Chapter 16 Clipped Wings #2
Elyria was all too happy for the distraction of grabby fingers and boisterous squeals as she, Jocelyn, and Ollie handed out crackers, portions of dried meats, and more crisp apples to the eager children.
“Thank you, Lady Lightbreaker!” cried one.
“You don’t seem so scary to me,” said another.
“Am I supposed to be scary?” Elyria asked, grinning.
“My gran told me the Revenant was a demon made flesh,” said a boy with ash-blond hair cut to his chin. “Before she died,” he added with a shrug, like he wasn’t particularly bothered by either thing.
Elyria was saved from the awkwardness of not knowing how to respond to that by a different young boy’s question.
Unfortunately, it was no less awkward.
“Where are your wings?” he asked, looking pointedly from the pale blue wings folded against Ollie’s back, then to Elyria and Jocelyn.
“The Lady Victor has hers hidden with magic,” Jocelyn said matter-of-factly.
“And yours?” pressed the boy.
Elyria stilled as she caught Ollie’s eye.
Jocelyn’s smile was sad. “There is nothing for me to hide.”
A girl of perhaps ten summers, with wide brown eyes and a smattering of freckles, looked between the three fae, her young face creased with concern. “What do you mean?”
Elyria finally broke from her stupor. “I don’t think that now is the time for that story,” she said gently.
“It’s all right. They’re just curious.” Jocelyn crouched, her lumbering form seeming somehow diminutive in the presence of the children’s honest questions. “What is your name?” she asked.
“Farrah,” said the girl.
“Well, Farrah, a long, long time ago, I fought in a war. And in war, lots of people get hurt. I was one of them.”
Farrah sucked in a short breath. “Your wings were hurt?”
Jocelyn nodded, pain flickering across her face. “A sanguinagi cultist cut them from me entirely.”
Gasps filled the room. One little boy began to cry, and Tenny immediately swept in to comfort him, though her own horror was etched on her face as she did.
Farrah herself seemed on the verge of tears when she asked, “And you can’t get them back?”
Pain swam in Jocelyn’s eyes. “Alas, no. By the time the smoke of the battle cleared, it was far too late for that. But don’t mourn for me.
It happened a very long time ago. I have a full life.
And I have this.” Her fingers darted into a small pouch at her waist, emerging with a few seeds pinched between her thumb and forefinger.
She placed them in her palm, then blew. The gasps that followed were no longer horror-stricken, but filled with wonder as the seeds sprouted, lengthened, and grew, until Jocelyn’s hand was wrapped around a small bouquet of flowers.
“That’s amazing,” said Farrah as Jocelyn handed her a single stem, distributing the rest of them amongst the children. “One day, when I get a mana token of my own, I’m going to learn how to do that,” she said proudly.
Elyria snuck a look at Cedric and saw a lifetime’s worth of emotion flit across his face.
She didn’t know how she could tell what he was feeling with such certainty, but it was as though she felt it all—the horror and the pity and the wonder and the sadness that lingered behind truth.
That the wielding of mana did not grant humans Arcanian magic, and even if it did, people like Farrah and Jack and Leia and the children of the Walk would likely never have the chance to try.
The pang in Elyria’s chest had softened back into a gentle tug, pulling at her heartstrings like someone was twanging a harp, and she found herself wondering—not for the first time—exactly what that meant.
She didn’t get to examine it more closely though. Not as Farrah’s attention landed on Elyria, and she asked in that brutally honest way that children do, “But you’re using magic to hide your wings right now?”
“I am,” Elyria replied warily.
“Will you show us?”
“Well . . .” She didn’t want to disappoint any of these children, but she also wasn’t about to show off her wings after Jocelyn’s vulnerable admission.
The more time she spent in Kingshelm, in fact, the more she was inclined to agree with Dentarius and Kit’s original decisions to try and downplay the delegation’s more magical traits.
It wasn’t particularly kind, she decided, to throw her magic in the faces of those who might never wield any of their own.
The children did not seem to care.
“Yes, show us!”
“We want to see your magic!”
“Oh, please, please, my lady!”
It was the way little Leia’s cherubic voice wrapped around the word please that finally had Elyria acquiescing. “All right, all right,” she said, after a look to Jocelyn, who nodded encouragingly.
Victorious cheers erupted as Elyria unmasked her wings, flaring them out before folding them neatly against her back as she finally moved out from the doorway.
She took a seat in a worn chair toward the back of the room, noting the crease of Cedric’s brow as he watched her, but he made no move to intervene.
Tenny simply seemed intrigued, her gaze flitting between Elyria and Cedric as if she were trying to decipher a riddle.
The children fanned out in a semicircle around Elyria, their eyes darting between her wings and her hands as she lifted them, fingers spread wide, palms upturned. Wisps of shadow pooled in each hand, slipping from beneath her skin like ribbons of silken smoke, twining together.
