Page 52 of Court of Twisted Angels

Mother's eyes drift closed as the last drops pass her lips. I set the empty vial aside, watching intently for any change. The silence in the room feels heavy enough to touch.

Seconds stretch into minutes. The herb bundles hanging from the ceiling beams cast strange shadows in the crystal light. Mother's breathing remains shallow, her skin still carrying that sickly grey pallor. My wings twitch with nervous energy, sending ripples through the air that make the crystal lights dance.

"How long?" Father's voice barely carries across the room.

"The apothecary said..." I swallow hard, remembering the xaphan's cold smile as he handed over the medicine. "He said we would know within days if it worked."

Mother's fingers tighten around mine. We wait.

The next morning,Mother's skin feels cooler under my touch as I change her compress. The fever that's plagued her for months has begun to retreat. Tiny sparks of magic dance between her fingers as her natural connection to the elements starts flowing again.

"The tea," she whispers, pointing to the ceramic pot steeping on the windowsill. Meadowmint leaves swirl in the golden liquid, releasing their healing properties into the water. I pour her a cup, supporting her head as she drinks.

"Your wings catch the light so beautifully," she murmurs between sips. "Like moonbeams on water."

I flex them unconsciously, sending ripples of silver light across the bedroom walls. The motion dislodges a dried lavender bundle hanging from the ceiling beam. Its purple blossoms scatter across the quilt, filling the air with their soothing scent.

By the third day, Mother sits up on her own. She stays awake for hours, talking to us, and the whole family sits to hear me recount the trials.

"Help me to the garden," she says on the fourth morning. I steady her as she walks, her steps growing stronger with each passing hour. The protection ward above our door pulses brighter as we pass beneath it, responding to her renewed energy.

In the small courtyard behind our house, Mother's herb garden has started to revive. The withered plants straighten and unfurl their leaves as she approaches, responding to her presence like flowers turning toward the sun. She kneels carefully in the soil, pressing her palms against the earth. Magic flows from her fingers into the roots, and fresh green shoots push through the dirt.

"The plants remember," she says, smiling as mint and thyme spread new tendrils across the garden bed. "They just needed a reminder to grow."

I watch her work, my wings curved protectively around us both. The weight of worry that's sat heavy in my chest for so long finally begins to lift, like morning mist burning away in sunlight.

By the fifth day, she is up each morning and more than eager to meet my soul bound today. I am all too eager to see him, starting to feel sick from being away from him for so long. The thought almost makes me laugh, but it's true.

I smooth my dress nervously as Azrael ducks through our low doorway, his magnificent white wings folding tight against his back. The golden threads in his formal xaphan attire catch the light from our humble crystal lamps, making him seem to glow.

"Mother, Father... this is Azrael." My voice wavers slightly. "He helped me through the trials." I swallow hard. "Now, we are soul bound."

Father's brow furrows as he takes Azrael in. Mother sets down her cup of meadowmint tea, her keen eyes taking in every detail of the imposing xaphan who fills our small sitting room.

"You're the one who trained my daughter?" Father's voice carries an edge.

Azrael inclines his head, somehow managing to look regal even in our cramped space. "I saw her potential. Her determination to save you," he nods to Mother, "impressed me."

"And what do you want in return?" Father's hand strays to the protection ward carved into our doorframe.

"Father-" I start, but Azrael's cool voice cuts through.

"Nothing." His ice-blue eyes meet Father's steadily. "I fell in love with Kyrie. Now, all I want is to see her safe and happy."

Mother rises slowly from her chair, still regaining her strength. She approaches Azrael without fear, studying his wings, then mine. "They match," she observes softly. "Like moonlight and starlight."

"A rare occurrence," Azrael admits. "When a human earns their wings, they usually take on common colors. But Kyrie..."His voice softens when he says my name. "She proved exceptional in many ways."

Mira emerges from the kitchen with a fresh pot of tea, nearly dropping it when she sees how Azrael's wings brush our ceiling. But she recovers quickly, pouring him a cup with trembling hands.

"Thank you." His formal manner gentles as he accepts the cup. Mira's eyes go wide at being addressed directly by a xaphan.

"So, Azrael?" Mother asks, settling back in her chair. "Tell us about you. I want to hear all about your family and how you met Kyrie."

I tense, but Azrael's hand finds mine, his touch steady and grounding. His wing shifts to brush against mine - a gesture of support that sends tingles down my spine.

And with him, I remember I never have to do anything alone again.

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