Page 101 of Ruby
There are wings attached to me.
They’re folded awkwardly, heavy and sore, feathers still too new and too sensitive. When I try to flex them, lightning shoots down my spine and I hiss.
“They are fresh,” Szhe’ka says quickly. “Not strong yet. This is not the place to learn, but we can unbind them if you are back to yourself now.”
The panic drains, replaced by stunned disbelief as Ree and Thivoll step forward and use their claws to break the rough rope tied around me.
I’m trembling as I try to figure out how to communicate with this new, incredibly sore part of my body, groaning as they awkwardly elongate, shaking as they extend behind and to the side of me. I somehow bend them, tilting and twisting so I can get a better look.
I have wings.
Bright blue-green across the back. Red underneath, like embers hidden in ash. They’re beautiful.
They hurt like hell.
Kira is sitting on a low rock a short distance away, watching me with careful eyes. Drasuk stands beside her, tall and silent, scanning the opposite shoreline.
And there’s someone else.
A woman I don’t recognize. Bright green hair, standing just outside the circle of our little camp. She’s aloof, multiple armsfolded, posture loose but alert. Close enough to intervene. Far enough to stay detached.
I swallow.
“Okay,” I say, breathing through the ache in my back. “Okay. I’m… uh… something. And not dead, so that is great.”
“No,” Szhe’ka murmurs, relief flickering across his face. “You are growing.”
That makes something inside me settle.
The new woman doesn’t offer her name and no one pushes her. She prowls the perimeter once, then plants herself against a trunk within sight of us.
A silent guardian. Or a wary observer. Either way, she stays.
Szhe’ka helps me sit now, hands steadying me when I wobble. The wings feel like foreign appendages. Too large, too present. Every small movement sends a tug through muscles that didn’t exist yesterday.
Ree approaches slowly, as if I might bolt.
“Hi,” she says softly.
“Hi,” I echo.
Up close, I notice the strain in her face. The shadows beneath her eyes. The tension she carries in her shoulders like a permanent weight.
“You scared the hell out of us,” she admits.
“Sorry,” I mutter, automatically.
She lets out a humorless breath. “No. I’m sorry.”
I blink.
“For hitting you,” she says. “Back on the ship.”
The memory flashes. Her hand across my face, the glass pod, the chaos.
“I thought they were going to kill you,” she continues. “You were screaming. They were angry. I didn’t know how else to shut you up.”
Her voice wavers, just slightly. “I’ve seen what they do when they lose patience,” she says. “I couldn’t let that happen.”
