Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
MEDUSA
She didn’t think I could keep her safe.
They never did. Not unless they’d huddled behind the pillars as I destroyed their pursuers, or hid from the gore behind a statue I’d carved with my claws.
I couldn’t purchase her peace today by laying to waste an army, though I would have in a heartbeat.
It was a long time since I could really empathise with that quiet, nagging worry, the doubt they’d forced her to carry in order to survive.
I was looking forward to slaying it and watching her kick its corpse into the water.
Once she had eaten her fill, I wasted no time. “You’ll be most comfortable facing the same direction I do,” I told her, moving my finger in a circular motion to indicate she ought to spin.
There were no questions and she didn’t hesitate, turning where I’d indicated she should.
My goal wasn’t to coddle her, but to show her how little she had to fear. So I wrapped one arm across her front, holding her on the diagonal to maximize my support, and leapt into the air.
The rush of wind through my wings and against my ears was a familiar sound. She stiffened, her hands locking urgently over my arm as if afraid I’d drop her.
I’d never.
She let out a noise of wonder.
I resisted the urge to turn my face into her hair.
I took her up into the sky, her weight unusual but not limiting as I banked to the side, doing a wide sweep of the bay.
The wind was salty and cold this early in the morning.
I didn’t take her low enough to feel the spray.
I flew faster, driving more speed, more height, from my wings until she let out a shout of joy.
That joy was tinged with fear, of course…as it almost always was, at first.
I took her over the isle, doing a quick lap, showing her the rocky outcrops, the orchards, the groves in a blur.
Her hair tickled my face, my eyes, caught against my lips.
I turned into her, at no risk in the empty skies, and breathed in the scent of her without stopping to think.
My head swam. I turned away, my eyes now clear of flying hair.
That hadn’t been my intention, though.
Painfully, I pulled my attention back toward our destination. One of my nephews in the village struggled into the air on infantile wings and I resisted the urge to laugh at his uncoordinated flapping. He’d learn.
I didn’t want to set her down.
I breathed in deeply, drawing her into my lungs, hoping I’d remember forever the feel of her pressed back against my chest, her entire weight over my arm, the way her hands clung to me, but not just in fear.
And I circled slowly, picking out the building that was her home for as long as she wished. Dust blossomed around us as we landed.
She made a noise of awe. Her legs went out.
I held her while she wobbled, confident she was fine. I’d flown with anxious people plenty of times, taking them to the village for healing, or removing them from danger. They didn’t make those noises of joy and wonder.
I’d done that.
I’d made her knees too weak to hold her.
She was leaning heavily into me, turning as if to apologize, color high on her cheeks. I held her close, pushing open the door to carry her across the threshold. Bless her wobbly legs.
“I’m sorry,” she said, the words holding laughter and shock as well as the edge of real embarrassment as she grabbed for me to anchor herself. “I just need—a moment.”
She fitted perfectly in my arms when she faced me, too.
Outside, my nephew was complaining to my sister. I closed the door, knowing he was cared for, and stared down at the woman who either still couldn’t stand…or didn’t want to.
“They aren’t really snakes,” she whispered.
I realized my hair had come free from its pile and had tangled around her, pulling her in close. Even as I became aware of what I’d done, my hair settled back atop my head, a familiar weight.
“No,” I confirmed.
“So…they couldn’t hurt me,” she said, slowly.
I was so accustomed to the illusion the serpents provided, I hadn’t really stopped to think how it would affect this particular person. “It’s me. Like fingers or toes, I rarely think about it, but I can control it.”
She lifted an arm, one finger extended. The scratches on her flesh made guilt twist in my belly, but she looked…
serene. I let the mock-serpents stroke down that finger and coil around her arm.
Her skin was chilled from the flight, and pebbled with tight, hard bumps.
I wrapped myself around her, thinking to warm her.
She shivered, her lips parting, and looked up at me through the veil.
We were so close.
“That feels…” She twisted her hand slowly, as if caressing her own skin with my snakes. “…Wonderful.”
My heart stammered in my chest. For a moment, the whole world hung on that slow, breathy word that lingered on her lips.
I should leave her to her day. She was tired, no doubt. She’d been up early to visit me and my crows. She had things to do.
I remained there, in her arms, tangled around her.
“Can we do it again, sometime?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I said, not knowing nor caring what I agreed to, if it kept the smile on her mouth.
She tilted her head further, closing the distance.
And then a knock came at the door.
My spear lowered out of reflex but she turned, shocked out of my arms. “Who…? Coming.” Her legs were steady as she took the single step out of my hold to open the door.
I turned away, arranging my serpents again, schooling my features.
The excited sounds of my nephew met my ears.
My belly was knotted so tightly I had to resist clutching it as I slipped out of Cassandra’s home to give him the attention he wanted.
I burned where she’d been pressed against me.
But I burned a lot more where she’d not yet touched me.
What was I doing?
And why wasn’t I doing it right now?