Page 40 of Faeling (Monstrous World #4)

Ravenna didn’t know how she would ever go to sleep again, her mind turning over everything he’d said and she agreed to. Although neither of them moved much at all, her world had utterly changed that night.

Yet, her frayed nerves and exhaustion eventually overcame her again.

When her eyes next opened, predawn light filtered into the shallow cave.

The air was cool and damp, heavy with the crisp smell of petrichor.

The rain had finally ceased, leaving behind soggy gravel and little puddles that reflected a sky still saturated in twilight colors.

A little cold, Ravenna tucked herself tighter to Vallek’s chest as she assessed how far her magic had gotten. It still enveloped her ribs, working away at knitting each back together, but she could at least breathe a little easier. Her cuts and scrapes had scabbed over, good enough for now.

It was her poor broken wing that hurt the most.

Vallek carefully ran his big hand up and down her arm, infusing her with his warmth. “How are you feeling?”

“Pulverized,” she muttered.

“Not many could have survived such a fall.” Understandable—the canyon wall was probably a thousand feet high. She didn’t miss the pride in his voice, and maybe when she was a little more healed and well-rested, she’d appreciate that more. For now, she was tired, hurting, and hungry.

At least she was comfortable. She had her big, stubborn mate to thank for that.

The scent of petrichor mixed with his own musk, a heady combination. She nuzzled her cheek against his chest, her eyes slipping shut again.

A shiver ran through her when she felt the tip of one finger trace the bone of her upper right wing.

Instinctively, she began drawing them back against her, the delicate membrane folding intricately into smaller and smaller sections.

But when it came time for her right bottom wing to fold, a stab of pain had her baring her teeth.

Her other three wings unfurled again as she broke out into a cold sweat.

She could force the other three into place on her back, but it would be uncomfortable without the fourth.

They were meant to fold together, creating a neat little bundle at the center of her back.

The bones bent at the joints, forming a little protective shell on top of the more vulnerable membrane.

Vallek made a plaintive noise, his purr growing in volume. “I would set it, but I think you’d better wait for the healer.”

She nodded, fighting back a wave of nausea. Ravenna loathed the idea of letting someone touch her wings—it was difficult even to let Vallek see them, let alone a healer manipulate them. But she would need the bone reset before healing began, even with her magic.

When the pain and nausea subsided, Ravenna slumped back against Vallek’s chest. He gathered her close again, running his hand gently through her hair.

“Your wings are beautiful,” he murmured.

“They’re small, ” she grumbled.

“Are they?” She felt him cock his head to take a better look. Ravenna fought her instinct to try folding them away again.

“Yes. Too small to fly.”

“Well, they were enough to break your fall. For that, they are my favorite.”

It was an absolutely ridiculous thing to say, and the sudden smile it brought her was just as ridiculous.

“Is it all right to touch them?” he asked, even as his fingertips began to trace the upper bone again.

“Gently,” she murmured. “And just the top.” She might crawl right out of her skin if he touched the membrane.

Incredibly sensitive, the membranes were meant to sense the most minute shifts in air pressure, as well as traces of magic.

Even now, just having them unfolded and exposed to the morning air, was far more sensation than she was used to.

But before his fingers could move far along the curve of the bone, Vallek’s head rose abruptly, gaze fixing down the gorge.

Ravenna heard what he had a moment later—calls for Vallek echoing down the stone walls.

“They’ve found us,” he sighed. She couldn’t quite tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

There was no time to ponder, though, Vallek swiftly standing up with her in his arms. She fisted his tunic, throwing her arm around his neck. After kicking dirt onto the dying fire, Vallek walked out from the shelter of the cave.

“Here!” he called, great voice booming down the length of the gorge.

The small party of orcs cried out with relief, hustling toward them. They skirted the mangled body of Ulrich, their gazes quickly averting from the gory scene.

In their lead was Mattias, a welcome sight, and he was the first to reach them.

“Thank the gods,” he panted, “we worried you both were lost.”

“I’m far harder to kill than that,” Vallek said. “Thankfully, so is my mate.”

Mattias turned to regard Ravenna, his expression softening. “I’m glad to see you, my lady.”

She nodded, emotion clogging her throat. “Thank you, captain.” It was a relief to not see anger or blame darkening his eyes. It wasn’t outlandish to think that she would be blamed for Ulrich’s demise, especially by any who agreed with his opposition to Vallek taking her as a mate.

