by E G Stone
Ravenna hunched her shoulders, understanding now why Miska did not react to Warra’s words, why he had walked along in the hallway and not heeded her demands, why he studied her so intently. He was deaf. He had been beaten so badly that his hearing had been taken from him. How could this man possibly still smile? Still promise Ravenna that she would be safe? His injury was yet another example of how horrible this world was.
Warra sighed. She pressed her mouth together and studied the brand on Ravenna’s hip again. “Come along, my dear. Let’s get you bathed and cleaned up. I’ll see what I can do for the scar on your hip, but I fear that whoever allowed it to heal like that mangled your skin permanently. Does it cause any muscle pain? Any discomfort?”
Ravenna shook her head, grateful for the change in topic. “Only when the skin pulls.”
Warra clucked her tongue. She turned and placed a hand on Miska’s back, barely tall enough to reach that far. The servant turned and hurriedly blinked away the moisture in his eyes. He fixed Ravenna with a watery smile, “I’m sorry.”
Ravenna realised his deafness was why his words were so precisely spoken, so perfectly enunciated and perhaps too quiet. He had been able to speak before and could, now, but did not know what his own voice sounded like. How could he hold a conversation? She watched him for a moment and saw that, while his eyes focused on her face, they were not locked with her own. He was looking at her mouth.
He was reading her lips.
“There’s no need,” Ravenna said with more softness than she thought she had left. “I will recover.”
Miska shook his head. “That’s not the point.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ravenna insisted. She started to follow Warra when Miska stopped her, his fingers brushing her hand. Ravenna studied her own moon-pale skin against the reddish-brown of Miska’s. Oddly, she didn’t feel her skin crawling at his touch.
“It always matters.” Miska frowned, squeezing Ravenna’s fingers as if trying to prove his point. “Always.”
Ravenna pulled her hand free. “If you say so.”
Before Miska could say anything further, Ravenna turned her back on him, ending the conversation. She followed Warra out into the darkened hallway, leaving Miska behind in the healing chambers.
Warra helped Ravenna bathe, even using her gentle fingers to clean the dried blood out of Ravenna’s feathers, without stripping away too much of the natural oils. She tended to Ravenna’s back and put a soothing oil on the brand. Ravenna was given a tray of food, which Miska carried to her quarters, and then she was left in peace.
Surprisingly, the room where Ravenna was quartered was above ground, with wide, open windows that looked out on the magnificent garden and the desert after that. There were gauzy drapes of fabric that shifted in the slight breeze. The room was big enough for Ravenna to spread her wings fully and practise her Dalketh without anyone the wiser. She had a bed thrice the size of the tiny cot in the Pits and a small table and stool that held various pots and potions and even a hairbrush. There were no guards outside the door, no soldiers waiting to pounce on her when she stepped from her room into the garden. Ravenna was, dare she hope, free.
She did not trust it.
The sun had nearly set, and no one had called for Ravenna. There was no sign of Davorin or Nadezhda. The few people that had wandered the gardens wore the garb of servants and did not even turn their heads in the direction of Ravenna’s window. She had even ventured out into the gardens herself; her feathers twitched at every slight noise, causing her to scurry back to her room before even two full minutes had passed.
No one seemed to care.
Ravenna went through the motions of Dalketh twice, once slow and once fast. She slept, her wings outstretched. Then, feeling exhausted beyond what sleep could cure and hungry, she woke and wondered if she had, indeed, been forgotten.
A quiet knock dragged Ravenna from the last of her sleep. She surged to her feet and flapped her wings once. The gauzy curtains twisted in the violent current of air. The door opened and, to Ravenna’s surprise, Lenore, rather than Davorin, poked her head in.
“I didn’t mean to bother you, Ravenna,” the queen said. “May I come in?”
Ravenna moved towards the open windows. “It’s your Palace. You may do as you please.”
