The One Who Could Not Fly

by E G Stone

  “When you hold someone like that? What is that?”

  “A hug?” Miska’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t know what a hug is? Didn’t your family…?”

  “No,” Ravenna shook her head. “My mother died when I was born. My heart-father, Tacitus, raised me to be an Intellecti. Separate. My differences to the other sylphs kept everyone else, well, apart. But it was a good life.” She did not know why she said that last part, as though Miska was questioning it, as though she was.

  Miska reached out to brush his thumb across her cheek. “I imagine it was,” he murmured, as though he did not quite believe her. Ravenna pulled back. She walked to the edge of the balcony and looked over the garden. Compared to the music and conversation at her back, the garden seemed abundantly peaceful.

  “I’m sorry.” Miska came up beside Ravenna, leaning his arms on the stone railing. “I don’t know anything about sylphs, apart from what you’ve told me. I didn’t mean to insinuate that, well, you knew anything less than what I knew.”

  Ravenna said nothing. There was a slight breeze over the desert that night, bringing with it a coolness and a hint of moisture that even the spring-fed oasis didn’t have. Light flashed on the horizon, though the storm was too far away to hear thunder.

  “Don’t you want to go in and dance?” Miska asked after a few more moments. Ravenna looked at him, saw the hopeful cast to his expression.

  “I don’t know how to dance,” Ravenna answered with a wing-shrug. “Sylph dancing takes place in the air and I cannot fly, so I do not know how to dance.”

  “Well humans don’t have wings,” Miska said. He leaned against the railing and started tugging off his boots, tossing them to the side.

  “What are you doing?” Ravenna asked, but he was too engrossed in his task to read her lips. Miska bounced up, his bare toes wriggling on the stone. He grinned widely and held out his hands. Ravenna raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ll teach you,” Miska insisted. “To dance.”

  “How?” Ravenna folded her arms. “You cannot hear the music.”

  Miska pointed to his bare feet, “I can feel the beat of the music through the stone. It’s not perfect, but it will work. Now, come here and I’ll teach you.”

  Ravenna hesitated. A woman’s tinkling laughter reached her through the open window, drawing her attention. It seemed that her entrance and abrupt exit had been forgotten in favour of dancing. And it did look wonderful, with the graceful steps and the precise movements.

  “Alright,” Ravenna breathed. She stepped into Miska’s arms, marvelling at how easy it was to do. His left hand wrapped around her right, his other hand on her waist, just where her wing met flesh. She shivered from the touch.

  Miska closed his eyes. “Just follow my lead,” he said in Ravenna’s ear. Then, after the music started rising, he took a step forwards. Ravenna moved a heartbeat too late and they brushed chests. She tripped backwards a small step. Miska just smiled and kept stepping, the movements slow and steady. Forwards, sideways, a turn. Ravenna felt his hand on her waist gently guiding her where he wanted her to go. She stumbled more than once and looked down at her feet to see where she was going more than she looked up at Miska. But after several minutes, Ravenna’s shoulders relaxed, and she found the rhythm that Miska was setting.

  Then, they danced.

  Ravenna did not know how long they danced, only that her movements became more fluid the more they moved. Soon, the whole balcony was subject to their movements. Miska’s hand on her waist, their other hands intertwined. The music rose and fell and Miska never seemed to lose the movement. Eventually, the music became so strong that Miska broke away from Ravenna, leaving only their hands touching, and spun her in a swift circle. Her wings flared slightly to counter-balance the movement. Everything fell apart.

  Ravenna’s wings pushed Miska backwards, so he stumbled over the long-abandoned tray of drinks and fell to the ground with a clattering of glasses. Ravenna moved backwards with her own momentum, running into the railing of the balcony. Her chest heaved and her heart beat loudly in her ears as she stared at the still-grinning Miska.

  The commotion brought other party-goers to the window. Amongst them was Davorin, his arm wrapped possessively around Lenore’s waist. The Queen looked at Ravenna and Miska, her mouth pressed in a straight line, her eyes confused.

