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thirty-six

On Pixie Wings

O nly a few chimes of the night remained. They were fraught with unease as Heather adjusted to her wings. Although they were resilient, she tossed and turned through the early dawn of morning, taking great pains not to crush them in her restless slumber.

Strange sensations were all encompassing, the very air in the room perceptible through the membranous appendages. Each slight shift was notable, even the indiscernible draft leaking from the terrace.

All the flying she had done was wreaking its toll.

The muscles in her back and the recently developed ones connecting to the wings were angrily aflame.

She willed herself out of bed at the first hint of light, struggling to lift them.

Leaving Skye sleeping peacefully with his hair falling softly across his eyes.

She rang for Ella, donned her robe and met the maid at the chamber door, where she flapped precariously, attempting to work out knots.

“Could you see if we have any Feverfew?” Heather fluttered her wing, catching the handmaiden’s attention to the changes the night before brought. Ella’s eyes widened on Heather’s altered form, but the female was the queen of discretion, leaving her thoughts unsaid.

“I’ll find out right away, milady.” She dipped into a curtsy and then disappeared down the hall.

Feverfew flowers, when brewed into a tonic, would relieve the most severe aches and pains.

It required meticulous calculations to prepare, for if an excessive amount was distilled into a serving, it could prove deadly.

With soreness weighing her down, it would be impossible to fly, much less journey back to the human court.

But she wasn’t going to let anything stand in her way.

She waited for Ella’s return before the hearth. She had lit the fire in Rhoden’s room last night by her will alone but failed to ignite the candles in her own chamber thereafter. Peering down at the logs, she focused her attention to the sole purpose of funneling magick.

Pin pricks tingled down her arms, a pink glow rose from her palm, a single flicker forming there.

She willed it larger. More powerful. It doubled in size before her eyes, but dissipated into her skin, lying dormant.

Attention focused back on the fireplace, Heather envisioned a pink flame.

It slowly formed there, a mere ember among the tender.

But her concentration was broken by a quiet knock on the door.

Ella handed her a goblet through the crack, “Here ye are, milady.”

“Thank you. I may need another dose of this in a canteen at the ready for this evening. Tarragon has gone missing, and we’ve decided to go in search of him.”

Ella curtsied, “I’ll have it prepared for ye.”

Heather thanked her again before the maid retreated. Skye was waking, his movements rustling the bedding behind her.

“Good morning,” he said after a yawn. The cut muscles of his abdominals shifted as he stretched to cover his mouth.

Heather took a long pull at the elixir, gazing at him over the wide brim of her cup. “Good morn, indeed.”

Skye once again was outfitted in his onyx attire and suggested that she don the darkest frock in her wardrobe. They would need to blend into the night.

Not a single garment in Heather’s collection was black. The shade was synonymous with death and mourning. The best she could do was a dark plum purple gown. Ironic that she would be returning to the mortal court in one of the colors barred from her.

Earlier, Ella arranged Heather’s hair in a crown braid atop her head.

And she donned her trusty servant utility belt and attached the supplemental tonic to it with a leather strap.

She had cleaned and sharpened her sickle, thinking that it would be more prudent than suffer the consequences.

Skye supplied her with a sheath for his ornate dagger, and she fixed it to her girdle as well.

The couple met Rhoden at the main entrance of her home. Skye had offered to summon the chariot, but Heather wanted to try her wings before they were on castle grounds. It was better to be prepared.

At the castle’s portico, she fluttered and hovered above the stone steps leading to nowhere, testing her wings’ soreness. The tonic had relieved her muscles from most of the pain, but she would most likely be bedridden on the morrow.

“Take care to steer clear of spider webs. They’re difficult to spot, especially at night,” warned Skye. Heather physically shuddered.

“Well, that brings up some old memories I’d rather forget,” laughed Rhoden as he took to the air on citrine wings.

Heather returned to the steps, peering over the edge.

It was as if she were transported back to the night of her escape from the human castle.

She possessed the wings she had wished for.

At long last. But that did nothing to ease the anxiety building within about the plummet in her periphery.

‘I’m capable of great things. Weeds thrive in the direst circumstances,’ she reminded herself.

Skye hovered past the edge. “Moonbeam, ascensions from vast heights are the most challenging.”

All she could do was nod as her voice snagged in her throat. She took a running start, leapt from the precipice, flapping her moth wings as aggressively as she could.

It wasn’t enough to prevent her sudden plummet.

She saw Skye’s face flash with concern before he zipped down after her.

The yelp that escaped her was loud and embarrassing.

She collided with ribbons, leaves, and twigs as she flailed through the air.

A large green leaf smacked her across the cheek. New pains bloomed within her body.

