A Breath of Sunlight Page 18

  Slowly, she reached for the daggers at her shoulders. Although she didn’t dare draw them and risk creating noise, she still held on tight to each handle. Watching. Waiting.

  The six soldiers approached. Her heart beat fast like the flapping wings of a bird. Or perhaps it was Calle’s heart. She wasn’t sure.

  As the soldiers passed their group, none glanced their way, nor did they notice the way Inari’s griffin looked as if it wanted to snatch one of the men by the neck and eat it. Knowing Inari, it probably would if she willed it to.

  After they disappeared, their group released a collective sigh. She and Inari likely would have been able to erase the threat. But the noise from fighting would have given them away and put Calle in danger.

  “Come on,” Skaja said, her heart still beating hard. “Let’s get going before we run into anyone else.”

  “Wait.” Calle stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. “Now...where we’re going, there will be men. Good men.” He gazed earnestly into her eyes. “Probably a lot of them.”

  “I won’t kill anyone. Neither will Inari.”

  He nodded as if satisfied with her answer.

  They continued forward at a faster pace, and all the while, Joel didn’t miss a single beat on his flute. He eventually led them off the path and deeper into the woods. But all too suddenly, they stopped.

  She glanced around in confusion. Large trees stretched across the space in front of them. Dirt and leaves littered the forest floor. A rabbit scampered into a green and red bush.

  Joel’s music ceased at the same time Inari cackled. “Oh, there is something here,” Inari said, her mouth spreading into a wide grin. “Something big. I can feel it.”

  Skaja’s fae friend’s connection to the forest always astounded her.

  Joel moved forward and pulled out a knife. He cut his finger, and as a drop of blood trickled down his palm, he placed his hand against a tree. In the blink of an eye, a couple trees turned into a large stone arch. One by one, they passed through the arch, and a large set of stone steps led downward. A man and a woman stood guard in front of two large, rounded doors, spears in their hands. Their long, pointed ears revealed they were Sun Fae.

  The moment their gazes locked on Calle, their eyes widened, and they dropped to their knees, heads bowed.

  “Your Highness,” the woman murmured. Tears flowed down her cheeks, relief shimmering in the trail they left on her skin.

  The man backed toward the door, still bowing. “I will tell everyone the true king of Heulwen has arrived.”

  After he disappeared, the woman pulled open the doors for them and ushered them through. They entered a dim corridor and descended a wide staircase, large enough to accommodate the griffin.

  Her pulse spiked when Calle leaned close enough for his breath to caress her ear as he whispered, “King Calle has quite an awkward ring to it. Don’t you think?”

  Despite her trepidation growing with each step into the unknown, she grinned. “Prince Calle does sound much better. It’s a good thing you haven’t taken the throne yet.” Her smile fell. “Do I look all right? Should I have worn something fancier? Am I showing too much skin?”

  “You are perfect.” Her face grew warm when he placed a kiss on her cheek. The space between them became far too cold when he moved away.

  Torches flickered to life as they came across another stone hallway, followed by a second flight of shorter stairs. Where was everyone? She’d almost expected to be met by hundreds of rebels with a ridiculous amount of fanfare.

  Unless they were being led into a trap.

  She stepped closer to Calle, ready to snap open her daggers at the first sign of trouble.

  Two more people bowed at the next arched door as they opened it to let them through. The small hallway opened into a gigantic cavern filled with beautiful light, almost as if the structure was far above ground rather than below. The ceilings stretched high in a series of arches, the mysterious windows letting in light.

  A wide, red carpet led up several stone steps and into another room. But her heart stopped completely when she noticed the hundreds upon hundreds of people crammed in the room with them. Each person exclaimed with excitement, followed by a deep rumble as each of them fell to their knees in subservience.

  Calle parted from their group of four, and instead of following him like she wanted to in case of an attack, fear held her back. Two of these very many people were her parents.

  And she was scared.

  She slipped further behind the griffin to give herself a safe place to partially conceal herself from so many eyes.

