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“Ouch!”
The sharp hiss out of Wicander’s mouth startled Tyranny out of her sleep. She turned and stretched on the blanket she’d laid out for herself at the foot of Wicander’s bed and blinked at the light shining from the other side of the room. She rubbed her eyes, tried to get used to it and finally focused in on the shape of a sitting Wicander with a shining wing in his arm.
“By the light,” he muttered – cursed, by his standards – and flinched, shoulders raised high to his ears.
“What are you doing?” Tyranny rasped, voice dripping with sleep.
Wicander flinched again, hand to his chest. “Tyranny…” He exhaled her name like a prayer. “You startled me.”
She bit back a ‘I couldn’t tell’ and sat up with a stretch and a groan. Wicander watched her blackened fingertips reach high, heard her spine crack like the crunching of leaves on the road or the creaking of the bedposts underneath her.
They’d settled down at another inn for the night, thankful for the safety of rooms and, more importantly, actual beds. After days on the road they were tired. Well, Wicander was, at least. Tyranny seemed to be enjoying her newfound freedom. Wicander was still getting used to it…
Watching her bloom and prosper made things a little more worthwhile though.
Tyranny rubbed her eyes again. “Man, you are bright.”
“Oh…” Wicander looked up at the glowing wings hugging his frame. He was still getting used to them, too. It was strange to find out so much about himself. To find so many new features he never would have dreamed of.
These wings… he wasn’t entirely sure what to think of them. He was curious about their origin, why he of all people had them and why they’ve never shown up before. For a few nights now he summoned them, studied them, raked his hands through the assortment of feathers and tried to glean any information he could get.
It was of no use. All he knew was that with each summoning, with each use, they needed more and more attention. The feathers needed a lot of sorting and he needed to look for some sort of oil to rub on his back too so he could treat the itching of new pin feathers growing in. He could feel them even when his wings weren’t visible.
Worst of all though, some of the feathers were kinked, broken, and the ones he needed to pluck hurt. Some of them were easy; he felt only a slight pull at the removal. Others outright pricked and burned, as though he was being stabbed with one of Thimble’s needles.
He wasn’t all too happy with his situation.
But to hear Tyranny tell him that… It made it a little more bearable.
“Well, thank you.”
It wasn’t a compliment, but Tyranny couldn’t bring herself to tell him. He seemed too genuinely enamored at the prospect of her complimenting his wings.
“Are they giving you trouble?” She asked instead. She may be a demon and she may not know a lot about wings, but she knew Wicander. She could tell he was uncomfortable judging by the tension in his posture and the noises he was making.
“Not at all,” Wicander said, maybe a little too quickly. “Maybe a little bit,” he added at the sight of Tyranny’s tilted head. “I’m not too sure… Some of the feathers are bent and they need sorting and it just… I’m sorry I woke you up, you can lie back down.”
Were she a better demon she would leave him to deal with it on his own. Were she a better demon she would ignore him.
She wasn’t.
Tyranny sighed.
It was a welcome suggestion, but with Wicander shining like a beacon in the dark she wouldn’t be able to lie back down anyway. Especially not if he continued to wince and whine like he was before.
She swiftly got up on her hooves. “Scoot.”
“Oh no, you really don’t have to,” Wicander was quick to say as Tyranny approached him. “It’s quite tedious and—”
“I said scoot.” Tyranny lightly kicked his thigh with the side of her hoof. It was enough to make him listen and she settled behind him on the floorboards. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest and she was surprised Wicander even deigned to sit there instead of on the bed.
She brushed her hand along his left wing. “You were working on this one?”
Wicander only nodded, the muscle of his wing extending at the touch. Tyranny carefully brushed her fingers through the thick feathers and sorted through them. They were soft and warm and not too tangled to make the task impossible. She didn’t want to think about how long he had been taking care of them and how he even managed to reach back so far.
She eyed the thin feathers growing at the base of his wings, right between his shoulder blades.
“Those don’t look too comfortable,” she noted.
“They are a bit itchy.”
“Maybe a warm bath will help. Or some oil.”
“I thought about that, but I wouldn’t be able to apply it anyway. I’ll bear with it.”
“I could apply it for you,” Tyranny offered. The authenticity of the statement startled her more than it did Wicander.
“You would?”
She shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I mean, I used to draw your baths, this wouldn’t be any different.”
Wicander thought for a moment. Then, he looked back. “I know we said we would keep up appearances, but… you don’t have to serve me like that. Not anymore.”
He said the word with contempt. Tyranny felt her pulse quicken at his sincerity, at the way he looked at her with such… conviction.
She felt like a beacon. Like a light in the darkness, Wicander a traveller in search of it.
“I know,” she returned. “Look at it like a favor between friends. Maybe I’ll get you to brush my hair in return.”
Wicander smiled. “I can do that.”
Tyranny smiled back. “Good,” she said and brushed her hands through the last few feathers, closer to the wing’s base.
Wicander shivered.
“Everything alright?”
“Just…” He rolled his shoulders. “Sensitive.”
“You know,” Tyranny patted his back, “if I were a better demon I would take advantage of that.”
Wicander laughed. “Consider me glad you’re a bad demon then.”
“How dare you?” Tyranny pinched his side and earned a jump. It was all in good faith, a smile painting her face. “Now sit still, we’re not done.”
She reached for his right wing, the muscle once again extending from her touch. She sorted through them as she did before and watched Wicander relax.
“Thank you, Tyranny,” he said quietly.
Tyranny smoothed another feather and plucked a kinked one from underneath it. “You’re welcome,” she said, all soft and bright.