Lenore slipped in, leaving the door open enough for Miska to appear as well. Ravenna huffed once and turned her back on the both of them. Lenore’s sharp intake of breath had Ravenna turning around again. Miska led the queen to Ravenna’s bed and she sat, looking shaken. “Miska told me you’d been injured, but I hadn’t realised…” Lenore breathed.
“You have lived a sheltered life if you grow weak at the sight of a simple scratch,” Ravenna said. Though half-a-season ago, she would have been the one who was shocked. She folded her arms and glanced between the queen and the loyal servant. Miska stood where he could watch both Ravenna and Lenore, while also keeping the door in his line of sight. Was Ravenna mistaken? Was he to be her guard?
“I have not seen war,” Lenore murmured, lifting her not-quite-sylph eyes to meet Ravenna’s ice. “But I have seen my fair share of injuries. And yours is worse than you let on.”
“It will heal,” Ravenna replied flatly. She shuffled her wings to lie flat on her back, obscuring the wound. “Was there something you wanted, my Queen?”
“Please don’t call me that.”
Ravenna raised her eyebrows. “A queen who does not want her title acknowledged?”
“A queen is meant to lead her people, to look out for them and see to their needs. Not revel in the glory and wealth that comes with the power,” Lenore replied easily, as though this were a familiar argument.
“Then you would be the first of your kind I’ve met who actually cares,” Ravenna said. Lenore met her hard gaze until it was Ravenna looking away. Ravenna relaxed her wings and sat on the small stool, suddenly tired of having to second guess everyone and everything. Miska took a step towards her, looking concerned, but halted when Lenore put up a hand.
“How did you come to be here?” Lenore asked.
Ravenna scoffed. “Was Lord Davorin bringing me here not enough? Would you like the full details of my fall into slavery?”
“No, though I am sorry that you had to experience such things. I want to know how you came to be here. In the land of humans. Sylphs haven’t been seen here for countless generations.”
The word fell from Queen Lenore’s tongue with ease, without a second thought. But it was that single word that set Ravenna’s heart beating faster and her breath catching in shock. She had told Radim and Tekko. She had told Davorin. But none of them seemed to understand what it meant, only that it was not Angel. Yet Lenore spoke with understanding and she looked at Ravenna with knowledge.
“You know what I am?” Ravenna breathed.
Lenore smiled, her eyes lighting up to be a shade closer to the eyes of Ravenna’s kind. It was like looking at Desarra, were she transplanted and transformed.
“I have sylph blood in me,” Lenore said. “My…three-times-great grandfather was a sylph. The wings were not inherited, to my disappointment. He was a banished Intellecti, I think. I heard stories. I read his journals and—”
Ravenna stood up from the stool so quickly that it toppled backwards.
Miska stepped in front of Lenore, only ever so slightly, but enough to prove his intention of protecting his queen.
Ravenna ignored him, instead looking at Lenore in desperation. “You have journals? Of a sylph?”
“Of course.” Lenore rose and smiled at Ravenna. “I will take you to them.”
Lenore led the way out of the rooms, her head held high. She did not look around for guards to escort her, nor did she wait for a servant to precede her. She just strode through the Palace as if she were any other normal human, even going so far as to greet the servants and few guards they passed with a hello and a smile. The devotion in the eyes of the servants was telling.
Miska, on the other han
d, walked at Ravenna’s side. He still studied her, even as they walked, with such intensity that Ravenna wanted to hide herself with her wings. She did her best to ignore him, thinking instead about the journals. Another sylph stranded here! Yes, it was a couple of hundred cycles ago, but what of it? To read the words of another sylph amongst humans! To read at all.
Lenore pushed against two double great doors of carved wood. They swung open and Ravenna’s heart stopped. Tears welled in her eyes. She did not even care when Miska set a hand on her shoulder. She was immediately transported back to the room in the Tower, in her forested home. She was again surrounded by the other sylphs, being shushed when she rustled her wings too loudly.
Tomes. From floor to ceiling and in multiple stacks, multiple sections, tomes filled the room. It was beautiful and heart-wrenching.
