miklos, correct?” Distraction. Yes, that would work.

  He smiled, the motion gentle and amused. “Miska. Everyone calls me Miska. Do you have a name?”

  “Of course I do!” Ravenna snapped. Miklos—Miska—said nothing, just waited. “Ravenna,” she mumbled, her mouth barely moving.

  Miska drew his brows together, frowning.

  “Ravenna,” she said, louder.

  “Rav…Ravenna?” Miska repeated, testing the sounds on his tongue.

  She nodded, not sure whether she should smile or keep aloof. She chose the latter.

  Miska tested her name out a few more times before bowing, his eyes lifted to watch her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ravenna.”

  “Where are we going?”

  Miska took a step towards Ravenna and she retreated. He shrugged and held up his hands, retreating back a step. “I will not hurt you.”

  “Where are we going?” Ravenna repeated.

  “To see a healer, then to the bathing springs. I will then take you to your quarters,” Miska explained. He gestured to the hallway in front of him. “Please, come with me?”

  Ravenna hesitated, a motion that was not unnoticed by her escort. His features fell in a flash of disappointment before returning to pleasant and welcoming. It was that disappointment that made Ravenna take a careful step forwards. She wrapped her wings close to her body, ready to strike at a moment’s notice if necessary. But she took another step forwards. Then another. Until she was walking beside Miska and he was leading the way once again.

  The healer’s rooms were located in a series of chambers off a darkened hallway. The chambers were lit with torches and candles, enough to mimic the light of day, but it was impossible to miss the fact that the rooms were far, far underground. Ravenna shivered, and not with the dampness in the air. This felt too much like the Pits. It felt too much like a cage.

  “Welcome,” a gnarled older woman said, smiling wide enough to introduce numerous wrinkles in her leathery skin. She was hunched over and stood at about half Ravenna’s height, her neck always craned to look up. Her hair was a mousey grey-brown and sprang from her head like hay. The woman held her hand out to Ravenna, still smiling. “I was told we had a legend in the Palace. What is your name, dearie?”

  Ravenna wanted to pull back and retreat from this wretched creature that hid in the underground. She glanced at Miska, drawing her brows together. The servant ducked his head reassuringly, his green eyes twinkling in the candlelight. He seemed to be studying her, unwilling to look away until he had gathered every bit of information from her facial expressions, body movements, and words. Ravenna did not know why, but the look alone had her extending her hand to the old healer.

  “I am Ravenna,” she whispered. Her wings shivered, the feathers fluffing out.

  “Ravenna,” the healer repeated. She nodded firmly. “A strong name. I am Warra. Now, why don’t you have a seat on that table there and we’ll get you sorted out. Looks like you have a few bumps and bruises. Hmm…someone’s been fighting, by the state of your hands. Apart from that, I don’t see anything terribly wrong with you. A little lean. Hair a bit dull, probably from lack of nutrients…yes, we’ll get you fixed right…”

  Warra’s rumbling, comforting voice fell off as she circled Ravenna.

  The sylph did not move, even as she felt the healer’s fingers brushing the feathers on her back. She did not touch the wound itself, but Ravenna still wanted to flinch away.

  Miska followed the healer’s movements and stepped around Ravenna’s back. He let out a low snarl.

  “Who hurt you?” Miska demanded, stepping out in front of Ravenna so he could look her in the eye. “Who cut your back?”

  “W
hat makes you think it was a person?” Ravenna said.

  Warra stepped around Ravenna as well, eyes sad.

  “Because, my dear, no animal or accident could do something so precise.”

  Ravenna turned her head away, shame prickling her eyes. She jerked backwards as Miska reached out to touch her. With a wordless snarl, Ravenna jerked up the hem of her tunic and pulled her breeches down.

  Miska recoiled at the sight of the brand, still angry and red, as Jazer’s people had rubbed a mixture of charcoal ash and oil into the wound every day to ensure its tattoo-like permanence.

  “Animals did this,” Ravenna bit out around the tears that clogged her throat. “Why could they not have opened my back?”

  Miska blinked furiously and turned his back on Ravenna, a motion which caused an unexpected pang. Ravenna swallowed her tears and rubbed at her face furiously.

  Warra snatched Ravenna’s hands.

  “You are safe,” she insisted. Her face no longer smiled and her age lent her gravitas and solemnity rather than kindness. “You will never be so hurt again. I will take care of you. Miska will take care of you. Queen Lenore will take care of you.”

  “Your Miska can’t even look at me.” Ravenna snatched her hands back and wished she could just disappear.

  “Miska is a good man,” Warra snapped. “He has never shown anything but kindness and loyalty, even after he was attacked.”

  Ravenna studied the trembling shoulders of the servant as he stood before a candle, his hands clenched at his sides. She did not want to ask. She did not want to feel any sympathy for these creatures, especially after Tekko and Radim had been ripped away. “Attacked?”

  “Beaten, badly. He was barely more than a lad and had just started his training as a hunter.” Warra shook her head. She looked at the man and sighed. “It’s how he lost his hearing. But Queen Lenore saved him from that village. Punished them as beat him. And Miska has been the best thing that ever happened to this place, you mark my words.”