“Hold fast to a branch!” Skye yelled desperately from above.

Thank the heavens, she managed to latch onto the next limb she had a near collision with.

She hung limp, her wings falling flat behind her as she white knuckled it.

She blew a long wisp of escaped hair from her brow.

Skye fluttered to her side, his large hands clasping her around her waist.

“Ye be fair plucked, let’s sit a bit on this branch,” he lifted her up and over the twig, helping her take a seat as if she were a mere gust of air, weightless. He sat beside her.

“Are ye injured?” he shook the hair from his brow. His eyes were full moons of concern.

Heather laughed at herself. “Only my pride. I suppose a running start was the wrong choice.” A soft smile crossed Skye’s face.

“Next time, try hovering and we’ll make our way down, winding lower in increments.

” He chuckled, “Ye should have seen the lot of us when we emerged with new wings. We five were the epitome of trouble.” A grin split his handsome face.

The offshoot branch swayed in the wind underneath them.

The breeze blew their hair back, and they were hit with a spattering of residual rain.

“The five of you… you, Tarragon, Rhoden and …?”

His grin vanished from sight. His went sedate as his gaze departed from hers, for once unsteady.

“Believe it or not, Crimson used to be a member of the fly or die.” He looked out at the landscape as though he was lost in memory. “Crimson and our other close friend we grew up with.” Heather’s eyes widened at the news.

“The Crimson? The Crimson you pummeled nearly to death the other day?” she raised an eyebrow at him in question. Heat rose to Skye’s face and a muscle in his jaw ticked. He snarled low.

“He, most of all, should know better.” He lifted from the branch, his wings flapping against the wind. He held out a palm to her in offering, “Hover in place. Rhoden must be wondering what’s keeping us,” their conversation now forgotten.

Her wings beat at her back, lifting her from her seat as she clasped his hand. There had to be more to the story. Who was the fifth member? She had her suspicions.

They made the descent to the base of the tree in gliding loops, slow and steady. They touched down in the square, where Rhoden awaited with a rose macaron halfway to his mouth.

“It’s about time.” He devoured the rest of the dessert and wiped his hands free of invisible crumbs.

“Did ye save us any?” Skye asked, walking past the male, thumping his shoulder with a clenched fist. Heather heard an audible “Oof” on impact as she passed Rhoden by.

She smiled brightly even though the muscles in her back pinched.

But it dimmed in realization that the flight paled in comparison to the length of the journey to King Willem’s castle.

They trekked the market square and the shadowed grounds of the Mushlunds on foot. When they faced the thick forest beyond, Skye released a sharp, twittering call, a mimicry of the robins who escorted her to the ball the eve before.

In heartbeats, the twin robins fluttered from somewhere within the boughs, swooping to perch before them. Skye approached with more chirping coos as he placed a soothing palm on the nearest one’s head.

“Well met, faithful friends.” One after the other, the feathered creatures curled into his touch, relishing his praise. “Will ye honor us with an escort, once more?” he asked them. With warm eyes, they accented to his request.

Heather slowly approached, taking care not to spook them. With a quivering hand, she found the courage to caress their soft downy plumage. The bird chirped and nestled towards her, seeking to be pet again.

“I think we should ration our energy for our search. If Rhoden and I ride on the backs of Arley and Audley, ye can make use of the chariot.”

Skye strode behind the robins. His magick erupted from his hand, swirling and tracing an outline of the chariot, until the whirls solidified into its form.

Ever the gentle male, Skye assisted Heather as she stepped up into the chariot’s hold.

“Audley and Arley know the way.” He gazed up at her, his handsome face shining with affection. “Be on guard. If ye spot a threat in the distance, tug once on the reins.” He swiped a strand from her cheek, caressing her jaw before stretching to briefly join his lips with hers.

Rhoden and Skye mounted the backs of the robins, with their own wings pressed flat to their spines.

The ground rushed up to meet her as the chariot ascended.

Traveling in the light of day was eye-opening.

If not frightening. Their flight was swifter than a pack of steeds.

The height at which they were flying appeared magnified from last night, no longer hidden in shadow.

Heather struggled to keep her gaze on the horizon, vigilant in detecting spiderwebs in advance.

Once her stomach and her eyes adjusted, the journey was thrilling. The bird’s flight wasn’t linear. They bobbed up and down as a ship on water.

Trees, leaves and branches flew past at a frightening pace as the party passed through pools of sunlight and patches of rain escaping the boughs.

A herd of deer snapped to attention at the chariot’s advance, trailing the conveyance’s path with their soil rich hued eyes.

After what felt like chimes, the edge of the forest was in view. She planned on lighting a candle in gratitude that she did not catch sight of a single cobweb.