CHP42

Briel stood before the elders, eyes set in an impassive and dull expression as they inquired why he had been in the palace again. “The same as I’ve said before. It is my right to do so.” His bright blue eyes bore into them accusatorily.

“We can’t have you prowling about the grounds at night unattended—” Elder Whitewind, a grizzled old bat of a man with frail white wings and milky violet eyes, said.

How his grandfather, Taluk, had chosen this man to lead until he came of age, Briel would never know.

“Zaien was with me.” Every moment in this place stifled him. Cloying heat boiled within Briel as his cheeks went flushed. With a ragged breath, Briel looked up at the ceiling for a moment, and panic shot through his mind.

“No, you’re not playing like that this time!” Whitewind snapped, and Briel brought his hands to his head, and lashed his wings so hard that the elders around him buckled and sank to their knees, crippled before him.

A choked cry shot free of his lips, and his chest shuddered. Blackness obscured his vision and his flames prickled over his arms.

“Someone call Shythe,” Whitewind barked. Briel hugged to his chest, panting as his wing bases kept jerking hard, resending the lashing order to their already lashed wings, holding them down.

Zaien had a lot of experience against Briel’s wing lashing and struggled to send a yellow moth from a flame of whispers on his fingertips.

Shythe was never far off when it came to Briel. Despite all the harm that had been done to Briel, he still protected the boy as the friend he had been.

“Briel!” Shythe shouted out as he busted through the council doors.

“It’s the song,” He whispered over a snarl of a breath.

“She singing again?” Curiosity lit within Shythe’s eyes.

“No. No, she’s… They… She has a chakt instrument and is playing the song.” Briel gnashed his teeth and held tight to his head.

“Creator’s feathers,” Zaien gasped.

Whitewind stood on shaking knees, fighting a snarl over his face as he stared Briel dead in the eyes. “Where is she!?”

“Not here. Not anywhere. Dunno… She’s healing, broken….” Briel thought about it for a moment, then shared with Elder Whitewind the glory of the song. His black fires shifted, mana flickering between his palm and the elder’s forehead, making Whitewind fall back to his knees with distant fierce eyes. Colors washed around Briel in his head, bouncing and echoing with the song, all disorientation, and fires.

“She’s… awake….” Briel sighed before sinking to his knees and collapsing.

Whitewind pulled away at a stagger, eyes watering, full and bright with tears.

“Is that what it…is that?” Whitewind wheezed, scrambling on his hands and knees while holding his aged chest. Panic and fear lit across Whitewind’s face, clashing with the bright delight of the other councilmen.

Interesting.

“Sai, please, keep growing stronger.” He wheezed as Shythe and Zaien helped him stand on trembling legs.

“Please,” He whispered, holding the tears inside for fear they’d escape, and like that, the torturous song ended, and Briel went fully limp with the two men at his sides.

“Off to your room with you, then.” Shythe grumbled, and the elders muttered in low whispers, wondering if Briel’s actions were genuine or on behalf of Acryan’s mischievous spirit.

They hoisted him onto his bed, and Shythe ran a thumb along his back, pressing hard into his spine to get his wings to retreat. The obscene mix of his ikris shone plainly, Acerrai and Anael twisted between the sharp shapes and delicate scrawling lines.

“She played that song she always hums on an instrument?” Zaien asked curiously, prodding at Briel as he stirred and rolled up and over onto his back.

“Yeah….” Briel coughed.

“That’s…” Zaien started. “Intense.”

“It’s neither good nor bad. We can be thankful, but can you two just leave, please?” Briel’s voice went thick and heavy.

“Not a chance.” Shythe grumbled.

“Well, dunno what you two are doing, but I’m—” Briel’s eyes closed in a slow blink and drew him deep into sleep.