The One Who Could Not Fly

by E G Stone

  Davorin struggled to keep his composure. Struggled to keep from drawing both his blades and doing considerable damage to something. Or someone. Baldur had moved to unite the other Lords of Southron? They were normally a divided people, happy to come together and bicker amongst each other for a few weeks a year before returning to their own people. Southron was a loose coalition at the best of times. For them to band together under one flag? That was dangerous. And it was probably all Seraphina’s doing.

  “If you like, I have experience with the people of Southron,” Davorin said, trying not to think of how close his connection was. His sister was married to the current leader. A development he would have to deal with, and carefully. “I can tell your soldiers what to look out for.”

  Lenore’s eyes widened ever so slightly as she considered his offer. Not for the first time, Davorin was struck with how useful it was to be Firstborn Son of the Salusian Empire. Lenore might have had the army and resources that Davorin needed, but when it came to true power and influence, he was the richer.

  “That would be very helpful, thank you,” Lenore said. She inclined her head in thanks before disentangling her hand from Davorin’s arm and striding forwards, her back straight, her head high. A Queen addressing her people. One day, hopefully soon, Davorin would be walking forwards at her side, claimed unabashedly as Consort. Though, at the rate Lenore was warming up, it would be the end of summer before she even allowed him to take her hand in public.

  “Get me your fastest carrier bird,” Davorin barked as he stalked into his mercenaries’ camp. Warrith lifted his head from a slate where he was working out supply requirements. Davorin spun to face the leader of the mercenaries. “Now!”

  Warrith jerked his head at one of the younger soldiers sharpening her knife. She rose without comment and jogged off to go find a bird. Warrith lowered his slate. “I take it things aren’t going well with your Red Queen.”

  Davorin curled his lip. “She is more contrary than I had expected, but I will win her.”

  “Best be careful. Women warriors are one thing. They’re decent fighters. Not as strong, perhaps, but speed and endurance matter more. More ruthless than the men, most times. Women in power,” Warrith snarled the last word and shook his head, disgusted. “They’re cursed hard to pin down. Too used to thinking and getting their way. Can be dangerous for a body.”

  “Queen Lenore is under control,” Davorin said through clenched teeth. “I have another matter to deal with.”

  The younger soldier jogged back up with a heavy leather glove and a fierce-eyed falcon resting on her arm. “This here’s Storm Seeker. Fastest bird in the company. Knows places just by name.”

  “Good,” Davorin held out his arm for the falcon and the soldier carefully passed the bird over. The falcon was a mix of stormy greys and blacks, rather than the more tawny colour one would expect. It hissed a little at Davorin as it adjusted its talons on his leather bracer. Davorin placed his note in the tiny band attached to the bird’s foot. “Southron. Lady Seraphina,” he instructed the bird. Then, he threw it into the air, earning an angry screech before the falcon was gone.

  “Southron?” Warrith asked. “We’re too far from Southron to be any worry. The Red Desert only abuts the Southron border for a couple of leagues… Ah, wait. The Lady Seraphina. Only daughter of the Salusian Emperor.”

  Davorin growled acknowledgement.

  “I hear she’s got herself a power-hungry lord to control. Or maybe that she’s the power-hungry one,” Warrith chuckled. “I told you! Women with power be difficult creatures.”

  “Curb your tongue,” Davorin spat. “She may be a difficult creature, but the Lady Seraphina is my sister, as well as the Firstborn Daughter. You would do well to remember that.”

  “Or what? You’ll have your pet Captain take a whip to me?” Warrith sneered. Nadezhda and the leader of the mercenaries had butted heads repeatedly. The mercenaries would follow Davorin as long as he paid them, but Warrith was forever demanding better food, better accommodations, better pay. He was less a fighter than a cutthroat negotiator and he was starting to get on Davorin’s last nerve.

  “No.” Davorin leaned over the seated man. He snatched the slate up and glanced over it before slamming it down on Warrith’s knee, cracking both the slate and the man’s bone. Davorin curled his fingers around the collar of Warrith’s tunic, cutting off his air before he could cry out in pain. Davorin hauled the mercenary to his feet, ignoring the whimpers and tears. “I think I’ll take the pleasure of whipping you for myself.”

