Chapter 5 #4
I let go of the strap like it was hot. Sabrina adjusted her dress, not embarrassed, not even slightly flustered, just matter-of-fact about the whole thing the way she was matter-of-fact about everything that involved her body.
“Thanks,” she said. “Wind’s being an ass today.”
“You’re welcome,” I said.
She glanced back at me, and something in my face must have betrayed me because her eyes did that particular Sabrina thing: the quick assessment, the raised eyebrow, the slight curve of her mouth that suggested she’d seen something interesting and was filing it away for future reference.
We decided to call it a day. We landed on a small floating island twenty minutes later, a place I didn’t recognize from childhood.
It was beautiful in the way that made you understand why people wrote poems about certain islands: a flat expanse of green meadow dotted with wildflowers, a single ancient oak at its center, and beyond the eastern edge, nothing but open sky and the distant blue suggestion of the sea far below.
Sabrina reached into the basket and spread the quilt she’d brought and unpacked the pastries from that morning, which had survived the journey and race in a woven basket with surprising dignity.
We ate. The pastries were still good, if slightly battered from aerial transport.
“So,” Sabrina said, tearing a sweet roll in half with her fingers, “the capital. The war. All those brave angels serving the queen. Any of them catch your eye? Or your … other parts?”
I nearly spat out a blackberry. “That’s not a question you get to ask.”
“It absolutely is. I have clearance.”
“You have delusions of clearance.”
She grinned, unrepentant. “Fine. Deflect, I’m used to it.
But you have to answer something, because I’ve spent six years imagining you as this devastating romantic figure sweeping noble ladies off their feet between battles, and if the reality is that you spent the entire war staring at maps and being tragically oblivious, I need to know so I can adjust my internal mythology accordingly. ”
I laughed despite myself. “The reality is considerably less exciting than your mythology. There were … interactions. Conversations. Nothing that lasted. Nothing that felt worth pursuing when every tomorrow came with a non-trivial chance of not arriving.”
She studied me for a moment, her head tilted, and then nodded, accepting this. “Fair. My turn?”
“Your turn for what?”
“Your deflection strategy. You ask me about my love life instead of answering about yours. It’s transparent but I’ll allow it. Fire away.”
I took the opening. “How many? How many suitors have you turned down since I left?”
She leaned back on her elbows, her wings half-extended against the quilt, and considered the sky with the expression of someone doing complex arithmetic.
“I lost count after ten. Twenty, maybe? There was a period in the third year where it felt like every family on the outer islands had a son, a cousin, or a conveniently widowed uncle they thought would be perfect for the beautiful wingless girl’s sister. ”
“Twenty.”
“At minimum. None of them attractive. None of them…” She trailed off, her eyes still on the sky, and for a moment the teasing left her voice entirely. “None of them measured up.”
“To what?”
She looked at me then. “To the stories,” she said quietly. “The ones I built in my head. About you.”
The admission hung between us, heavier than it should have been. I held her gaze, and something passed between us that I couldn’t name and didn’t want to examine too closely, and then she smiled and reached for another pastry.
“Don’t look so serious. It was a compliment. You set a high bar. Blame yourself.”
I shrugged and then she continued. “But it eventually dried up … too many casualties.”
“I know,” I said.
We ate in comfortable silence after that, watching the clouds move across the endless blue, and I thought about stories, about the versions of people we carry in our heads during absences, and how rarely those versions survive contact with the actual human beings who eventually come home.
When the pastries were gone and the quilt was covered in crumbs neither of us felt responsible for, Sabrina sat up and stretched, her wings extending fully. “We should head back.”
I nodded, gathering the empty basket. “Before we do … Gabriella. The bullying. You said it’s better, but … how much better, really?”
Something changed in Sabrina’s expression.
The lightness receded, replaced by the steadiness she reserved for subjects that mattered.
“She’s stronger. God, is she stronger. But the scars …
” She shook her head. “They’re still there.
She doesn’t let anyone see them, but they’re there.
She spends almost all her time with Angelina.
Helps with the accounts, tends the garden, talks to the chickens.
She has her numbers. She has her routines. She doesn’t let many in.”
She picked at a thread on the quilt, her fingers restless.
“I used what influence I had. Made it very clear that anyone who messed with my sister would answer to me, and apparently being threatened by the local beauty queen carries more weight than you’d think.
The worst of it stopped. But whenever visitors come to the island, whenever someone new notices she doesn’t have wings …
you see it in their faces. The look. The curiosity.
The pity. And sometimes they say something, and it doesn’t matter how polite they think they’re being. She hears it. Every time.”
I felt the anger rise, hot and familiar, the protectiveness that had defined my relationship with Gabriella for as long as I could remember. “I’d like to spend more time with her. While I’m here. If that’s … if you’re okay with that.”
Sabrina was quiet for a long moment, her eyes on the distant islands.
Then she smiled and reached over to squeeze my hand.
“I had plans, you know. Big ones. I was going to keep you to myself for at least a week. Introduce you to everyone. Show you every island, every pretty angel who’s been asking about the war hero for years.
” She squeezed again. “But it’s okay. We won’t fight over you.
She needs you more than I do. She always has. ”
The generosity of it caught me off guard. Sabrina, who took what she wanted as naturally as breathing, gave up her claim without a fight. It was so unlike her that for a moment I didn’t know how to respond.
“I’ll still make time,” I said. “Lots of it. You don’t get rid of me that easily.”
She laughed. “Good. Because I have approximately a hundred more friends who want to meet you, and they’re not taking no for an answer.” She stood, brushing crumbs from her dress, and extended a hand to pull me up. “Now come on. Home. Before Angelina sends a search party.”
I sent Valen home, since I wanted to spend as much time with Sabrina as possible.
We mounted Sora, Sabrina in front and me behind, my arms around her waist, and as we lifted into the blue I made a promise to myself, silent and specific: I would find a way to help Gabriella heal.
Whatever it cost, whatever time it took, I would be the shield she needed, the way I should have been for the past six years.
Sabrina banked us toward home, her body warm against mine, her wings half-extended in the wind, and neither of us mentioned the thing that had passed between us on the quilt or the way my hands felt on her waist or the complicated warmth that had settled in my chest and showed no signs of leaving.
Some promises were easier to keep than others.
* * *