  “Thank you for your warm welcome,” Calle said, his voice echoing off the stone walls, thick with emotion. “I am finally here. And I am ready to lead.”

  Hundreds of voices burst to life all at once, some greeting Calle, others welcoming him back home. He took in their appreciation modestly and with an immense amount of kindness. This man...he’d been born a leader. A leader with a kind heart.

  Watching him interact with others endeared him to her even more, but it didn’t erase her anxiety of what was sure to come.

  “Calle, my sweet boy,” a woman said, pulling him into a crushing embrace and kissing every inch of his cheeks and forehead like a mother might do for a son they hadn’t seen in a very long time.

  Breathing became difficult. Swallowing impossible. Her gaze raked across the familiar but unfamiliar woman. Dark blonde hair threaded with silver. Brown eyes. Golden-white wings.

  A blanket of cold anxiety draped over her. This was her mother.

  Avonia pinched Calle’s cheek, then his side as tears of happiness swam in her eyes. “You are too skinny. You need to get some meat on you.”

  “I’m working on it,” he chuckled as he pushed her hand away. “You should have seen me a couple months ago if you think this is bad.”

  Her expression filled with the heartache of loss, and she wrapped him in another fierce mama bear hug. And then she stilled and released him slowly, her eyes wide as she stared at the stone arch doorway they had entered through. Calle followed her gaze to find Skaja in a defensive stance, a wary expression on her face as she half hid behind the griffin.

  “Avonia, may I introduce you to—”

  “My Scarlett,” she breathed. She pushed him aside and approached all too quickly to Skaja’s obvious discomfort. “Scarlett. Skaja.” And then Avonia pulled Skaja into a fierce hug, her shoulders shaking with sobs. The tension in Skaja’s body lessened, but she didn’t return the embrace.

  When Avonia pulled away, tears continued to trail down her cheeks. Happy tears. Tears of relief. But her happiness melted into concern. “My darling, your wings.”

  Skaja flinched away when Avonia reached for her, but Avonia was persistent and tried again. Calle might have laughed at the way Skaja leaned precariously away from her if it wasn’t for her immense look of discomfort. Though, she seemed to relax, if only slightly, when Avonia gently spread her wings and felt along the bone structure.

  “My, my,” she murmured as she traced the top of both wings with her fingers. “Six breaks along here and one bad break in the right scapula. You must be in so much pain.”

  His heart leaped to the skies when Skaja finally spoke.

  “It wasn’t easy getting the fae prince here,” she replied in a joking manner, clearly avoiding mentioning her pain. “He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”

  He grimaced and explained, “My slaver showed up with his men. Your daughter is a fierce warrior. You would be proud.”

  Avonia’s eyes began tearing up. “I am.”

  Skaja glanced away, something unreadable in her expression. But the way his heart ached in sync with hers gave away how much seeing and speaking to her mother hurt.

  As if oblivious to Skaja’s discomfort or willfully ignoring it, Avonia said, “You must see Cian. He can likely heal all this damage. Otherwise, I fear your right wing will never function the same again. You will fly lopsidedly or not at all.”

  “Where is Cian?” Calle asked, trying to help take some of the pressure off Skaja’s shoulders and putting it on his own. “He never returned to the cottage.”

  “In the healer’s quarters. There is much to do here.”

  Fast-paced footsteps echoed down the corridor and filled the room with still-curious people remaining. Typheal skidded around the corner, breath ragged, his gaze jumping wildly around the room until it fell on Skaja.

  Calle’s eyes widened, and he shook his head in warning while repeatedly dragging a hand across his throat. No! Stop!

  Typheal ignored his warnings. He rushed toward Skaja as if to embrace her, but at the same moment, her eyes hardened, and she snapped her daggers open in a blindingly fast movement. Typheal deflected her blow at the last second.

  Clang!

  Surprise lighted the man’s expression before his eyebrows furrowed in determination. A glint of exhilaration marked her own face. While her initial reaction may have been instinctual, she actually seemed eager to fight him.

