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AZRAEL slept in something less than sleep, yet more than death. Heat radiated from her body, her skin constantly slick with her own blood. At some point, the bleeding stopped. Azrael’s breath flowed clearly again through her throat. On her stomach, she stared with unseeing eyes. Her vision blurred every time she tried to form a coherent thought. Her heart lurched whenever she thought of Queen Ceres or Meretta. There were trickles of blood seeping down her back whenever she remembered the contortion of agony and fear on their faces. In and out of something like consciousness, Azrael could feel the heaving welts that breathed like dying parasites on her back. They itched, but she couldn’t move to scratch them. Her lower back burned with thick, cracking scabs. A new path of pain seared up her spine, over her shoulders, and across the back of her neck. But it didn’t bother her. The real pain was in her heart.
Even when a comforting hand soaked away the blood with a wet sponge now and again, Azrael couldn’t respond. It was pointless. The only thing that kept her going was the occasional glimpse of white wings. An occasional sight of deep blue eyes watching with fear and concern. They gazed with a desperate need that kept her clinging to life. They gazed with a promise for something more. She trusted those eyes. She let herself get lost in them when they were looking at her. It was the only kindness left in this world of pain and sorrow.
Eventually, the times Azrael was trapped in consciousness overtook the times she was lost in her endless dreams. With great reluctance, reality began to take its hold. Gabriel’s face fabricated in front of Azrael’s eyes. She blinked at him slowly.
He leaned in, so close his nose almost touched hers. “Azrael? Are you awake?” he asked softly.
She wanted to answer, but felt numb. She just continued to stare at him. He got up and her eyes followed.
“It’s all right. You’re okay now.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. Scarcely putting any pressure on her skin, it felt almost as if he’d laid a feather on her. He looked at the Healer who dabbed a cloth over her back, silently requesting that they be alone.
Azrael continued to stare at him as the Healer left. She opened her mouth to speak. But then closed it again, finding that words seemed pointless. Meaningless sounds that wouldn’t bring Meretta and the Queen back.
Gabriel sighed and his eyes seemed darker than usual. He sat in his chair that looked bent from use and clasped his hands together.
“Azrael.” He paused, waiting for her to look at him. Finally, finding the energy to focus her eyes once again on his face, he continued. “I know you’re devastated right now. But you need to get ahold of yourself. I can’t imagine the pain, but I want you to try your best to listen to me and understand what I’m saying.” He paused again, waiting to see if she would cooperate.
Azrael felt as cold as ice, and coming into reality was hardly the first thing she would have liked to be doing. Her eyes flickered as she forced them to focus. What convinced her was his sense of urgency. Did he believe there was something she could still do? Something that could even begin to amend the gravity of her failure?
“I’m listening,” she croaked. She felt pathetic, hardly the graceful creature Queen Ceres had tried to create.
“This wasn’t Mehmet,” he began. “At least, Dark magic wasn’t used. This was the traitor. This was murder.”
Murder...
“The pain you felt when you saw them, the pain you feel, somehow, it triggered your Turn prematurely. When you saw two people so close to you in that state, your body was overwhelmed with pain even more powerful than the physical pain of the Acceptance. Even so, the Turning shouldn’t have been activated. It should have required more Light, and more time to develop your connection to the celestial realm.” He looked at the floor again and shook his head. “No matter how it happened, you began to Turn. You would have died without completing your Acceptance.” His eyes glazed over, as if remembering something horrific. “We had to perform the Acceptance while you were in the process of growing your wings. I can’t imagine the agony...”
Feeling reality take a firm hold, Azrael stiffly reached out an arm. Seeing her wince with the effort, Gabriel quickly took her hand. Azrael squeezed it as tightly as she could. “Meretta... My Queen...” she whispered. When tears stung her eyes she squeezed them shut. She wanted to retreat back into sleep. Her body shook with small tremors as she wept, unable to use more of the pointless words.
Gabriel curled his fingers around hers. “I know it hurts. I’m here for you. Azrael, the Hallowed will be coming in to have a look at you. You will recover from this. In time, your wounds will heal, even your emotional ones.”
Azrael doubted the truth of those words. She allowed him to pull away and his gentle voice spoke to a Healer, requesting the Hallowed be summoned now that she was awake. It would be customary that the Queen would judge her healing first.
But she’s dead...
After a few moments, Azrael was warned of the Hallowed’s presence by the servant’s cheerful bells. She wanted to throw those bells on the ground. She felt anything but cheerful. Thankfully, the servant was sent to wait outside.
