Caprion's Wings (20 page)

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Caprion landed softly on the ground
before his hut. Flying still felt strange; he couldn’t believe how
fast he could travel from the Matriarch’s home back to the novice
district, a journey that would have taken an hour or more on foot.
He paused, gazing at his domed hut. Wave-like patterns adorned the
exterior walls and a single, circular window faced the road. It
felt like he hadn’t been home in a week, though only a day ago he
had slept in his own bed and traveled with Talarin to the
underground dungeons. He half expected Sumas to appear beyond his
neighbor’s wall, as he had after the failed Singing, but the
neighborhood remained silent and still. All of the city would be
celebrating tonight. He was thankful for the lack of prying
eyes.

Moss stirred slightly in his arms. Her
one good eye flicked open.

“Where are we?” she rasped. Her throat
sounded painful.

“My home,” he replied.

She moved her lips as though to speak,
but her eye closed again, the words fading.

He carried her inside and cast out a
net of vibrations, dimly illuminating two sunstones on the wall. He
didn’t make them too bright; he didn’t want to irritate her good
eye. Then he settled Moss on his bed. He stood over her, wondering
what to do first. It had been a while since he had cared for an
injured person. Three years ago, his sister came down with a lung
infection; he had tended her day and night, but that was a far cry
from Moss’s wounds.

He set water to boil and
dampened a cloth, then began washing the blood from her face and
neck, her cut lip, her scuffed cheek, her caked nails. He cleaned
every surface of skin he could see. Surprisingly, her wounds seemed
to be healing already. Another trait of the Sixth Race?
It must be,
he thought.
He wrapped the worst of the scrapes in sterile strips of linen,
hoping to keep them clean. With the same linen, he wrapped a heavy
bandage around her left eye to protect it. He knew it would never
heal. She would be partially blind for life.

When the water had boiled, he brewed a
cup of herbal tea, rich in willow bark and valerian root to ease
her discomfort. He held the cup to her lips and tempted her to
drink. She managed to get half of it down before she choked,
coughing, then slumped back on the bed.

He hesitated over her, wondering what
to do next. Her clothes were dirty and stained and she needed a
full bath, but she was too old to be cared for like a little girl.
He wished he could ask someone for help—Talarin, Esta, perhaps
Florentine—but he knew they would refuse. Still, he couldn’t leave
her in her prison garb. He gently turned Moss onto her stomach and
cut off her soiled shirt. Then he wrapped her in one of his novice
robes, averting his eyes, touching her skin as little as possible.
When she was fully decent, he rolled her onto her back again,
adjusting the pillows around her until satisfied. It was all he
could do.

Then he sat down in his chair, his
eyes turning to the dark window, pondering his conversation with
the Matriarch. For the first time, he truly considered the days to
come. News of his six wings would spread across the island. He
would garner much attention. Young fledglings would follow him in
the streets, pestering him with questions. He might be asked to
speak in front of the Academy, if not the whole city. The Matriarch
would have duties for him, no doubt. She had a certain fondness for
pomp and circumstance. He didn’t like the idea of any of it. All he
wanted to do was hide in his little hut, far away from curious eyes
and wagging tongues.

And where would Moss be? Locked in a
jail cell? Guilt arose at the thought. He imagined her future: what
would happen three years from now? Four years? A child could be
hidden, but she would be a young woman before long, and then how
would he protect her? Such questions left him grim-faced and
worried. Her trust in him would wane over time. She would doubt his
intentions. He didn’t know when he would be able to return her to
the mainland.

After a few minutes, his skin prickled
and he glanced at the bed. Moss gazed at him through her one good
eye. He frowned at her bruised face and felt a surge of bitter
anger toward Sumas and his men. He couldn’t stand seeing her like
this. Her black hair was now cropped jaggedly around her head,
falling in short, uneven chunks. They must have done that just to
torment her—a bully’s idea of fun.

“Why did you bring me here?” Moss
croaked.

Caprion sighed. “There have been
complications,” he began, then stopped. He didn’t know how to
explain.

He expected her to accuse him of not
fulfilling his promise, but she remained silent. He saw a strange
sadness on her face. “They’re going to kill me, aren’t they?” she
murmured. Her breath wheezed in her lungs.

His throat constricted. “No,” he said,
and pulled his chair next to the bed, taking her fragile hand in
his. Two of her fingers were bruised and sprained. “I won’t let
that happen. You’re safe here.”

She gave him a wry half-smile. “I
heard some of what the Matriarch said,” she said. “Old
crone.”

He grinned unexpectedly. “She is an
old crone,” he agreed. “Set in her ways. And cunning.
Dangerous.”

Moss released a long, slow breath.
“She doesn’t want me to return to the mainland…and I don’t want to,
either.”

Caprion blinked. “What do you
mean?”

“I’m dead either way,” she rasped. “If
I go to the mainland, what life awaits me? I was already unwanted
by my people, and now, without my sight….” She frowned and took a
moment to breathe, her face tight. “Don’t throw your life away just
to leave me on a beach somewhere. That’s stupid.”

Caprion paused speechlessly. Then a
small smile curved his lips. “Stupid?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Most people would
agree.”

Caprion grinned in quiet amusement. He
was thinking more along the lines of honorable, perhaps heroic, but
stupid worked just as well, especially when put in that
context.

“You realize…” he began, his thoughts
returning to his conversation with the Matriarch. “If you stay here
on the island, you will have to be imprisoned. The Matriarch won’t
allow you to roam free.”

Moss grimaced at him. “Do you think
I’m that naive?” she asked.

His lips twitched. “No.”

She drew her hand away,
then placed it over his, a way of asserting herself. “I never
really thought you’d get me out,” she said. Her one good eye
fastened on him, sharp and focused. “I didn’t expect you to try
this hard. After you helped me escape the gilded prisons, I thought
we’d seen the last of each other. You don’t owe me any of this,
Caprion. You’ve helped me far more than I could ever help you.
You
should
forget
about me.”

