Chapter Eleven
I awaken to sunlight warming my face through the nearby window.
Shielding my eyes with a hand, I focus on the sensation. I feel the light upon my fingers. It warms my skin. The longer I leave it in the light, the more the feeling grows until it radiates over the whole of my hand.
Beams of light pierce through my flesh, creating fingers cast in a pinkish hue. Rotating my hand, I'm filled with awe as the light dances through my fingers.
I’ve stood in sunlight thousands of times before while walking through the veil, but I have never felt it. It’s never heated the surface of my being. It’s always just been light, a means of illuminating darkness and shadow.
Rising to a seated position, I take in my surroundings.
The warming light floods the room through the row of windows on my right, and through glimpses of the sheer white curtains as they billow in the breeze lies the green of a garden and trees. The faint sounds of birds chirping carry in, and my eyes narrow as I listen.
There are voices.
I swing my gaze to the opposite side of the room.
Bright white walls and flooring speckled with dark blue throw rugs in a haphazard manner make the room feel bigger than it is.
There are a few standard pieces of furniture, a tall dresser, a wardrobe, a smaller dresser with a mirror, and a couple of plush chairs before a fireplace.
The abundance of white is almost overwhelming, giving the room a disorienting dream-like feel. It stands in direct contrast to my room in the Tower, which had been dark with shadowed corners. Yet it felt safe despite being in the hells.
This room does not feel safe.
Despite it being empty.
Where is Zuriel?
My eyes fall to the hands folded in my lap.
Blackened talons gone once again, replaced by long, slender fingers. Turning them over, I curl my fingers to inspect the rounded nails. These hands would be useless as a means to defend myself.
Swallowing hard, I discover my fangs are smaller than they had once been. With a quick drag of my tongue, I find they’re just as sharp.
Fae fangs.
My face sets into a scowl.
Have I been rendered completely useless?
No real fangs, no claws.
My innate shimmers as if it’s laughing.
Well, at least I have that.
With a quick glance behind me, my eyes land upon my black-feathered wings. The ray of sunlight that beams upon them reveals hidden hues of green, purple, and blues in an iridescent mixture that shifts with the slightest movements. Colors I’ve never seen in my feathers before.
My eyes widen.
In this light, they’re absolutely breathtaking.
The sun warms them, the sensation crawling down my spine. The sudden desire to feel the sun upon the whole of my wings floods my veins, and I rip the blanket away, revealing the delicate pale color of my bare legs.
I pause to stare.
They haven’t changed much, but they have changed. My skin color remains the same, a pale nearly pearlescent hue, but the limbs are more shapely, more filled out.
An indication of living tissue.
I’ve done it.
I’ve escaped.
My incredulous laughter is more musical sounding than it should be and I stop, my brows furrowing.
What?
Has my voice changed too?
I clear my throat as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Slowly, I place my weight upon them, testing the sturdiness. The smooth marble upon the soles of my feet sends yet another shiver down my spine.
A feather-light contraction matching my excitement ripples within my chest and I freeze, dumbfounded. Drawing in a deep, slow breath, I place my hands over the center of my chest and wait.
Almost immediately, I feel it.
A heart.
Beating with excitement under the skin, muscle, and bone, it sets a steady pace that leaves me agape. By holding my breath, I’m able to hear a faint thrumming in my ears, a strong metered series of ticks.
Good gods, I have a beating heart.
Silence no longer exists in the center of my chest.
Mind reeling and heart fluttering, I race from the bed to the windows, the patter of my feet upon the floor following me. Pushing the curtains aside I discover a set of doors, and without hesitation I turn the handle and step into the sunlight.
The light washes over my entire being in less than a second, warming everywhere it touches. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the brightness, but as they do, a well-tended garden comes into view. It’s a space filled with trees, flowers, and curated stone paths.
Across the way, the rise of another building with identical windows tells me that this garden lies in the center of the Moon Temple. It’s a little, hidden space, tucked away from the prying eyes of the rest of Ollora—something I would have likely never seen as a Death Bringer bound to the hells.
As I lift my face toward the sky, I gasp.
It’s neither shrouded in gray like the veil, nor dark red like the hells. Instead, the sunlit sky is an incredible shade of blue. White clouds hang lazily high above, adding speckles against the vivid expanse.