“I have not seen so many tomes in one place since…” Ravenna put a hand to her chest to rub out the strength of feeling there. She was not at home. She was not anywhere near home. She was surrounded by humans, a species that had proven their lack of caring for others. It was hard to push her joy aside, though, when surrounded by all the information she could ever want. Here were her friends who never judged, who only told her what she wished to know.
“We call them books,” Lenore said.
“Books.” It was a harsher word than the one Ravenna knew. It seemed fitting, though, considering the harsh world in which she lived now. The stakes were higher. Her life was not her own. Finally, though, Ravenna was in her element. She could not fly. She could barely fight. But she could read, and knowledge was as dangerous a weapon as blades and spears. Perhaps more so.
“You may come here any time, read whatever you like,” Lenore said. Ravenna blinked furiously. Perhaps she had found someone who cared, as Lenore claimed she did. Miska squeezed her shoulder. Ravenna looked up at him and smiled. Smiled at Lenore.
“Thank you.”
Soon, she would not need anyone who cared. She would have all the information at her disposal and would be well rid of this wretched place and its humans.
Chapter Thirteen
Perhaps Davorin should have paid better attention to his sister’s courting and wedding. Seraphina had been wooed and won in an incredibly short time, given that most engagements of the noble classes could last years. Perhaps if he had paid attention, he would not be struggling so with Queen Lenore. She was being quite infuriating.
Oh, Davorin had nothing to complain about regarding how she treated him. She was as pleasant now as she had been when they first met. He was afforded every respect as a guest in her household and his army had been allowed to quarter themselves on the far edge of the garden so as to be close to water. The problem was that Lenore had not moved beyond this formal friendliness. She had not warmed up to Davorin as a suitor, merely treated him as a foreign diplomat. It was exactly how he had treated many dignitaries at the court of the Salusian Empire, so he would know.
Maybe he should have brought her jewellery rather than an angel. An angel could be “freed” and treated as any other being. Jewellery was much harder to dispute as a true gift. The thought was absurd; an angel was a being out of myth. Jewellery was mere possession.
“My lord Davorin.” Lenore swept into the garden courtyard, her steps oddly silent given the silver bangles she wore at her wrists and ankles. She was wearing the same ridiculous desert attire that most women here favoured: loose pants that tightened at the ankles, a light shirt that barely covered her midriff, her hair up and off her neck. Only the bangles and a few beads in her multitude of braids bespoke her status as Queen.
Davorin supposed she was attractive, as far as women went. It would not be unpleasant to have her as his wife. It was the power, though, that mattered more.
“Good morning, my queen,” Davorin said, bowing at the waist. “What a pleasant surprise. I had not thought to see you until this evening’s dinner.”
Lenore took his offered arm and rested her hand there so lightly that he could barely feel it through his bracers. “I often take a tour of the gardens in the mornings. Before the sun gets too high for comfort.”
“Then please, let me escort you on a ramble. I’m sure you can point out all of the exotic flora and fauna that we never see in the Empire.” Davorin put his other hand on hers to trap her there, though he did so with a charming smile. Much to his annoyance, Lenore pulled away with a light laugh.
“Unfortunately, Lord Davorin, I have a particular purpose today and must leave you to your own devices. Though, I’m sure if you called for a servant, they could point out all of the plants and animals far better than I.”
“I would rather accompany you, if you do not protest,” Davorin said. “The gardens are far less interesting when you’re not around.”
Lenore tossed her head back and laughed, this time the sound full and slightly mocking. Davorin did his best to keep from grinding his teeth together.
“Where did you learn such honeyed words?” Lenore asked, her grin baring her teeth. “Surely, the women of the great Salusian Empire do not fall for such ridiculous things!”
Davorin had no answer, so he merely bowed. Women usually tripped over their absurd shoes to hear such words from any of the royal household. The words were far from genuine, but they had always seemed to work. Queen Lenore would, apparently, be much more difficult to pin down.