Azrael opened her puffy eyes and sniffled at the Hallowed. He towered over her, and wilting beside him was Mita, covered in a robe as if even she were in mourning. She hid her face in its hood and kept her head down. Indignation surged in Azrael at the sight. Mita knew nothing of true grief.
The Hallowed leaned and his face pooled with concern; it was the first display of emotion Azrael had ever seen from him.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
Azrael felt that that was the most ridiculous question he could have asked. But obediently, she nodded her head against the pillow in confirmation.
He inspected her back and grunted with disapproval. “The Acceptance seems to have been completed to satisfaction, but I don’t know how well it will heal, seeing that you have half-formed wings sprouting from your back.”
Azrael grimaced. “I didn’t know the cost of regaining my wings would be the deaths of those closest to me. I don’t want them.” Azrael whimpered as the pain of loss tore through her spine.
Gabriel leaned, wavering his hands just over her skin. “Azrael. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
The Hallowed grunted again, ignoring Azrael’s devastation. “Is this normal? Her wings, if you can call them that, look like they’re covered in some sort of filmy mucus, and acting like they’re stuck between her insides and her outsides.”
Gabriel winced. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he repeated.
Azrael noticed Mita lingering behind the Hallowed elder and wondered why she wasn’t eagerly looking along with her master. Rage rippled through her when she decided Mita must be jealous.
How could she be envious of me... No one deserves to go through this. I’m trapped in misery. The Queen and Meretta are dead...
As if Mita heard her thoughts, she clenched her fists against her chest and trembled. Azrael wondered why.
Meretta wanted us to be friends. It was her last wish... For the first time Azrael felt a glimmer of hope. If Meretta can see me, then she would be happy if I tried.
“Mita...” Azrael said, even as the word pained her. “Please, come here.” Mita froze for a moment, and then as if she was unsure of what to do, slowly walked to the bedside. She kept her head low. Azrael took her hand with effort as she came close. “Mita, I want us to be friends.”
Mita’s hand was cold and rigid. She didn’t respond to what Azrael had said. The Hallowed glared at her. “What’s the matter with you, child?” he snapped.
Azrael tugged Mita’s cold fingers. “Can you look at me, Mita? Please?”
Again Mita remained stiff, still not responding. Bent over even further due to the response of her master. The Hallowed growled. Azrael was astonished by his display of emotion. She’d never seen any Hallowed angry, not once in her life.
“Why do you not answer her?” he demanded. Mita remained silent. But after a few moments he lost what willpower he had. Swiftly he ripped off her hood.
Azrael froze as she stared into Mita’s eyes, or rather what was in-between them: a glowing golden triangle tattoo made of Divine Material.
“Y-you...” Azrael stammered.
The Hallowed grabbed her thin shoulders and spun her to face him. “What have you done?” he shouted. Expressionless, she blankly stared at him. He shook her violently and her body lolled like a cotton doll. “You dim-witted idiot. What have you done? Answer me!”
“It was her...” Azrael whispered.
A slow cynical smile crept across Mita’s lips. A cold chill ran through Azrael’s body as she put it all together.
“What?” Gabriel asked sharply.
“She killed them.” Azrael’s voice cracked. “She killed them!” she screamed, her voice going shrill. Azrael convulsed and tried to get up. Her efforts were rewarded by a cascade of snaps down her back and she collapsed to her stomach with a cry.
A cruel laugh rumbled in Mita’s throat. “Serves you right.” Mita’s face scrunched into a hateful glare. “Those wings should have been mine.” She blinked her eyes as they flashed softly. “You’re all a bunch of liars. I can use Divine Material. I could have Turned given a proper Acceptance.” She faced Gabriel and snarled. “I’m glad some of the traitors are dead. But I missed one!”
After that moment, it was as if the room exploded. Mita lurched toward Azrael with hands outstretched, teeth gnashing and grinding. Both the Hallowed and Gabriel dove over Azrael and pinned Mita to the ground.
Thrashing, Mita fought back with surprising strength. Azrael watched helplessly from her bloodied bed as Mita’s eyes mixed with gold and black. Her skin sizzled, as if confused if it should shine or writhe in shadow.
As the Hallowed went flying across the room, Gabriel snapped out his wings to their full length. He looked majestic, truly living up to the myths modeled after him. He twisted, whipping his left wing so that the arch went barreling straight into Mita’s head. With a loud thump, Mita’s eyes blurred as she staggered before collapsing to the ground.
Gabriel ruffled his wings and looked to Azrael. Seeming satisfied that she was unharmed, at least any further than she already was, he assisted the Hallowed.
