He sets the dagger aside and sits up slowly. The movement brings his face close to mine, close enough that I can see the flecks of amber and gold in his eyes.
"I need one more favor."
My pulse kicks. "What?"
"My back." His voice drops. "It doesn't usually bother me. But since I arrived here, it's been ..."
He doesn't finish.
I bite back a smile. "And you're too stubborn to ask for help, even after I offered."
His eyes darken. Something low in my stomach tightens in response. We're so close that if I leaned forward even slightly, my lips would meet his. I don't lean forward. I force myself to stand instead, creating distance neither of us asked for.
"Let me see."
He shifts on the bed, turning his back to me. I have to press my hand to my mouth to keep from making a sound. I don't know what I was expecting, but this wasn't it. Never this.
I've assisted Lenora twice when she's had to amputate alatus wings. Both times left a mark on me that took months to fade. But those were clean procedures, done with care and precision. This is something else entirely.
The scars stretch across his shoulder blades in ragged arcs, as if someone took a blade to his back and carved out the wings in pieces. The skin is puckered and angry, healed wrong. Stitched carelessly.
"That bad?" His voice is light, but I hear the strain beneath it.
"Mal." My voice comes out rough. "What happened to you?"
I reach out, and the moment my finger touches the unmarred skin beside the scars, he hisses and arches away from me.
"I haven't even touched them yet."
His laugh is bitter, hollow. "I know."
"How can this possibly hurt more than the stab wound?" I reach for the balm, trying to keep my voice steady. "How long ago did this happen?"
"A few Reckonings."
"Is it always this bad?"
A pause. "I don't think so."
"I can give you something for the pain. The same compound I used for the stitches?—"
"No."
The sharpness in his voice makes me stop. "Mal?—"
"No." He doesn't look at me. "Numbing these scars will only make the pain worse later. It's part of the bargain."
I stare at the ruined landscape of his back. "What bargain demands that?" The implication hits me slowly. Then all at once. My eyes widen. "You bargained away your wings."
"Yes."
I try to wrap my mind around it. A god who would accept wings as payment. Who would strip someone of flight and then forbid them from numbing the memory of what they lost.
"And you call her fair."
"I said she was fair." His voice is quiet. "I never said she wasn't cruel."
I don't have an answer for that. I begin applying the balm instead, working it carefully into the edges of the scars. The muscles beneath my fingers twitch, but he holds himself still.
