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Chapter Twelve: Enchantments and a Kiss
Ilyria lay sprawled against the tiles, frozen with shock. The enchantment which had sprung up around her when she first took the Princess’s hand had fallen away but her body shivered as if it were still in that cavernous space with the Princess and the eyeless man.
The music had stopped, the flautist paused with the flute a breath away from his lips, his eyes on Ilyria. His tranquil absorption had been replaced by a greedy attentiveness. He lifted his arms and Ilyria saw he wore chains on his wrists. These he rattled as he opened his mouth wide to reveal the tongueless space within. The cry that emerged was that of a wretched half-creature, a bleating, savage sound that echoed within the walls of the Princess’s chamber. Ilyria expected the guardians to rush into the room.
Then she remembered that they were forbidden from entering. Instead, she felt hands at once soft and strong dig into her shoulders and haul her up from the floor. The ascetic’s face w
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It was a moment without breath or movement except for the beating of their hearts and the soft strokes of the dress as it wound itself around Ilyria and Astrapi. The light from Astrapi’s wings glowed luminescent around them. Ilyria surrendered to the warmth of Astrapi’s mouth, to the ripple of muscles beneath his skin and the way her own skin sparked with sensation. He was just a boy and she a girl and if he had asked her then to stay with him, Ilyria would have answered yes with everything she had in her. But he didn’t and slowly awareness returned to Ilyria that they were not alone and not safe. She pulled away and Astrapi released her from his arms. His own eyes seemed to echo her own need. They stared at each other for a long moment, neither seemingly knowing where to begin. A clatter jarred them from their reverie. “The merchants,” said Ilyria. Astrapi dropped his wings and they stood surveying the scene. It was still much as they had lef
Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Fourteen: Boots
Thassa was waiting for her outside the palace gate, as the ascetic had said. When he saw her, he seemed to sag with relief. Then he removed his hooded cloak and placed it around her shoulders. Ilyria had felt dress tiring. Now it was little more than fading rags. She wondered if it might revive with a wash and thought that perhaps with magic cloud silks, anything was possible. “Thank you,” she said, feeling terrible for him as he stood there, his scarring exposed. But neither did she look forward to walking through the streets of Idixat with her tired dress falling off her body. Even with Thassa at her side. “You have managed more than we could ever have hoped, Ilyria,” he said, “allow me to get you back to Madame Skia’s house safely.” “But I didn’t,” said Ilyria, “The Princess is enchanted.” “Yes,” said Thassa, “But you saw her. Which no one else has done in many months. Don’t talk now, we will speak with Madame Skia shortly.” Madame Skia was
Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Fifteen: Between
Ilyria looked closer at the shimmering feather in Thassa’s hand. It was at once like water and like mist, pale and dark. She felt that if she looked at it long enough, it could transport her away, perhaps even to Zarmej. When she looked up, Thassa was watching her. “It is from the Lightning Bird,” he said, confirming her fear. “But you said it was from Vatra,” said Ilyria. He had made a mistake, surely? “The place of fire, Vatra, it is the home of the Lightning Bird.” “No,” she said. After all, she had seen his aerie, across the desert sands, a place of clouds and silence. Not fire. “That cannot be.” “Whatever you have seen, Ilyria, it was what he—it—wants you to see. The Lightning Bird cannot stay long here. Whenever it retreats, it is to Vatra. That is where the companions are. I am sure of it.” Ilyria grasped for a meaning but all that she could come up with was what she knew Thassa was thinking—the Lightning Bird had had a
Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Sixteen: Fire and Pain
Ilyria looked around. The place was simultaneously confusing and familiar. She looked down at her feet. They sank into the soft mulch of her father’s garden, the one he kept around the back of the kitchen right next to the wall that separated them from the city. She felt a soft touch on the back of her hand as Astrapi leaned in to kiss her. Before he pulled away, he whispered “Don’t trust what you see, trust only what you feel,” then he spread his wings, and was away, over the kitchen wall. As she watched him, the kitchen wall before her shivered and faded, and she thought she saw beyond it to a hill on which colourful tents had been pitched with lights strung along the edges. A rich, fragrant smell drifted toward her from the hill—a familiar, intoxicating smell like a miasma. Chariko! Then Astrapi and the tents were gone and there was only the kitchen wall and the garden. Her father’s garden. He loved to work there, turning the soil, pulling out the invasive weeds,