At first, they were barely silhouettes—more vague, amorphous spheres of shadow, barely more than what Elyria had been able to achieve that morning with Nox.
Still, the children were enraptured as her magic danced in her hands, and it didn’t take long for even Cedric to move closer, his eyes fixed on her shadows, his charred sandalwood scent wafting over her.
The orbs of darkness suddenly split, multiplying in Elyria’s palms. Taking shape, taking form. She had to suppress her own sharp intake of breath as smokey wings sprouted from them, her shadows shaping themselves into a dozen dark butterflies.
They flitted into the air, the children’s delighted gasps and shrieks ringing out as they jumped to their feet, wonder shining in their eyes. The shadowy butterflies spiraled around their heads, frolicked between their arms and legs, playful, joyous.
It was a wondrous thing to behold, and despite the fact that she wasn’t entirely certain how she’d accomplished it, Elyria’s smile grew.
The rush of the children’s joy bolstered her own, and her magic thrummed through her veins, stronger and surer than it had in a long while.
Just for a few moments, Elyria decided, she would allow herself to revel in it.
In the thrill of creation.
All the while, Cedric watched her. As though he, too, was caught in the spell she was weaving. But his expression . . . it was full of an unsettling intensity. Awe. Reverence. Like he’d just watched her perform a miracle.
Like he was seeing her for the first time.
Tenny clapped her hands together, her laughter bright and genuine as Elyria broke her gaze from Cedric. “Absolutely dazzling. You’ve enchanted them.”
“Yes,” Cedric agreed, his voice strained as his gaze followed the butterflies—and the children chasing them—out the front door.
Ollie and Jocelyn followed after them, leaving Elyria, Cedric, and Tenny alone in the house.
“You have quite the talent for showmanship.” Cedric’s shoulders were tight, his hands flexing at his sides.
A flash of hurt ran through Elyria. “All for show, is it?” she said icily.
“I didn’t mean”—Cedric cleared his throat, his gaze skittering away from hers—“I only meant that the children seem to appreciate your magic.”
“Of course they do. They’ve only barely been taught to fear it.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “I’m sure that will change before long.”
Silence clung to the space between them.
Tenny shifted on her feet, her fingers toying nervously with her locket. “I, uh, think I’ll see if the housemistress needs help carrying her purchases from the market.”
Cedric’s gaze followed her as she scurried out the door. “I’ve never seen her move that fast,” he said with a gentle laugh.
“Awkwardness is a powerful motivator,” Elyria said.
More silence.
“I’ve never feared your magic,” he finally said, voice low.
“Liar, liar,” Elyria sang.
“Once I knew you,” he clarified, stepping toward her, close enough for that scent of embers and sandalwood to fully envelop her. “Once I understood that you didn’t—That you’d never—”
Elyria bit her lip. “What makes you think you know me now?” She’d meant the words to be more biting, to issue them like a challenge. Instead, they were gentle, vulnerable.
Cedric didn’t answer. Only looked at her with those gold-ringed eyes like he could see straight to the center of her, could see her heart beating against her ribs.
Beating for him.
A squeal of laughter echoed from outside, breaking the renewed silence that hung heavy between them. Cedric cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“I didn’t either,” Elyria admitted quietly. “Until today.”
His throat bobbed. “Can you call them back?”
She nodded, lifting her arm, palm up. For a single breath, she thought she saw Cedric’s own hand twitch, his weight shifting as though he meant to reach for her. But then she curled her fingers into a fist, and the choir of happy squeals and the patter of little feet grew louder.
A stream of shadowy butterflies flew in through the open doorway, followed by the gaggle of breathless children. Whines and groans replaced their laughter as Elyria splayed her fingers once more. The butterflies flickered, then dissipated into the ether altogether.
“Sorry, kids,” she said. “Show’s over.”
To their credit, the children were quick to replace their disappointment with happy chatter about what they had just witnessed.
She turned back to Cedric, voice soft. “They deserve more.”
“They will have it,” he replied, and his tone was so earnest, his words so sure, that Elyria almost believed him. “You’ll make sure of it.”
“If your precious lord ever lets me leave this fucking city,” she grumbled.
Cedric’s lips pursed to one side, his brow creased.
“Sorry,” she said. “I know it’s not your fault. On my fairer days, I might even understand the king’s reasoning for the delay. I just wish it was different.”
“I wish things could be different too,” Cedric said, and there was no mistaking the sadness in his voice. Like he felt the same ache she did. The same loss that came with wanting something she was sure she had no right to want.
Still, as Tenny and the housemistress waltzed through the front door, the children dispersing through the home, a sense of normalcy settling back over the house, Elyria let herself imagine—for just a few moments—what it might be like to get it anyway.