  “Please,” Warrith mouthed.

  Davorin threw the man away from him.

  “You’re right. You’re not worth it. Your knee is broken, already. Why bother humiliating you when you can no longer fight? You’re going to be worthless to the mercenaries now. I’ll just leave you to their devices.”

  Warrith pleaded with Davorin, stumbling after him before collapsing in pain as he fell on his wounded knee.

  Davorin ignored him and walked away. Only looking back to stare at the young soldier who had delivered the falcon.

  “Do you think I was wrong?” Davorin asked, brushing dust off his tunic.

  The woman narrowed her eyes at Warrith, the mewling, simpering creature he had become.

  “No.”

  “Then you have just earned yourself a promotion,” Davorin said. “Congratulations. You now run my army.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “How long did you travel with Lord Davorin before you came here?” Lenore asked. She trailed a finger over the spine of a book on the table Ravenna had claimed, doing her best to look disinterested in the question as well as the answer.

  Ravenna leaned back in the chair. She only managed a few inches before the cursed backboard got in the way. Why would you put such a thing on a chair? It restricted movement and aggravated the wings. She shifted in discomfort and pushed down the desire to glare at the interruption. It would not do to annoy her host, no matter how kindhearted she appeared to be. Not to mention, guard dog Miska was lurking nearby, watching the conversation with interest.

  “I travelled with him for long enough,” Ravenna answered cautiously. “Was there something you wished to know?”

  “Only what sort of man he is,” Lenore said. The queen sank into a chair opposite Ravenna and propped her head in her hands. She looked, frankly, like Desarra when she was bored. The comparison struck Ravenna; Desarra would never be so quietly crafty as this human queen.

  “I only have a few humans against which to compare him,” Ravenna answered, turning her attention back to her book. To her utter shock, Miska’s hand flashed in her vision and snatched the book away from her. Ravenna gaped at the human for a moment before clamping her mouth shut and putting on her mask of calm. Miska’s eyes blazed like green fire and his features were twisted in anger.

  “Miska!” Lenore said in shock, but his attention was focused completely on Ravenna. He could not hear the queen.

  “You are always like this!” Miska snapped, his anger making some of his words less sharp than they would be otherwise. “Always guarding your words. Always keeping your expression calm. Do you think so little of us? Have we been so terrible?”

  “Miska,” Lenore repeated, quieter. She reached out to touch Miska’s arm, but he wrenched it away, his eyes still fixed on Ravenna. She was shocked by Miska’s outburst but remained as outwardly calm as ever. After all, she’d had years of practise with her sister and the other sylphs. She would not give the humans the satisfaction of seeing her own anger.

  “Do you think we’re going to hurt you?” Miska asked, softer now. He reached out a hand and grabbed Ravenna’s. He meant it to be comforting. Ravenna knew that. She knew that he was unlikely to do more than hold her hand. He had not done more than smile gently at her for three weeks. But that didn’t change the fact that a human—that anyone—had grabbed her hand without permission. Just another thing to hold on to. Something in her snapped.

  In a flurry
of wings and motion, Ravenna flung the chair away and was on her feet. A twist of her hand had Miska releasing hers, and a single swipe of her wing had him stumbling backwards until he fell onto the floor. The three movements were over before Lenore had a chance to jump from her own chair. Ravenna leaned over Miska, the only emotion the ice in her eyes.

  “In my experience,” she hissed, “all humans are vile, selfish creatures who revel in the pain of others. Your foolish smiles and desperate words do not prove otherwise.”

  Ravenna turned on her heel and stalked away from the library, her wings flaring and folding as she walked. She did not turn, did not want to see the expressions on Miska and Lenore’s faces. It was better that way.

  “It was too soon, Miska,” Lenore said. Ravenna wanted to put her hands to her ears, block out their voices, their discussion of her and how they could manipulate her to their whims. She forced herself to keep her arms down, to keep walking towards those great double doors.

