Just before landing, he’d flared the previously unused appendages and managed to slow his momentum. He’d crawled away with a shattered arm and leg, broken ribs, a punctured lung and a fractured ankle. Eventually, he’d healed—and he’d next jumped on purpose. He’d been addicted to the feel of the breeze on his skin, in his hair, and had craved more.
Now, in the present, he dived headfirst. The air slapped at him, and he had to swallow his whoop of satisfaction. The freedom … the slight edge of danger … the rush of warmth and strength … He would never get enough. Just before impact, he straightened and leveled out, his wings catching the current. He landed softly, his feet already in motion.
One step, two, three, annnd he was a mile into the forest. Not because he was fast—though he was—but because he could do something his mother and the other Sent Ones he’d seen could not. He could move from one place to another with only a thought.
He’d discovered the ability a few months ago. At first, he’d only been able to whisk a yard, then two, but every day he managed to go a little farther than before. All he had to do was calm his emotions and concentrate.
At last he reached the stretch of wildflowers he’d found the last time he’d broken the rules and left the palace. He plucked the prettiest from the ground, the petals the perfect shade of lavender, reminding him of his mother’s eyes. He brought them to his nose, sniffed. The mouthwatering aroma of coconut clung to him, and his grin returned.
If Cornelia asked where he’d gotten the bouquet, well, he would tell her the truth. He refused to lie, even to save himself from a punishment. Not only because other Sent Ones could taste when another being lied—unlike him—but also because lies were the language of the demons, and demons were almost as evil as his father.
His mother would appreciate Koldo’s honesty. Surely.
Hands full of moist green stalks, he sprinted out of the forest and leaped into the atmosphere, going higher and higher, his feathers ruffling in the wind, the muscles in his back straining in the most delightful way. Up and down his wings glided. His heart thundered in his chest as he landed on the balcony and peeked through the doorway. There was no sign of his mother.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he entered the room. He emptied Cornelia’s favorite vase of old, dried flowers, then added the new and watered the stems. He returned to his place in the corner, folded his legs and waited.
Hours passed.
More hours passed.
By the time the hinges squeaked to signal the door was being opened, his eyelids were heavy, his eyes as dry and scratchy as sandpaper, but he’d managed to stay awake and now jolted to eager attention.
A soft fall of footsteps. A pause.
“What did you do?” his mother gasped. She spun, taking in every inch of the bedroom.
“I made it better for you.” Love me. Please.
A sharp inhalation of breath before she stomped over, stopping just in front of him and glaring down with fiery hatred. “How dare you! I liked my things the way they were.”
Disappointment nearly crushed him, so heavily did it settle in his chest. Once again he’d failed her. “I’m sorry.”
“Where did you get the ambrosia?” Even as she spoke, her gaze jerked to the double doors leading to the balcony. “You flew, didn’t you?”
Only a beat of hesitation before he admitted, “Yes.”
At first, she gave no reaction. Then she squared her shoulders, an action of determination. “You think you can disobey me and never suffer any consequences. Is that it?”
“No. I just—”
“Liar!” she shouted. Her palm smacked against his cheek, the force of the impact propelling him into the wall. “You’re just like your father, doing what you want, when you want, no matter how anyone else feels about the matter, and I’m not going to tolerate this behavior anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, trembling.
“Believe me, you will be.” She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. He didn’t struggle, allowing her to toss him onto the bed, on his stomach, and tie his wrists and ankles to the posts.
Another whipping, he thought, not allowing himself to beg for mercy she wouldn’t show. He would hurt, but he would heal. He knew that for a fact. He’d earned a thousand other punishments just like this one, but he’d always recovered. Physically, at least. Inside, his heart would bleed for years to come.
His mother selected a blade from the wall, ignoring the whip she normally wielded.
She was going to … kill him?
Finally Koldo tugged and twisted, but he wasn’t strong enough to fight his way free. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll never again clean your room, I promise. I’ll never again leave it.”
“You think that’s the problem? Oh, you foolish boy. The truth is, I can’t let you loose. You’re tainted by your father’s vile blood.” The fire in her eyes had spread to the rest of her features, creating a wild, crazed expression. “I’ll be doing the world a favor by limiting your ability to travel.”
No. No! “Don’t, Momma. Please, don’t.” He couldn’t lose his wings. He just couldn’t. He would rather die. “Please.”
“I told you not to call me by that wretched name!” she screeched.
Panic caused little crystals of ice to form in his blood. “I’ll never do it again, I promise. Just … please, don’t do this. Please.”
“I must.”
“You can take my legs. Just take my legs!”
“And make you dependent on me the rest of your life? No.” A slow grin lifted the corners of her lips. “I should have done this a long time ago.”
A second later, she struck.
Koldo screamed and screamed and screamed … until his voice broke and his strength drained. Until he saw his beautiful wings on the floor, the feathers now soaked in his blood.
Until he could only close his eyes and pray for death.
“There, now. Hush. It’s done,” she said almost gently. “You lost what you did not deserve.”
This was a dream, surely. His mother was not so cruel. No one could be so cruel.
Soft, warm lips pressed into his tearstained cheek, and the jasmine and honeysuckle of her scent overshadowed what remained of the coconut. “I’ll hate you forever, Koldo,” she whispered into his ear. “There’s nothing you can do to change that.”
No, not a dream. Reality.
His new reality.
His mother was far worse than cruel.
“I don’t want to change it,” he said, his chin quivering. Not anymore.
A tinkling laugh escaped her. “Is that anger I hear? Well, well. You’re already more like your father than I knew. Perhaps it’s time you met him.” After a moment’s pause, she added, “Yes, in the morning, I’ll take you to your father’s people. You’ll realize just how good I’ve been to you—if you survive.”
CHAPTER ONE
In a world of darkness, the smallest light is a beacon.