Ravenna had grown to like the quiet, steadfast captain.

She gratefully took the waterskin Mattias offered, guzzling down gulps of the best water she’d ever tasted. When her thirst was quenched, she held the skin up for Vallek to drink. It was ridiculous how mesmerizing he could be as he drank, the ball of his throat bobbing with every swallow.

Her bite would look perfect right at the base.

Fates, even injured, her mating instinct hadn’t suffered from the fall, it seemed.

“Lady Ravenna needs a healer. And Commander Ulrich must be…” A tendon ticked in his cheek. “He is to be treated with respect.”

“Of course, my king,” said Mattias with a nod. Efficient as always, he waved at two of the warriors who carried the deconstructed parts of a stretcher. Together they strode for Ulrich’s remains, starting the grisly task of collecting what was left to bear back to camp.

“And here is the healer.” Mattias waved forward a smaller orcess, her graying mane plaited and bound up into a tight knot at the top of her head.

Ravenna vaguely recognized her from not only the camp but within the citadel, too.

Fenna was one of Vallek’s personal healers, and Ravenna had studiously avoided the orcess all her years in Balmirra.

“Let’s take a look, dearie.”

The orcess wasted no time inspecting Ravenna’s injured wrist, her hands dry and warm. She went about her assessment without blinking an eye that it was a half-fae she looked over, nor that the king himself refused to put her down.

“I can stand,” Ravenna told him. At least, she thought she could.

“You’re missing a shoe, love,” he told her gently.

Oh. That’s right.

It wasn’t that she disliked being carried—it just felt awkward being the only one not standing in a group of big, burly orcs.

Like she was little. Fragile. She contented herself that there would be time yet to seem big and strong before them.

For now, it was all right that her strong azai carried her.

Fenna was exceedingly gentle, softly explaining what she meant to do before doing it.

After a few pokes and prods, she declared Ravenna’s wrist badly sprained but not broken.

She marveled at how far along her ribs were in healing, pleased with their progress.

“Now that’s a useful trick.” Winking, she moved on to the wing.

Ravenna gritted her teeth, forcing her wings to stay still. She hated how everyone looked at them, eyes wide with interest. Fenna was at least extremely careful, touching the wing as little as possible while she inspected the break.

“Never worked on a wing like this before. You suppose it’s similar to a bird’s wing?”

She swallowed hard. “Somewhat. The bone is hollow like a bird’s. But there’s one more joint.”

“Fascinating!” Fenna leaned in closer. “And they fold up along your back otherwise?”

“Yes.”

“Like a beetle. Will wonders never cease.”

Ravenna chewed her cheek, not loving the comparison but unable to argue with it, either.

Pulling a little stoppered bottle from the small pack belted round her waist, Fenna handed it to her. “For the pain.”

She sniffed the contents, catching notes of willow bark and poppy milk. She took the barest sip, not wanting to be too foggy—and knowing it was likely mixed with orcs twice her size in mind.

“All right, one, two, three—”

The flash of pain burst brightly across all Ravenna’s senses, her body contracting in Vallek’s arms. He held her fast, a frantic note to his purr, as she shuddered and groaned through the burning pain.

The worst of it was over within a few moments, the bone reset, and her magic flowed down from her chest to her wing to take over the healing. Still, she was left with an aching pain all along her back.

“One more sip, dearie. At least to get you back to camp.”

She did before stoppering the bottle and handing it back.

“Very good. How’re you feeling now?”

“I’ll live.”

Fenna smiled. “Excellent. Just what I like to hear.”

A reluctant grin touched Ravenna’s lips.

“Thank you, Fenna,” said Vallek.

“It’s an honor, my king.” She squinted up at him, shrewd eyes searching him for injury. “You don’t look too badly off.”

“Hormhím took the worst of it.”

Nodding in approval, the healer assessed Ravenna once more before declaring that she was stable enough to travel back to camp.

In the time Fenna attended to her, the warriors had secured Ulrich’s remains, and so, as the sun rose over the gorge, they set out.

Between her tiredness, the poppy milk, and her own magic, Ravenna floated in her mate’s arms, barely feeling the sway of his gait. Resting her head on his shoulder, she let herself be carried along, worries left behind in that shallow cave.