Unspoken Rule of the Fringes #58:
There is guilt and there is fault, and neither is welcome here.
CELINE
The estate is the same as the day I left, except emptier.
Tall columns and thick, carved banisters. Polished, gleaming marble. Nothing is out of place, but the itch in my back is all-consuming.
I never wanted to return here, but for him I would do it a thousand times over.
We watch from a distance as my father strides through the gates. His wings are hidden, and his pace is slow. I stroke the cool metal of the pistol’s grip, but we’re too far away for me to shoot with any accuracy.
My hatred for him has never been stronger.
I pray for his downfall with the same fervor I used to pray for my freedom.
The estate is undeniably lovely. What would it have been liketo grow up here with someone else as my father? Would I have run through the courtyard, giggling, flush with the joy of being loved? There’s a reality where my strange wings would have been celebrated, right? Recognized not as a curse, but as a gift from the gods.
When I try to imagine S’lach in that role, the vision drifts away. My imagination isn’t good enough to bring that fantasy to life,even in my head.
He steps onto the transportation pathway, and it hums, whisking him away to his next victim. I’m moving before the purr fades, marching toward the gates at top speed.
Stealth is a good idea, but I’m past that.
I reach the gates and stop. They’re locked in the middle with a delicate weave of braided metal. Vines that have more in common with chains. While the fence appears to be ten feet tall, that’s simply a design choice. The magic keeping them locked extends in a dome around the entire property, preventing angels from flying over the barricade.
“Open the gate,” I call out in the common tongue.
A guard appears, startled and scowling. I don’t recognize him, but when he looks at me, he does a double take—all color leeching from his face as he executes a jerky bow.
I curl my fingers around the bars of the gate. The dark metal heats to glowing, molten gold in my furious grip. Fueled by my magic, the gates are as aware of my heritage as the petrified guardian in front of me.
Yet, I’m still locked out.That’s about to change.
Stretching my wings wide, I lean into my fury, smiling as they catch fire. The flames crackle, growing until they stretch a foot past my wingtips on either side.
The guardian stumbles backward and nearly falls. Another one jogs to his side. And my patience for their indecision officially runs out. The gates sense it. The large, vine-shapedpadlock melts onto the courtyard, liquid metal running through the grooves between the stones.
I eye the destruction with satisfaction and walk slowly toward the guards as the gates swing open and welcome me home. “Take me to my betrothed. Now.”
Heavy footsteps echo behind me, and Lyklan and Riven slide into place on either side of me, keeping far enough away from my wings to avoid getting burned.
“I can take you,” Lyklan says.
The first guard steps forward, hands shaking. Lyklan hisses at him, letting loose a string of sharpvarekwords. I don’t understand much, but his tone is clear.Move or I’ll move you.
Terrified, the first guard whispers a response, and Lyklan sighs. “I told them to get out while they still could, but he says your father bound them here in an illegal magical contract. They can’t tell anyone because of his word, and they’re afraid if they let you take Malach, he’ll kill them when he returns.”
I frown. “How many are trapped?” I ask in the common tongue, and the answer astounds me. Fifty. Fifty angels bound to this property, unable to leave or complain, and forced to serve at my father’s whim.
“I will protect you.” I activate my truth runes, so they see the promise on my skin.
Riven shifts his weight, and I stiffen under the heat of his stare. This wasn’t our plan, but what am I supposed to do? If I can find the contracts, maybe I can use estate magic to sever them. Sentencing fifty people to death isn’t an option. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I became as callous and cruel as the man who raised me.
Spinning to face the open gates, I close them and squeeze my eyes shut.
Keep him out. This is my birthright. My home. He’s tarnished it long enough.