As ageless as he seemed, the Hallowed staggered to his feet, his face crumpled with pain and he grasped his side.
“Hallowed, perhaps you should go see the Healers,” Gabriel offered.
The Hallowed glared. “I’m fine,” he grunted. He wobbled to the now unconscious Mita slumped onto the ground. He stared at her like she was a pitiful creature, hardly worth the trouble of stomping her face into the tiles.
“I should have known,” he grumbled. “A jar of my Divine Material went missing a few days ago, as well as some of my tools.” The blood steadily drained from his face, and Azrael could relate to the scent of self-inflicted guilt that wafted from his soul. “I just blamed it on some half-witted servant trying to tidy up.”
Gabriel lingered by the Hallowed as he absently rubbed the arch of his wing. “No, it was I who should’ve known. She gave an outburst not too long before the murder. I just never suspected... She didn’t seem the type to fall so far.”
Numbly, they both stared at Mita’s body crumpled on the ground like some kind of discarded tunic. She looked so small, so insignificant and fragile. With her eyes closed, she could even have been mistaken for peaceful, had it not been for the glimmering triangle tattoo on her forehead that writhed and sparked, as if angry.
Azrael stared, unable to fathom how Mita could have been the traitor all along. Her sadness and confusion didn’t flounder for long, turning swiftly to the tides of hatred and a building lust for revenge. This was the creature that had killed Meretta and the Mistress. She didn’t need to know anything else. She didn’t need another reason to live, if only to avenge their deaths.
“She should die.” Azrael formed her thoughts into words. They felt weighty and meaningful and the raw emotion that rolled off her tongue was sweet like a pastry. She licked her lips, finding it delicious and only wanting more.
Gabriel ignored the comment. “She won’t be unconscious for long. I’ve dealt with Hallowed who’ve turned into abominations. She’ll be strong, and she’ll only get stronger. We’ll have to have the Healers properly sedate her, and she should be imprisoned until you’ve recovered.”
“Recovered?” Azrael asked. She didn’t need to stand to know what Mita deserved.
He nodded gravely. “Her life will be in your hands, but only when you’ve healed. You shall judge her with justice, not passion, not with the raw pain of your wounds telling you what to do.”
Indignation surged, but Azrael pushed it down like the bile in her throat. She could show restraint. In this regard, justice and passion were the same. She would deliver her verdict standing tall and proud, showing no hint of insanity that lingered behind her eyes.
Azrael turned her face further into the leather padding of the bed to look at the angel. Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “As you wish.”
Seeming satisfied, Gabriel faced the Hallowed. “I’ll take Mita—”
“No,” the Hallowed snapped. “She’s my responsibility.” With that, he gave an apologetic nod to Azrael before he bent and flung Mita over his shoulder. As light as she was, she still seemed like a burden for the injured Hallowed. But Gabriel creased his lips together and didn’t offer any assistance as the Hallowed limped to the doorway. Both his body and his pride had been damaged. His own apprentice had committed the worst catastrophe in Manor Saffron’s history since Alexandria’s death.
Azrael didn’t say a word as she watched him disappear around the corner, one last flash of Mita’s face bringing tears to her eyes. Strangely, anger was so close to grief, and she wasn’t sure which she was feeling.
Eventually, the Healers came, reprimanding Gabriel for allowing such disturbances to tear what small stitches they had been able to sew into Azrael’s wounds. He took the chiding without complaint, and only watched in silence as they repaired what they could of Azrael’s torn back.
One of the Healers, however, finally let out an exasperated sigh. “This is impossible. Shouldn’t we just pull them out?”
Gabriel’s frown of disapproval eased the instant panic that set Azrael’s teeth clacking. “No,” he said. “Trying to force them out will only make things worse.” When the Healer continued to obstinately stare at the angel, he continued. “Imagine a caterpillar. Do you tear it out of its cocoon before it’s ready? No, that would just kill it. Nature must let it grow until it’s ready to come out on its own. Her wings, like a butterfly, must develop.”
“But,” the Healer protested, “when a patient has an object stuck in their body, we pull it out.”
“They’re not objects,” Gabriel growled. “Her wings are part of her body.”
The Healer audibly swallowed and gave a short nod, resuming her task of dabbing away escaped blood.
To keep her mind off the pain, Azrael let her thoughts drift to her newfound goal. She had her traitor, and she had the power to do what must be done. Mita would pay. Although what came next was a dark void not unlike her nightmares. And like her nightmares, there was nothing she feared more.
#
FOR days, Azrael’s wings grew, as well as her thirst for revenge. She held onto it as if it were the Light, the only thing that could keep her safe from the void.
