Caprion's Wings (18 page)

Caprion’s eyes darkened. He held Moss
protectively. “You’ll have to take her from my dead hands,” he
growled.

“Then we will,” a deep baritone
replied, echoing down the corridor.

Caprion recognized the voice, of
course, and experienced a surge of anger. Sumas stood behind the
band of soldiers. They stood aside, allowing their captain to pass.
As he neared, Caprion’s anger grew.

Sumas paused a few meters away, now at
the fore of the group of soldiers. He smiled coldly. His brother
appeared broad and lethal in the dark corridor, lit by the glow of
his wings. “Go on. Give me a reason to kill you. Then what will
happen to your precious little slave?”

Caprion grimaced at Sumas’ words. His
brother was right; if he died, Moss would be left to a terrible
fate. His eyes darted around the soldiers. Eight in front, three
behind. Too many to fight, especially with Moss in his arms. He
didn’t want to set her down. If a soldier grabbed her….

“You knew I would come for her,”
Caprion said softly.

Sumas sneered. “Not quite, but I hoped
you would. Now the Matriarch has all the evidence she needs. You’re
a traitor. A sympathizer. You’ll be imprisoned for this. Executed,
if I have my way.”

Caprion gritted his teeth. He hated
his brother so much in that moment, he wanted to crush his throat.
“Why?” he growled.

“What?” Sumas asked, and raised a
mocking brow.

“Why are you doing this?” Caprion
seethed.

Sumas let out a bark of a
laugh. He seemed to forget the soldiers behind him. He glared at
Caprion in malice. “Why?” he demanded, as though it were the most
apparent thing in the world. “
Why?
Because you’re my shameful, useless little
brother—a coward and a traitor to our people! And the One Star
chooses you?
You,
over me? You don’t deserve wings, never mind those of a
seraphim!” Sumas thrust an accusing finger at him. “How many times
has our mother wept for you? How many times did you disappoint her?
How many times have you failed?” His voice rose in outrage. “And
yet she favors you! She weeps for you,
and
yet she favors you,
her weak little
bird!”

Caprion’s face flushed. Words of
denial pressed his lips. No, his mother always bragged about Sumas,
always encouraged him, always took his side. Each time Caprion
failed his Singing, his mother would cry for days on end, and now
they couldn’t even speak to one another. But perhaps that was the
key. Perhaps Sumas hated her sorrow. Or, strangely, perhaps he
coveted it. Perhaps he saw her distress as a sign of greater
love.

His brother spoke again in a fierce
tone. “And now the Matriarch has taken notice of you. Now she wants
you by her side. No, you don’t deserve that. I’ve worked hard for
my rank and status, and I will take your head gladly. And then I’ll
make sure that little slave dies a long, tortured
death.”

Caprion stood in silence, too furious
to speak. His body vibrated with anger, his arms shaking. He wanted
to wipe that look off Sumas’ face. He wanted to bring his brother
to his knees.

Sumas smirked. “What’s that, little
brother? Lost your voice?”

“Get out of my way,” Caprion
growled.

Sumas laughed. “And you think I’ll
just stand aside?”

“Yes,” Caprion said, his voice thick
with rage. He felt his Song swell inside of him, pushing for
release. His wings unfurled at his back, growing brighter,
stronger. “Stand down!” The words burst from his throat in a hoarse
shout, ringing about the corridor with unexpected force. The stone
shuddered.

Sumas’ eyes widened. His balance
wavered.

“I said,
stand down!
” Caprion
roared.

Cracks split the floor, spreading to
Sumas’ feet. He gasped. His sword rattled from his hands and Sumas
fell to the ground, crashing to his knees. Blood trickled from his
ears, his nose, and his lips.

The rest of the soldiers stared in
shock. They stepped back as one.

Caprion walked forward purposefully.
The power of his Song thrummed within him, fueled by a bright,
clear anger that glowed like a torch. He paused by Sumas’ cringing
body and looked down at him. “If she dies,” he said coldly, his
voice ringing with command, “you shall take your own
life.”