  “I know,” Miska replied, barely loud enough for Ravenna to hear. “But I couldn’t stand to see her like this. So sad.”

  Those words snapped something further in Ravenna. She did not care about appearances anymore. She ran, the loose tunic flowing with her movements. Her feet, clad in soft slippers, barely made a noise on the polished floor, which hurt all the more. She wanted to hear the noise of her feet hitting stone. She wanted to cry out to the skies in anger and desperation. They had forsaken her, yet again.

  Maybe it was the human gods and divine beings who were doing this to her. Perhaps they were like the ones who worshipped them: cruel and unbending. Whatever it was that seemed to be playing with her life, it was too much. Sadness, Miska had said. It was not sadness, it was emptiness. And the emptiness was starting to roar louder in Ravenna’s ears. She was not sure anything of her would be left if it continued to grow. She was not sure she cared.

  “Now, now, where are you going, little bird?”

  Strong hands wrapped around Ravenna’s arms, wrenching her to a stop. She tried to break from Davorin’s grasp, but as he had proven before, his grip was too strong for her. When he squeezed hard enough to draw a yelp from her, Ravenna gave in and stopped struggling. Davorin released one arm and brushed his fingers under her chin, demanding that she look up and meet his gaze.

  “What has you running so fast? Trying to escape?” Davorin asked, voice as soothing and warm as a steaming mug of tea. Ravenna hated him for it.

  “Where would I go?” Ravenna sneered. “There is desert on all sides of this place.”

  “True,” Davorin acknowledged, dipping his head thoughtfully. “But you are stubborn and perhaps stupid enough to consider it.”

  Ravenna looked away. “I’m not.”

  “Good. You still have work to be doing for me,” Davorin said, grinning. He reached out and took a strand of her night-black hair, running it through his fingers. “You are going to help me win the Red Queen. Or have you forgotten?”

  “I—”

  Davorin tensed. Ravenna turned and saw Miska standing in the hallway, a concerned expression on his face. Davorin snarled and pushed Ravenna aside, a hand going to each blade. “How much did you hear?” Davorin demanded.

  “He’s deaf,” Ravenna blurted before Miska could say anything. She hoped desperately that he was reading her lips and understood not to make a move to indicate otherwise. “He can’t hear anything.”

  “Good,” Davorin said. He stepped over to Ravenna and put his hands around her shoulders, eyes fixed on Miska. She shuddered ever so slightly. “Don’t forget, little bird, who owns you. You still have work to do.”

  Ravenna closed her eyes but nodded. Davorin could not see her expression, but even so, she did her best to let nothing show. “I understand.”

  Davorin released Ravenna and walked away, passing Miska with a quietly superior smile. Ravenna closed her eyes again, trying to block out the few feelings she had left. Disgust. Hatred. Anger.

  She opened them to see Miska standing a few feet in front of her, looking solemn. “I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I’m sorry.”

  Ravenna lowered her head, “Me, too.”

  Ravenna sat on the stool in a patch of morning sun in her room, the crusted bread she had begged from the kitchens for her breakfast sitting nearly untouched on its tray. Her wings lay spread out, warming in the sun. With her eyes closed and her head tilted back, it was as close to peace as she had come for a long time.

  A cough startled Ravenna into her Dalketh stance, wings up and ready, hands poised to protect her face.

  Miska stood in the opening to her large window, an apologetic smile on his face. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said carefully.

  Ravenna lowered her hands and her wings. “It’s fine,” she said, not knowing whether she spoke the truth or a platitude.

  Miska gestured to the window, an unspoken question. “Please,” Ravenna answered, “come in.”

  He did and, for once, Ravenna did not take a step backwards. She was struck again by how much taller he was than she. And how unlike Davorin he was. His build came from days of quiet work, not fighting and training. His skin was a colour that Ravenna had never seen, even amongst the myriad of humans she had encountered thus far. But his eyes, they were what held the true fascination for her. Most of the humans she had seen had brown eyes. She had not gotten close enough to examine many, but never had she seen such green before.

