Azrael twitched, wishing she could scratch them. They were terrible, crusted things, formed from the endless drip of her blood and sealing with the small stitches in her skin. There’d been so much blood, and the Healers had done what they could, but now it was like a shell that needed to be broken if her wings could ever come out.
A Healer holding a cup of steaming water and a sponge accepted the vial from Gabriel and got to work. Stings radiated down her shoulders as the Healers dabbed warm water to moisten the scabs. Each droplet was like a blade, sending stabs that signaled her scabs were relinquishing their grip.
“This cream should allow your scabs to completely detach,” explained a Healer. “You’re almost there, Princess. Are you ready?”
The cream was not unlike the “unicorn tears,” putrid and hopelessly mixed with soft scents of lilac that did little to mask the smell.
“Ready,” she confirmed and squeezed her eyes shut.
Horrible stings radiated across her shoulders as the Healer’s tender fingers applied the cream. Azrael held in a whimper, but squirmed as the stinging intensified.
“What do you feel?” Gabriel asked, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her face.
“Pain,” she said through clenched teeth, and was about to say something else when a nauseated groan forced through her throat as the Healer tugged. The tug was slight and gentle, and after the wave of dizzying pain rolled over her head, there was a surprising aftermath of relief.
The Healer’s relieved sigh echoed her own as a soft squish sounded from the bowl. “They’re off,” she announced.
“Finally,” Azrael muttered.
Gabriel smiled. “That surely must feel better.”
Azrael nodded with wide eyes. “Much.”
Gabriel leaned to inspect the damage and Azrael cringed, waiting for him to tell her how her Acceptance had been ruined beyond repair. Instead, admiration lit his face. “They’re almost free,” he said. “And your Acceptance isn’t damaged. In fact, I think once it heals, it’ll flow perfectly with your feathers.”
The thought of having feathers of her own gave her a floating sense of elation, but that bubble quickly burst as she remembered the cost of her wings.
“Now that the scabs have come off, perhaps we can accelerate your healing,” Gabriel offered.
Azrael scrunched her nose. “I thought that you said I was a butterfly and my wings had to come out on their own.” She couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her words.
“No,” Gabriel countered. “I mean you could use your magic. Light can heal if you know how to use it.”
The images of Meretta’s blood-soaked hair filtered through her vision. “If you say so.”
He pulled the chair closer to the bed and leaned in. “First thing you must do is to utilize the Divine Material. Now that the scabs are gone, it won’t hurt.”
The Healer who had been silently cleaning materials on the other side of the room stomped her foot. “Gabriel! Her scabs just came off. I strongly advise against such an action, at least for a little while.”
Gabriel dismissively waved a hand at her. “She’ll be fine. Trust me.”
The Healer grunted with annoyance. “You’d better listen to me one of these days,” the Healer mumbled, followed by angry clinks of tools and bottles.
Gabriel continued his instructions, “Concentrate on activating your Divine Material. I want you to focus on the pain. Your subconscious mind should take over from there.”
The pain had been the only thing she could focus on since she’d gotten here, but she didn’t argue, and did as he asked. After a few moments of silence, she fluttered her eyelids open again, meeting Gabriel’s pensive gaze.
“Well?” he prompted.
Azrael shook her head. “Nothing.”
He took her chin in his hands and examined her eyes. “You aren’t using the Divine Material.” He sat back again. “It won’t work unless you do that first.”
Nerves set her teeth on edge as she closed her eyes again. She remembered lighting her soul on fire, opening the gates and setting the Divine Material in her skin ablaze. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t replicate what had been so easy before.
Gabriel shifted and his chair creaked. “I don’t understand. You couldn’t even stop using Divine Material before...”
Azrael frowned, frustration and anger brimming as she clenched her fists. “I can’t do it, Gabriel. I remember how I did it before, but it won’t work now.”
Gabriel was silent for a long moment. Then his face turned grave. “I don’t want to admit it, but perhaps the violent manner of your Turning could have... Well, maybe, it rendered you incapable of using the Divine Material.”
