by Cayla Kluver
“Don’t get upset, Anya,” he tried again, his voice appeasing. “I’m not blaming you for anything.”
“How generous of you!” My patience was wearing thin, and we hadn’t even gotten to what I had assumed would be the most difficult part of the conversation.
“I’m trying to be generous, Anya.” His own irritation was at last showing in his voice. “I know you’ve been through a lot, things I could never understand. I mean, you lost... You lost your...magic.”
“My wings, Davic. I lost my wings.” I couldn’t stand the sorrowful expression on his face, the way he trailed off without being able to say what had happened to me. “Although they weren’t really lost, were they? I was attacked and had my wings cut off.”
He held up both hands in an effort to calm me, perhaps realizing he had crossed a line.
“I know, I know, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you. I can’t imagine the pain you’ve endured. If I could go back somehow and change things, I would, but...” He couldn’t meet my eyes, but neither could he stop his mouth. “But you’re not the only one affected by this, Anya.”
For a moment, I sat in stunned silence, reeling from what he’d just said.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve suffered the most, obviously. But you have to see—you have to acknowledge—that this situation affects us both. I mean, we’re promised to each other, we’re expected to spend our lives together.” He was picking up tempo, the words coming faster and faster, and I wondered how many times he had practiced this speech. “But now, without your wings, you can never come home. You can never live in Chrior the way we thought we would, the way we always wanted.”
Though I couldn’t have identified the exact reason—the sadness in his tone, the desperation in his expression, the sense that something important was ending—tears were prickling my eyes.
“I’m aware of that, Davic. That’s not something I could forget. And just so you know—it was belief in our promise bond that kept me going through the first horrible days after my injury. And I always knew if you didn’t hear from me at the end of the three months we’d agreed upon, you’d come looking for me.”
“I’ve never doubted your heart,” he murmured, hesitantly taking hold of my uninjured hand. “And I’m glad to hear you never doubted mine. But this isn’t just about our hearts. It’s about the type of commitment we intended to make. And that’s why I can say you’re not the only one who’s suffering, Anya. I’ll have to leave my home, my family, and Chrior to be with you in the human world. And I’ll do it because I promised to care for you for the rest of my life. But this isn’t what either of us wanted. So please, try to understand this is hard for me, too.”
His hands, once so warm and gentle, now felt cold and clammy, and I was having difficulty breathing. This was what Davic wanted to discuss? He wanted to talk about how my attack—the mutilation I had suffered—was going to make his life harder? Was he expecting an apology? An outpouring of gratitude for the sacrifice he was nobly willing to make for me?
“So...are we all right?”
His question brought me out of my stupor, and I gazed into his eyes, seeing a complete stranger. Was this really the man I had bound myself to marry? The man with whom I had envisioned having children? Had he always been this selfish, and I had just never seen it? Content to believe he loved me and accepting that was enough?
“No, Davic, we’re not all right.” My voice started as a nearly inaudible squeak, then grew surprisingly firm. “No, we’re far from all right.”
The look of bewilderment on his face almost made me laugh.
“I don’t understand. I’m going to honor our pledge, Anya. I’m going to stay with you, even though you lost your wings, even though it means we can never go home.”
I came to my feet, pulling my hand from his. “I don’t want you to stay with me out of sympathy. I don’t want you to be with me even though.”
His brow furrowed, the distinction I was trying to make escaping him.
“Anya, I don’t... What else am I supposed to do?”
“You’re supposed to love me! You’re supposed to help me and support me and care for me, no matter what happens, and I would do the same for you. That’s the promise we made to each other, Davic!”
Without care for the consequences, I angrily turned my back to him and lifted my blouse. He gasped, and the tears I’d been fighting finally spilled down my cheeks. Gathering my tattered pride, I yanked my blouse back into place and faced him once more.
“Could you ever think of me as beautiful? Could you ever lovingly caress me? Ever since you saw me at the reception, you’ve been appalled by the thought of what I’ve become. You haven’t even been able to bring yourself to touch me, other than when you were working with Davic and Ione to help me fly. And I’m supposed to be impressed by your noble sacrifice? Grateful that you’re willing to forgive me for being a victim?”
He sprang to his feet and stalked halfway across the room. “Well, you didn’t have to go! You didn’t have to leave Chrior, Anya! The Queen sent Illumina on the mission to find Zabriel, not you, and your father told you not to go. And I begged you to stay, but you just had to go into the human world again, even though you knew better than most what the dangers would be!”
His explosive assertion almost stopped my heart, and I could feel the blood and color leaving my face. Sick to the very core of my being, I murmured, “You’re saying this was my fault.”
“I’m saying none of this would have happened if you had listened to the Queen. If you had listened to me.” Tears suddenly sprang up in his eyes. “Why did you have to leave, Anya?”
I stared at him, then stalked to the door. “Get out, Davic.”
“Anya, I’m sorry,” he plaintively murmured, taking a step toward me. “We’re both hurt right now and saying things we don’t mean.”
“Just leave!” I pointed a shaking finger at him. “And listen carefully, because I mean what I am about to say. We are no longer betrothed, Davic. You can go back with the Queen to Chrior and never have to leave it again, never have to think about the filthy human world you almost had to live in with the deformed woman who was almost your wife.”