  Skaja struck again and again. He blocked each attack before he started to fight back.

  Calle’s distress melted as he watched, mesmerized at the way Skaja moved. Earlier, she had sparred with him, and he had watched her daggers. But now he watched her. She moved fluidly around Typheal like water around a sturdy but menacing rock. She bent and dipped and fought with admirable grace.

  “She’s not going to kill him, right?” Avonia asked worriedly beside him.

  “Nah.” But then his mouth contorted into uncertainty. Skaja was often unpredictable. “Of course not.”

  “I’m not sure what to do. Should we try to stop her?”

  He grinned and casually draped an arm around Avonia’s shoulders. “Skaja is incredibly awkward
when she interacts with men. Let her fight. It’s her way of saying hello.”

  His attention slipped to Typheal and the black tattoos dripping down his face like tears. Traitor. Disgrace. Worthless. His stomach twisted when he noticed the man’s shirt. No wings stretched out proudly from his body. He’d really lost them.

  Skaja managed to kick Typheal in the stomach, and he stumbled backward. She threw one dagger over his shoulder while attacking with the other. The first dagger arced in the air and curved like a boomerang as it spun and twisted back toward them. Typheal ducked the incoming blade, and Skaja caught it in her free hand.

  The attack took Typheal off guard enough for Skaja to roll across the ground, kick the back of his knee, and the moment he stumbled, she placed one dagger against his throat, the other against the back of his neck.

  Calle held his breath, and Avonia clutched his arm with a death grip.

  “Do you yield?” she asked, hardly out of breath.

  Typheal dropped his sword and held up both his hands in surrender, which caused a murmur of excitement to rumble through the crowd. “I yield.”

  She sheathed both her daggers. Instead of expressing shame or anger from losing, immense pride shone in Typheal’s eyes. Pride for his daughter.

  “That could have gone worse,” Calle said quietly to Avonia. “A lot worse.”

  “Then let’s be glad it didn’t.”

  He kissed Avonia on the cheek in farewell and joined Skaja where she began to walk away from her father. He steered her in another direction where Avonia had pointed him, and a woman soon led them toward the healing quarters.

  “He’s a lot better than you,” Skaja commented.

  He rolled his eyes and playfully pushed her shoulder. “He’s a harpy. One of the best guards and fighters in Heulwen.”

  She sighed into her hand. “I can’t believe I attacked him. I knew I’d do something stupid.”

  “But you feel better, no?”

  The slightest shift of amusement on her mouth answered his question.

  “Why...” Her expression sobered. “What are those tattoos on his face?”

  “They are meant to shame him in public.” He frowned. “The tattoos brand him as a traitor to the crown. But to me, he is the bravest man I have ever met.”

  Although Skaja said nothing more, her expression revealed her sorrow and contemplation. He knew better than to interrupt. She needed to work this out on her own, and if she needed help, he would remain by her side whenever she needed him.

  He loved her. And the more he got to know her, the more he knew his feelings would never change.

  When they rounded a corner, Skaja’s wings drooped, and pain rippled across her expression. He took her hand, and she let him. Although he knew his magic refused to heal the damage in her shoulder blade for some unknown reason, he was glad that when his golden energy entered her body, the pain on her face lessened.

  It wasn’t much, but it was the only thing he could do.

  ****

  Remaining strong proved too difficult of a feat for Skaja. Her pride, her anxiety, her trepidation had kept her grounded until this moment. But now she wanted to collapse and sob into her hands from the weight of her pain and overwhelming surroundings. Or into Calle’s shoulder. Both were safe places to break down.

  Only his healing magic kept her on her feet.

  The underground hideout stretched for what seemed like miles. Her feet dragged. Her wings drooped. And when she stumbled, Calle caught her by the waist and didn’t let go.

  He scooped her into his arms until her feet dangled several feet from the ground and her feathers ceased collecting dirt from the floor.

  “Put me down,” she mumbled half-heartedly into his shoulder, but even as the protest left her lips, she closed her eyes. In Calle’s arms she felt warm, safe, and relieved.

