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Yes! Obviously, the research about Daethian! Don’t be an idiot!I wanted to shout. Instead, I busied my hands pushing my own fly-away hairs behind my head.
“I haven't found anything that fits Daethian’s condition. I even asked the bookkeeper and he pointed me toward a children’s book. King Windre still has thousands upon thousands of books to go through. I just haven't found the right one...” He trailed off.
“We don’t have time for you to read through thousands of thousands of books, Graceson.” I wanted to keep the edge out of my voice, but everything I said came out harsh. “Especially, when you’re going to get interrupted like this.”
“Do you even know where Daethian is?” Graceson asked dryly. Something told me that despite his kind nature, he didn’t take kindly to being talked down to.
I swallowed. “Not a clue.”
“I’m sure he is fine.”
I responded with a bob of my head, wondering how much Graceson really believed those words himself. Jerydin walked smoothly around us, his head turned toward the forest.
“We should be coming up on a small village soon,” I said.
Jerydin huffed a breath, unable to contain his amusement at my ability to state the obvious. My lips fell into a frown before I looked away and pretended I didn’t notice.
Graceson’s wings fanned out, bumping into me ever so slightly. I was grateful the wicked Fae under King Ganglin’s rule didn’t take his wings like they had threatened. Shredding them as they did was punishment enough. Maybe they knew the gods wouldn’t take pity on them, considering wings were so rare. Squinting into the unrelenting sun, I tried to remember if I’d ever met a Fae such as Graceson or Jerydin before. I was certain I hadn’t, though I’d come to find out that my memory had long since been tainted to hide the real truth of my own past.
“How exactly did so few Fae come to have reptilian wings like you and Jerydin do?” I mused, my hand brushing back stray curls that had fallen into my face.
Graceson practically beamed down at me. Nothing excited him as much as talking about himself. There was no end to his narcissism.
“Haven't you heard? My wings make me a demi-god.”
Mother above, here we go.I snorted and rolled my eyes, but I let him continue. I was right, Graceson would be enough entertainment to get me through this last part of our travels.
“Fae like me, like Jerydin, are born from women that mate with a god.”
“Which god?”
“Doesn’t matter. They all have wings.” He shrugged.
“Do they?” I hummed. I’d never really dug into the religion of the gods that the Fae held. Mother Nature was my creator, which I suppose made her a goddess of sorts in their eyes. She wasn’t out of reach like every other god; she was everything. She lived within the swell of the ocean, the shift of the breeze, and the heartbeat of the world under our feet. The mother breathed life into all that sustained this world. It was how everything worked in harmony.
As I recalled some portraits hung within the Heathern Court castle, long since destroyed, I noted that there had been wings, long and black, painted in long, even strokes behind them. They always looked much more feathered than scaled, but Graceson’s wings looked more like his mother fucked a dragon.
“Or it could be some weird genetic mutation. That’s what Jerydin will tell you if you ask him.” Graceson wiped at his nose with a sniffle and smiled. “You know him. Always talking about science and stuff.”
“Well, I agree. The demi-god story is much more interesting. But if you were a demi-god wouldn’t you have more powers? Something other than the run-of-the-mill fire stuff.”
“Okay, I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just say what you said,” he scoffed, “secondly, my fire ability is more than the average Fae. I have noble Fae blood, like a lot. And third, flying is a superpower.”
“You have me there.” I finally cracked a smile.
Jerydin muttered under his breath, some retort I barely caught, but I’m sure was pointed at the ridiculous stuff his friend was spewing.
“Wait…if you’re both born from gods, does that mean that you and him are brothers?” I stared up at him wide-eyed.
“Do you hear that, Jerydin?” Graceson called with a laugh. “We are brothers.” He glanced back down at me. “Technically maybe cousins or something, at least if we were born from different fathers. Who’s to know though?”
“It’s a recessive gene, Graceson,” Jerydin huffed. “Like fucking red hair.”
“What he is trying to say is that I’m extra special.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Jerydin said without a laugh.
“You definitely sound like brothers.” I shrugged, watching as Shavarra twisted toward us and headed in our direction with purpose.