Azrael’s eyes grew wide and she stared at him with disbelief. “How could that happen?”
Gabriel tapped his fingers on his knees thoughtfully. “It’s just a theory, perhaps the trauma is still too fresh.” He jerked to his feet. “I need to consult my allies. Maybe they can help.”
Azrael snatched his wrist and gasped at the pain that shot up her arm at the sudden motion. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.” She didn’t have to push desperation in her words, she was already on the verge of panic.
He hesitated, and Azrael wished she could taste his emotions. She had to settle for the flash of indecision in his eyes. “All right, I’ll stay. But if you haven’t made progress soon, I’ll seek help.”
Relief eased her shoulders and she curled her fingers under her chest, resting onto the padding as comfortable as she could. “Thank you.”
Defeated, Gabriel lowered to his chair. He stretched his wings wide, as if he too felt cramped and yearned to be free of the stifling room. But then he settled, closing his wings tight to his shoulders and folding his arms over his chest.
He’d closed his eyes, easing into sleep as he normally did. Azrael couldn’t fathom how he could sleep, much less in a chair, but he did. But for Azrael, she felt as if something big was about to happen. It nagged like a buzzing fly and even when she drifted into a hazy sense of sleep, it warned her that she had no time to rest.
Deep in the night she lurched out of sleep, coughing up blood and bile. Gabriel woke with a start and a Healer rushed into the room, instantly holding a rag to her mouth. “Breathe,” she instructed with only sternness, no panic.
Blood soaked the rag within seconds and Azrael gasped ragged breaths through the rush of blood.
She was about to try and tell the Healer that something was terribly wrong when she convulsed and pain jolted through her spine. A succession of cracks ripped screams from her throat.
“Azrael, you’re doing it!” Gabriel shouted, even as a sudden hoard of Healers obstructed his view.
Azrael searched for his face, the love and faith in that azure sea that would give her the strength to survive.
When she caught his gaze, she knew the time had come. She didn’t need her magic to see the fluster of panic and elation wound like a ball in his gaze. She didn’t have time to dwell, and braced herself as the two oversized lumps finally broke free of their prison of muscle ligaments and skin. It felt as if her very spine was being ripped out, and she screamed as panic clenched around her heart.
Gabriel shot a hand through the wall of Healers and she latched onto it, drawing strength and warmth even as her skin was slick with blood. “You’re almost there,” he encouraged.
Azrael’s vision had narrowed and she couldn’t think of anything except the pain and terror. She prayed to the Divine for it to end, even if it meant her death. She couldn’t handle this anymore, not the loss or the Turn, certainly not both.
Her muttering prayers between screams were cut short as a wooden cylinder was shoved in her mouth. She bit down on it, hard, and just in time. Another convulsion took over her body followed by a sudden snap through her right shoulder.
Azrael lunged to the side as another spear shot through her left, and what felt like arms stretched, wet and painful, in frigid air. She became
cold, oh so cold, and she wheezed as blood spurt out her nose.
“So cold,” she whispered and closed her eyes against the nauseating dizziness that followed.
“She’s losing too much blood,” a Healer shouted. Hands rushed to put pressure on her wounds.
“That hurts,” she protested. Through blurry eyes she pleaded with Gabriel. “Help me.”
“They’ll stop the bleeding,” he promised and warmed her hands with his. “You’ve done it. It’s over.” He placed a hand on her freezing cheek and she trembled. “Can you feel them? Can you feel your new wings?”
Pain thundered through her body, but she realized he was right. There was something lying on her back that was wet and heavy, but waves of stinging needles channeled through the new nerve endings. She flexed, and fresh pain shot through her body. It was pain from her wings.
But the pain was receding, the blood flow was easing. She twisted, trying to see her wings like a mother straining to see her child. But pain arced through her neck and her head fell to the bloodstained pillow with a grimace.