Except, her future was the void, and if she dared to imagine it, she saw only incomprehensible grief. She couldn’t imagine life without the Queen, without Meretta. And so she closed her blue eye, letting her green eye see only the now, only the revenge that she needed to take. To do that, she needed to recover. And so she patiently waited for her body to ease away from the brink of death.
Sleep came sometimes, although uneasily and with fits. Herbs helped, but gave her strange dreams filled with warped faces and gardens void of color. She was within such a dream, seeing a flower that was completely black, when she woke with a start. As always, she sought those azure eyes that were filled with love, faith, and everything she’d lost. Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, and she felt empty without him. Love and faith were no longer in her soul, only misery.
Green robes rustled and a friendly Healer gave her a light smile. “Hello, Majesty. I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
Azrael let her eyelids droop. She was so very tired, and had no patience for Healers who did nothing but poke and prod.
“Gabriel’s gone to Celestia,” the Healer said, and Azrael opened her eyes wide.
“Why?” she asked.
“You’re healing. I’m sure he hopes the good news will bring much needed allies.”
“Allies for what?” Azrael asked. She only needed to destroy Mita, and she didn’t need allies to do that.
The Healer’s smile took on a strained look, as if she forced her lips to stay curved. “While we found the traitor, the demons are still out there. Gabriel wishes to bring reinforcements to push them back to Mhakdar.”
Of course. There was more to the world than Mita, Azrael knew that. The demons were the root of the problem, but they were demons, they didn’t know any better. Azrael was struck by the intense desire to meet one, now that she was old enough to remember. Would their eyes be green? Would they have that obstinate look of righteousness like the Windborn boys?
When Gabriel finally returned, she saw he’d gone not just for his allies, but for something else.
“What do you think?” he asked, holding up a glass vial wound with artistic, metal swirls. The cream inside was white, but it had a soft glow to it.
“What is that?” she asked.
He smiled, and Azrael’s heart leapt at the sight. It’d been so long since he’d smiled. “It’s Divine Material ground to a fine powder and mixed with animal fat.” He gestured to her back. “Those scabs need to come off if your wings have any hope of coming out.”
Azrael twitched, wishing she could scratch them. They were terrible, crusted things, formed from the endless drip of her blood and sealing with the small stitches in her skin. There’d been so much blood, and the Healers had done what they could, but now it was like a shell that needed to be broken if her wings could ever come out.
A Healer holding a cup of steaming water and a sponge accepted the vial from Gabriel and got to work. Stings radiated down her shoulders as the Healers dabbed warm water to moisten the scabs. Each droplet was like a blade, sending stabs that signaled her scabs were relinquishing their grip.
“This cream should allow your scabs to completely detach,” explained a Healer. “You’re almost there, Princess. Are you ready?”
The cream was not unlike the “unicorn tears,” putrid and hopelessly mixed with soft scents of lilac that did little to mask the smell.
“Ready,” she confirmed and squeezed her eyes shut.
Horrible stings radiated across her shoulders as the Healer’s tender fingers applied the cream. Azrael held in a whimper, but squirmed as the stinging intensified.
“What do you feel?” Gabriel asked, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her face.
“Pain,” she said through clenched teeth, and was about to say something else when a nauseated groan forced through her throat as the Healer tugged. The tug was slight and gentle, and after the wave of dizzying pain rolled over her head, there was a surprising aftermath of relief.
The Healer’s relieved sigh echoed her own as a soft squish sounded from the bowl. “They’re off,” she announced.
“Finally,” Azrael muttered.
Gabriel smiled. “That surely must feel better.”
Azrael nodded with wide eyes. “Much.”
Gabriel leaned to inspect the damage and Azrael cringed, waiting for him to tell her how her Acceptance had been ruined beyond repair. Instead, admiration lit his face. “They’re almost free,” he said. “And your Acceptance isn’t damaged. In fact, I think once it heals, it’ll flow perfectly with your feathers.”
The thought of having feathers of her own gave her a floating sense of elation, but that bubble quickly burst as she remembered the cost of her wings.
“Now that the scabs have come off, perhaps we can accelerate your healing,” Gabriel offered.
Azrael scrunched her nose. “I thought that you said I was a butterfly and my wings had to come out on their own.” She couldn’t hide the sarcasm in her words.
“No,” Gabriel countered. “I mean you could use your magic. Light can heal if you know how to use it.”
The images of Meretta’s blood-soaked hair filtered through her vision. “If you say so.”