  “Sylphs don’t have green eyes,” Ravenna said before she could stop herself. Miska blinked and raised his eyebrows. “They’re all amber, two shades lighter than your queen’s eyes.”

  “Yours aren’t amber,” Miska pointed out, lifting a hand as if to brush Ravenna’s face beside her eyes.

  She flinched slightly.

  “I’m…not like other sylphs,” Ravenna murmured. “For one, they can fly.”

  “You have magnificent wings,” Miska said. He reached out as if to touch her feathers before pulling away. “Beautiful.”

  “Flying is not a matter of pure will,” Ravenna snapped. “It requires a great deal more than beauty. Mine are too small and I cannot fly. That is the end of it.”

  She turned away from his penetrating gaze. Instead, she picked at the bread. Her appetite, though, was no more improved now than it had been earlier.

  “You need to eat more than bread,” Miska said, frowning at her morning meal. “You do not take your meals with the rest of us, but…you are eating, aren’t you?”

  What was it about this human that had Ravenna wanting to tell him that she had not been truly hungry for ages. That she had not enjoyed a morsel of the food that passed her lips well before being captured by the slavers. Then, as with now, it was more of a means to keep up her strength than something she enjoyed.

  “I asked the kitchen people for plain food,” Ravenna said. “I just…haven’t had much of an appetite.”

  To her surprise, Miska nodded in understanding. “When the heart feels nothing, it’s hard to want to do anything. Even eat.”

  “Why would you say that?” Ravenna asked, a little more bite in her words than she anticipated. Thankfully, Miska could not hear the tone, only read her lips. Judging by the sad look in his eyes, though, he was reading more than her lips.

  “After I lost my hearing, I was the same. The world felt cruel and dangerous and I didn’t want to interact with it at all. I didn’t see much point. Who would ever bother with a useless boy?” He shrugged but gave off the sense that it had taken many years to be able to do such a thing.

  For a heartbeat, Ravenna envied the ability to shrug her worries away as something long past. Her feathers rustled, pressing closer together.

  “What changed?” she asked after a moment.

  Miska smiled, this one full and stunning.

  “Warra wouldn’t leave me alone. She helped me discover that I could still understand people, just that I had to do it differently. And then Queen Lenore spent her afternoons reading books aloud to me until I could unde
rstand everything,” Miska said. He blinked and focused his attention back in the present, back on Ravenna. “We are not all cruel, selfish creatures.”

  Maybe that was the truth. Maybe Ravenna had been wrong in her assessment. But if that were true, who, then, could she trust to help piece her life together again. Miska? Lenore? They seemed like good enough humans, but the truth was, they could not understand her plight and they were not who she wanted.

  “Was there something you wanted?” Ravenna asked desperately, taking a step backwards. Miska ran his fingers through his hair, obviously frustrated by her response. He let out a huff before nodding.

  “I think I have something that will help,” he said.

  “Help? Help what?” she asked.

  He shook his head and said nothing, merely held out his hand. If Ravenna wanted to know what this ‘help’ was, she would have to go with him. Was it something to stop Davorin? Was it something to help with her healing injuries? Perhaps he had found a book that held a map back to Shinalea. Hope bloomed in Ravenna’s chest and before she could think it through, she grabbed his hand and followed him through the open window and into the gardens.

  “Where are we going?” Ravenna asked as Miska dragged her along. But of course, he could not hear her. His face was turned forwards, his green eyes glinting in the sun. She just had to trust him. So she did.

  Miska led her through the gardens until they reached the edge of the greenery. The desert opened up before them, framed by a few buildings and a large area of sand that had been pounded into place by hundreds of people walking over it day after day. There were humans there, dressed in clothing different from the loose pieces that were found inside the Red Palace. They wore tight breeches with padded tunics or leather armour, long shirts held in place with a belt. Most carried swords at their sides. Some carried long sticks with metal pieces at the end, something Tekko had described as spears. A few led horses or ran through drills with their companions.