For the first time, Azrael allowed the Healers to stab a hollowed needle in her arm and accept blood through dried animal intestines. She smiled when she realized it was Gabriel’s blood she was receiving, and he towered over her, his own bloody arm squeezing proudly over the needle. “Angel blood is a closer match,” he explained, barely glancing at the human healers.
Not seeming to take offense, the lead Healer wiped her hands clean on a cloth and gave Gabriel a nod. “Should we sew up the leftover tears?” she asked. “I don’t want her to keep bleeding.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “I agree.”
The Healer blew out a long breath. “Sorry to put you through more pain, child, but we must close these wounds. Then, I promise you a reprieve.”
Azrael closed her eyes and wept hot tears. Her back protested with fierce throbbing and her body felt like it had been broken in half. She was tired of the pain. Azrael let the tears run streaks through the drying blood on her face. She wept for her broken body, and for her broken heart; for all that she had lost.
Azrael wondered what she could have done to deserve such torment. But there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. She tried her best not to move as tiny needles and organic thread were laced all too forcefully through her bleeding and open wounds.
Healer’s hands were steady, but their aim was only to patch her up again. The jerks and knots of their stitches stabbed relentlessly. Blood mixed with salty tears around Azrael’s mouth.
After the Healer had finished, Azrael was finally left to mend on her own. A few stayed behind to clean the blood and organic substances out of her new feathers. Meanwhile, another wound a long strip of cloth around her chest, providing support and also blessed coverage.
Gabriel sat beside her during the procedure, a cloth pressed on his arm, telling her that it was necessary for her wings to be cleaned, unless she wished to have bloodstained feathers. Azrael most certainly did not, so she tolerated the prying hands to pick and prod into her delicate and sensitive wings.
When finished, the servants cleaned up the blood that had spattered onto the floor. And indeed, a Healer had already slipped in a puddle of the stuff. In her numbed haze, Azrael wondered how so much liquid could reside in her body. She was grateful that she was allowed to keep the rest of it.
PERHAPS it was simply the trauma, or perhaps it was a reaction to Gabriel’s blood, but she soon slipped into a fever. Gabriel went to Celestia against her wishes, but she was too ill to stop him. When he returned, his grim silence told her that she was truly on her own, and nature would take its course.
Azrael needed to live. Justice needed to be served and a part of her wanted to get through this out of sheer spite. She couldn’t let Mita have the satisfaction of seeing her dead from her own wings. And so she slurped bitter soup, gulped nasty tea, and slept even when she felt she couldn’t sleep anymore.
In the early light of dawn just at the end of fall her fever finally broke. Pain had become an unwelcome, but accustomed, companion. And when it finally eased, Azrael was amazed. For the first time in weeks, she was able to rise from her bed.
“Careful, Azrael. Careful now,” Gabriel instructed.
Azrael trembled and shook even as she managed to sit up. The sheer weight of her wings made her want to fall back to the bed again. They slumped down her back like weights, and moving them seemed entirely out of the question.
She frowned as she looked past her dangling feet, just as limp as her wings. “I don’t think I can walk.”
Gabriel took ahold of her arms. “I’ll help, don’t worry. I know the Healers have been giving you sponge baths, but surely you’ve been dying for the real thing.” He smiled his handsome smile.
A weak grin found its way across Azrael’s lips. A real bath. The Healers had tried to heat the water before they slathered it on her like butter, but it always turned cold. If they wanted a method to induce tremors, it seems they’d already invented it.
With the thought of steam enveloping her withering body, breathing life into it again, a newly found surge of determination brought Azrael to her feet with a jolt.
Of course, she immediately went tumbling to the floor. But Gabriel was standing ready. He held her up with ease and the reminiscent memory of Meretta nearly sent her tumbling again. “That’s the spirit,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Now, can you step forward?”
Azrael looked to her feet in concentration and wiggled her toes. “I think so.”
With slow steps, Gabriel and Azrael made their way to the bathing chambers. Azrael was sure it was quite the sight. Gabriel, in all his glory, stooped down to hold a greasy, young girl with infant wings straddled on her back. Gabriel lifted her on her toes, desperately trying to keep her thin feathers from touching the ground.
