Diaspor Aspenwind's Arc

Chapter 11 of 11

Diaspor pulled his golden sword from the hunter's body and stepped back from the willow roots. His own blood ran warm down his side. He pressed a hand to the wound and turned to walk away. The hunt was over. He could go south now, find a healer, find the council, confess. He took one step. Then another. The forest behind him began to hum. He turned. The falconbees were coming, not in a scattered panic but in a tight, ordered cloud. They poured down through the lavender branches and settled over the dead woman's body. They wove themselves across her in layers, wings and striped bodies knitting tight, until her shape was hidden under a dark velvet shroud of pressed petals and humming wings. He waited for them to break apart and fly. They did not. One falconbee lifted from the shroud. It carried something in its legs — a small wheel of gold and lavender that had hung at the dead woman's throat, etched with looping symbols, faintly glowing. The bee flew straight to him. The rest of the swarm rose with it and began to circle. They did not sting. They did not dive. They orbited him slowly, patient, choosing. He stood very still in his pale yellow and lavender, blond hair stuck to his face with blood, and watched the small gold wheel hover near his chest like it was waiting to be worn. He did not take it. He turned his sword in his hand and walked. The swarm followed, the wheel-bearer at its heart, matching his pace through the trees. He had killed their master and they had answered by choosing him. The hunt was not over. It had only changed hands. He walked south with a crown of wings he had not asked for, and understood he would have to find a way to break them before he could ever confess.