Sumas coughed up blood.

Then Caprion kept walking, using his
wings as a shield to push the soldiers aside. They stepped out of
his way, hesitating, looking back at their fallen captain. A few
followed Caprion down the corridor, maintaining a safe
distance.

Caprion strode purposefully, still
seething. The light of his wings guided him through the earthen
tunnels into the cavernous practice chamber, then toward the land
above. Moss remained quiet in his arms, perhaps unconscious, but he
couldn’t be certain. He carried Moss from the caves and flew with
her to the surface of the island, landing gently in the grass
amidst the shadestones, beneath the shadow of Fury Rock. Not even
the salty, moist ocean breeze caused her to stir.

The soldiers followed. They hung back
awkwardly, reluctant to attack. Caprion stood silently in the
grass, considering Moss in his arms and the ocean before him. He
needed to carry her over that wide, blue expanse, but the journey
could take several days, and he didn’t think she would survive the
cold, or the lack of food. He didn’t know how many small islands
lay between here and the mainland. She needed to rest and recover
in a safe place.

Damn,
he thought darkly. He had been too furious, too desperate to
reach Moss’s side. He should have planned this better. Sumas would
come for him soon, and once the Matriarch discovered his
transgressions….

Too late.

He felt the Matriarch’s vibration long
before he saw her. Her cool, sweet tone washed over his skin,
calming him, easing the tension in his shoulders. Her vibration
carried a noticeable weight, that of age and experience.

She arrived with Warden Dahlia by her
side and four elite soldiers, captains older than himself, who had
served in the army far longer than Sumas. The captains flanked her,
two on each side, their faces grim and unflinching under their
helmets. Their wings, on average, spread to fifteen feet. The rest
of their troops fanned out around the clearing.

“There!” he heard Warden Dahlia say.
The cruel woman had a slight smirk around her lips. “Just as I told
you. He went after the slave as we expected.” The warden looked
around the clearing. “Where is Sumas?”

Caprion glared. “Why don’t you find
out?” he called.

Dahlia looked at him for a moment,
then to Moss. Her face grew tight and pale. Without a word, she
leapt into the skies and flew toward the dungeons, racing to find
Sumas. Caprion watched her go. Sumas had laid a cunning little
trap. He was caught red-handed without a word in his defense. His
options seemed bleaker by the minute.

“Caprion,” the Matriarch said, drawing
his attention. “Come with me.”

He looked at her suspiciously. “And if
I refuse?”

She nodded to the soldiers behind him.
“Then you will die, and many others, I expect. This is not a fight
you wish to have. Come with me.”

“What for?” Caprion asked.

“To speak,” she said. Her lips
twitched. “I wish to understand you. Perhaps we can find some sort
of middle ground. An agreement.” Her eyes did not stray once to
Moss.

Caprion hesitated. The
urge to fight burned strong within him, but part of him felt keenly
out of depth. A day ago, he had been an outcast, weaker than most
in the city. Now he faced down the Matriarch, his wings spread
behind him, barely able to control his own power. It almost made
his head spin.
I’m not a
bully
, he thought.
I’m not a warrior
. No, he was a
fledgling confronted by more changes than he knew how to handle. He
didn’t want to fight against his own people, but he needed to save
Moss. Perhaps the Matriarch could offer a solution.

Perhaps he could trust her. Perhaps
she would hear him out.

“No harm comes to the girl,” he said,
indicating Moss in his arms.

The Matriarch nodded
briefly.

“
Then I will come,”
Caprion said.

The Matriarch looked satisfied. With a
wave of her hand, she dismissed the soldiers at his back. “Return
to your posts,” she ordered. “Tell Captain Sumas to come to my
chambers when he is able.” Then she turned, her guards moving with
her in perfect unison.

