Obsidian Thornwing's Arc

Chapter 8 of 18

The owlbear moved off into the ferns. Sylvara stayed by the door. Obsidian sat on the threshold with his sword across his knees and watched the sky darken above the red mushroom cap of her cabin. His injured wing hung at his back, stiff and heavy. She knelt beside him and set her hand on the joint where feather met skin. "May I?" she asked. "Yes." Her palm warmed. He felt the bone knit the last of its cracks. Then something else moved under her touch. A slow pull, deeper than healing. He looked at her. She looked back and did not blink. "Hold still," she said. The pain left his shoulder. In its place came a light he could see without turning. He stretched the wing. The black feathers he had carried his whole life were gone. Pale blue feathers spread from shoulder to tip, the color of sky before dawn. The other wing followed. He flexed both. They answered him. He stared at her. "What did you do." "I didn't choose it," she said. "It chose us." "Us." "When a fairy bonds, the mark shows. Yours showed on your wings." She rested her forehead against his. "It can't be undone." He thought of every guard who had eyed his black wings and decided about him before he opened his mouth. He thought of the mirror he had stopped using. He lifted one blue wing into the last light. It caught the light and threw it back. "Good," he said. Sylvara's mouth trembled once, then settled. She kissed him. He kissed her back and held the kiss until his legs remembered they could hold him. He stood. His knee took the weight. She let him. A small green shape slipped from the brush. A lynx no bigger than a hound, its coat dotted with pale glowing spots. It padded to Sylvara and pressed against her calf. She scratched under its jaw. "You have a lot of things," Obsidian said. "I told you." Hooves broke a branch on the trail. Obsidian raised the sword. Sylvara set two fingers on his wrist and shook her head. Iron Riven pushed through the ferns in his green hood. He held a folded paper in one hand and a drawn blade in the other. His eyes went to the blue wings and stopped. "Nephew," Iron said. He sheathed the blade. "The Ridge got your letter. The falcon reached the muster. Your braid stands. They'll expect you north in two days." Obsidian took the paper. The royal guard seal was pressed clean into the wax. Reassured. Held. "Two days," he said. "Two days," Iron said. He looked at Sylvara. Then at the blue wings. He did not soften. "You'll ride north as a captain. But you won't ride alone anymore. Decide what that means before you go." Iron turned and walked back toward the trail. The lynx watched him leave. Obsidian folded the paper and slid it into his belt.