A Court of Wings and Fate

10. Unforseen Infuriants

One of the shadows drifted up to her ear. Handsome, it whispered. Estelle felt its attention focusing on the way his curly hair dusted his brow, in particular. She swatted the shadow away, drawing Aesira.

"I don't think I want that nickname to stick, Feathers," Estelle remarked.

"You started it."

"Hm. Did you want to train or play the Blame Game?" So much for apologizing. Already, she was feeling irritated.

"Can't we do both?" Mikael drew his own sword and cast the sheath aside. Estelle eyed his golden blade discreetly. It was well made and far more intricate than Aesira, but her blade was made from Illyrian steel. No blades topped that.

Estelle took up her favored starting position. Mikael fell into its counterpart. They sprang at each other and their swords locked with a satisfying ring. "You owe me an apology," Estelle hissed.

"You first." Mikael whirled behind her, flaring out his feathered wings. Sunlight glanced off the ivory quills, reflecting in Estelle's eyes. Shadows flocked to her aid, shielding her from the brightness.

"Neat trick. You must clean your feathers regularly to keep them so white."

"Peregryn wings require more upkeep than Illyrian. Wet feathers make it hard to fly. Dirty feathers cause dry skin and itchiness."

"Do you molt?" Estelle raised an eyebrow.

"Occasionally," Mikael replied with a shrug. "It's more common in younger Peregryns, since their wings are constantly growing. It becomes less frequent the older we get."

"Disgusting."

"Your wings are disgusting."

"Oh?" Estelle slammed Aesira against Mikael's sword. "How so? Our wings are more durable than yours. Water doesn't affect our flying at all. Dirt can easily be cleaned off and doesn't usually cause rashes."

Mikael pushed her back and rolled beneath her next attack. He sprang up, landing a blow in between her wings. Estelle gasped, whirling to catch his next strike.

"That may be so, but Peregryn wings are more physically appealing." He fluffed out his feathers, as though proving his point. "Yours are the thing of nightmares. All your scars, the way your bones and tendons are visible, all of the veins..."

"At least my wings don't shed stinking feathers all over the place!"

Their swords locked again. "Not to mention," Mikael grunted as she pushed him back a few paces, "those of you with clipped wings."

There was a cold spark of anger in her gut. "Choose your next words carefully, Feathers," she snarled. "I'm supposed to be making friends with you and that's proving very difficult."

"Clipped wings are a testament to Illyrian cruelty. I've read all about it, and I see very few females in your group whose wings aren't clipped. It's usually done to deter a female from becoming a warrior or fleeing her home. It's to make her submissive and weak. Sometimes, it's done as a punishment."

Estelle glared at Mikael, shadows swathing the planes of her face in darkness. "Which makes me wonder why someone as mouthy as you doesn't have her wings clipped," he finished.

Estelle shoved him back, but Mikael dropped low, sweeping her legs. She hit the dirt with a grunt. Aesira fell from her grasp. Mikael bent over her, his own brown eyes reflecting her anger.

"Do you think that's what I deserve?" She rasped. "Do your books tell you what it's like, not being able to fly? Being stuck on the ground when your heart tells you to reach for the stars? Do your books tell you the process involved in clipping someone's wings? Did you study my scars enough to determine what caused them?"

She pushed herself to her feet, grabbing her sword. "You have no idea what you're talking about," Estelle snapped. "So I suggest you stop. You wanted an apology? That's too bad. You've lost your chance to get one."

"So have you."

Estelle stormed out of the ring, gripping Aesira's hilt hard enough to whiten her knuckles. If Rhys thought she could learn to get along with Mikael, he was sorely mistaken. She could never learn to work with someone so infuriating. She wouldn't.

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Mikael stared after Estelle's receding figure, letting his anger abate. He hadn't meant to pick another fight with her. It just...happened. He combed his fingers through his hair with an exasperated sigh.

It shouldn't be this hard. I should have just apologized to her first. I didn't need to say those things about Illyrian wings, or about clipping them. He swallowed hard, guilt threatening to seize him. Mikael stamped it down. I'll give her time to cool down and then I'll apologize. I really will.

Unless he walked himself into another argument. The odds of that happening seemed higher than him actually apologizing. Nyx entered the ring, catching his attention. The male's eyes were simmering with dark anger.

"You shouldn't have said that to Estelle," he growled.

"I know."

"Then why did you?"

"I..." Mikael hesitated. "I don't know."

They squared off and began to train hand to hand, weapons sheathed. "Estelle has seen a lot of females have their wings clipped," Nyx said. "And it's not a pretty sight. We do what we can to stop it, but sometimes, our efforts aren't enough. Illyrians are stubborn. They don't want things to change any more than they already have. Some of them will do anything to stop progress."

"Estelle has been fighting her entire life to be treated as an equal by her fellow warriors. You want to be her friend? Gain her trust and respect? Start by respecting her. You said you were a scholar. Scholars learn from people, not just books. And most scholars don't use their knowledge to hurt someone."

Mikael didn't reply. He sensed there was something else on Nyx's mind, something he wasn't saying. Nyx landed a solid blow against his shoulder, driving him back. The Illyrian leapt and spun midair, snapping his wings out. The impact sent Mikael tumbling backwards. He rolled before managing to catch himself. Nyx was already leaving the ring.

Great, Mikael huffed to himself. Piss off one of them, piss off all of them. He picked himself up and left the ring. Mikael hovered near one of the gear shacks, attempting to catch his breath.

He started as something cool and featherlight wrapped around his arm. He lifted it and saw a shadow clinging him. Mikael shook his arm and the shadow tightened its hold. He knit his brows in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" He murmured. "I thought shadows shared their Shadowsinger's thoughts and feelings. Aren't you supposed to be mad at me?"

He brushed his finger over the strange creature. It slid onto his finger. "She'll know you're gone, won't she?" The shadow slunk up his finger and the length of his arm, then coiled atop his shoulder. Mikael smiled, watching it curiously. "If you're not leaving, at least stay out of sight. We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong idea, and I shouldn't upset Estelle any more than I already have."

The shadow seemed to understand as it crept into his hair and disappeared from sight. Mikael shuddered at the unfamiliar feeling. He patted his head. He couldn't tell where the shadow was beneath his hair, but he could feel it moving. How could Estelle tolerate so many of these strange creatures crawling all over her?

An idea sparked at the thought. Nyx had said he needed to respect her if he wanted to gain her respect. He also said that scholars learned from people, not just books. He was right.

Mikael would start respecting Estelle by respecting her knowledge. He would learn more from an Illyrian Shadowsinger herself than he would learn from reading ten thousand books anyway. The shadow dangled out of his hair and tickled his forehead, as though offering its approval towards his plan.