Instinctively, I stretch, raising my arms above my head, and extend my wings outward as wide as I can muster. The light upon my feathers is nothing short of sinfully decadent; the feeling causes me to smile.
Melodic laughter bubbles from my throat as I soak in the warmth.
Every second of suffering, pain, and anxiety had been worth it.
All of it, for this.
Still laughing, I lower my gaze to find a pair of deep brown eyes staring at me in amusement and curiosity. They’re set in the face of an older human woman whose graying brown hair frames her face in gentle curls.
“Artemise?” My brows furrow.
The woman’s smile broadens. “Welcome home, Vestaris,” she greets, her tone warm and inviting.
The crease between my brows vanishes as they shoot high.
I’ve never been greeted in such a way in the hells.
Never anything so kind and genuine. A mixture of emotions that I can’t quite name pull at me, tugging at my chest and stinging behind my eyes.
Home.
Could the living realm really be my home?
The hells had never been.
She steps forward, gesturing with an open hand and a nod of her head as she says, “Let’s get you back into your room before we shock too many others.” She gives me an amused grin as I stare at her in confusion. “We tend to be a little more prudent with regard to our bodies.”
Are my wings offensive?
I don’t understand.
A downward glance reveals that I am, in fact, standing out in the open completely nude.
Ah.
Things make more sense now.
My eyes dart past Artemise to find a few others in the garden standing frozen as they stare in our direction. A blend of human men and women and fae males and females, each with their own rendition of a surprised stare.
A burning sensation creeps up my chest and stings my cheeks.
In a brisk motion, I fold my wings in tightly against me and retreat into the bedroom. Artemise follows, closing the door behind us. She sweeps past me, headed for the wardrobe. Reaching it, she swings open the doors and withdraws several pieces of clothing.
“The robes you arrived in are so poorly tattered. They’re folded beside your bag should you want to keep them,” she says, kneeling as she points behind me. “If you’d rather not, let me know and I can have them taken care of.”
I glance in the given direction and find the leather messenger bag and my robes sitting upon a small table. Turning back, she pulls open a drawer and withdraws a couple more pieces of fabric and a pair of boots. She closes everything before turning to me.
“I think you’ll find this ensemble suitable for the time being,” she offers the pile of folded clothing in her hands to me. “But you’re going to want to glamour or shift your wings. We don’t have clothing that will accommodate them, and it’s better to have them hidden while you’re with us.”
Hide my wings?
Then I remember.
Winged fae were targets for many mortals. Or at least they had been. Now, they’re all but extinct or gone into hiding. Wearing my wings on display would only serve to offer myself as a target for power-hungry fae, desperate humans, and resentful demons. My wings make me a target.
My mind flashes to the faces that had seen me in the garden just moments ago.
“Will they say anything?” I look toward the door, clearing my throat again.
Speaking common tongue feels heavy in my mouth, on my tongue. It forces me to use a higher register of my voice, and compared to Malbolge it feels lazy. The words tend to string themselves together without definitive breaks.
Singing.
It feels like singing, and I hate it.
Not quite like the language of the heavens, but close enough to cause my lip to curl.
Either way, it’s an unwelcome contrast to the language of the hells that I’ve used for centuries.
While this isn’t the first time I’ve used common tongue, and I’m fluent in the language, it’s not Malbolge.
I much prefer the guttural, punctuated directness of the language of demons.
“No.” Artemise purses her lips. “They’re devoted to Celesta. They will follow her wishes in keeping your arrival a secret.”
Of course Celesta would want to keep me hidden. Again, I’m nothing more than a tool. I nod silently as I suck on my teeth.
Emerging within the Moon Temple was not an outcome I had considered.
And looking back, it should have been. I should have expected the talisman left behind by my mother would deliver me straight to her.
At least here, I’m protected from Netharis.
I may not trust Celesta, but I will take advantage of the haven she’s offered.
With a reluctant sigh, I reach into my innate. The familiar shimmer reaches back, but I find the available pool shallower and nowhere near as vast. A reduced innate I had expected.
A reduction of this degree I had not.
I will have to be stringent with my innate use.