  “Not a chance,” he murmured into her hair. “Though, I might consider it in exchange for another kiss.”

  She responded with a grunt.

  Worry leaked into his voice. “You must be feeling awful. No slap? No threatening me at dagger point?” No answer. His grip tightened on her. “The fight with your father must have taken everything out of you.”

  The lull of the safety he offered might have dragged her down into sleep, but the fire clawing at her back like a caged animal prevented the temporary relief.

  The air pressure changed as if they stepped into another room. Incense wafted past her nose with its sweet, citrus-like fragrance. She opened her eyes to find herself in a large, dark room filled with candles and several occupied cots. Bloodied bandages covered an unconscious man. Bruises dotted a woman’s face and body, a haunted look in her eyes as they passed by. A child lay curled on another cot, so small in comparison to many others.

  An older man hunched over a patient, but the moment he noticed them, he quickly dipped into a bow. “Your Highness. I heard you made it home.” The man’s gaze darted to Skaja’s wings, and if any energy remained, she might have squirmed under his scrutiny. “And Skaja. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  “Cian,” Calle murmured, his voice as soft as candlelight. “I’ve done what I can. I don’t know what else to do.”

  After a lingering glance to Calle’s unbranded forearm, the man nodded and gestured for them to follow. He led them into an unoccupied room. A dim lantern lit a table full of strange metal contraptions, a rickety cot, and a large cabinet.

  “Have a seat, Skaja.”

  Calle set her down on the cot, but when Cian reached for her wings, she smacked his hand away and glared. “I don’t want you to touch me. Give me a woman healer.”

  The two men exchanged concerned glances before the old man spoke. “There are none. It’s why I have not returned to my cottage. I am needed here.”

  Her glare remained. “You will not touch me.”

  “Then you will not fly.”

  She hesitated at his blunt comment. The idea of being touched by a strange man made her immensely uncomfortable. But was it a worthy trade to be able to fly again?

  “Find me a woman.”

  “Skaja,” Calle murmured soothingly, and just the sound of his voice eased her nerves. “Would you allow me to touch you? Cian can direct my hands.”

  Again, she paused as she gazed back at the earnestness and kindness in his eyes. He had proved himself trustworthy. He had healed so much of her body already. There was no one she trusted more.

  Finally, she nodded. “Only you.”

  The warmth from his hands settled on her shoulders as he silently directed her to lay on her stomach, her wings furled out on either side of her. Her left wing felt heavy and tired, but her right wing hung uselessly off the cot. Pain crackled through it like lightning. Simply moving her body coaxed tears from her eyes. She closed them to hide her agony from the other two. But by the way Calle’s thumb caressed her cheek, he likely felt the way her heart stuttered in pain through their temporary soul bond.

  “I believe I was able to heal the stab wound in her abdomen,” Calle began. “Her upper wings accept my healing magic just fine, but it avoids this area.” His finger lightly skimmed below her shoulder blade. “I’ve tried to heal it, but it’s not working.”

  Cian grunted far too close to her for comfort as if inspecting it himself, but true to his word, he didn’t touch her. “Likely because the bone is not set. It’s a harder one to do. Less noticeable and from the looks of it, it’s very inflamed. As for the other bones, you did a good job. I have something to speed up the recovery process.”

  “And her right wing?”

  “You will have to set the bone and heal it enough to keep it in place. I will be able to speed the recovery on that too if you do it correctly.”

  Calle released a long, anxious breath. “I’m not confident. Skaja, are you sure you want me doing this?”

  “Only you,” she reiterated. If there were no female healers, then she would take the next best thing.

  He swallowed audibly. “Cian, tell me what to do.”

  “First...” the old man said, and she opened her eyes to find him rifling through the cabinet until he pulled out a small glass vial filled with purple liquid. “This will be immensely agonizing, Skaja. I recommend consuming this for the pain. It only takes a couple of minutes to take effect. But it will also put you to sleep.”