Page 32 of The Surrender

The sight of all four kings entering the treehouse village prompts high-pitched whistles, trills, and chirps. A thrill leaps in my stomach when more and more people issue out of their homes. Many even sweep down from the upper levels, flapping wings and shedding feathers so they may sink to their knees.

Aside from all the bird-like anatomy, the first thing I notice has my chest lurching, and my feet straying closer to the first line of villagers. When Kyan makes no move to stop me, I pick up my skirts and tear forward. The feathery tresses flutter behind me, and however colorful the plumage of everyone here, I am the only one adorned in gold...and angel wings.

Excitement hums in my blood while tears clot my throat from the deep, longing ache in my chest. The image of the baby bones in the ice caverns glimmers in my vision, but it can’t darken the sight before me.

As soon as I arrive at the ragged edge of bird beaks, Kyan raises his voice to thunder through the trees, “You may rise!”

Eager for a new feeling, a first beginning, I thread my yearning fingers. By now, the tears have formed a veil in my eyes as I gaze upon a few women before me. They blink their beady eyes, reminding me of stars twinkling. And why wouldn’t they be glowing? With such little ones in their arms!

“Quinny...” Kyan says softly with a tender touch to the small of my back.

I wouldn’t need to see the lowering of heads and trembling feathers to know the other kings are behind me. But I’m too preoccupied with the few inches of distance between myself and the tiny bird baby in the woman’s arms. A beautiful blend of mousy brown and pale blue feathers covers the infant’s skin, but they are far more fluff. The same tufts of fluff cover the edges of his ears, but other than that and the small, flightless wings, the baby’s features are human. Glowing, chubby cheeks with freckles! Huge, round eyes of deep blue with lashes as fine as gossamer! Those lashes blink as the babe regards me with curiosity. But it lasts for a mere few moments before he turns his head and rubs it against his mother’s feather-cowled neck.

“Quinny?” Kyan prompts again, cupping my shoulder this time.

“It’s...it’s a baby. Babies!” I gesture around the village where countless mothers move about with little ones held to their chests by fabric slings.

“Have you not held a child in all your years?” Mayce wonders, straying closer to my side.

Drago and Merikh are the most imposing of my four boys, so I’m grateful they’ve kept their dangerous shadows behind us. No need to alarm the poor mothers more than they already are. A fleeting thought has me wondering if they would have rushed to hide their babies, but they are far more intrigued by my presence. It’s not lost on me how their eyes roam along my figure, settling upon the seraph feathers and saint seals.

Tears escape the corners of my eyes, wrenching me back to Mayce’s question, which seemed but an echo on the wind. I shake my head and say, “In the Borderlands...I was not permitted because...” I lift my arms, gilded by silk and lace. My skin tingles while my blood pulses with life now, but my empty palms with their ink-clad scars are enough to speak of my numb history.

“One time, I healed a mother shortly after she’d given birth. She offered because she didn’t know, but I couldn’t—” My voice cracks as I share the memory, remembering how much my arms had ached to hold the babe. I was too terrified of dropping the child. So, I ran out of the house as quickly as I could and left my father lashing out at the husband, haggling over payment for the blood I shed to heal her.

Firm knuckles brush my cheek, but I can’t bring myself to lift my chin to meet Kyan’s gaze. The baby gurgles. His chubby fingers play with his mother’s cowl while she keeps nudging him as if hoping he’ll stop.

“Mother Gwynara,” Kyan addresses the woman before me, and my belly flutters from him knowing her name. Does he have them all memorized?

I meet Gwynara’s sharp eyes. She turns down her beak at me, and my hopes deflate in my chest even before Kyan follows with, “Will you surrender your child for a few precious moments to honor your future queen?”

Heat floods my chest at the pronouncement. While I may be their unofficial queen in private, the knowledge of Kyan’s faith in me strips the breath from my lungs. My knees wobble.

“No, my lord. I beg your forgiveness, but no.”

The words feel like a blade skewering my heart. A whimper lodges in my throat as Gwynara wraps her child tighter into her sling, lowers her head in a bow, and offers, “I must return to my home to feed him.”

At first, hope has me lifting my shoulders and dismissing her refusal as simply her need to feed the babe. After all, he was rubbing his face into her chest and biting at her cowl. But hope proves far more harrowing when several more mothers clutch their babies to their chests, hiding them in their bosoms. They all offer respectful bows before turning away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Kyan’s wings tightening while his jaw hardens. But I know the fallen angel. He would never harm any of these mothers, much less tear a child from their arms to appease me. And I’d sooner drink poison than accept.

My stomach knots from dread and confusion while the villagers return to their daily lives. My limbs give out, and I collapse against Kyan, who wraps his wings around my back, cocooning me inside them.

“Quinny dear. Oh, if I could have spared you this!” he sighs against the top of my head and binds his arms around me as I shudder against him.

I sniff and rub my head against his chest, feeling far more like a baby bird. This is silly. It’s not as if I’m bleeding or in mortal danger. Carrying on this way over such a small wound...“I shouldn’t be—”

Merikh is the one who growls behind me, his chilled breath skittering close to my ear and sending fear to congeal my bloodstream. “Hold your tongue, little dove. Those words do not exist when we have seen who you are.”

Drago rumbles his agreement while finding my wrist beyond Kyan’s wings. “You should know by now, Tessie, never to hide from us.”

“The Waste is a cold and desolate place,” Mayce echoes off to the side, offering far more with his rationality. “And the people of the Court of Storms have not had such a blessed experience with its queens. And you have waltzed in wearing their long-lost heritage. Take that as no fault of your own. They do not understand...yet. The gray of distrust is the most common emotion here. And you, little queen, are blessed and cursed with showing the full spectrum of your colors to shame their very plumage.”

More tears fall because all I can think of is that moment I ran. And how I’d be called to heal so many pregnant or birthing mothers—the most common for my vym. Each time it happened, and my father shook his pouch of clinking coins, he’d quip about how I’d fill his purse while my womb would remain forever unfilled.

Kyan raises his hands from my waist to cup my face and stroke my tears. But as soon as I stare into his dilated pupils and catch that telltale smirk, I know the lilting croon is coming.

“Poor little spirit moth. She cannot fly with wings so bent from our storm. Will our darkness break her and snuff out her light forever?”

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