Read Online Caprion's Wings by T. L. Shreffler - Free Book Online Page B

excuse for failing his
Singing. The demon was only a ghost story, after all. And if he
admitted to sneaking into the dungeons and speaking with a slave,
he might be imprisoned for treason. His trespass would not be taken
lightly.
    Florentine might listen, but he knew
she would turn to the Madrigal first, and they would want to
consult the Matriarch before taking action. He wished that were
possible, but the Matriarch wouldn’t wake up for another few days.
Somehow he felt the pressure of losing time, like a silent
hourglass sucking away the minutes. He couldn’t wait on this; he
needed to take action now. Once he left the underground prisons, he
knew he wouldn’t be able to return.
    “I need to seek out this voice,” he
finally concluded.
    The girl’s eyes widened, her
assassin’s mask completely forgotten. “That would be very foolish.
Whatever is speaking to you isn’t human in the slightest. I would
stay far away from it.”
    “I only mean to confront it,” he said.
“Not to fight it. And certainly not to help it.”
    “Demons are deceptive,” she said
quietly. “And it’s unusual that you can hear it. You’d do better to
leave it alone.”
    No, he thought immediately. The word leapt from his heart,
vanquishing his doubt. He had played the coward before, bowing down
the Sumas, acquiescing, obeying the rules of others. But he
couldn’t do that now. No, I can’t let
myself fall. I have to stand my ground….
    And in that second, an immense
stillness washed through him, like the silence before a great
symphony. In his mind, he suddenly stood on the edge of Fury Rock,
the ground solid beneath him. The crevasse lay before him. Iron
courage rose unbidden from his heart; his throat swelled with a
Song summoned deep from his chest. It pressed against his ribs, an
immutable chorus not yet realized. He didn’t know this Song, and
yet it seemed born within him, staunching his fear.
    No, he wouldn’t be pushed from that
ledge—he would leap for his wings, and he would take
them.
    He looked at the girl. He realized he
was smiling.
    “What?” she asked, watching him
curiously.
    He didn’t know how to answer, didn’t
truly understand it himself, but somehow this young, fettered slave
had set him free.
    “Do you have a name?” he asked
softly.
    She shook her head. Of course,
children of the Sixth Race were born without names. They had to
earn them through combat, a custom that seemed needlessly cold.
“Then what shall I call you?” he asked.
    “Whatever you’d like, I
suppose,” she said. “In the Hive, they called me savant. But they call
everyone that.” She hesitated, then looked away.
    “I don’t think it suits you,” he
replied, observing her wide, slanting eyes and dark
hair.
    She glanced up at him
strangely.
    “I think I’ll call you Moss,” he
said.
    “Moss….” she echoed, trying the name
on her tongue. “It’s not very fierce.”
    Emboldened, he reached out and touched
her lightly on the nose. “For your eyes,” he said. “And your
darkness. Moss can only grow in shade.”
    She smiled at him then, quick and
sudden, like a bird taking wing. “I like that,” she
said.
    “Will you help me find this voice?” he
asked. “I’ll need the light of your sunstone, and your knowledge
about the demon.”
    Moss thought for a moment. “But…” she
said slowly, almost sadly, “I like you without wings.”
    Something about her tone softened him.
He touched her again on the arm, drawing her gaze back to his.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly. No one had ever told him that
before. “I wish I could stay longer, but I am running out of time.
It doesn’t seem right to leave you here. Let’s make a deal.” He
knew it was a foolish thing to do—more than foolish—but the
softness in his heart drove him to it. He couldn’t leave a small
child in this place.
    As he spoke, he said the same words
deep within himself, lacing his promise with the power of Song.
“Help me find my wings, and I