Davic’s mouth flapped open and shut, but he didn’t utter a word. Eyes on me, he walked to the door, his gait stiff, then crossed the threshold with a small nod.
I stood in place, shaking with rage and shame and unexpected sorrow, then closed the door, leaning my back against it for support. Why should I care what he thought? Why should I let him make me feel that pity was all I deserved? But I found myself sinking to the floor, my knees hitting the wood with a thud. I stayed there for a long time, silently weeping.
* * *
Sometime after sunset, there was a knock on my door. Though I had moved to lie down on the bed, I felt heavy and lethargic, and not in the mood to socialize. What I wanted, what every nerve ending in my body craved, was the numbing effect of Cysur, and I dreaded the coming of the darkness.
“Who is it?” I called, trying to avoid making the trip all the way across the floor just to find out.
“Anya, it’s me, Ione. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Since you missed dinner, I took the liberty of bringing you a bite to eat. You can either open the door or I can set it on the floor here in the hallway.” Silence descended for a moment, then she added, “Leaving it on the floor might not be the best idea—there’s a risk you’ll end up with Konstantin’s leftovers.”
I smiled in spite of myself and went to open the door. Like all good friends, she immediately came inside, not about to let me wallow in misery all by myself.
“Do you want to sit on the sofa, floor, or bed to eat?” she brightly asked. When I hesitated, she made the decision for me. “We’ll have a picnic right here in th
e middle of everything.”
She set the pack she was carrying on the spot she’d chosen, then handed the warm plate to me. My mouth began to water at once, the smell of the food stimulating the appetite I thought I’d lost. While I nibbled on a bit of meat, she went to the armoire and pulled out a quilt, then spread it on top of the wood floorboards. Satisfied, she plunked down on it and crossed her legs.
“Join me?” she chirped, producing two glasses and a jug of wine from inside the pack she’d brought. Though my mouth had watered at the smell of the food, my brain now screamed for the wine—it wasn’t Cysur, but it would have to do. Catching my smile, Ione added, “I came prepared.”
She opened the wine and handed me a glass as I settled on the floor across from her. I dug into the meal she had brought in earnest, washing it down with liberal swigs of wine. Willing to let me eat in peace, she examined the room, quietly sipping from her own glass.
“So how badly do you want to hurt Davic?” she asked when I finally put down my fork.
I laughed. “I don’t want to hurt him—maybe I do, just a little—but I am angry with him right now.”
“Is the betrothal really off?”
I sighed and took several more swallows of the wine. “Has he told everyone, then?”
She nodded, replenishing my glass. “You know Davic—he never can keep anything a secret. He also said you were the one who ended it.”
“Also true.” I sighed, then set down my glass. I was feeling just enough of a buzz to be willing to take a chance. “Will you pass out if I show you my back?”
“Why would I pass out from looking at your back?” she asked, the question enough to tell me she was likewise feeling the effect of the wine.
“My scars, Ione—from where my wings were cut off?”
She polished off her glassful and poured us both some more.
“I’ll look at anything you want to show me,” she said, speech slightly slurred. “Including some of those beautiful dresses I saw in the armoire.”
“Good idea.”
I came to my feet and held out my hand, assisting her to stand beside me. Though our steps were a bit unsteady, we marched to the armoire to pull out all the dresses and carried them to the bed. With garments flying every which way, we tried them on, finishing off the jug of wine in the process. When I was finally feeling brave enough, I bared my back for my friend. Unlike Davic, she did not gasp, but merely laid a hand gently on my shoulder.
“How bad are they?” I asked, bracing to hear her opinion.
“They’re scars, Anya, neither good nor bad. And we all carry our share—it’s just a question of how visible they are.”
I flopped down on the bed right on top of the mess of clothing. “You are very wise.”
She laughed and joined me on the bed. Had there been stars on the ceiling, we would have been staring up at them. “I take it Davic was not so wise.”
“Not at all. But it’s for the best. I can’t go back to Chrior, and he would never be happy here.”
“I know, Anya. But you still have the right to feel sad.” She shifted closer to put an arm around me, and I laid my head on her shoulder. After a few moments, she sat up and announced, “We need more wine. Any idea where we can get some?”
I sat up, too. “Not a where, but a who. Come with me. But be very quiet.”
She giggled; then we crossed the floor to open the door and peer into the hallway. It was empty. Motioning for her to follow, I led her around several corners until we reached the Lieutenant Governor’s study. A glance at the bottom of the door revealed no light, so I put my ear against the wood. No sound came from inside, emboldening me to turn the knob. It was locked.
“What do we do now?” Ione whispered.
I tugged on a strand of my auburn hair, thinking. “We need someone who can pick a lock—Zabriel!”
Ione giggled again, for she had long had romantic notions about my cousin. “Are you sure we dare?”
“I’m sure I dare—do you dare?”
“I can’t say no to a princess!”
“Then let’s go.”
We crept as stealthily as we could down the corridor to the west turret, then up the winding stairway to the tower where Zabriel’s rooms were located. His lights were on, so I boldly knocked.
