Page 3 of Unfinished

R'kash held his breath, forcing a silent prayer upon his mind to keep his rattle from waking. He could feel the vibrations begin to rumble through his throat, but his aggression wouldn’t help the girl. R'kash extended his arm, turning his hand to offer her his palm.

She looked at his hand for several moments before that fraught tension seemed to vanish, and her thin shoulders slumped as her wings slid down against her back. Her fingertips brushed the sensitive scales of his palm before she looked up at his face again.

“Veesha,” she said. “Veesha.”

She snatched her fingers back and hid them behind her back, eyes fixed down as if she found the pattern of the bricks intensely interesting. R'kash suppressed the urge to pat her shoulder or settle his hand over her crown feathers.

“How old is she?” he asked, looking over at the older man who was already backing away towards the flyer. “Who was her mother?”

The man began to run. His behavior was so unexpected, that it took R'kash a moment to react. By the time he’d lifted his robes and began to chase after him, the man was already leaping inside the open door of the flyer. R'kash reached for the side of the hatch before it closed, gripping it hard as the aircraft started to shift forward.

When the flyer lifted abruptly from the ground with no sign of stopping, R'kash let go and jumped. Unlike the child below, he was wingless. He could’ve pulled himself aboard the flyer, but he needed the man’s answers far less than the little girl who’d been left behind needed his presence.

He felt the impact through the thin soles of his sandals as his feet hit the bricks of the white way. When he turned back, the child was watching him with those wide, sunset deep eyes.

He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

* * *

“She won’t speak.She’s hiding in the lower courtyard gardens.”

R’kash looked up from his desk. Jesthi stood in the doorway. He’d entered without bothering to ask for leave, and his hands clenched and twisted amid the folds of his robes as he waited for R’kash to speak.

“I thought I told you to find a room for the child,” he replied. His fingers itched to continue his work on the active viewscreen in front of him. “I’m searching for information on her mother. She should be in the records from Ivanni.”

“Ivanni? That was your home temple, wasn’t it?” asked Jesthi.

“That was where I did my advanced training under High Priest Ehviss.” R’kash didn’t elaborate.

“You believe she’s yours? The male who abandoned her didn’t name a specific priest as her sire. It could have been any of us—we’re all unmated males of breeding age.”

R’kash let his elbows rest on the edge of the desk and slid his hands over his crown feathers, giving them a little tug, needing the brief bite of pain as he pulled them. “The child has wings. Tell me, Jesthi, have any of you ever seen a winged lady in all of Evathi’s territory? I believe you would remember even better if you’d serviced one,” he added in a lower voice, half hoping his friend wouldn’t hear.

Jesthi seemed to grow a little gray beneath his bronze scales. “And you have, brother?”

R’kash let his teeth push into the fullness of his lower lip. If he weren’t careful, he’d pierce himself with his own fangs. There hadn’t been many women who’d requested his services in that way, but he also hadn’t been in a position to turn any of them away. Not then. There was no question that he remembered. When he’d first seen her waiting beside the door to his quarters, leaning against the railing overlooking the city, he hadn’t believed she was real with her green-tipped, black wing-feathers that’d skimmed the curve of her hips, that’d made her bronze scales seem to gleam even brighter amid the last vivid flares of a sinking sun. Such fantastic creatures weren’t supposed to exist in the north, but she’d been as real as the child who now concealed herself in his lower courtyard, even if she’d given him even less than her name.

“R’kash—are you well? Did you know the mother?”

He lifted his arms off the desk and sat back, straightening his neck and composing himself. His disordered breathing must have revealed to Jesthi how affected he was. “No better than we know any of them, but yes, I believe I remember her. I’m almost positive the child is mine. A simple med-scan should confirm it.”

He’d rarely caught Jesthi looking so stunned. His normally verbose friend and assistant parted his lips as if he would speak, but no sound followed. R’kash allowed himself a low hiss of amusement as he rose from his seat and walked towards the other priest.

“Come, take me to the child. A med-scan would be prudent in any case, and if I am her sire, I owe her my personal attention.”

He could practically hear the questions that Jesthi didn’t voice, but he didn’t want to discuss the matter further. R’kash was the first to walk through the half open door to his chambers, and he didn’t look back to make sure Jesthi followed—he could hear the swish and drag of both of their robes, the soft slap of sandals on stone, and he knew Jesthi would never abandon him.

“Do they ever come here?” He wondered if Jesthi would make him explain himself, or whether their minds were as closely aligned as he often felt. “Would it have even been possible that the child was one of yours?”

He wasn’t sure why he asked. Whichever way the answer landed, it wouldn’t change anything.

Jesthi’s swallowed hiss preceded his words. “Evathi is remote. You know this.” They turned a corner, and R’kash could see the ramps leading down to the main floor ahead. “Such visits have been few, but it was not…impossible. There could be a child of my blood out there somewhere.”

“Have you ever wished for more? For something different?”

“R’kash?” Jesthi’s voice faltered, and when R’kash strode toward the first ramp, his own footfalls were the only ones he heard.

R’kash turned back. “What is it?”

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