Chapter 11

The Matriarch kept a public audience
chamber in the city of Asterion, but her personal dwelling was a
much smaller temple tucked away in the thick forest, surrounded by
a high stone wall, only accessible by flight. It stood slightly to
the north of the Singing Chamber, which towered in the distance, a
large hill thrusting over a dark ocean of trees. Full night had
fallen and a vast net of stars stretched across the sky.

Caprion followed the Matriarch and her
soldiers. They landed just inside the temple walls in a stone
courtyard. Vines clung to the thick limestone walls and emerald
moss caked the ground. The Matriarch waited for Caprion to land,
then led him through a tall archway into a second courtyard.
Caprion followed warily, noting the worn stone and overgrown
plants. They entered a lush, tangled garden dotted with small white
and purple flowers, all wildly intertwined. Exotic herbs encircled
the pathway. Clumps of jasmine clung to the walls and small fruit
trees hid in the corners, all buried in mounds of soft
clover.

They passed through the garden to a
large set of gold plated double-doors. The soldiers opened them and
waited as he and the Matriarch entered the temple. Marble columns
stood on either side, studded with sunstones. A long hallway made
of gleaming, white rock rolled out before him. Caprion carried Moss
behind the Matriarch, holding her protectively. He didn’t like the
soldiers at his back, nor the heavy weight of the doors as they
closed behind him. He could feel their eyes on him, their hands
resting close to their weapons.

His queen led him through the long
hallway to a small wooden door on the left side. She unlocked the
door and opened it, revealing a wide room. The floor was white
marble covered in light blue rugs. He saw several couches, chaises
and chairs. A large, empty fireplace stood to one side and
bookshelves lines the walls. A golden harp stood in one corner. The
Matriarch’s study.

She pointed to a chaise next to a
large window overlooking the wild garden. “Cover it with a sheet,”
she ordered. One of her soldiers picked up a large blanket from a
nearby chair, then spread it over the chaise. The Matriarch nodded
to it. “Set the girl down,” she said. “Try not to get her blood on
the cushions.”

Caprion hesitated.

His queen gave him an arch look. “Do
you plan to hold her forever? Set her down, Caprion. She will not
be moved.”

He still felt uncertain. He didn’t
trust the soldiers in the room, despite the Matriarch’s intentions.
“Dismiss your guards,” he said.

The Matriarch studied him for a
moment, then waved her hand. The guards saluted, then turned and
left, gliding out the door in quick succession. Once they were
gone, Caprion laid Moss gently upon the chaise. He noted the
fragile rise and fall of her breath. Sleeping, but for how long?
Would she worsen over time? What if she developed a fever? He felt
completely inadequate. A seraphim, and he couldn’t even look after
a child.

When he turned back to the Matriarch,
he found her watching him curiously. She crossed her arms in
thought. “Quite an uproar you’ve caused these last two days,” she
said, her tone casual, almost friendly, much different than before.
“The Madrigal told me of your difficulty with the Singing. If I had
been awake, I might have known the signs. The One Star moves
mysteriously, and we cannot always anticipate these
things.”

Caprion frowned. He didn’t
quite trust her amicable tone. Why had she brought him here?
Time to find out,
he
thought grimly. He was tired of games.

“What do you want with me?” he asked
directly.

The Matriarch appraised him with her
eyes. “Frankly, I want you on my side,” she said. “It has been
centuries since the last seraphim manifested, not since the very
end of the War. I didn’t think I would ever see one again. Now here
you are, yet I find your interaction with the Sixth Race deeply
disturbing.” She paused delicately. “Though it is not so unusual, I
suppose, for a seraphim to become obsessed with the Sixth Race. You
are made to kill them. It is in your nature. You feel a certain
connection to them, and you’re right. You are their
destroyer.”

Caprion gritted his teeth,
immediately rejecting her words.
No.
When he thought of Moss, every
fiber of his being wanted to protect her. He was not her
destroyer—he could never hurt the girl. He wanted desperately to
see her safe.