Wings of Spring

Chapter Sixteen

Hanna

My mate's voice rapidly fades as the bond darkens once more. His voice rekindles the ember of hope burning in my chest, but it is not the only heat licking through my body. A groan escapes my throat as I shift my body into a more comfortable position and my wings jostle slightly. Just out of my reach, the ash splinters tug against the delicate membrane. The sensation sends another wave of burning through my body, but I ignore it.

The constant pain eats away at my physical strength. I note my Siphons have grown dull, but I do not panic. No emotion registers in my mind. The shadows of my cell dance and writhe, inching closer to me. Fear creeps into my heart as one of those dark tendrils wraps around my arm, pulling me forward.

I free fall into a pit of darkness, my repressed emotions begin churning and rolling around inside of me. Grief, hate, and... guilt. So much guilt. The guilt of ending that young Illyrian's life. The guilt of being unable to protect my adopted parents. And the guilt of...

I land in a dark hut. A low fire in the grate is my only source of light. My arms and legs are bound together. My wings... the ash splinters in them burn and burn and burn. The gag in my mouth catches any sound of my screaming.

The door flies open, revealing my uncle and two more Illyrian males. That horrid face breaks into a hideous smile at the sight of my tears. I flinch away from him, remembering the hours of torment as those calloused fingers slowly inserted a dozen splinters into the delicate membrane of my wings.

The males enter the shack and stare down appraisingly at me. The camp leader kneels down beside me, his foul breath tickling my face. "Normally, we would not cripple a female in such a way. We are not barbarians, you know. However, I think you deserve to suffer as much as you can for being such a naughty girl. Wouldn't you agree, niece?"

He motions to the other males. They grip me under the arms, dragging me to my feet. The movement sends more tears cascading down my face and wringing fresh screams from my throat. All three of them smirk at the sound. "Come, niece. Your mother is anxious to see you once more."

My eyes screw closed against the brightness of the sunlight bouncing from the snow. The rustle of many wings and whispered voices catch my attention. It seems every Illyrian in the war camp has gathered in the large clearing. My heart drops when I see my mother, bound and gagged, kneeling in the snow surrounded by several more males. My wrists cry out as I struggle against the bonds.

One of the males dragging me notices and slaps me across the back of my head. Stars swim in my vision at the impact, but I am held upright. The camp lord stops in the middle of the gathered crowd. I am thrown into the snow, my wings screaming at the rough movement. I lay in the freezing snow, savoring the coolness against the heat of my skin.

My mother moves towards me, but the sword to her throat freezes her. I am lifted to my knees to face my mother. Dried blood cakes the side of her face where a gash along her hairline has clotted. Her clothes are mere tatters, barely covering her... bruises of every size and color mark her face, arms, and chest. Hot anger boils inside of my gut at the sight.

"Two centuries ago, we were told that this female," he says pointing to my mother, " had lost her youngling while in the forest. We were made to believe she was worthy of our pity and sorrow. She mourned the loss of her unborn child, as did we all. I did not believe her, for if she had indeed miscarried, why would she not bring the body back?"

Some of the gathered warriors nod their agreement. "Why would she, knowing she bears a child of my bloodline, not bring the body back so we might give the child a proper burial? Why would she not allow her family to properly mourn the loss of a life? It wasn't until decades later that I found out the truth. The child lived. The child had been borne away by the bastard that calls himself our general."