He pulled the chair closer to the bed and leaned in. “First thing you must do is to utilize the Divine Material. Now that the scabs are gone, it won’t hurt.”
The Healer who had been silently cleaning materials on the other side of the room stomped her foot. “Gabriel! Her scabs just came off. I strongly advise against such an action, at least for a little while.”
Gabriel dismissively waved a hand at her. “She’ll be fine. Trust me.”
The Healer grunted with annoyance. “You’d better listen to me one of these days,” the Healer mumbled, followed by angry clinks of tools and bottles.
Gabriel continued his instructions, “Concentrate on activating your Divine Material. I want you to focus on the pain. Your subconscious mind should take over from there.”
The pain had been the only thing she could focus on since she’d gotten here, but she didn’t argue, and did as he asked. After a few moments of silence, she fluttered her eyelids open again, meeting Gabriel’s pensive gaze.
“Well?” he prompted.
Azrael shook her head. “Nothing.”
He took her chin in his hands and examined her eyes. “You aren’t using the Divine Material.” He sat back again. “It won’t work unless you do that first.”
Nerves set her teeth on edge as she closed her eyes again. She remembered lighting her soul on fire, opening the gates and setting the Divine Material in her skin ablaze. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t replicate what had been so easy before.
Gabriel shifted and his chair creaked. “I don’t understand. You couldn’t even stop using Divine Material before...”
Azrael frowned, frustration and anger brimming as she clenched her fists. “I can’t do it, Gabriel. I remember how I did it before, but it won’t work now.”
Gabriel was silent for a long moment. Then his face turned grave. “I don’t want to admit it, but perhaps the violent manner of your Turning could have... Well, maybe, it rendered you incapable of using the Divine Material.”
Azrael’s eyes grew wide and she stared at him with disbelief. “How could that happen?”
Gabriel tapped his fingers on his knees thoughtfully. “It’s just a theory, perhaps the trauma is still too fresh.” He jerked to his feet. “I need to consult my allies. Maybe they can help.”
Azrael snatched his wrist and gasped at the pain that shot up her arm at the sudden motion. “You can’t leave me. Not like this.” She didn’t have to push desperation in her words, she was already on the verge of panic.
He hesitated, and Azrael wished she could taste his emotions. She had to settle for the flash of indecision in his eyes. “All right, I’ll stay. But if you haven’t made progress soon, I’ll seek help.”
Relief eased her shoulders and she curled her fingers under her chest, resting onto the padding as comfortable as she could. “Thank you.”
Defeated, Gabriel lowered to his chair. He stretched his wings wide, as if he too felt cramped and yearned to be free of the stifling room. But then he settled, closing his wings tight to his shoulders and folding his arms over his chest.
He’d closed his eyes, easing into sleep as he normally did. Azrael couldn’t fathom how he could sleep, much less in a chair, but he did. But for Azrael, she felt as if something big was about to happen. It nagged like a buzzing fly and even when she drifted into a hazy sense of sleep, it warned her that she had no time to rest.
Deep in the night she lurched out of sleep, coughing up blood and bile. Gabriel woke with a start and a Healer rushed into the room, instantly holding a rag to her mouth. “Breathe,” she instructed with only sternness, no panic.
Blood soaked the rag within seconds and Azrael gasped ragged breaths through the rush of blood.
She was about to try and tell the Healer that something was terribly wrong when she convulsed and pain jolted through her spine. A succession of cracks ripped screams from her throat.
“Azrael, you’re doing it!” Gabriel shouted, even as a sudden hoard of Healers obstructed his view.
Azrael searched for his face, the love and faith in that azure sea that would give her the strength to survive.
When she caught his gaze, she knew the time had come. She didn’t need her magic to see the fluster of panic and elation wound like a ball in his gaze. She didn’t have time to dwell, and braced herself as the two oversized lumps finally broke free of their prison of muscle ligaments and skin. It felt as if her very spine was being ripped out, and she screamed as panic clenched around her heart.
Gabriel shot a hand through the wall of Healers and she latched onto it, drawing strength and warmth even as her skin was slick with blood. “You’re almost there,” he encouraged.
Azrael’s vision had narrowed and she couldn’t think of anything except the pain and terror. She prayed to the Divine for it to end, even if it meant her death. She couldn’t handle this anymore, not the loss or the Turn, certainly not both.
Her muttering prayers between screams were cut short as a wooden cylinder was shoved in her mouth. She bit down on it, hard, and just in time. Another convulsion took over her body followed by a sudden snap through her right shoulder.
