Chapter 15 The Flightless #3
How Ridan was going to explain to his clan that not only did he bring a bespelled murderer home, but now he was bringing a harpy, he wasn’t sure. He would somehow have to explain that, and in the next breath, ask them to trust him when he says Kaldonea is coming to free their greatest enemy.
It gave him a headache just thinking about it.
Buzzard appeared to get healthier as they traveled.
With good food and sunshine, his skin was losing its sickly sheen and he had more energy as the days went on.
Braced against Brune’s solid back, his head tipped back, he watched clouds drift by.
Even when the sun was so bright it made his eyes water, he kept them open.
By the time the clan came into view, Ridan’s stomach was in knots, and he was dripping sweat. He’d never been a nervous person, but approaching his clan had him worried. Normally he had a plan, an idea, something to fall back on.
They reached the edge of the forest by noon, but they stopped in the shade of the trees to wait for nightfall. Whatever Ridan was going to do, he couldn’t just parade Buzzard around. His clan would have questions, and they wouldn’t give the harpy the space he needed to rest and heal.
Brune slipped into the clan during the bustle of afternoon chores, intent on alerting Corric and Jonen about what was going on and preparing for Buzzard’s arrival.
The harpy was insistent his wings were damaged beyond repair, but Brune couldn’t stand seeing them.
He asserted on speaking to Iylah about them.
Leaning against a tree, Ridan slurped down some water from a skin and tried not to give into the urge to pour the rest over his body.
Buzzard was perched on a thick root, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet. Even with his damaged wings he had impeccable balance.
“You’re going into heat.”
Ridan’s lips curled back. Talking about heats and ruts wasn’t taboo, but it was considered a vulnerable time. Someone outside the pack knowing was alarming.
Buzzard either didn’t realize, or care. He continued to look at Ridan lazily, plucking at his wings.
“I’m—” he started, ready to deny it. But now that he was paying attention, it was obvious. The cramps, the heat—all of it was leading up to the unescapable. “It’s early.”
Which wasn’t true. Technically, it was late.
He skipped what should have been his last heat.
Iylah said it was to be expected with the stress of his mother’s passing and the new responsibilities heaped on him.
He’d been so busy he hardly missed it. Ridan took another swig of water, hoping that ended the conversation.
“Spending time with your mate will do that.”
Ridan gagged on the water, nearly spitting it at the bird man. “He’s—Brune is not my mate.”
A sly smirk spread across Buzzard’s sharp features. “Yet.” He was far too cheeky for someone that had two wings in the grave. “Just because I’m a harpy doesn’t mean I don’t understand how alphas and omegas work.”
Blanching, Ridan stoppered the water skin and tried to ignore the harpy’s grin. He wasn’t wrong. His omega would happily take Brune to his nest now.
Clearing his throat, Ridan leveled a glare that would straighten Jonen’s curls. “How do harpies do it?”
“We don’t have genders like you humans, but I’ve spent enough time with the featherless to know pining when I see it.”
“Shut up! I’m not pining.”
“Yeah,” Buzzard drawled, raising an infuriating eye ridge.
The hairs where his brows should be were so faint they were almost transparent.
“If a lifetime of torture and experimentation didn’t make me shut up, I doubt one grouchy little omega will.
But you’re welcome to keep snarling if it makes you feel better. ”
Ridan does just that, baring his omegan fangs in a halfhearted attempt to cow the harpy. It made Buzzard laugh. Which only soured Ridan’s mood. He never had much patience to begin with and with his heat bearing down on him, what little he had was shortened considerably.
Another cramp tightened in his gut, and he bit back the urge to groan, to show any kind of weakness. Anxiety flickered in the back of his mind. Too exposed, need our nest.
“Just… stop talking.”
“Oh, it’s my fault you’re fighting it?” Buzzard laughed, pulling another feather.
This one stuck for a moment, a small bead of blood welling up in the space it left behind.
“Let me tell you something only a flightless bird can—the world is ugly. It’s mean and starving, scarred and rotten.
And yet one thing remains constant: love.
Even amid the grotesque, humans can find the one true, unsullied thing left. ”
Buzzard’s eyes were bright with something like pain, but he was staring down at his feather, and all Ridan could see were flashes of gold behind his quivering lashes.
“I’ve spent my life around humans who were capable of love.
They had all the parts, the privileges, and yet they were so obsessed with magic they missed it.
” He looked back up at Ridan. “Artrax gave the clans a gift the walled city was too foolish to see. He died for you. Not for magic or power, but for love.”
“Magic can build cities. It can fill bellies and win wars. It can do the impossible, but it can’t do that.”
Ridan, like all Clansmen, had spent many nights thinking about Artrax. About his valor, his strength, his sacrifice. But he’d never thought of it like that. But even as Buzzard spoke, he could feel the truth of his words.
Perhaps love wasn’t a weakness. It wasn’t being selfish or abandoning his responsibilities.
It was a celebration of Artrax’s sacrifice, and all those who came after him.
Rather than honoring their death, it honored their lives.
What they lived and died for. Perhaps finding something so true, so pure in a world where children had their wings broken to fit into cages, was the greatest victory he could ever win.
He didn’t answer Buzzard, just ducked his nose into his shirt and tried to pick out Brune’s lingering scent.