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“Wings,” Herne said gently, almost proudly as he helped me keep my balance. The new appendages were so heavy I was certain to topple backwards without his steadying arm. I felt a tug in my gut, something going taut and sharp and hot as I held his gaze, and his look of surprise told me he felt it, too. He blinked it away, and I thought I was maybe wrong about what I’d seen. He smiled faintly. Knowingly. Curse him. “The gods have blessed you with wings.”
Chapter 4
“Get up now,” bellowed Herne through the door, banging loudly as I groaned awake. The ache of the huge feathery wings that I’d had for only a few hours, based on the gray morning light creeping in through the window, had made sleep nearly impossible, and everything hurt.
No one in my family had wings, and I craned my neck to examine the feathers more closely. Each was light brown at the shaft, blending into a darker, warmer brown at the top of the vane. I reached back to stroke one, feeling the vibration of my finger against the feather travel all the way down my spine.
Herne knocked impatiently again.
“Coming,” I groaned, rolling until I fell hard on the floor with a thump. I heard Herne chuckle behind my door and cursed him soundly as I hauled myself up and dragged my feathery mess to the door. “What?”
Herne looked me over, both eyebrows shooting up as he took in the disheveled hair and under-eye bags and the rather skimpy nightdress I’d only barely managed to get over the damn wings. My normal nightshirts wouldn’t fit anymore, and the ridiculous lacy thing was the only one I owned with a back low enough that it didn’t catch on my wings.
He blushed, clearing his throat and looking away to study a spot on the doorframe above me. “Maybe you should get dressed first,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.
“If you’re going to force me out of bed at ungodly hours after I just grew wings, then you’re going to have to put up with me not being properly dressed,” I snapped, crossing my arms in my best impression of his statue pose. “Now what?”
“You have training,” he said gruffly, risking a look at me and glancing away again quickly.
“No,” I said, turning from the door and walking back into my room so he would be forced to follow if he wanted to argue. “I’m tired. It’s my birthday. I’m going back to bed.”
“No,” Herne argued following me into my room and catching my arm just before I flopped back onto the bed. “You have training. You’ve got to learn to use those wings quickly, or you’ll injure yourself.”
“Training for what, exactly?” I asked, letting him hold me up with his strong hands, since he wasn’t going to let me lie down. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“Flight, strength, and fighting,” Herne replied, taking another glance at me and deciding I wasn’t too scandalous in the dimmer light of my room. “You’re joining the aerial unit.”
I groaned. “I don’twantto join the aerial unit. I just want to sleep.”
Herne chuckled, releasing me so I sat heavily on the bench at the foot of my bed. “I’ll let you out of dish duty,” he offered. “Everyone serves the courts the best way their powers allow, you know that.”
“By fighting?” I drawled, looking up at him with the most hateful scowl I could muster on no sleep. That warm tug lashed through my stomach again, and I groaned. Maybe I was just hungry.
Herne crouched so we were eye level. This close I could admire the flecks of gold in his yellow eyes, and the hints of red in his brown beard. His shoulder-length dark hair was tied up in a bun today. Gods, he looked good. I groaned again.
“Either you can train with the aerial unit,” he offered, “or you’ll be relegated to deliveries. I’ve seen you with a dagger. You need training, but there’s promise there. And the others in the unit will help you master flight far faster than anyone else.” He put a warm hand on my knee, and I almost gasped at the prickling sensation that went through me at the gentle touch. He either didn’t feel it, or pretended not to, because he didn’t react as he waited for me to agree.
“Fine,” I sighed, risking setting my own hand atop his. “But I can’t go like this, and none of my shirts will fit over the wings. I assume you don’t want me training topless?”
I met his eyes and that heat flashed through them again, so fast it was like he was trying to make sure I didn’t catch it.
He coughed, rubbing his neck with his free hand. “Probably best you don’t. I’ll see what I can find you.” He rose in a fluid movement that was a little unexpected for a male of his size, and was out the door before I could ask more. I sighed, flopping back on the bed, careful not to crush the wings.
Herne returned about ten minutes later, growling when he realized I hadn’t moved to get ready. He threw something at me that landed with a smack on my stomach, and I let out an “oof.”
“Up. Now,” he barked, slamming my door. “Be out here in five minutes.” This command was muffled by the door, and I groaned as I sat up to examine the leather thing he had thrown at me.
It was a top, I realized, made of leather and cut with a high neckline but no sleeves. The back seemed to lace together, one set of laces going behind my neck and the other two below my wings. It took me five minutes alone to get the damn thing on, but it was comfortable enough, if a bit revealing, and it left me plenty of room to move my wings. I flapped experimentally, and fell over.
I heard a chuckle outside my door and gave it a filthy gesture, pulling on leather trousers and boots for whatever this training would entail. I was probably going to be cold, but I couldn’t think how to get a cloak or sleeves over the wings, so I gave up on the idea and met Herne outside.
“Good,” he said, nodding his approval once before heading across the rope bridge that connected our platform to the city. “Let’s go.”
???
The morning was cool and misty, and I shivered in the sleeveless shirt as Herne introduced me to the flight master. His name was Altair, and he was so old he looked like a single puff of wind might knock him to the ground. His wings were gray with age and looked somewhat coarse and sparse, unlike my soft brown hawk feathers that sprouted thickly from between my shoulder blades.
“You’re to train three hours a day with the wings,” Herne said, turning to me as Altair wrote something down on a scroll for his records. “And then another three in sparring and weaponry. The rest of the unit follows the same schedule, so just stay with them and go where they go.”
