David Dalglish - The Prison of Angels

“Do it,” Qurrah said, his raspy voice piercing the sudden quiet. “If you have no hat, then bow in respect.”

Tessanna stepped closer, closer, her hips swaying, her head tilted to one side, a soft smile on her lips.

“I like the sound of that,” she said, her dark eyes sweeping over them. “All of you. Kneel.”

From her back shot four long tendrils. They were thin, black, and looked like a sick mockery of butterfly wings. They curled around Gervis and the three men with him, pulling on their arms and sweeping out their feet to force them to the ground. Others in the tavern started, readying for a fight, but Qurrah pointed his fingers at them, his hands consumed by fire. His look was clear. The first to interfere would die horribly.

Tessanna slowly sank to her knees before Gervis, who was struggling against the black tendril hard enough to make his face swell red.

“Such a good storyteller,” she whispered, yet in the silence Qurrah could still hear her. “Such a funny man. But what do you know of me? Nothing. In your mind I am what you claim me to be.”

She slid closer, putting her lips inches away from his ear.

“So what do you want me to be? Do you want me to be your whore? Is that what you want?”

She lovingly rubbed his face, and her touch immediately ceased his struggling. His eyes were wide, and he looked so frightened he might pass out.

“But I’m not,” Tessanna whispered. “I’m not your whore. I’m not your joke. The prophet never touched me, do you understand? Never. Nor the demons, nor anyone else since I met my love. Find your laughs elsewhere, little man. Because if you don’t…”

She shifted to the side, then kissed his cheek. Her lips blackened his flesh, making it smoke as if she were branding him with a hot iron. He screamed, but her hand covered his mouth, her fingernails digging into his skin. After only a moment she pulled back, and his screaming ceased.

“If you don’t,” she said, and her eyes swept the tavern, “then I’ll fuck you like the whore you think I am. I’m fire, and we’ll see just how many of you burn.”

The tendrils released, retreating into her back. The men scattered, Gervis leading the way. Others watched, waiting to see if anything else would happen. Nothing did. Tessanna turned to Qurrah, and he saw the anger in her eyes slowly fading. The fire vanished from his hands and he rushed to her side.

“See we’re not disturbed,” he told the innkeeper, and based on the fear he saw in everyone’s eyes he didn’t think it too difficult a request.

Back in their room, Qurrah slammed the door shut, punched it with his fist.

“My brother the hero, the Godslayer, the steward,” Qurrah muttered. “And what are we? Traitors. Cowards. The great whores.”

He turned to see Tessanna sitting on the bed, her hands in her lap. She looked ashamed.

“I lied down there,” she said softly.

Qurrah frowned.

“Lied? About what?”

“About touching only you since I met you.”

Qurrah closed his eyes, told himself not do something stupid. She’d told him about Jerico and their single moment of weakness. Or had it been strength? It was something he never wanted to think about, to even remember having happened.

“You know I don’t blame you for it,” he said, putting his arms around her. “I’d put Velixar’s promises of power above you in my heart, and Jerico was there for comfort. I’m better than I was then. Right?”

She looked up at him, smiling despite her tears.

“So much better,” she said, kissing him.

He held her close.

“Don’t listen to what they say,” he said. “They’re ignorant fools.”

“But they hate us so much, and the stories they tell…they do it to make us less than what we were. Less human. More broken. We hurt them, and now they want to make us into monsters, demon-fucking monsters and heartless, slavering betrayers. But I don’t want to be that to them. I just want to be…me. But that will never happen, will it? Nothing I do will ever make them see me any other way.”

“That’s not true,” Qurrah said. “We could show them, we could help rebuild the world, help resolve their ire with the angels. It’s my fault for taking us away into hiding, for letting the stories grow unchecked. I’m sorry, Tess. I should have known better.”

She kissed his lips, then lay back on the bed.

“Qurrah?”

“Yes, Tess?”

She smiled sheepishly.

“I think I’m all right with using a disguise now, at least until we reach Harruq.”

Despite the exhaustion and stress of the day, Qurrah laughed.

Jessilynn lay before the fire, without the strength to sit up. Her arms and back ached tremendously, the result of another lengthy set of hours training while Sonowin rested from their flight. Her fingers felt raw, and the idea of pulling back her bowstring even one more time made her queasy. Staring up at the stars, she breathed in deeply, then let it out, trying to relax her sore muscles.

“I do not understand why you are so upset,” Dieredon said, sitting across from her, the lazy fire burning between them. He picked at the remains of a groundhog he’d shot and cooked sometime during the day. “I was told you were familiar with a bow. A few hours of practice should be nothing.”

“It’s not the time,” Jessilynn said, doing her best to not sound defensive. “Before it was just me. With you, it’s different. Every shot has to be…I don’t know how to explain. Every single one has to be right with you. Ten arrows with you feel like twenty on my own.”

“Patience,” she heard Dieredon say. “That is the reason. I’m teaching you patience, giving the bow a greater chance to work on you. Your body will adjust in time.”

Jessilynn closed her eyes and laughed despite herself.

“Is this one of those ‘pain is good for you’ lessons? Because I hated those whenever Jerico gave them.”

Dieredon chuckled. Silence came over them, broken occasionally by Sonowin’s nearby rustling as she grazed on the pale yellow grass of the Wedge. Slowly Jessilynn shifted so she lay on her back, close enough to feel the heat on her face as she stared into the fire. She caught Dieredon watching her, and she felt her heart quicken. She had slowly gotten used to the elf’s presence, but still there were times when she could hardly believe where she was. How long ago was it she’d been sleeping in a cramped bunk within the cold stone walls of the Citadel? Two weeks? Three?

“Why are you here?” Dieredon asked. The abruptness of the question caught Jessilynn off guard, and she looked up at him dumbfounded.

“To learn,” she said, believing that the safe answer.

“You know I ask for more than that. There is something burning in you, something driving you beyond others your age. I watched you in practice. That final hour you were clearly in pain, learning little because of your exhaustion. Yet still you continued, not once refusing my demand to loose another arrow.”

A bit of anger bubbled up Jessilynn’s stomach.

“You were testing me?” she asked.

“Of course. I am your teacher, after all. Now answer the question. What is driving you?”

She looked away, preferring to watch the flame consuming the many twigs, which Dieredon had showed her how to stack as to lengthen the life of the fire. Her neck blushed, and she bit her tongue. The answer wasn’t hard, but she felt embarrassed to admit it. Still, Dieredon’s eyes were upon her, and he seemed perfectly content to wait until she gave her answer. And if she refused, well, it wasn’t that far a flight for him to dump her off at the Citadel…

“I want to be like Jerico,” she blurted out when it seemed his patience was finally wearing thin.