As they made their way through the glittering halls, Azrael was met with affectionate smiles from servants passing by. An occasional Healer would nod her head and say, “Good to see you up and about, Majesty.” Azrael wanted to slap them for calling her that. She didn’t want to recognize that the true Queen was really gone. But Azrael was too weak, too tired. It took all of her concentration just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Finally at the baths, servants stood ready in Azrael’s own private chamber. The beige and brown marbled walls were veined with Light and she sighed at the steams that rose to the ceiling.
“I’ll be right outside,” Gabriel assured her.
He handed her over to the servants. Azrael slumped against their grasp as they pulled her into the room. They dragged her over to a backless chair as two servants held her upright. They were young, and gazed at Azrael with wonder. Azrael had to admit, she felt a little bit special then, despite her awkwardness.
Slowly, they unwound the bloodstained cloth from her upper body. It hurt, but she was glad to get the wretched thing off. As the last of the cloth was removed, she wrinkled her nose at the sharp and sour stench. As careful as the Healers had been, Azrael imagined it was impossible to keep any infection at all taking hold somewhere.
Azrael gazed with longing at the warm bath that was coated with rose petals. She was tired of feeling disgusting and bloodied. She knew it would hurt, but she wanted more than anything to be clean.
The servants inspected Azrael’s back, and though they kept their vow of silence in front of a Windborn, there were no rules against admiring sounds of awe. They cooed at her Acceptance, and nodded their heads at each other with satisfaction. Clearing her throat, the servant girls giggled and helped Azrael into the bath.
Azrael was shaky, and the sting of the water’s cleansing splash spurred a gasp from her throat. But the pain ebbed, and the warm water embraced her like a mother’s touch. Azrael sighed and suppressed the urge to immerse herself completely and never come out.
The servant girls delicately washed her body with soft sponges, clearing off the layers of blood and grime. The skin was sensitive where the wings
had burst out, but she could feel that the wounds had healed nicely. The stitches must have been absorbed by my body by now. For once, Azrael was grateful for the Healers’ wild inventions.
The servants lathered oils and soaps over Azrael’s body and through her hair. At first, it burned, and Azrael bit her lip from making a sound until eventually the pain receded. Azrael curled her toes with pleasure at the sensations. After so many weeks, she was clean. How she had taken for granted the wonderful gift of cleanliness.
The servant girls worked quietly, leaving no spot unwashed. They were well trained, and kept their scrubbing to a light pressure, careful against the raw skin where her wings had thrust their way out and the skin closed. Under their care and attention, Azrael’s mind drifted to thoughts of her Queen and Meretta. Did Queen Ceres ever wish to be bathed like this with infant wings of her own? What would Meretta think if she saw me now? Pain speared in her stomach as the grief of loss reminded her how alone she truly was. For the first time in weeks, the tears came, not from her physical pain, but from her heart.
The servant girls patted her on the shoulder and offered understanding frowns. Queen Ceres had been their Queen too. Even Meretta had been kind to the servants, learning their names and treating them with respect. To learn a servant girl’s name who could not speak was no small feat.
The servant girls stopped their washing and held Azrael’s hands, lifting them to place on their foreheads: A display of their sorrow.
“Do you miss them too?” Azrael asked.
When the maidservant went to jingle her right wrist, Azrael stopped her. She unclasped the bells and let them sink to the bottom of the bath. “Speak.”
All the girls stilled and stared. The maidservant who’d lost her bells swallowed and licked her lips, before pushing out the words, “Yes, Majesty.”
Azrael’s tears ebbed and she offered a weak smile of gratitude. The girls smiled back, motioning for her to leave the now murky waters.
Azrael was hauled out of the bath. The girls couldn’t hold Azrael on their own, and she went toppling to the ground. Her wings were such waterlogged weights that she couldn’t hold them up. The girls rang silvered bells for help, and two more girls came bounding into the room.
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