Page 191 of The Shadow Wand

“Are you filled with guilt over your very existence?” Sylmire relentlessly presses on. “Repulsed by your wings simply because theEalaiontoriantells you to be?”

“Stop, please, I beg of you,” Wynter pleads, her whole body contracting into a devastated ball, tears slashing across her vision as birds fly toward her in a tweeting, chattering, screeching rush that she can barely hear over her storm of emotion as the verse from the Alfisgr holy book sounds in her head—

Lo, the Shining Ones will come to smite the evil wingeds and cleanse the earth of their depravity and sin.

“Don’t you ever wonder,” Sylmire rages on, clearly incensed on Wynter’s behalf, “why you can’t fly? Why you have no fire?” Her gaze turns incendiary. “It’s because they fed youliesabout yourself and stole your fire from you!”

“I don’t want to fly!”Wynter cries out fiercely as she’s choked with an overwhelming anguish and shame over her grotesque wings. Yearning to be what she can never be—a pure, wingless Alfsigr, her back unmarred. Wishing someone could take a knife and slice the wings from her back...

Shining Ones forgive me for my great sin.

Shining Ones forgive me for my great sin.

Shining Ones forgive me for my being born a monstrous Icaral.

“I’m cursed!” Wynter cries out, weeping in great, choking spasms. “One of the wretched ones! It would have been better if I had never been born!”

“Enough!”Queen Alkaia orders, immediately silencing the room as a red-tailed hawk, a small pygmy owl, and several starlings swoop onto Wynter’s shoulders, her lap, the edge of her wings and flood Wynter with their fierce affection.

Wynter looks to Sylmire as she hangs on to the tether of the birds’ collective adoration. The young Elf meets her gaze, all ferocity gone, the girl’s expression turned mournful, her own eyes now glazed with tears.

“Look around you,” Sylmire says to Wynter, her voice breaking with emotion. “You could have an army of falcons ready to do your bidding. All the wingeds in all of the lands ready to follow you into battle against Marcus Vogel.”

Before Wynter can respond, there’s a sudden jostling of curtains to the side of the Queen’s Council dais, then an explosion of fabric as an Icaral child flies into the room, her black wings flapping in a flurry of motion, bright excitement in four-year-old Pyrgomanche’s face as she makes straight for Alcippe and birds rustle excitedly, a contagious rush of avian joy shooting through the room.

“Muth’liAlcippe!” Pyrgo cries happily as Alcippe catches the child in her strong arms, a swirl of hummingbirds whirling around the child like a jeweled constellation.

Wynter takes in the slash of vicious burn scars, nearly healed, that obscure the runic tattoos on half of Alcippe’s pale rose face and neck. Healing burn scars mark the side of her arm as well, little Pyrgomanche prone to nightmares from the trauma she endured that causes her to burst into flame in response to both the nightmares and her fits of uncontrollable rage over losing her Gardnerian mother and being thrown in the Mages’ prison before being freed by Yvan and Elloren. Wynter and the Amaz Fire Fae all helped Alcippe care for the child on more than one occasion, as they have an immunity to fire whereas Alcippe does not. And the Amaz rune sorceresses have labored to mark Alcippe with runes to give her some immunity to fire and speed the healing of burns.

But no matter how many times Alcippe is burned by the Pyrgo, the huge warrior never once shrinks back from raising this child she’s developed a fierce parental love for.

A slight, teenage Elfhollen-Amaz girl rushes in behind Pyrgomanche, pausing to bow low before the queen. “I’m so sorry, Queen Mother. The child escaped me.”

Queen Alkaia holds up a bemused hand as birds fly about the room and assemble on the rafters above the child and around Wynter. “Sometimes the Goddess does not stand on convention,” Queen Alkaia tells the girl with a benevolent smile. “Sometimes she speaks to us through a child.”

The rustling of birds dies down, an emerald hummingbird lighting on Pyrgomanche’s shoulder as Pyrgo grins at the queen and hugs Alcippe tight.

“Come to me, child,” Queen Alkaia says warmly to Pyrgo, holding out wizened hands.

Pyrgo’s wings give an excited flutter, her smile widening with delight as she lets herself be passed from Alcippe to the queen and she falls into Queen Alkaia’s warm embrace.

After a moment the queen pulls back and looks closely at the child, beaming. “Tell me, Pyrgomanche,” she says. “Does the Goddess want you to diminish your fire?”

“No!” Pyrgo yells, answering the question she’s been asked many times by joyful rote, variations of these questions asked regularly to all Amaz children. Pyrgo glances searchingly at Alcippe, as if slightly abashed by how loudly she answered.

Queen Alkaia’s smile twitches up. “And tell me, child. Does the Goddess want you to lower your voice?”

Pyrgo grins. “No!” she shouts.

“Or hide your power?”

“No!”

“Or believe in lies about yourself?”

“NO!” The lastnocomes out in a roar.

Queen Alkaia’s head bobs with satisfaction. “And tell me, Pyrgomanche, does the Goddess want you to hide your wings?”

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