Page 4 of Seraph's Tears
I’d lived among humans long enough to know that while I could see her clearly, she would struggle to see more than my outline. My irritation rose at this intrusion, this necessary evil. My butler had been with me for forty years, back when I first purchased the estate. I needed privacy away from annoying humans. A place I could rest, recover, find a way home.
Fifty human years since my Fall, I had nothing to show for my search. No way to return home, no way to protect my sedge of warriors. A whole human’s adulthood. A huge fucking waste.
And now a new human stood in my house. A female human.
I avoided humans as much as I could.
She turned in a circle, squinting in, what was for her, dim light. Her bonnet listed to the side, revealing mousy brown hair and a high forehead, which wrinkled as she took in her environment. She appeared a little younger than thirty years old. The dingy gray dress hung off her frail form, leaving me wondering if she had any curves to speak of. Usually human women had more curves than the Silnzel River back home. I couldn’t tell the color of her eyes from up here, but—I didn’t care about her eyes. It didn’t matter to me what color her eyes were.
A new scent wafted up from the Great Hall, filling my nostrils. It was oddly appealing, making my muscles tense and even my cock twitch, which hadn’t happened in many years. What was this sorcery? Did the humans have a poison that worked on beings like me after all? We were nearly invincible to most human diseases and injuries.
I growled.
Down below she froze, then glanced upward. Again.
I stilled, not ready to reveal myself. Humans tended to react in one of two ways when they saw me: cower in fear or fall on their knees in worship. Both reactions disconcerted me, which was why I put up with the surly butler for so long, despite him being a terrible cook and gardener.
I was taking a great chance on a new servant. If she ran screaming, I couldn’t trap her here, but I also didn’t want rumors spreading to Lownden City of what creature lived on the moors. It was already hard enough to keep the villagers quiet. I would go without a servant altogether, but that would mean finding my own food and clothing. Much better to send a human servant to market instead of myself or one of my more friendly, impulsive sedgemates.
“Hello?” Her voice drifted up to the gallery like a melody. “Is anyone there?”
The spot in my chest ached again.
“Mr. Ser? Is that you?”
I ground my teeth in frustration. “I am here,” I declared, using my command voice to reach the full space of the Great Hall.
She flinched. Maybe I shouldn’t have used my field voice. “Do you, er, want me to come upstairs so we can speak? I’d like to know your schedule and eating habits.”
I snorted. “I will take care of myself. I expect this place to be gleaming in the sunlight. Not a trace of dust to be found.” There. That should keep her busy for a week or so. I’d deal with her again after that.
“Yes, sir.” She curtsied in that strange human dip I’d never understood. Her body swayed and her skirts spread, somehow graceful and feminine. It was strangely appealing. My wings tightened against my back and I closed my eyes against the image she made. She was alluring, and my body wanted to be near her.
Bah. I shook my head and turned away, seeking my solitary rooms. My footfalls were silent, even on the creaky, wooden-planked flooring.
The old Anglian manor reminded me of my family’s estate back home, and I had purchased it on a whim. The solitude of the place, beyond the old house, was its selling point for me. I had planned to use it as a base for my warriors as we searched for ways home. Fifty years later many of them had given up, flying to hide in corners of the earth to wait out their miserable existence until death found them.
I, old fool that I was, kept hoping that one day I’d lead my people home. I was a failure, but as long as blood still pumped in my veins and ayim still sprung from my heart, there was a chance I could redeem my honor. I had to try, even if it meant waiting until the next fissure erupted in the human sky. If only my magic still worked, perhaps I could accomplish something.
I entered my chambers, a full suite of rooms designed for the master of the demesne. Once inside, away from the strange, intoxicating scent that had invaded my Great Hall, I shook my head to free myself from these maudlin thoughts. My hair, grown shaggy since my days as a commander, hung around my face. I gritted my teeth, smoothing it back from my eyes, and stalked to face the longest wall in what used to be a sitting room. I’d had a huge map drawn across the whole wall many years ago. That was before, when several of my warriors still regularly visited me. One of my men was a talented artist, and although I’d only asked for a map of the human world, he’d somehow let his sorrow and yearning for our home slip through ink as he drew. Now whenever I looked at the cursed map, I only saw my dishonor sketched in color.
I had nothing left—not my magic, my command, or my honor.
As night fell, I grew restless. I thought of wandering the halls, but didn’t want to run into my new housekeeper. Meeting me unexpectedly in the dark might send her running for Lownden. Amongst my own people I was considered handsome. But humans were superstitious creatures, and they viewed anyone with wings as suspect. Back when we’d first Fallen, when we were still dazed and wounded and lost, we’d run into all sorts of humans: criminals, religious fanatics, and greedy bastards. We’d learned to bind our wings and hide under bulky cloaks if we had to go out—and always under the cover of darkness—to avoid any interactions with humans that could put us in danger or incite a mob due to how exotic we were to them.
I thought back to my first image of her: a woman standing alone in a darkened hall, the barest hints of light filtering down to reveal a stiff spine and square shoulders. A woman with a gentle voice and fraying frock. My hands clenched and my cock hardened.
Why did this image trouble me so?
I rubbed my chest with my fist, growling. I threw myself into bed without undressing, hoping I could fall asleep into oblivion, letting another night pass.
I twisted and turned on the battlesky, a shield in one hand and a sword in my other. “To me, good seraphim! To me!” My throat was raw from screaming. A blood red sky dripped upon us as my sedge whirled to miss the weapons thrown at us. A fellow warrior dropped from the sky, a bolt piercing his chest. Blood dripped from his mouth as he plummeted with a cry. One of my men lurched in the sky, reaching for him, only to have his left wing sheared of its primary feathers by the enemies’ fire.
“Get back!” I roared. My sword flashed high and I gathered my storm magic, ready to hurl it at the enemy.
The sky shook around us, throwing all combatants off-balance. Our wings flapped against a sudden gust of wind. Before I could charge into enemy lines while they, too, lost control of their precision, something black and jagged split the heavens in half. It was like an earthquake in the sky.
Daniel, a warrior under my command nearest me, turned and shouted something at me, eyes wide with disbelief. Magic sparked at his fingertips, then fizzled out.