  “Oh,” Ravenna said, so softly. How could she have been so stupid as to let her guard down? Dancing? With a human? She had forgotten everything that had happened to her and been so wrapped up in Miska that nothing else seemed to matter.

  “Ravenna?” Davorin asked, his voice breaking through the suddenly-silent night like one of his blades. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” Ravenna lied, lowering her gaze to the polished stone floor. “I was just…” she cast her eyes around for an excuse.

  “I was teaching her to dance,” Miska said. His eyes were on Ravenna, desperate and so alien to everything she had ever known.

  “An angel doesn’t need dance lessons,” Davorin scoffed.

  Miska was out of line to read Davorin’s lips, so he did not respond. He just kept watching Ravenna, apology and concern plain to see.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Ravenna said, lifting her chin so that she was staring down all who came to see her spectacle. “I am going to take a walk.”

  She did not wait for an answer, for permission. Ravenna just spun on her heel, placed her hands on the stone railing, and vaulted over the edge of the balcony and into the gardens below. It was not a far fall, but the sensation was so familiar to her. This was like home, like running through the forests of Shinalea. This was what she knew. Not dancing. Not those humans.

  Ravenna didn’t wait to see if anyone was following her, she just ran off into the night, letting her mind take her back to a time where things made sense.

  Chapter Eighteen

  After a few minutes of running, Ravenna slowed to a stop. The hem of her dress had snagged on at least three trees and she was fairly certain that it was ruined. Mostly, though, she decided that she was tired of running. The nostalgia it brought on was too strong. She wouldn’t pretend that she was home because she was most definitely not. These trees were not the ones she knew. These plants were foreign to her. The place she had left behind was made of the wrong kind of stone. And she was not running on an errand that Tacitus had set.

  Ravenna fell to her knees and let out a low groan. “I want to go home,” she whispered. Tears filled her eyes, unbidden and unwanted. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and forced the tears back. The emptiness was so much easier than the despair.

  Something stepped on a twig to one side of Ravenna. She sniffled and rubbed the last tears from her eyes. “Go away, Miska. I’m not in the mood,” she said, realising belatedly that Miska would not be able to hear her. Ravenna sighed and stood, turning to face him.

  She froze.

  Instead of Miska’s green eyes, she was looking into two cat-slitted pools of yellow, glowing faintly in the moonlight and oncoming storm. This creature was much larger than the mountain cougars that lived near the cliffs of Shinalea. And the growl rumbling deep in its chest was far deeper. This was a desert lion, like the one she had killed in the arena with Radim’s borrowed blade. But there was no blade here.

  “Ravenna!” Miska’s voice carried through the jungle garden. The lion facing Ravenna started. Instead of running, as most creatures do when faced with multiple possible predators, it let out a snarl and took a few steps in the direction of Miska’s voice. Something was wrong.

  “No!” Ravenna shouted, stretching her wings as wide as they would go. The creature let out a rumbling growl and turned its attention back towards Ravenna. It took another step forwards, enough for Ravenna to see more than its eyes, gleaming teeth, and foam-flecked muzzle.

  It was definitely a large cat, built along the same lines of the cougars, but much larger. Tawny fur covered its massive shoulders, made for pinning and holding onto p
rey. Its paws sported long, sharp claws. A long tail with a tuft of brown fur twitched eagerly behind the cat. This beast was larger than the starved creature she had faced before. And there was something in its eyes that spoke of a crazed fervour. Ravenna let out a furious cry and beat her wings once. The lion, instead of turning tail as it should have done, panted eagerly, more foam dripping from its maw. It crouched, showing Ravenna that most of its muscle was gone and that its bones were showing.

  Great, she thought. Starving creatures were desperate creatures. Mad starving ones were the most dangerous.

  “Ravenna, there you are!” Miska’s voice was laced with relief as he stepped into the clearing with Ravenna and the lion. His eyes were fixed on Ravenna and he did not even see the predator waiting to pounce. The cat did not hesitate, leaping towards Miska as soon as his back was presented. Ravenna did not hesitate either.