Azrael lunged to the side as another spear shot through her left, and what felt like arms stretched, wet and painful, in frigid air. She became cold, oh so cold, and she wheezed as blood spurt out her nose.
“So cold,” she whispered and closed her eyes against the nauseating dizziness that followed.
“She’s losing too much blood,” a Healer shouted. Hands rushed to put pressure on her wounds.
“That hurts,” she protested. Through blurry eyes she pleaded with Gabriel. “Help me.”
“They’ll stop the bleeding,” he promised and warmed her hands with his. “You’ve done it. It’s over.” He placed a hand on her freezing cheek and she trembled. “Can you feel them? Can you feel your new wings?”
Pain thundered through her body, but she realized he was right. There was something lying on her back that was wet and heavy, but waves of stinging needles channeled through the new nerve endings. She flexed, and fresh pain shot through her body. It was pain from her wings.
But the pain was receding, the blood flow was easing. She twisted, trying to see her wings like a mother straining to see her child. But pain arced through her neck and her head fell to the bloodstained pillow with a grimace.
For the first time, Azrael allowed the Healers to stab a hollowed needle in her arm and accept blood through dried animal intestines. She smiled when she realized it was Gabriel’s blood she was receiving, and he towered over her, his own bloody arm squeezing proudly over the needle. “Angel blood is a closer match,” he explained, barely glancing at the human healers.
Not seeming to take offense, the lead Healer wiped her hands clean on a cloth and gave Gabriel a nod. “Should we sew up the leftover tears?” she asked. “I don’t want her to keep bleeding.”
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “I agree.”
The Healer blew out a long breath. “Sorry to put you through more pain, child, but we must close these wounds. Then, I promise you a reprieve.”
Azrael closed her eyes and wept hot tears. Her back protested with fierce throbbing and her body felt like it had been broken in half. She was tired of the pain. Azrael let the tears run streaks through the drying blood on her face. She wept for her broken body, and for her broken heart; for all that she had lost.
Azrael wondered what she could have done to deserve such torment. But there wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. She tried her best not to move as tiny needles and organic thread were laced all too forcefully through her bleeding and open wounds.
Healer’s hands were steady, but their aim was only to patch her up again. The jerks and knots of their stitches stabbed relentlessly. Blood mixed with salty tears around Azrael’s mouth.
After the Healer had finished, Azrael was finally left to mend on her own. A few stayed behind to clean the blood and organic substances out of her new feathers. Meanwhile, another wound a long strip of cloth around her chest, providing support and also blessed coverage.
Gabriel sat beside her during the procedure, a cloth pressed on his arm, telling her that it was necessary for her wings to be cleaned, unless she wished to have bloodstained feathers. Azrael most certainly did not, so she tolerated the prying hands to pick and prod into her delicate and sensitive wings.
When finished, the servants cleaned up the blood that had spattered onto the floor. And indeed, a Healer had already slipped in a puddle of the stuff. In her numbed haze, Azrael wondered how so much liquid could reside in her body. She was grateful that she was allowed to keep the rest of it.
#
PERHAPS it was simply the trauma, or perhaps it was a reaction to Gabriel’s blood, but she soon slipped into a fever. Gabriel went to Celestia against her wishes, but she was too ill to stop him. When he returned, his grim silence told her that she was truly on her own, and nature would take its course.
Azrael needed to live. Justice needed to be served and a part of her wanted to get through this out of sheer spite. She couldn’t let Mita have the satisfaction of seeing her dead from her own wings. And so she slurped bitter soup, gulped nasty tea, and slept even when she felt she couldn’t sleep anymore.
In the early light of dawn just at the end of fall her fever finally broke. Pain had become an unwelcome, but accustomed, companion. And when it finally eased, Azrael was amazed. For the first time in weeks, she was able to rise from her bed.
“Careful, Azrael. Careful now,” Gabriel instructed.
Azrael trembled and shook even as she managed to sit up. The sheer weight of her wings made her want to fall back to the bed again. They slumped down her back like weights, and moving them seemed entirely out of the question.
She frowned as she looked past her dangling feet, just as limp as her wings. “I don’t think I can walk.”
Gabriel took ahold of her arms. “I’ll help, don’t worry. I know the Healers have been giving you sponge baths, but surely you’ve been dying for the real thing.” He smiled his handsome smile.
A weak grin found its way across Azrael’s lips. A real bath. The Healers had tried to heat the water before they slathered it on her like butter, but it always turned cold. If they wanted a method to induce tremors, it seems they’d already invented it.
With the thought of steam enveloping her withering body, breathing life into it again, a newly found surge of determination brought Azrael to her feet with a jolt.
