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.”

“So you can break your promise and touch me in my unconscious state? I’m not swallowing whatever it is. I will sooner cut off your hand.”

He and Calle exchanged another look. The old man raised his eyebrow as if they conversed silently. 

Finally, Calle crouched down to her level. The kindness in his eyes remained, along with anxious fear. “I don’t think my heart can handle this job if you are screaming. Take it for my sake. And I swear I will not let anyone touch you except me. Not Cian. Not Avonia. Not Inari. No one.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. And when you wake up, you will be much closer to flying again than ever before.”

Hesitancy gave her pause. She wanted to fly again. She feared her injury made it impossible. But being healed by men went against her valkyrie ways. 

Then again, so did her entire association with Calle.

At last, she nodded, took the vial, and downed its contents in one swallow. In only a few moments, a heaviness pressed on her head, a fog of dizziness clouding her eyes. Panic fumbled around in her mind at losing control of herself, of her body, her mind, her consciousness. 

She stumbled to her feet, but only managed to knock over several unfamiliar instruments on the table.

The old man reached for her. She snapped open her daggers instinctively and took a swipe. She missed. Or at least she thought as much. Her world swayed, so she couldn’t tell. Her movements were sluggish as if she moved through water. Her throat constricted and the air in her lungs felt heavy. 

First her arms drooped, and then her knees collapsed. A pair of hands caught her. 

And then darkness.

****

“What’s wrong with her?” a voice cried behind Calle, and he spun to find both Avonia and Typheal in the doorway—almost as if they couldn’t stay away from their daughter for more than a few minutes.

“She’s receiving medical treatment,” Cian reassured as he pulled out a white handkerchief. The tip of his nose dripped blood from the scratch Skaja had delivered with her blade. He was lucky to be alive. The moment he pressed the handkerchief to his face, he turned on Calle. “How are you still alive? She tried to kill me within five minutes of meeting me.”

“Me too.” He chuckled, now laying her down carefully on the cot. Avonia rushed forward as if to help, but he held up a quick hand to stop her. “I promised I wouldn’t let anyone touch her. I intend to keep my promise.”

“There must be something I can do.”

“Perhaps you can assist Cian. But you mustn’t touch her.”

Cian nodded while he still held his bleeding nose. “We must hurry. The elixir won’t last long.”

Calle rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands on her bare back just below her right wing. “Tell me what to do.”