  She lunged forwards, reaching for Miska. He smiled widely, reaching back. Ravenna pushed him out of the way, throwing him violently to the ground. She stood where he had been and when the cat reached out to swipe its claws across its prey, Ravenna took the blow. She felt a bloom of pain from her left shoulder and across her chest, but she ignored it.

  Dalketh against an animal was nothing like Dalketh against a human. You could predict what a human could do. If you struck their head, they would bend and protect that asset. If you struck at the head of a wild animal, it might lunge and wrap its fangs around your wrist. Ravenna screamed into the cat’s ear, the sound, more than the blow she aimed at its ribs with her foot, causing it to break away.

  The two circled each other for a breath before lunging forwards again. The gardens fell away, as did thoughts of Miska and her own injuries. All there was for Ravenna was the fight. It was more than it had been when fighting the slave woman. It was more than the pleasure she took in her skill training with Vareis. This was survival and desperation. This was about protecting Miska. And Ravenna was not as helpless as she had been.

  Ravenna swung her elbow into the lion’s eye in a sweep called Turns Mid-flight. The cat screamed and latched its claws into her gown, the fabric catching and ripping. Ravenna kept in close, pushing herself off the ground with her wings. She surged up and over the cat, landing on its back, wrapping her arms around its throat, her legs around its ribs. The cat snarled and bucked, trying to throw Ravenna off. She held on, her wings beating and buffeting the cat’s face as it fought. The cat kept fighting, and Ravenna kept squeezing. After a time too long to count and too short to note, the lion ran out of air and collapsed to the ground.

  Ravenna did not wait for the creature to regain consciousness. She braced her feet on either side of the lion’s head, wrapped one hand under its muzzle and the other behind its rounded ears, then twisted, straining her upper body.

  With a crack of its neck, the beast was dead.

  Ravenna panted, her heart beating rapidly. She looked around, checking to see if there was another creature nearby, though she knew it was unlikely. Movement caught her attention at the corner of her eye; she spun. Miska was there. But something was off. The world was spinning, and she could not quite find the ground to place her feet.

  Ravenna fell backward, tripping over the dead lion. Her head landed on the soft undergrowth. Miska appeared at her side, his eyes wide, his mouth moving. He pressed a hand to her shoulder and throat. Pain bloomed again, and she wasn’t quite sure why. Ravenna lifted a hand to touch the spots that hurt. Her fingers came away red.

  “Oh,” she said, frowning. Then, everything slipped away until the green of Miska’s eyes were the only things that remained. After that, darkness.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The ride to the borderlands gave Davorin too much time to think. The ten mercenaries that Utheria had selected to go with him were so terrified or in awe of him that they hardly bothered to speak except to each other. Part of Davorin was grateful for the chance to run over his plans in his head. The other part wanted to do anything but run over any potential problems that meeting with Seraphina might bring with only his thoughts for company.

  So instead, he thought about the problems he had left behind. For one, Lenore was not warming up to him as much as he would like. He had thought they were making progress, but then the incident with Ravenna at the start of the ball had happened and it went downhill from there. Lenore had scolded him thoroughly for making Ravenna show off her wings. Davorin had apologised profusely to the Red Queen and promised to find Ravenna later and apologise. Only the stupid angel—sylph, whatever—had gone and caused a commotion out on the balcony and fled before Davorin could do anything.

  Now, she was laid up in the healer’s quarters after having gone after and killed a rabid desert lion. That other servant, the one who looked like he was part of the red desert stone, had claimed she saved him, getting in the way of the lion. She had received a set of nasty wounds as a result and, according to Nadezhda’s leering tale that morning, had nearly died.

  Davorin was not sure whether he should be impressed that the sylph had killed a desert lion, or wary that she was so dangerous.

  He chose to be impressed. Wariness would imply that he was afraid of her in some small way. He knew she hated him; that was obvious. But she was also obedient, completely so. Fear was unnecessary.

  “My lord.” One of the soldiers approached Davorin, flashing a submissive nod. He was leaner than Davorin would have expected of a mercenary, but Utheria knew her people. “We were wondering…what’s waiting for us at the borderlands?”

