Chapter 19
With a flapof Davien’s wings, we break away from the hold the earth has on us and soar through the skies above Dreamsong. My heart is in my throat once more, stomach doing flips. But not with terror.
I feel safe in his arms, I realize. He holds me with easy security. As if, even with my broad shoulders and strong hands, I’m no trouble to him.
My fingers tease his hair at the nape of his neck lightly. The long strands are raked by the wind, away from his sculpted face. The wind shifts and his gaze turns from the horizon to where he’ll put his foot next. He catches me admiring him and a flush covers my chest and cheeks.
Davien chuckles, but says nothing about my staring. His foot hits the pointed spire of a building, like a feather balancing on a needle, and he pushes off once more. We start our ascent back to the cotton clouds drifting as effortlessly through the blue sky as us.
“May I ask you something?”
“I believe you just did.”
I roll my eyes and he chuckles.
“Yes, Katria, what is it?”
“Why is your flying more like jumping than the other winged fae?” I look around us. Davien soars higher than most of the others. But only at the crest of his arc. Then he comes back to earth as others sustain their altitude.
“Ah,” he says with a soft sigh. “That…”
“Is it because of your wings?” I ask.
“Do you want to hear me answer your question? Or should I just let you speculate?” Davien laughs and I give a sly smile. We touch down, this time on the railing of a balcony, and shoot up once more. The rooftops of Dreamsong glisten with the sunlight. Gilded gutters and glass shingles catch the early dawn. “Yes, it’s because of my wings. And they are weak because of my being forced to grow up in exile. I was far from this land—my homeland—and all its magic. Think of our power as a muscle. It languishes from lack of use. And I had precious little magic to use in the Natural World to train myself.”
“So your wings were tattered from not being used?” I glance over his shoulder at the beat of his wings. Even though they are frayed and thinned at the edges, holes punched through as though he was shot down once by archers, they flap with power and force. They seem stronger than the first time we flew. Perhaps I’m not the only one becoming more luminescent in this world.
“Among other flaws in my magic,” he admits. It sounds painful for him to do so. Which makes it all the more meaningful when he continues. “It’s why I could never let you see me.” His grip tightens slightly. “I couldn’t even so much as glamour myself when we first met, or dismiss my wings when I wished. You would’ve known exactly what I was from the first moment. I was a pathetic, weak creature.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is.”
“You fended off a Butcher to save me.”
His eyes dart toward mine, lips parted slightly. I have never paid more attention to a man’s lips before. And he seems to be just as keen on mine. I imagine him staring at my mouth as I spoke, blindfolded. The thought nearly has me squirming in his arms.
“Oren did, technically. I could only flee.”
“You charged in and saved me.”
He seems frustrated and embarrassed by my trying to pay him a compliment. I can relate to that discomfort. “I should have been able to do more…”
“That was another thing you wanted the power of the old kings for, wasn’t it? To restore you to the fae you would have been if you’d grown up in Midscape?”
“Yes.” He glances at me with longing. Once more, he’s looking through me, not at me. He’s looking at the power that’s his.
“I’m going to do my best to give it to you,” I say softly. “I promise I am.”
“I know.”
Before anything else can be said, he descends. This movement has a bit of finality to it and I tighten my grip slightly around his neck, bracing myself against him for when we meet the ground. Of course, our landing is as delicate as the rest of his flight has been.
We’ve landed on a vacant plot on the far edge of the city, at the edge of the mountains where the forest is encroaching on the valley. All of the houses of Dreamsong are packed together, right on top of each other. It didn’t fully strike me how closely until I saw this empty lot. Giles and Oren stand together, engaged in a heated debate over a book that they don’t so much as glance up from as we approach.
“I see you’ve made a lot of progress while I was gone,” Davien says, that deep voice of his silencing the argument and bringing all eyes—mine included—to him.
“We just started for the day,” Giles says with a dramatic sigh. “We’re trying to decipher the instructions Vena sent us out with.”