Of course, she immediately went tumbling to the floor. But Gabriel was standing ready. He held her up with ease and the reminiscent memory of Meretta nearly sent her tumbling again. “That’s the spirit,” Gabriel said cheerfully. “Now, can you step forward?”
Azrael looked to her feet in concentration and wiggled her toes. “I think so.”
With slow steps, Gabriel and Azrael made their way to the bathing chambers. Azrael was sure it was quite the sight. Gabriel, in all his glory, stooped down to hold a greasy, young girl with infant wings straddled on her back. Gabriel lifted her on her toes, desperately trying to keep her thin feathers from touching the ground.
As they made their way through the glittering halls, Azrael was met with affectionate smiles from servants passing by. An occasional Healer would nod her head and say, “Good to see you up and about, Majesty.” Azrael wanted to slap them for calling her that. She didn’t want to recognize that the true Queen was really gone. But Azrael was too weak, too tired. It took all of her concentration just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Finally at the baths, servants stood ready in Azrael’s own private chamber. The beige and brown marbled walls were veined with Light and she sighed at the steams that rose to the ceiling.
“I’ll be right outside,” Gabriel assured her.
He handed her over to the servants. Azrael slumped against their grasp as they pulled her into the room. They dragged her over to a backless chair as two servants held her upright. They were young, and gazed at Azrael with wonder. Azrael had to admit, she felt a little bit special then, despite her awkwardness.
Slowly, they unwound the bloodstained cloth from her upper body. It hurt, but she was glad to get the wretched thing off. As the last of the cloth was removed, she wrinkled her nose at the sharp and sour stench. As careful as the Healers had been, Azrael imagined it was impossible to keep any infection at all taking hold somewhere.
Azrael gazed with longing at the warm bath that was coated with rose petals. She was tired of feeling disgusting and bloodied. She knew it would hurt, but she wanted more than anything to be clean.
The servants inspected Azrael’s back, and though they kept their vow of silence in front of a Windborn, there were no rules against admiring sounds of awe. They cooed at her Acceptance, and nodded their heads at each other with satisfaction. Clearing her throat, the servant girls giggled and helped Azrael into the bath.
Azrael was shaky, and the sting of the water’s cleansing splash spurred a gasp from her throat. But the pain ebbed, and the warm water embraced her like a mother’s touch. Azrael sighed and suppressed the urge to immerse herself completely and never come out.
The servant girls delicately washed her body with soft sponges, clearing off the layers of blood and grime. The skin was sensitive where the wings had burst out, but she could feel that the wounds had healed nicely. The stitches must have been absorbed by my body by now. For once, Azrael was grateful for the Healers’ wild inventions.
The servants lathered oils and soaps over Azrael’s body and through her hair. At first, it burned, and Azrael bit her lip from making a sound until eventually the pain receded. Azrael curled her toes with pleasure at the sensations. After so many weeks, she was clean. How she had taken for granted the wonderful gift of cleanliness.
The servant girls worked quietly, leaving no spot unwashed. They were well trained, and kept their scrubbing to a light pressure, careful against the raw skin where her wings had thrust their way out and the skin closed. Under their care and attention, Azrael’s mind drifted to thoughts of her Queen and Meretta. Did Queen Ceres ever wish to be bathed like this with infant wings of her own? What would Meretta think if she saw me now? Pain speared in her stomach as the grief of loss reminded her how alone she truly was. For the first time in weeks, the tears came, not from her physical pain, but from her heart.
The servant girls patted her on the shoulder and offered understanding frowns. Queen Ceres had been their Queen too. Even Meretta had been kind to the servants, learning their names and treating them with respect. To learn a servant girl’s name who could not speak was no small feat.
The servant girls stopped their washing and held Azrael’s hands, lifting them to place on their foreheads: A display of their sorrow.
“Do you miss them too?” Azrael asked.
When the maidservant went to jingle her right wrist, Azrael stopped her. She unclasped the bells and let them sink to the bottom of the bath. “Speak.”
All the girls stilled and stared. The maidservant who’d lost her bells swallowed and licked her lips, before pushing out the words, “Yes, Majesty.”
Azrael’s tears ebbed and she offered a weak smile of gratitude. The girls smiled back, motioning for her to leave the now murky waters.
Azrael was hauled out of the bath. The girls couldn’t hold Azrael on their own, and she went toppling to the ground. Her wings were such waterlogged weights that she couldn’t hold them up. The girls rang silvered bells for help, and two more girls came bounding into the room.
