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I reached down for my power, feeling that familiar swell of water stir in my fingertips like a faithful old pet coming for a good scratch. I wasn’t about to let her strangle me again. No, this time, I’d fight back.
But there was no need, because Folkoln flashed in front of her, his hands shoved into his pockets, his broad back facing me.He tipped his head to the side, ever so slightly. “Aww, come on now, sis, is that really how you want to play it right now?”
“Sheis the reason welostthe realms,” Saphira growled with such disgust that saliva sprayed out of her mouth.
“That’s not entirely true. It was Von’s choice to make, not ours,” Folkoln replied, his voice calm. “Besides, if it wereyourbonded, you would have done the same. And you know it.”
“Don’t you dare speak ofmybonded!” Saphira screamed at him with such ferocity, it was a wonder the roof didn’t blow off the ceiling.
Folkoln merely stood there, soaking in her wrath. The smoke that hovered around his body writhed in pleasure, like it had just been fed more air. Despite this, his voice was somber. “The Creator is cruel.”
There was a silent acknowledgment between the two—one I didn’t quite understand. Had Saphira’s bonded died? That would certainly explain her abrasive personality.
Saphira dropped her loosely crossed arms and strode around Folkoln, over to a private bar that sat kitty-corner in her room. “So then, are you going to tell me why you shadow walked the enemy into my room?” she asked, shedding the layers of her anger and donning something much calmer—I didn’t know which was more frightening.
“We have come to make a deal with you,” Folkoln said, turning towards her.
“Continue,” she said as she took three empty decanters from the bar top, popped the tops off, and then waved her hand above them. Instantly, they began to fill with a deep, red liquid.
I stepped forward. “We know you have the Blade of Moram. We wish to make an exchange with you.”
Saphira turned from the bar top, that peaceful nature snapping when she set her hawk-like eyes upon me. “And what couldyoupossibly have thatIwould want in return?”
Folkoln cut in. “Your wings, Saph. If you give us the Blade of Moram, I will return your wings to you.”
Return her wings to her?
What did that mean?
I remembered the vicious scar slit vertically down her back, the peculiar way they angled closer to one another the further they went.Wings.Like Von, Saphira must have had wings at one point. And if Folkoln was offering them back—had he been the one to take them from her?
Questions swirled abound, until a memory flickered free. It was of a pair of beautiful, feminine, black wings encased in molten glass. Ivory flesh, dappled with ichor, clung around the bones which had once been attached to its owner’s back. The God of Death stood beside me, telling me the story of when he had taken his sister’s wings, and throughout it all, never once did my hand leave his.
Saphira’s response pulled me from my memory. “I would rather light my wings aflame than release Draevon from his suffering. For all I care, he can spend the rest of eternity like this. He deserves as much.”
Now I understood her anger towards him—he had taken her wings.
Yet, still, in that memory, I supported him for doing so.
“If you give me the blade, I’ll talk to Von about having your exile removed,” Folkoln stated, striding over to the bar area beside her.
“I’ve grown rather fond of living with the mortals.” She gestured to the door. “Unlike immortals, when you end their pitiful lives, they do not return to annoy you.”
Thatanswered what the loud bang had been in the other room.
Folkoln grabbed one of the decanters, raised it up, and eyed the contents. “You’ve come a long way, sister. I didn’t think you were the type to sip on peasant blood.”
“He wasn’t a peasant,” Saphira growled as she snatched the glass container from Folkoln and set it back down.
Folkoln chuckled as he said, “By the looks of that watery trash, he definitely was.”
“You, ofallimmortals, have no right to tell me who I should be drinking,” she growled. “And as I won’t be giving you the Blade of Moram, you might as well take Von’s little pet and leave.”
Von’s little pet?It took a grand amount of willpower not to wrap a water bubble around her head and drown her for calling me that.
“There has to be something you want, Saph,” Folkoln said.
“I can promise you, there is nothing,” she snipped.