“I have never courted a woman before,” Davorin said eventually, trying to look embarrassed rather than annoyed. “At least, not officially. I’m not quite sure how to go about things properly.”
Lenore said nothing for a moment. Her light eyes travelled Davorin’s features, studying him, testing his truth. Her expression shifted, fell flat and smooth. “There is something you should know, before you ever consider such a thing. I will always put the needs of my people above my own. I would expect my Consort to do the same. Do you understand?”
Consort, not King, Davorin noted. But it would be a start. Once he held the title, it would be a simple matter to gain the other. A glance through the laws, a whisper in the right ear. He inclined his head and gave Lenore a serious look. “I understand completely, my queen. That is, after all, what rulers are meant to do.”
Lenore nodded. “As long as you understand.”
She turned to leave, putting further distance between Davorin and herself. He refused to allow that, not after he had already put so much time and money into this venture. “Please,” Davorin said, taking a step forwards. “Let me walk with you. I promise I won’t spout my court-made words…”
The Queen inclined her head. “Very well.”
Davorin held out his arm again and this time, Lenore did not pull away when he trapped her hand between his own. “I’ve been meaning to inquire about Ravenna. How is she recovering?”
Lenore let out a sigh and trailed her free hand along one of the enormous broad leaves that were in the gardens. A bit gaudy for Davorin’s tastes, but he would never voice such things. “She has been here three weeks and I still do not know if she’s any better than when she first arrived.”
“Surely her wounds are healing?” Davorin frowned. Perhaps he should not have sliced open the angel until he knew what her physiology was like. What if she did not heal as humans did, for all her appearances.
“Oh, her physical wounds are healing. The healer, Warra, assures me that Ravenna will make a full recovery, though she will always bear scars. No, it’s the emotional wounds that I fear she suffers still. She keeps to her room or she keeps to the library. She doesn’t talk unless you ask her a question and even then, it’s like trying to pry answers out of stone.”
Davorin nodded. Was this supposed to be concerning to him? She sounded like a soldier should. Quiet, obedient, with a tongue that was reluctant to wag even when questioned. “Maybe it is simply her temperament, given that she’s not human. I have read stories of other beings, like elves, who were unanimously cryptic and winding with their words.”
Lenore shook her head. “I d
on’t think so. She is mistrustful. And she flinches whenever someone touches her. Miska said that she had likely been abused while that demon Jazer had her. How could another person be so cruel? Especially to someone like Ravenna?”
Davorin squeezed Lenore’s fingers in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “I don’t know, but there is no one else I would have trusted with her care.” He stopped and turned to face Lenore head on, cupping her golden face in his well-weathered hands. If he squeezed hard enough, just a few inches lower, her throat would easily yield beneath his hands. But that would be a waste and endear him to nobody.
“You are good and kind, Lenore,” Davorin murmured. “That is why I brought Ravenna. That is why I wish to court you. Because you care.”
Lenore gave him a weak smile and pulled from his grasp. She nodded and swallowed audibly. Then, she put her hand back on Davorin’s arm and continued to lead him through the gardens.
They turned down a gravel path leading around to the back side of the Palace towards the end of the gardens. There was an expanse of open desert that had been cleared of rocks and debris into a flat area with a few mud and sandstone buildings flanking it. A barracks and training yard. Davorin would have recognised one anywhere, though the men and women walking about with weapons and horses were enough of an indication on their own.
“This is where I leave you, my lord,” Lenore said when they reached the edge of the training yard. “I must speak with my soldiers about our border with Southron.”
“Are they giving you trouble?” Davorin asked, his voice a growl. “Their borders do not extend far along your lands, but they are a crafty people.”
“You have not heard, then?” Lenore asked, her eyebrows winging up in surprise. Davorin frowned. “The Lords of Southron have banded together under a single flag. Warlord Baldur’s, I believe, though my information may be inaccurate. They haven’t made a move against their neighbours, yet, but I imagine it will only be a matter of time.”
