Stain coughed in the smoky aftermath, her body aching again. She welcomed the pain; it meant she was solid, alive. Scrambling to her feet, bag in hand, she positioned herself behind Scorch.
The Pegasus’s powerful muscles twitched, though he listed toward his left wing where it dragged the ground. The other wing, healthy and strong, thudded, stirring gusts that fed the sparks in his mane and tail until they flickered bright as torches. Damaged as he was, there was no question he would be the victor. Shrouds were nothing more than darkness incarnate. Scorch—with his flame and wind—was their enemy inasmuch as shade fled from sunlight.
With a low, grunting nicker, he ignited the tangled roots leading to the circle of trees, setting trunks and limbs ablaze. The shrouds wailed and sank beneath the ground where the moss and ash protected them.
“You want to know who you are, girl?” The mother shroud was submerged up to the waist within the gray powder as she slowly descended the way of her children. “We tasted your fate, beneath your flesh. You are riches and poverty. Life and death. You are more and less than you ever dreamed. But you have challenges yet to face. In the end, you will have to prove hard enough to wrap yourself in spikes, yet tender enough to walk amongst stars without crushing their fragile legs. You will need to have hair of steel and tears of stone. Only then will you find your true self again.” Her head disappeared into the ground, the ash funneling in her wake.
Panting, Stain could do nothing but stare at the blank spot where the creature vanished. Possessing Stain’s body must have given the mother insight, for she had recognized Stain as a girl. Did that mean all her riddles were true? Steel hair. Stone tears. Wearing spikes and wading through stars? How could such things be in anyone’s future?
Scorch whickered, the equivalent of clearing his throat.
Stain looked up. Thank you . . . and I’m sorry.
The Pegasus puffed a cloud of smoke in answer.
They stood there, surrounded by firelight and cracking wood.
She wanted to hug him for his timeliness—for saving her—but he was too proud for such emotional frippery.
What foolishness led you here? he asked, flicking his tail in an annoyed gesture.
I thought you had stumbled into their trap.
You should’ve known better.
How? You wouldn’t answer me! Shutting your mind to mine gave my thoughts a wide vastness in which to wander.
He stomped a hoof, managing to look majestic in the process. You came here for something more. The creature said you were seeking yourself. What did she mean?
Stain disclosed all she’d endured today after they parted ways—how she’d been betrayed by those she considered family.
I told you. You can never trust humankind.
Stain’s fingers clenched tighter around her bag’s straps. She’d known better than to expect sympathy. But I am humankind, yes? Or am I something else?
You are like me. A rare peculiarity. Covert as the wind. Unidentifiable. Forfeit and untamed. I came into this place like you. I awoke here in a ring of smoke and flame. If there was anything before that, I remember none of it. The difference is I embraced this oblivion as a benefit and moved on without looking back.
What? This time, Stain stomped a foot. For her, the gesture was much less elegant as she winced against the throbs shooting through her shredded toes. You always said you didn’t wish to speak of your past. Not that you couldn’t remember.
I don’t wish to speak of it. It bores me. I don’t need family. I don’t need history. I simply need to be. In the moment, living and free.
The heat and smoke swelling around them burned Stain’s eyes. But I do need those things. And you knew that. If nothing else, it would’ve helped me not feel so alone.
I’m on your doorstep each day. Waiting for you. Walking, flying, running with you. I am your cure for loneliness and all the family that you, in your weak humanness, will ever require. Am I not?
Stain wanted to argue, but in all their years together, this was the closest he’d come to admitting affection for her. There was a proverb she’d once heard . . . something about not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Since she could never seem to make this particular horse understand the human side of things—that being family should mean more than playing together and having adventures, that there was the expectation of sentiments spoken in earnest, hugs and kisses given freely, and aid offered without bargains—she shrugged, the closest she’d come to agreeing with him outright.
Good. Now that you’re done pitying your lack of self, let us leave this place before the Shroud Collective returns. His dark eyes reflected the holocaust. Once the tree trunks extinguished, the flames would find no other kindling along the barren ground.
Scorch did an about-face, and Stain followed where his wounded wing dragged a path through the ash. She took the incline in silence, wordless and riddled with confusing thoughts. Who was the marked princess the creatures spoke of? And did Luce help with that girl’s escape like he had hers? Why had Stain been wearing an Eldorian page boy’s clothes when dropped here?
So deep in her musing, she barely noticed they’d reached the top. No wayfaring puddles had crossed them, deterred by the scent of charbroiled wood and smoke.
The Pegasus’s hooves clopped onto the onyx pathway. He paused and bent his glossy black neck, waiting for Stain to catch up. His eyes scolded her the moment her foot met the trail.
She clenched her teeth. I know, I owe you a service.
He huffed through his nostrils and shook his mane in a nod.
In the dim light, Stain caught sight of the molten blood dried upon the hinge of his beautiful feathered wing. Let me start by treating your wound.
She reached into her bag, pushing aside the ravager’s knife to find the ointment. The knife’s handle poked out and Scorch nudged her hand away to lift the blade between his teeth. He dropped it at her feet with a clatter.
This is all you need to treat me. Only by draining the Night Ravager of his blood will my wing be healed. You will repay your debt by helping me see him dead.
18
The Beauteous, the Beastly, and the Bewitched
The way to the fishing tarn was mostly deserted when Scorch and Stain took to the lofties. Stain had unrolled and tied her bandages into one long, sturdy strip. After wetting it for fireproofing, she’d wrapped the length around Scorch’s back and belly to bind his limp wing in place along his rib cage. When she finished, it folded against his side like the healthy wing did naturally for easier maneuvering through trees and thickets. Stain also insisted on using the ointment, although Scorch deemed it a waste, as it wouldn’t help him fly.
It was hard watching him stay grounded; he almost always flew in this tallest part of the forest. And if it was hard for her to watch him, she could only imagine how difficult it was being him. She would’ve chosen another route, but they needed to avoid her home.
Stain wasn’t ready to encounter her guardians yet. She had plans to storm the threshold later and drop the shroud’s riddles at their feet. By having bits of truth to reason with, by demonstrating her need to know herself—a desperation so profound she had faced the collective alone—she hoped to shock and shame Crony and Luce into confessing the rest.
This had to wait, though, as she had a service to fulfill. A service that made her stomach wobbly. She watched her boots trudge through the ash. Just a few hours earlier, she was contemplating recompense for Scorch’s wounds. But now, after having faced her own near death, she reconsidered.
Distracted, Stain barely looked up in time to see Toothless Edith and Dregs leaving the Wayward Tavern a short distance ahead. Scorch’s every muscle tensed beside her.
Hide behind the brambles there, she insisted, giving his chest a nudge. He grunted, but obliged.
Her acquaintances were in rare form. Dregs walked tall as any man with the pedestal shoes that matched his hat, escorting Edith, who was dressed as fine as any lady in a velvety gown Stain had never seen. She’d pulled her hair into a bun and even had lipstick in place. She spoke loudly to Dregs, no longer seeming to care about her lisp.
“Thain!” Edith hollered. The old woman waved a lace hanky Stain’s direction. “Beth trade I ever did make!” She had the mirror in her other hand, keeping it turned on herself as she spoke. Tilting her head, she admired her face, her features blissful if not beauteous.
Dregs spun in his high heels. “I second that, and tip my hat.” He tapped the felt brim that shaded his bulbous eyes. “My booth is at your disposal, should you ever have another proposal.”
Stain nodded a thank-you and hoped they’d be on their way.