Page 32 of Seraph's Tears
I used to assume that, if I married, it would be to someone within my echelon, as the laws dictated. In Aerie, would a human even rank in the order at all, or would they be considered one of the wingless outcasts?
It doesn’t matter. I’m not in Aerie, I’m not even on Rundis. It doesn’t matter anymore. Those thoughts that had once been a weight around my neck suddenly became like a soft breeze, lifting my heart like the wind would lift my wings. I grinned. It doesn’t matter anymore.
The draft shifted, and I knew she stood below, watching me. The endless wind swept her scent up to me, tickling my senses. It was warm and soft and sweet, like her.
I groaned. Even the air conspired against me.
Sighing in resignation, I tucked my wings inward and let myself drift toward the earth. I looked down at the last second.
Eve stood, her skirts whipping about her, revealing the luscious shape of her legs. One hand shielded her eyes from the wind, but even from this vantage I could feel her gaze on me.
A ridiculous, adolescent urge to preen, to flash my feathers and catch what sunlight I could burst through me—something I hadn’t felt in decades. My muscles tensed, and I forced my body to hover above her. If I landed I’d do something stupid, like kiss her again.
“That’s so lovely.” Her wistful expression struck me right in the chest, which throbbed again. It was growing more painful, only ceasing when I was near her, it seemed. “I wish I had wings.”
“Maybe I’ll take you flying one day.” The words were out of my mouth before I could temper them. My mental image of her in my arms, her warm body snug against mine, her arms draped about my neck, was almost more than I could bear. My wings faltered a beat and my cock lengthened in my trousers.
Her eyes sparkled and the delight that spread across her face made her incandescently beautiful. “I would love that. To see the world from above? I imagine all your problems must fade away.”
She’d said something like that before. Was she running from something? She’d already said her community was quite strict and not many women left. Sometimes, in the stories she’d tell me, I could sense holes she carefully trotted around, little secrets she wanted to hide from me.
I had my own secrets, so I could hardly begrudge her. But it still made my feathers ruffle. Especially if it was something I could help with—I wished she would trust me.
“There’s a path through the moors over there.” I pointed across the tall, brown grass above the gentle slopes of hills. “Up to one of the crags. It’s higher than it looks.” The path appeared treacherous from the air. The slope of the land and the heather disguised many twists and turns, even crevices in the rock. It likely wasn’t safe to travel alone, especially if you’d never done it before. “The view of heather in bloom from the air is a special sight. Perhaps when the sun returns I can take you to the top of the cliff.”
She smiled, tucking a strand of wayward hair behind her ear. “I’d love that.”
I nodded and flew away, toward a gable on the roof. I didn’t realize I was smiling until I’d landed on the shingles, my mouth spread so wide my cheeks ached.
What was I going to do with her? I couldn’t bear to think of her leaving, but I also didn’t see how anything was possible between us. Keeping her seemed a recipe for disaster. And, of course, she might choose to find employment elsewhere eventually. My heart panged at the thought.
“One day at a time,” I murmured to myself, repeating the refrain I’d spoken for nearly all fifty years since I’d landed in this strange world. “I’ll survive this one day at a time.”
Eve
I dumped the filthy water onto the cold ground and took that moment to stretch. I’d decided to wash the outside portion of the oriel today. It was getting clean enough to see what the whole image was—or rather, each panel. The lower shapes were green and blue, so I guessed it was a pastoral scene. Brown seemed to make up most of the middle two panels, so perhaps a building.
The sun burst from the clouds, warming my face. I tilted my face upward and sighed in relief. The clouds and wind were relentless now it was late December. Any beam of sunshine was to be treasured.
Gabriel had swooped and soared around Mirkwold most of the morning. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was like one of my grandmother’s cats—creatures who wanted to be near you, but didn’t want to admit it, and so therefore sat on the other side of the room.
Surely he wasn’t like that, though. He was a seraph. A mighty being with abilities I didn’t understand.
But he was gone now. We’d spoken briefly, over my small lunch, about when he wanted his friends—sedge, he still called them—to gather together again. It sounded like it had been over a decade since they’d all been in one place. Or—as much as they could be. I could see the grief in Gabriel’s eyes whenever he talked about his second in command who’d vanished while trying to cross the ocean.
I didn’t ask more questions because it was clearly a painful topic, but I didn’t understand how a seraph could perish like that. They could fly for hours upon hours before growing tired, and surely Daniel had been smart enough to plot out a course with islands to rest. If there was a storm, he could’ve flown above the clouds. The only thing I could think of was perhaps he’d been shot down by someone who thought he was a strange bird of prey.
The clouds rolled across the sky, and the scent of loam and soil reached me.
I was tired, and I’d had dreams of Zorababel catching me last night. It made me restless and uneasy, even in the light of day.
I’d leave when the oriel was clean, and it was growing cleaner by the day. My little pile of preserves grew piece by piece. My stomach was in knots as I imagined freedom might be in my grasp, but my heart ached at leaving Gabriel and Mirkwold behind. When I tossed and turned, I tried to think of how to draft my farewell letter without making it illegible with my tears.
Gabriel had mentioned a beautiful overlook, and I needed to do something.
I wiped my hands on my apron and began walking the direction he had pointed the other day. It was a pleasant walk, and I was grateful to use my legs instead of my arms. I stumbled into a rut at one point, where the heather had grown over the path. “Whoops,” I muttered under my breath, flailing until I righted myself.
My ankle twinged, but I kept walking. The slope had appeared gentle from the bottom, but now it was punishing. I had to wind around boulders, down into crags, and then higher and higher still. Good grief, was this a mountain?
