Page 41 of The Hunchback

Something snapped inside me at the sight of the sword being brought to Phoebus. I was going to fake fainting to free myself of the generals’ hold when both imps attacked them, clawing their faces. Without thinking, I threw myself at my staff. It was lying on the ground, two meters away from me, where Phoebus had discarded it after ripping it out of my hand. My heart broke watching Victus get swiped by Arrius backhanding him, and Lazarus get zapped by a lightning blast from Magnus. Their little bodies flopped limply to the ground.

With a war cry, I spun around and struck Arrius twice with the end of my staff in quick succession. Although weaponless, he effortlessly blocked my blows with his forearms. Magnus grabbed me from behind, his huge arms around me immobilizing my own against my body. I threw my head back to head-butt him, but he, too, easily avoided my attack. Despite my combat training, I didn’t stand a chance against two of the greatest warriors of the Nine Circles.

In desperation, I called onto the Divine Light I had felt resurging within me. Before Phoebus struck him down, Kwazeem had been fueling it, enhancing me again as he had in the past. I had hoped to get it a bit stronger than the tiny spark it currently was for fear it would fizzle when I first attempted to reveal it. But there was no more time.

Invoking all the power that I could muster, I unleashed a blast of ergokinetic energy at Phoebus. With both hands busy, one holding Kwazeem up on his knees and the other wielding the sword, he couldn’t dodge or parry the attack. It hit him square in the chest. I didn’t know what I had expected, probably for him to stumble back the way Kwazeem had when Phoebus had struck him with a lightning bolt, but not what actually happened.

Phoebus stared stoically at his chest where coils of electricity slithered over his chiseled muscles before fading away. He looked back up at me, an odd expression on his face.

“You cannot harm an Elohim with Divine Light. We are made of it,” Phoebus deadpanned before turning his gaze back to Kwazeem.

“High Seraph!” Frollo called out just as I opened my mouth to plead for mercy now that my Light had returned. “My guards have informed me of what has occurred in my absence. I came back as soon as possible, but this proceeding had already begun. However, I and everyone else in attendance have just witnessed the Anointed Vestal Esmeralda use her Divine Light.”

I held my breath, realizing he was fighting for us.

“She has,” Phoebus conceded.

“It is common for Vestals to burn out after a Festival, which visibly is what happened in this instance,” Frollo continued cautiously. “This hybrid can therefore not be tried for defiling a Vestal as clearly that wasn’t the case. I also understand that he flew into Paris from the Godswood upon your demand. This means he didn’t violate the trespassing laws forbidding Fallen to enter the city.”

“That is also correct,” Phoebus said, his face unreadable.

Although a little groggy, the imps stirring back to life struck me as a sign that the tide was turning. The Praetor was getting through to him.

“The Vestal is free to mate with whom she pleases. As the city’s transport logs will show that she has previously traveled to the Godswood, likely to meet with him so that he wouldn’t violate our laws, I am not sure what he is being tried for. This man has committed no crime.”

“You’re right. He is innocent of any crime,” Phoebus said before his face hardened. “But I will finish what I have started.”

As if in slow motion, I watched him hold the sword tip down like a stake, and plunge it down into Kwazeem’s hump before ripping it open. My scream of horror mingled with my mate’s roar of agony. Kwazeem threw his head back, and stared at the heavens, mouth gaping before his eyes rolled back in his head. Through our link, a blast of divine energy knocked me to my knees. I yelled his name while staring numbly as blood and the silver fluid of his Divine Light poured from his back and pooled around him.

Through my eyes blurred by tears, I saw Phoebus hold Kwazeem’s head up by the chin, exposing his throat. In a last surge of despair, I shot back to my feet to try and keep him from slitting his throat only to be stopped once more by the wretched generals.

But, to my utter shock, rather than giving him the killing blow, Phoebus and the Archangel that had brought him the sword reached for something in Kwazeem’s back and yanked forcefully. My mate screamed again as dark wings matted in blood and silver essence protruded from his back, their tips held by the two Seraphs. Reaching in again, they yanked once more, pulling out a second pair of baby wings. This time, Kwazeem’s face, previously constricted with pain, dissolved in an expression of pure bliss.

I stood on wobbly legs, staring at him in disbelief. The generals released me at last, and I stumbled with uncertain feet towards my mate. Phoebus and his companions released Kwazeem who slumped while remaining in his kneeling position. Head bowed, hands dangling on each side of his body, he almost appeared asleep.

His stunted wings hung limply behind him, the white ermine duvet around his shoulders marking him as a Seraph, like Phoebus and his generals. My brain was struggling to assimilate what I had just witnessed, what it all meant. Falling to my knees before him, I cupped Kwazeem’s face in my hands and lifted his head up to look at him. He seemed groggy, but his smile was genuinely happy, peaceful.

“Chant to your mate, Anointed Vestal Esmeralda,” Phoebus said in a solemn voice. “Your Light will mend him and make him what he always should have been.”

I gaped at the High Seraph who didn’t wait for my answer before marching over to Frollo. The Praetor tensed but otherwise remained stoic.

“I know what you did,” Phoebus calmly said to the Praetor. “Why you felt so familiar. You knew.” Frollo didn’t answer but held the High Seraph’s gaze unflinchingly. “You will look after him in the temple until his wings are strong enough for him to fly to Elysium. We will deal with your indiscretion at a later time.”

With these words, he spread his double pair of dark wings and took flight, followed by his generals. The Angels and Archangels—all white-winged—stopped before us, bowed their heads to Kwazeem, and then flew in formation back to their floating city.

Kwazeem’s arms tightened around me, and his silver eyes began to glow with the Divine Light that had been trapped within him his whole life. My gaze locked with his, I began to Chant and watched his beautiful face take on a blissful expression. Lost in each other’s eyes, I barely noticed our little imps coming to cuddle on our lap.

* * *

The Chakra Ceremony didn’t take place the following day, or the following week. I had no interest in caring for the people who had so vocally wished a painful death for my mate. Anyway, my focus was on getting Kwazeem back up on his feet—literally.

My power had hurt Kwazeem in the past because it had tried to enhance what was trapped. Between my Chant and our link, his stunted wings grew at an exponential rate, to be as full and majestic as Phoebus’s—which made them terribly heavy. One pair would have been hard enough to handle, but two was a true nightmare. I felt horrible for the number of times I laughed at my poor mate toppling this way or that. The funniest had to be watching him walk bent forward as if he was fighting a strong wind, just to avoid falling on his ass.

However, it wasn’t just standing and walking that required relearning, but mastering this new weight distribution and balance while fighting, swimming, and blacksmithing. Sleeping also proved challenging for him. Worse still, he had to modify it each day as his wings continued to grow, taking up more space. Eventually, our favorite position ended up being yours truly lying on top of him with his wings wrapped around me like a blanket.

Shirts became a thing of the past for him, not that I minded the eye-candy. After years of living in hiding, it was difficult for Kwazeem to do the transition of walking around in broad daylight, his bluish-gray skin and scales exposed for the whole world to see. He didn’t realize just how beautiful he was. While his hump had never bothered me, I couldn’t deny loving how regal he looked now that he could stand straight, towering over us little people with his height of seven feet. Even Frollo looked dwarfed in my mate’s presence.

Whatever tensions had existed between the Praetor and me died that day on the plaza. We would never be friends, and I doubted I would ever genuinely like him, but an unbreakable bond would forever exist between us. Frollo wasn’t what I would call agoodman, but there was genuine kindness and loyalty in him. He had given a somewhat decent life to my mate for years, and tried to save him when others would have simply hid until the storm had passed. For that, he had earned my eternal gratitude.

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