Page 7 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
In the far corner, three round tables with tall stools allow my customers to exchange stories, while the bar counter separates the front area from the kitchenette. Shelves cluttered with glass vials and mismatched jars line the walls.
The flames crackle softly, the only sound in the room besides my uneven breaths, until Percy slams the door shut behind me. “Blimey! You swore—you swore you wouldn’t use too much magic?—”
I shrug off his scalding tone, sliding down to press my forehead to the cold wood, then rolling to my side, my world spinning. “Didn’t you see ‘almost being mauled to death’ in the schedule? You’re slipping, my friend.”
He lands on my thigh, his arms braced on his tiny hips. “I would’ve noticed if you’d added something as meaningful as a botched suicide attempt into my planner.”
I grin, desperately holding back a chuckle as Percy starts healing my wounds. Laughing is agony when your intestines arethreatening to spill out of your abdomen, but the sting quickly wanes.
Percy’s a great healer, the one power I’ve always failed at. Healing, whether myself or others, from cuts and scrapes or a broken heart, is beyond me. Percy fixes what I destroy, and it’s always been that way. My loyal Faeling excels at what I do worst by divine irony. The only skill we share is our flippant, sarcastic, and downright mental sense of humor, but I can see his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“You almost did it this time. Almost came home in too dire a state for me to fix.” A heavy sigh whistles through his lungs. “Is that what you want? For our story to end like this, in a dark corner of the new world, forgotten by most and reviled by the rest?”
“Reviled? Are you trying to cheer me up or finish me off?”
Now, he laughs, pleased with himself, and my chest warms at the sight.
“Don’t lose faith,diamatay,” he murmurs.
In his language, it means more than friend. More than family. More than heart.
“I’m exhausted, Percy. If I can’t use my magic, what am I good for?”
He fixes the torn flap of muscles and skin next to the Mark of the Gods until only a faint web of silvery scar remains and wraps his hands around the tip of my index finger, giving it a heartfelt squeeze. “Anything you set your mind to,diamantay. Anything at all.”
I fight back the pesky tears again. I don’t do tears. Never. But as Percy pieces me back together, I wonder, how much longer can I go on when I’m only scraps of what I was before? Banished from my home. Unable to use my abilities. Forced to hide in a world that has no use for me.
Percy’s vibrant bite of power dulls, but he still tugs on my jacket to access the gash in my arm. The blood makes the fabric cling to my skin, and I clench my jaw, steeling myself against the pain as I peel it off, discarding the shredded jacket to the side.
Percy fusses, his iridescent wings sagging against his back as he takes stock of the long, deep zigzagging cut running from my wrist to the underside of my arm. He’s pale, his skin almost gray in the light of dawn.
"I’m good. This isn’t fatal by any means." I crawl to a seat, testing the newly healed muscles of my abdomen. I’m pleasantly surprised to find everything in perfect order. "You can get to it later."
"I’m not finished," he insists. "You’re still bleeding."
I arch a brow, daring him to fight me on this when he’s clearly on the verge of collapse. "But you’re exhausted."
“It’s my job to make you whole,diamantay,” he says in a breathy, almost desperate rasp.
The corners of my lips curl up, and I give my oldest friend—my forever family—a resigned chuckle to ease his sorrow. “Oh, Perce. You know I haven’t been whole in decades.”
“I know.” He hovers near my arm. “It’s killing me that I can’t do the one thing I was born to do. But I can fix those cuts. Stop the bleeding. Let me at least do that.”
I draw a sharp inhale at how emotional he sounds. “Alright, you can heal this one, but the leg will have to wait.”
He inclines his head in agreement and lands on my arm, his boots leaving prints in the half-dried blood staining it. I track his movements closely. The span of his hand barely covers the width of the cut, so it takes him a minute. He shouldn’t be so hard on himself. No one could fix me as I am now. The gashes in my spirit, my soul, run deeper than cupid claws could hope to reach. I chew on my bottom lip and wait for my Faeling to finish,watching for signs of further exhaustion on his part, ready to catch him if he falls.
“There. Good.” He nods to himself, a bit of life returning to his cheeks.
“Thank you, Perce.” I move to stand, but the blood loss dizzies me for a moment, so I brace myself against the wall at my back. Despite Percy’s incredible work, I’ll need a bit of time to adjust.
He takes one dark look at me and steals my cell phone from the pocket of my destroyed leather jacket.
I raise a hand in warning. “Don’t you dare call Mabel?—”
“I’m calling Mabel.”
“Percival Arthur Batten, you leave that phone alone!” I growl, infusing the order with as much power as I can muster, still leaning against the wall not to collapse.