  Davorin raised his eyebrows, surprised. “You have nothing to worry about.”

  “It’s just, well, we figure you can handle just about anything but an overwhelming force. And we wanted to know why, then, you bothered to bring us along,” the soldier said. Davorin looked closer at the man. He was not only lean, but pale-skinned with dark circles under his eyes. He was nowhere near as pale as Ravenna, nor did he possess the hardness that Davorin had come to expect from the other mercenaries. But there was a cleverness, a sharpness, in his blue eyes that struck Davorin.

  “What is your name?”

  “B-barrow,” the man said.

  “Well, Barrow, had you perhaps been anyone else, I would never have answered you. As it is, I think you will be useful. We are going to go meet with my sister, and a show of power is quite useful with her,” Davorin said.

  Barrow’s eyes widened. “Your sister?”

  “The Lady Seraphina, wife of Lord Baldur, High Warlord of Southron.”

  Barrow nearly choked and fell off his horse. Only training held the man in his saddle. Davorin sighed and made a mental note to ensure that these mercenaries were thoroughly loyal to him. Seraphina was insidious and had coerced more than one useful ally away from him.

  “They told me that a Salusian man with twin blades was wandering around my encampment, but I didn’t believe them.” Seraphina preened as though Davorin had bowed and asked formal permission to enter her tent rather than barged his way into it.

  “Hello, sister,” Davorin grumbled. He was hot, dusty, and more than a little tired. Seraphina, on the other hand, looked as though she had been bathing in gold. Her tawny skin had become a dark golden-brown. Gold dust adorned her bare shoulders and gold leaf was painted across her cheekbones and up her fingers. She wore a light-yellow robe with wide sleeves that belted under her bust and Davorin suspected that she was wearing nothing else beneath. Seraphina had long ago learned to use her body to her advantage.

  “Dear brother,” Seraphina extended a hand, but otherwise lay reclining on a plush velvet couch. “I didn’t actually expect you to come here after I sent my response to your message. I can assure you that all is well…here.”

  “Should I even ask what your husband’s forces are doing here, amassed at the border between Southron and the Red Desert?” Davorin bit out. He sat on another one of the plush couches, ignoring the look of annoyance that resulted. Seraphina would just have to deal with a little dust. “Or would you rather m
e demand to know what you were thinking, uniting the tribes of Southron?”

  “You worry overmuch,” Seraphina sniffed. She sighed and sat up, propping her fist under her chin. “Don’t you have enough to do with worrying about the Empire?”

  “Just because I am not currently in the good graces of the Empire does not mean that I am not doing my best to serve its needs.” Davorin ground his teeth. How dare Seraphina, of all people, suggest he was doing anything but working in the best interests of the Salusian Empire. His Empire. “Father is still sane enough to manage things with the help of the Council.”

  “Dagan’s death took more out of Father than anyone would care to admit,” Seraphina said. Davorin sucked in a harsh breath.

  “I have heard nothing that suggests the well-being of the Empire is anything what it should be. My work continues there, even though I am here.”

  Seraphina waved a disinterested hand. “Come now, brother. We all know just how much you care about the well-being of the Empire. Tell me, why did you kill Dagan again? Oh, yes, because he was going to eventually bring about the downfall of the Empire.”

  Davorin snarled, a deep, wordless sound that rumbled through his chest. Seraphina, for all her machinations, scheming, and calm expression, blinked. “Dagan was more worried about finding immortality at the hands of mythological monsters than he was with the care of the Empire. He was conquering kingdoms with wanton bloodshed, and the conquered peoples became little more than slaves. If that had continued, then there would have been an uprising within two years. The Empire would have fractured. Our economy is still in tatters. Our peasant work force demands more resources than we can provide, all because Dagan siphoned them away. I mean to do things properly. To build the most powerful nation this world has ever seen. And I won’t need mythical creatures to do it.”

  Seraphina bared her teeth in a loose smile, “Speaking of mythical creatures, I heard that you captured yourself an angel.”