Page 35 of Those Fatal Flowers

“Why should I believe you?”

“If you don’t let me help you, you’ll die. Even if you do, you might die still.” Raidne’s favorite sentiment rings in my ears: Why offer these men hope if there is none to be found here?

The man lowers his weapon, but he doesn’t release me.

“Where’s the rest of my crew?” he barks. His voice is rough, as if the sound is passing through sand before it finally crosses over his lips.

“They all drowned, except for you.”

A garbled cry escapes from the back of his throat. It cracks mid-release and hangs in the air between us. The sound, revealing his dehydration, makes me wince.

“That must be difficult to hear, but you’re in danger here. Let me bring you somewhere safer, and then I’ll get you something to drink.”

The promise of water breaks him. He relents and climbs off me, but he doesn’t offer to help me stand. If I were making a list of offenses, this would be his second: first the attack, followed by a serious lack of manners. My jaw clenches. He’s not making a good case for me to save him.

Gods, what am I doing?

I pull myself to my feet, brushing the dirt from my body. When I look at him, he’s staring, a mixture of horror and awe.

Under his scrutiny, I’m desperate for my aging body. Maybe then he wouldn’t be gawking so openly, though it’s not the human parts of me that he’s having trouble reconciling. It’s the feathered legs, the talons of a hawk, and the incredible wings that adorn my back.

I can almost hear his thoughts, for he wears them so readily in his stunned expression:Is she the same as a human woman, between her legs?

It’s a look I’ve seen before.

My wings spread instinctively, but they don’t fit within thenarrow width of the cave. At their full span, they’re twice his height. Still, he stumbles backward, recognizing this display for what it is: A sign of dominance. A warning. “Are you ready?”

I give him a moment to process my question. In conjunction with my appearance, it takes him longer than I prefer, but he eventually concedes with a nod.

“Good. Come,” I say as I brush past him. He can barely stand; he must have used most of his remaining strength to tackle me to the ground. But I don’t help him. He shuffles along behind me, cursing under his breath. Outside, the beach spreads before us, and beyond it, a thin stretch of sea holds the faces of Rotunda and Castle illuminated red in the fiery blaze of dawn.

“See that island across the way? The one lower to the horizon without the crown of rocks?”

Another bob of the head for yes.

“I have to carry you there.”

I don’t give him time to react; he should be thankful forthe warning. Without a word, I spread my wings wide and take to the air. We don’t have much time before the rest of the dawn comes spilling over the border between sea and sky, before Raidne and Pisinoe return to the wreck.

My talons slice into the linen shirt near his shoulders, and I’m careful not to slip my razor-sharp claws into his flesh. My sudden closeness elicits a terrified gasp. I relish it.

His shirt tears as I lift him from the ground. The flimsy brown fabric can’t support his weight, and his body sinks inside of it, like a turtle retreating into its shell. When we’re well off the ground, I release him just long enough to encircle my talons around his arms instead of through them. My claws itch to tear into his skin, but I force myself to maintain a loose grip. Any more wounds will kill him, and I can’t risk his death until I know what he’s for.

He makes a variety of sounds as we fly: deep groans, rapid bursts of cursing andoh-oh-ohs,and even soft whimpers as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. Thankfully, the trip isn’t long. I set him down gently onto Rotunda’s eastern beach a few minutes later. The small isle is entirely shrouded in trees, which makes it the ideal spot for hiding him. This sandy haven is the only island in our little archipelago that doesn’t feature staggering, unscalable cliff faces. Our little home is visible from here, a silhouette perched upon Scopuli’s highest crest with the blazing sun rising behind it.

“We have to get to the other side of the island. It’s not far, and I can carry you if you’d prefer, but you must be quiet—”

“No!” the man shouts up at me, shielding his body with raised hands. “I can walk!”

I can’t help myself—the sight of him like that, with his eyes wide, his arms arranged in a defensive posture, brings a laugh to my lips, and I disregard my own demand for silenceas I touch my toes to the sand and begin toward the tree line. To my surprise, he follows without arguing. The trees on Rotunda aren’t as high as Scopuli’s. They barely cover the tops of our heads, and we duck to avoid the low-hanging limbs. Katydids blare the final moments of their nocturnal song all around us, but the sailor doesn’t notice.

“Here we are,” I announce as we emerge into a clearing. It sits on Rotunda’s westernmost edge. The sea is visible again through the tangled tree trunks, and the sound of the waves mingles with the bugs’ softening chorus. There’s a small lean-to overlooking the beach, as well as an old singed firepit encircled with stones.

Very early in our exile, we discovered that a different sailor had washed ashore here. He must have instinctively known to hide from the watchful eye of Scopuli, but a poorly timed afternoon fire gave away his secret.

We, in turn, gave him to Ceres.

I take the water bladder from my hip and hand it to the man, fulfilling my earlier promise, but he gulps the liquid down with such a ferocity that most of it doesn’t make it into his mouth at all. It spills over the sides of his parched lips and rolls down his face.

---