The Plants Sensed It

Elyra turned to him at once, tensing as though she could sense danger. Her palm flew to protect what was undoubtedly the demon's mark—a burn at her middle. She didn't say anything at first, and the stillness dragged until she did. "You've been there for how long?" Her voice was hostile and challenging, as if she were no longer the lady who had pleaded with him to stay.

He comforted her, "I found you quickly," without questioning, but he was perplexed by her change. "I didn't wake you up because you were asleep. I hoped that slumber would help you overcome whatever mental troubles you were facing. At his words, she flinched slightly, a twitch that made him believe the demon was to blame.

Her lips pursed in disapproval as her eyes dropped. As if it were important, she said softly, "You don't even know me, so you don't have to protect me."

Before responding, he gave this some thought. "No, I don't," he said. "I understand that such things have weight, but not even your name." She raised her gaze and gave it a questioning look, then shook her head and brushed it off. "I am aware that you were scared and hurt last night, all by yourself. You requested me not to go, even if you later changed your mind.

She just looked for a time, her shocked expression piercing his. Then her eyes softened for a moment. "Are you not a noble person?" She whispered, her words full with significance that he was unable to understand.

He started to say, "Not in any way you'd define it," but she shook her head.

She stood up with a groan from the agony in her middle and added firmly, "I know how I define it." Her skin was red all the way to her feet, and only then did she realize how little she was wearing. "Well, fucking hell."

Unaccustomed to such language, he blinked and took a step back. Unfazed, she drew herself up with a respectful grimace and ignored his response. He thought of warning her about what she had said, but his mind was jumbled as her golden eyes, which were as bright as the light of heaven, met his.

Comparing a mortal to the divine is a strange idea. What knowledge did he have of heaven? But there was no denying her beauty.

This was incorrect. He turned away, balancing on a precipice, lightheaded with strange terror. He buried the feeling deep inside and allowed it to fade, disliking both.

He whispered, "If you are well," and turned to leave. Even these grave needs to remain felt suddenly out of place in her company.

She was a diversion.

He didn't look back, but he could tell she was watching—possibly from that perplexed expression. After a pause, she said, "I am well." She turned to leave him with his thoughts, a departure that oddly hurt him, but for reasons of her own she pursued it no further.

His palm stroked the flesh and material that covered the wound where a wing had once been. It hurt in a special way. Did he have any prior experience with pain? Shutting his eyes, he pushed the question away. He wasn't allowed to think about such doubts.

Resolved, he opened his eyes a few moments later. He was here for a reason, and he would do it.

Lost in meditation, Amara sat in the small service cupboard that the elderly woman had set up. A disorganized pile of herbs and weeds lay in front of her; it was simple yet necessary. Unwaveringly focused on the work at hand, she scrutinized them.

Sometimes she would take a long, leafy stem, wave it gently in front of her, and close her eyes. Most went back to the chaotic mass, but a few joined tidy piles on the cupboard's surface. She had worked diligently and assiduously at this ritual for a large portion of the night.

She was startled out of her reverie by the creak of a distant door, which caused her eyes to open. She hurried to the half-demon's room without pausing to gather three little stacks of stems, a bowl, and a pestle. For one of cursed blood, neither time nor angelic wounds healed readily.

She met Elyra's shocked gaze by pushing the partially closed door with her back while her arms were full. An surprising sight was that the wounds were still bleeding. Amara's face relaxed into the composed serenity of an experienced healer, although one who had not yet been put to the test.

Despite Elyra's cold look, she did not object as Amara set up her instruments. Amara kept her back turned for a minute, avoiding that penetrating gaze. She muttered, barely audible, "And should you ask how I knew you'd be wounded?" "Or will you let me keep my secrets because you're so determined to keep yours?"

Elyra took a deep breath, ready to respond, but her voice came out tired. She remarked, her typical fire extinguished by tiredness, "I don't want wordplay." "Either leave me or bandage my wounds."

"No issues? Excellent. Amara got to work grinding herbs to remove infection, stop blood flow, and hasten recovery. Before that morning, many of them were unfamiliar to her; no one had taught her their merits. But she instantly understood their intentions.

The worst was a painful, burn-like cut on Elyra's chest that required immediate medical attention. Amara chose a burnt plant, its sweet aroma strangely strong, and whispered, "Holy fire," her lip clenched between her teeth. She was sure that whatever had withered it would heal the burn. "So, an angel," she exclaimed. "Dancing with one for the first time."

With a faint voice tinged with sorrow, Elyra muttered, "Then I'd rather not have a second." Elyra gave no further explanation, but Amara looked up curiously.

Amara paused, holding herbs, and stumbled, as though momentarily disoriented. "Angel," she said again, pointing to the wound as she had done to her mentor the night before. It is not going to fade easy. As I held the plants, they sensed it and urged me to get back to work. It might be safer to confine you to this room, lest he bonds you more permanently.

"Do you think I'm unaware of that?" Elyra's voice broke as her rage turned to defeat. Amara pursed her lips and shook her head. The demon's annoyance came too easily; it must have been her blood. Elyra was softer, but she persisted, determined. "I die if I go. If I repress half of my demons... The notion of a fate worse than death caused her words to dissolve into a faint moan.

Amara had a suspicion. She stated calmly but sympathetically, "We all carry burdens," and she secretly dreaded that outcome just as much as Elyra did. She received little gratitude for the icy glare, but she accepted it as her patient's right. "Yours has wings made of feathers."

"Is that supposed to reassure me?" With the sharpness and petulance of a brooding young woman, Elyra snapped. It wasn't that far. Even though I have done nothing wrong, he still pursues me, and you say that "we all bear burdens"? Why ought one to—?

Amara caught her off guard by pressing a herbal compress to her chest, causing her protest to burst into a suppressed wail. "It is on fire! Should it? Her voice was tinged with panic.

Amara evenly said, "The plant's fire, or the angel's," dabbing generously again and hoping her measure was correct. Elyra, one will probably put you to sleep, and probably both. Day and night—don't go hunting. You'll heal more powerfully.

With her lips in a tight line and her fingers grasping the sheets white-knuckled against the pain of the salve, Elyra shook her head. "It isn't fair," she muttered, her sorrow going beyond simple misplaced hunts. "How did I cause him to hate me?"

Amara was taken aback by the vulnerability, and her hands froze. She had no simple solution. She finally answered, "It's his nature," and went back to work. "You are a demon; he is an angel." Friendship is not innate. Or did you want to give him some bread?

Silently, Elyra shuddered. Few people in their city understood this weight, but Amara did. She murmured softly, "It'll heal when it heals," referring to the compress, but she wasn't sure it would work. "He's not like the others, but he'll get by."

Elyra just bent her head without saying anything else.