With great care, they pulled Azrael up. They took towels and fanned out each feather, wiping down each one. It was a long process, but eventually the weight lessened and Azrael straightened her back with confidence. When she was completely dry, the servants brought her to a giant mirror encased by golden swirls. The Divine Material embedded into the frame cast a pleasant light on her body and made her seem alive and beautiful. Azrael was stunned to see herself and how much she’d changed. While she was far too skinny, she was otherwise breathtaking. Her hair was long and dark, much darker than she’d ever seen it before. And behind her were beautiful wings of midnight. She tried to spread them out to see them better, but as if they were asleep, they remained limp.
“Help me turn around,” she requested.
Azrael leaned on their supportive arms, turning and arching her head over a wing to see her back. Her Acceptance shone bright, and her breath was taken away to see its true glory. A twirling pattern of gold and faint blue-like colors wound intricately from points on her buttocks, to a wide scene arching up the small of her back, winding between her wings, and crawling up like the tips of flames licking the nape of her neck. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
Azrael reached around to touch the place on her back where her wings jutted out. A hard, white crust rimmed each wing-stem. Azrael couldn’t feel it from her back, just her fingers.
For a long moment, Azrael just let her eyes wander on the pattern. Beauty was deceiving. Hadn’t it cost the lives of Meretta and her Majesty to attain it? Could she allow herself to appreciate it?
As she stared at the Acceptance, her mind deciphered the design and a marvelous scene came to life. Like the Manor itself, intricate patterns wound with the fleeting Windborn language. The light surged and revealed spirals and characters for a passing moment, before it blurred into golden trails once again. Azrael marveled as it flowed with the spirals perfectly, and she wished desperately to know their meaning. Soon, she promised herself, she would learn everything.
The cool air eventually began to seep under her skin that had been warmed by the baths. The servants were well trained, and only after a single shiver had they brought her new robes to be worn. They were the kind she could never put on herself, a large band wove around her neck and supported the robes as they draped attractively over her chest. The servants elegantly moved, only fumbling once or twice to find the best way to wind the cloth past her wings in a way to help her support their weight.
She sighed at the sight of such a beautiful dress flattering her figure. If only she could spread her wings like Gabriel, she could truly do it justice.
The servants eased Azrael to the entrance of the bathing chambers until they came upon Gabriel standing somber. His eyes lingered only for a moment on the maidservant who’d lost her bells. His charming smile lit his face when his gaze was drawn to Azrael “You must be feeling better.”
Azrael sighed. “You have no idea.”
He eyed her up and down. “The Windborn robes fit you well.” His grin widened. “They were made for the males among us, but it seems all it took to feminize them was you.”
Azrael blushed as Gabriel shooed away the servants and took her arm around his shoulder with ease. “Back to bed with you. You’ve had enough exertions for today.”
“I don’t want to go back to that wretched bed,” Azrael said, frowning. “If I ever see it again, it’ll be too soon.”
He laughed. “I know, and I can understand. But you must rest. Your strength will return, albeit slowly. No good will come from rushing yourself. I can promise you that.”
With annoyance, Azrael silently obeyed his command to take to her bed and rest. At least while she’d been gone the Healers had changed the sheets and replaced them with silk. She was tired of being tired; and the last thing she wanted to do was to sleep, no matter how exhausted she felt. Furthermore, her thirst for revenge hadn’t been forgotten. If anything, the long, agonizing weeks had only intensified it.
Right now my goal is to heal. I must take this one step at a time. Meretta and Queen Ceres will be avenged! Azrael stubbornly glared at the golden tiles along the floor as Gabriel helped her move onto the bed. I will rest, and regain my strength. Once I have healed, I will serve justice.
Azrael wanted to lie on her back, but Gabriel said she would have to learn to sleep on her stomach. He didn’t want her breaking any feathers, especially since they were so new. And Azrael knew what he meant; anything that touched them ran invisible needles up her spine.
As her eyelids grew heavy, Azrael curled a pillow under her head. “Gabriel?” she whispered.
He knelt at the side of the bed. “Yes?”
“When I first met Mita, she introduced herself as Hyanthia Mitralia. I don’t want to call her Mita anymore. Her name is Hyanthia. Mita was a sweet girl and Meretta’s friend. Hyanthia is her murderer.”
Gabriel pinched his lips and Azrael closed her eyes, lest she see his disapproval. But his warm hand found her cheek and she willed herself to look at him. To her surprise, his blue gaze was fierce with righteous anger.
“Mita is already dead. Hyanthia took her place,” he agreed.
Azrael breathed a sigh of relief. She vowed to herself that Hyanthia too, would soon be dead.