They all looked up together where a small opening in the leaves showcased a glimpse of blue. For one enchanted instant, the sun’s blistering brightness dimmed. Stain was able to view the endless heavens without her eyes burning. She saw new colors—purple, blue, and red—and imagined flying with wings of her own. During that flash of darkness, she looked back at the Pegasus and saw her eyes reflected off the dark mirrors of his gaze, amber and glinting like coins.
He shook the sparks in his mane. You are not of this place. Your lashes are slivers of the moon, and your eyes pierce the darkness with starlight. He turned and trotted into the thicketed surroundings without another word.
Stain backed into the house and plopped onto her pallet. Emaciated and flawed as it was, Scorch had given her her first glimpse of self.
Crony handed Stain a teacup while Luce grumbled something about the yard. He carried out a pitcher of water and doused the tiny fires burning her flowers. The care he took in saving each one impressed her, and she began to trust him, yet remained wary of the witch.
Crony withdrew the bandage on Stain’s waist and some scabs ripped free, reopening wounds. Stain choked on a soundless cry, wriggling to escape.
Crony gripped her shoulder. “No need to hold back, wee one. Start makin’ some noise. It’ll help ye feel better. Grunts and growls be just as fine as speakin’ to one such as me. So don’t be afeared to try.”
It was obvious then that neither of her keepers realized how broken she was. She suspected they knew no more of her than she knew of herself. Had they stumbled upon her . . . found her somewhere half-dead?
She touched her throat, her eyes stinging with that bewildering hot dryness that should’ve preceded tears.
Crony’s swampy gaze narrowed. “Ye have no voice?” She reeled back, as though the thought almost knocked her over. She turned to Luce, who stepped across the threshold with a bouquet of flowers in hand. “She has no voice.”
Luce’s features—so lovely amid all the ugliness—fell. He shook his head and turned away with a low growl.
In spite of Crony’s attempt to comfort, Stain feared her for all the wrong reasons: her reptilian face, the gruffness of her mannerisms, the horns that caught the hazy daylight, accentuating sharp, curved tips. The witch seemed wounded when Stain pushed her away. But there were walls erected between them that Stain had no means to break down—no way to communicate or common ground to stand upon.
Crony moved aside and allowed Luce to redress Stain’s wounds. He managed to be gentle until he tied off a bandage too tight around her knee. At last, Stain’s bottled-up frustration overflowed, and instinct overtook. Her arms lifted and her fingers moved in symbols and letters that both surprised and empowered her. She yelled at him with her hands.
He jerked back, bewildered. “What is she doing?”
Crony moved closer, her soupy eyes wide with wonder. “Speakin’. She be tellin’ ye that ye tied up her leg like a tourniquet. Loosen it.”
Luce did as he was asked. Thrilled to be understood outside of her mind, Stain signed a thank-you to Crony. Then told her everything she could remember: the truth about the Pegasus, how she awoke without any recollection and was frightened by Crony’s slumbering form, how the strands of sunlight that peered through the leaves burned her skin.
Crony responded patiently. The witch confirmed that they’d found Stain dying close to the entrance of the ravine, and that anything of her past was a mystery. But Stain pushed aside the loss she felt, for now she had made another connection. Her trust burgeoned like the flowers she could call with her fingertips. She realized Crony had a kind soul and wasn’t the monster she’d mistaken her to be.
Two weeks passed and Stain used the time to heal, though Scorch didn’t visit again. While Luce and Crony went to market, she was permitted to explore, but only if dressed as a boy. Crony insisted this disguise was necessary to keep word from getting out that a girl was living in the forest, to protect her from whoever had left her for dead. Her guardians delayed her introduction to the inhabitants, so Stain could practice a boy’s mannerisms and appearance. This she did in solitude each day while hidden in the maze of trees and brambles close to their home.
During her solitary wandering, she dropped slices of dried apple on the path she walked. At last, one day, he clomped behind her. She turned, holding the remainder of the apple in her hand: brushed with honey and rolled in oats—an irresistible treat to any horse. But he wasn’t just a horse. He was feather, flame, and shadow, a mythic creature fueled by pride.
The Pegasus looked up from eating the last slice on the ground.
She stretched out her palm, the oaten-apple balanced atop her scars.
His nostrils flared, proving he smelled the treat. He nickered. Toss it here.
You must eat it from my hand, Scorch.
He pawed, his hoof stirring up ash. I am not a trained pony, witless mite. And I can find my own apples.
Not like this one. She took several steps forward, though her feet shook within her boots. She’d forgotten how lofty and intimidating he was when not half-sunken in a bog. I made it special for you. To bring you happiness.
He snorted and smoke escaped his nostrils. Trampling humans. Burning them to cinders and crunching their bones to powder beneath my hooves. That’s what makes me whicker with happiness.
She noticed three arrow shafts sticking out from his flanks. He must’ve recently enjoyed such a tirade. Why do you hate humans?
They are beneath me, yet they wish to tame me.
Her fingers curled around the apple to feel the rough, sticky coating, then opened again. I don’t seek to tame you. I seek a partnership. I’ll take nothing you’re not willing to give. No arrows, no ropes, whips . . . no reins or saddles. Meet me halfway. Compromise tastes sweetest when offered by a friend’s hand.
His eyes sparked with a gentle flame. What does a Pegasus need with a friend?
A friend is loyal—a second defense against danger. I’ll be your eyes on the ground when you’re flying. I’ll be your ears when you’re too high to listen. And I’ll be your hands should you ever be trapped again.
He lifted his smoldering wings to their impressive span and took three steps until he loomed over her. You are no bigger than a speck of dust. Too small to be of any use.
Her whole body trembled now. She stiffened her bones to hide it. I’ve already proved my fierceness is a match for yours.
If you are so brave, then walk the final step toward me.
She stretched her arm out as far as it would go, forcing her hand not to shake. Sometimes it takes more courage to stay in place than to move. I’m standing my ground.
Her fingers lit up to that burning sensation that was almost unbearable.
Grunting, Scorch clopped forward, his smoky breath bridging the small space between them. His inscrutable gaze met hers. He arched his neck and nuzzled her fingertips until the agonized light faded, calmed by the contact.
Thank you. Cautiously, Stain lifted her free hand to scratch the soft place behind his right ear. His tail swished in contentment as his lips moved to nibble the sticky bits of apple on her palm.
She leaned closer, pressing forehead to forelock. Her long lashes caught on the wisps of mane that flopped down between his ears. It is as I told you, Scorch. Her thoughts were but a whisper. Friendship has many rewards. I can help with the arrows . . .
He broke loose and jerked his neck before galloping off into the trees. Stain smiled. Though her past still eluded her, her present no longer did. She had a friend and a family; she wouldn’t be alone in this journey.
Five years came and went, much slower than a wink of twilight in the day realm, or a blink of dawn in the night. Both Nerezeth and Eldoria kept to themselves, other than the exchange of imports and exports necessary for the welfare of their people and princess, respectively. Such trades were conducted at the base of Mount Astra, where a tunnel channeled through the burgeoning harvest of panacea roses and led down to Nerezeth’s iron gate.