He came to the door shirtless, and I thought Ione might faint. The look on her face did not pass his notice, and he broke into a broad grin.
“This is a surprise, Anya, Ione. Do you want to come in?”
Ione’s face turned five different shades of pink, but she ultimately followed me into my cousin’s room.
“From the aroma wafting around you, I’d say you ladies have been engaged in a little wine tasting tonight. Is it a private party, or have you come to invite me to join?”
“We came to invite your lock-picking tools,” I said, grinning so widely my lips hurt.
He brushed his hair back and then forward again with his hand, and it stuck up like a crest on an exotic bird.
“If I had to take a guess, Anya, I’d say Luka has my lock-picking tools.”
“Maybe we’ll find them when we break into his study,” Ione exclaimed. “Then we can use them to break into his study.”
She screwed up her face in confusion, trying to figure out what she’d just said, and Zabriel laughed.
“So your grand plan is to break into Luka’s study?” he asked. “Why would you want to do that?”
“For the wine!” I exclaimed. “He has some of the best wine.”
“Well, then, let’s get this done. I haven’t been in trouble in a while, and I sure wouldn’t want to pass up a taste of the best wine.”
“But you said you don’t have your lock-picking tools.”
“I don’t need them.” He reached out to remove one of the hairpins securing Ione’s braids around the crown of her head, sending her cheeks through their color scheme all over again. “This will work just fine.”
“Anya,” she whispered, twining her arms around one of mine. “I’ve got lock-picking tools, too.”
Zabriel donned a shirt, then led the way down the stairs, Ione and I stumbling after him. Upon reaching the second floor, he led us through the corridors to Luka’s study, issuing frequent reminders to be quiet. Before either of us could ask how he could pick a lock with a hairpin, he had the door open.
We entered, and Zabriel crossed to light a small lamp on the desk, while Ione and I selected a couple of bottles of wine from the sideboard against the wall.
“We should take these and drink them in my room,” I whispered, suddenly nervous about getting caught.
Though Ione nodded, Zabriel shook his head. “Not yet. You can’t break into someone’s office and then leave without searching it.”
Dumbfounded, I watched him rifle through the papers on top of Luka’s desk and in his desk drawers.
“What are you looking for?”
“Anything important. I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Fine. You do your work, and we’ll do ours.”
I handed two bottles to Ione, who opened them and returned one to me. Then we went to sit on the Lieutenant Governor’s sofa, toasting anything that came to mind and taking generous swigs. Several bottles of wine later, Ione and I fell asleep on the sofa, while Zabriel slumped in an armchair, each of us promising to wake the others after a short nap so we could return to our rooms.
* * *
“What the hell!”
The rage simmering in the voice was enough to rouse all three of us, and I peeled my eyes open to see Luka standing in the doorway, one hand on the door frame, one on the door latch. He was taking big heaving breaths, the tendons in his neck standing out like steel rods, his face a blazing shade of red. I had never before seen him so angry—I wasn’t certain I
had ever before seen anyone this angry.
For a brief moment, I wondered why the Lieutenant Governor was barging into my bedroom. But the drums beating in my head reminded me of the wine—and the fact Zabriel, Ione, and I had broken into his study, drunk his private stock, and fallen asleep. In the light of day, all of these actions were very foolhardy, but especially so the last.
Zabriel and Ione had also awoken and were groaning and rubbing their eyes. But Luka didn’t give us much chance to orient ourselves, and no chance to explain.
“On your feet, all of you!” he seethed, and, like ragged soldiers, we made the attempt, leaning against each other for support.
Now that we were more or less upright, Luka strode into the room to survey the damage, Marcus Farrier close behind. Zabriel, perhaps still a touch inebriated, pointed at the Constable.
“Look, Anya,” he mumbled. “Have you noticed that wherever Farrier goes, a Matlock is sure to follow? I’ll wager he shows up any minute.”
“Silence!” Luka spun on his heel to face us, his voice deafening to my ears, and Zabriel wrapped both arms around his head. Just then Officer Matlock entered, and my cousin earned another glare from Luka, as though daring him to repeat his earlier assertion. I glanced at Tom, uncertain of his reaction to our deeds, and relief soothed some of the burning in my stomach. He looked bemused rather than angry—perhaps he at least admired our boldness. “Send for some cleaning staff,” Luka said to Tom, rolling an empty wine bottle across the floor with his foot. To us, he added, “I’d have you three clean it up, but I need to get some work done today. I’ll just have to come up with some alternate penance for later.”
Catching sight of the mess on his normally organized desk, he stalked over to it, and I thought I saw the mahogany wood pale.
“This is unbelievable,” he muttered. “Mind-boggling, ridiculous, utterly asinine...”
Turning around, he once more ranted, causing all of us to cringe.
“How dare you break into my office! If you were any common thieves, the Constabularies would already have hauled you off to jail, and by tomorrow morning, you’d be wearing chains at Tairmor’s Prison. But no, you’re special thieves—my nephew, a guest in my home, and a member of the Fae delegation—who are stupid enough to steal my wine.”