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Thassa did his best to allow himself to be led by Ilyria. But he would stop suddenly, or abruptly turn at any noise. Once, he stumbled and pulled Ilyria down with him. Her eyes flew open as she fell, her hands bracing for the fall … … and she found herself kneeling at the door to Daria’s chambers where she was conducting a meeting. Ilryia, had been twelve and spying through the keyhole because her twelve-year old self had already begun to mistrust her mother. She knew they were talking about eliminating a competitor. “I will invite him for a drink,” her mother was saying. The merchant laughed and said, “Your drinks are a health tonic, Merchant Daria, but not a good one.” He didn’t notice that her mother was not laughing as well. Ilyria suspected he should watch his drinks too. Then the merchant had begun to walk toward the door. Feeling the same terror in her body though she tried to tell herself this was not real, Ilyria stumbled backwards again, as
Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Eighteen: A Whisper and a Story
She found Astrapi playing with the kitten. For a moment, she just watched the unlikely pair. Astrapi was crouching down, his wings flowing down his back, relaxed and trailing into whisps of mist across the tiles of the courtyard. He was teasing the kitten with one of his own strange feathers and the little kitten was enjoying lunging at it, her sharp teeth closing on air each time she thought she had finally caught it. They were both completely engrossed in their play. “What are those things on her back?” asked Ilyria finally. Astrapi started and turned his head. “I’m not sure,” he said, “She is something new that I’ve not seen before. Ilyria,” he said, standing up and leaving the kitten to her conquest of the confusing feather. “Come away with me. For a little while.” Ilyria thought, “Will you tell me about the First War? And about Izben?” Astrapi smiled, his head tilting to one side and in that moment, Ilyria thought he really did look bird-like. “I
Ilyria and the Lightning Bird Chapter Nineteen: Love and a Map
Once Ilyria had drawn Astrapi inside the cave, she turned and walked to the bed where she had woken the first time he brought her. The light from thousands of fireflies on the cave ceiling, flickered off Astrapi’s skin as he followed her. He stood before her and like her, seemed to be holding his breath. “Ilyria,” he started to say, and she heard the question there. She put her finger against his lips. It was no longer the time for talking. She thought briefly of the night weeks ago when she was to be married to Dirk. She would have had to have this moment with a man she loathed. She was sure of what she wanted. She wished she was wearing the midnight hued cloud silk dress. She wished it would show her in its way, how to act. She wished she had perfumed her body with oils. Instead, she stood in front of Astrapi in a simple tunic she had changed into after helping to clean the House. What would the dress have done? Something complicated that involved slapping her legs
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Ilyria froze. It could not be. Surely this was not her mother? The exquisite Daria Agrio? Ruin of souls. Torment of men and women. The old woman reached out a hand for the wall to steady herself. She looked up and Daria saw her eyes were pale and glassy. She seemed drugged, ill, dying even. She did not see Ilyria, or anything at all. Yet the lines of Daria’s beautiful face were still there, stark beneath the withered flesh but still recognizable. What had Dirk done to her mother? Say something, she told herself. This is your mother. But the nausea had returned, and she found herself unable to hold onto her thoughts. Something about a mother. Whose mother? My mother, this is my mother. Ilyria clutched the map to her chest as if it might still hold some of the protective magic from her father’s chambers. And maybe it did, because her head cleared a little. Her mother opened her mouth and Ilyria saw that all her pretty white teeth were gone, leaving only
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