Caprion winced at her words. She
seemed so strong and certain at that moment, confident beyond her
years. He almost believed her resolve, but her grip felt hollow,
her fingers weak. She needed him, but she didn’t want to admit it.
She was pushing him away before he could abandon her, offering him
an easy way out. He wouldn’t take it.

“I could never do that,” he murmured.
“I will get you away from this place, Moss, but we might have to
wait a while. Everything became so much more complicated than I
thought….I didn’t expect to become a seraphim. It’s not common for
me to have six wings. I have a duty to my people; I can’t just
leave them….”

Moss’s face twisted at
that.

“It doesn’t change where we stand,” he
tried to assure her. “I won’t abandon you to Sumas and his men.
What they did to you….” Caprion hardened at the thought. “The
Matriarch said we can keep you in the gilded prisons. You will be
comfortable there, at least for a while, until I can find a way to
get you off the island.”

“And you believe she will leave me
alone?” Moss raised a skeptical brow.

“I will make her, one way or another.”
He knew that with certainty. Still, he would have to be careful. As
a seraphim, a lot of eyes would be watching him. If Asterion’s
citizens discovered he harbored a slave, they would try to kill her
and Sumas would torment her if given the chance. His brother was a
vindictive man, and if the Matriarch forgave Caprion’s
transgressions, Sumas would try to inflict his own kind of
punishment. His brother would take his revenge the only way he
could.

Then again, perhaps
not,
Caprion thought. He remembered his
last resonating command:
“If she dies, you
take your own life.”
His brother had
crumbled to his knees and coughed up blood. Sumas might be worse
off than Caprion thought; his brother never came to the Matriarch’s
chamber and still hadn’t visited Caprion’s hut. Could Sumas
possibly be lying in a hospice somewhere, recovering?

The thought left him coldly satisfied.
Perhaps his brother could be stopped from hurting Moss.

“What is it?” Moss asked, watching him
through her one hooded eye. “You have a look.”

A thin smile played on Caprion’s face.
“These wings come with some benefits, you know,” he said wryly. He
could command the soldiers not to speak of her or touch her. If
Sumas left them alone, then Moss might be able to hide for quite a
long time without being noticed. She was of the Sixth Race, after
all, and skilled at secrecy. “If you stay in the gilded prisons, I
can keep you safe from the Harpies in the city. Eventually, when
all of this settles down with the Matriarch, I will return you to
the mainland as promised. You will have time to heal from your
wounds and to become strong.”

Moss hesitated. She became
contemplative, her face drawing into the composed mask of an
assassin.
They train them so young,
he thought.

“I don’t need your promises,” she said
bluntly. “I’ll do what I must to survive. I can keep hidden. But if
I have to defend myself, I will.”

He stared at her, taken aback. “I
know,” he said.

She didn’t seem to expect that. She
searched his face. “Even if it meant hurting one of your
people?”

Caprion gave her a measured look. “I
don’t plan to put you in that position,” he said, “but if you have
to defend yourself, I expect it will be for a good
reason.”

She regarded him quietly.

Caprion sighed. “Doubt me if you like.
I don’t need your trust. I am helping you because it’s the right
thing to do. And I wish I could help the rest of the children in
those prisons, but I must be careful around the Matriarch. I need
to gain her trust as well. It will make all of this much easier.”
He shook his head. “I need to fix what my race has done and I’ll
begin with you.”

Moss studied him carefully. He
wondered what she saw there. He almost forgot her youth; her gaze
seemed far too solid, too penetrating. Then, after a long, hard
moment, he saw her weakness slip in. She glanced down, sucking in a
short, painful breath. “Would you visit me?” she asked
quietly.

His eyes softened. He pressed her hand
gently. “Yes,” he replied. He didn’t have to think
twice.

She smiled at that, her
ragged hair falling across her face. “I can tell when you’re being
sincere,” she said with quiet humor. “You get a wrinkle right
between your eyebrows, like you
really
want me to believe
you.”

He grinned at her. “Well,
I
really
do.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I heard much of
what the Matriarch said. I expected it to come to this....”
Bitterness crept into her voice. “Lock me up, then. Keep me hidden.
I will cooperate with you if that’s what you’re waiting to
hear.”

Caprion bit his lip. He wished he knew
how to reassure her. But he couldn’t expect her to trust him
blindly, not after her experience in the blood-chambers. She would
see his true intentions in time. “It’s all I can do for now,” he
murmured.

“I know,” she repeated.

Silence fell between them. It seemed
empty somehow. Hopeless. Caprion didn’t know what else he could
say; her situation was still bleak, and she was too cautious to
fully trust him.

He started to stand up, but she caught
his wrist. Her hand moved fast despite her wounds. He looked down
at her in surprise.

“Please,” she murmured, and that
vulnerability slipped in again. “Stay with me. Just sit
here.”

“I will,” he said. He settled back in
his chair, adjusting so he could prop his feet up on the mattress,
then he folded his hand over hers again. “You should rest. Try not
to worry. You’ll be back on the mainland soon.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” she
muttered, her one eye closing.

A slow smile tugged at Caprion’s lips,
but he didn’t reply.

He stayed like that until Moss fell
asleep. He doused the glow of the sunstones and settled back in his
chair, his eyes becoming heavy. He thought of Sumas, of the
Matriarch, of his new wings and his looming responsibilities.
Tomorrow he would be declared the first seraphim to rise since the
War of the Races. Tonight was the last night he could just be
Caprion. And it seemed strangely appropriate that he would share it
with Moss—the one person who had seen him at his weakest, who had
given him the courage to find his wings.