Sunset of the Wandering Souls
Chapter 9

Warmed by more than two glasses of champagne, I leaned against the outside wall of the palace in the mild night. No one would try to talk to me if they couldn’t see me, and I needed the breather. The noble ladies I danced with after Lady Oglin only did so out of courtesy, that much was clear to me. They realized the minute her name left my mouth that they’re status would never rise above that of a Duchess, not unless her father married her off to a foreign prince. I got the sense that our borders were to remain closed as the sound of music floated into the night. I slid to the ground, pressing my palm into my forehead. I could fly away, fly as far as my wings could manage to take me before I pummeled to the ground.

A little piece of me came back, a slight glimpse of flying over the water, flapping my wings to keep me going, and I stumbled out of the sky as the pain became too much for me to bear. That must’ve been what led me to Ukicho, to Pili. An argument with Innin after the dance I just stepped out of, and I stormed off, fully knowing my wing wouldn’t hold me. I pressed my palm harder against my skull, telling myself this wasn’t anything to cry about. I wasn’t upset about the argument with Innin, it was just the alcohol making me feel this way. I kept my eyes closed for the longest time, losing myself in my own thoughts. Someone sat next to me, held my hand in theirs, and knocked their head against mine.

“Your mother was looking for you,” it was Pili’s voice. “I mean, she had Innin go look for you.” I let out a small sigh, opening my eyes and beginning to pick myself up, when he asked, “Would you rather stay out here a bit longer? We could dance?” He extended his other hand to me, now on his feet. “I kind of want to show off my dance lessons.” I took his hand, and he lead me to the small sounds of the orchestra playing inside the ballroom. It was a little amusing to me every time he glanced down to keep from stepping on my toes. There wasn’t really anything either of us could think to talk about, so we stayed in silence, enjoying the moment. It took my mind off the rest of the evening, off Innin clipping my wings come tomorrow, at least for a little bit. As the song started to wind down he dipped me, said, “Happy birthday, Ezollen” as Innin threw the balcony’s door open.

He dragged me away from Pili by the scruff of my shirt, quiet until he deposited me in front of my mother. Pili stood next to me, Innin paying him no mind. My mother held tight to a painting, keeping it faced towards her. She told me they were hesitant to do so, but the palace needed to slowly roll out my image starting in a few weeks. Something to do with the people needing to know the face of the king who’d succeed her on the throne, in case something were to happen to me, and a puppet were to be propped up. She didn’t want to start distributing my face in the Interior as it’d only make it easier for the Diatessian rebels to spot me. She could protect me in the palace. “I’m sorry,” she said, fumbling to replace my face before cupping my cheek. “I only let you go to Port because Innin thought it’d be a good idea to let have a bit of freedom before all this…If I’d known…” She swallowed and took her hand off my face. “This is what we’ll circulate when it’s time.”

The painting was of me, but it didn’t feel it. There was something distance about my red hair hanging loosely with the same crown I was currently wearing on my head. My yellow eyes stared daggers into the soul of the viewer. Wings spread, tail wrapped around my leg and tucked into the top of my boot, and in my hands was a sword pointed down. I trailed my fingers over the face of the Ezollen that couldn’t be me. It had to be propaganda. I couldn’t believe it—wouldn’t believe it if I had been that fierce, had such a fire in my eyes for destruction. I kept telling myself it was propaganda while Innin helped my mother hang it on the wall, next to a painting of another man my age. The same crown, the same red hair, sitting at a desk looking out, piles of books around him. It was propaganda. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. I couldn’t fathom hurting anyone.

My head was pounding in the morning, coupled with the pain of the royal doctor slicing into the membrane of my wings made me feel sick to my stomach. They strapped me to a small bed, and Innin held one wing extended while the doctor worked. I watched him work, watched him cut into the last panel of the thing skin by the tips of my wings. He only took half of it, enough to allow me to glide to safety but not enough for me to fly off, I assumed. I felt my left wing pop in pain when Innin pulled it taught. He had felt it, I could tell by the look of shock on his face. He didn’t hide it all that well. He let the doctor work before manipulating every which way to get the last joint to pop back in place. I tucked them away the first chance I got, suddenly feeling embarrassed at the thought if anyone were to see my clipped wings.

“We’ll head to the Northern Territories first,” Innin said while he helped me stumble back to my room. “They’re safer than the Eastern Plane from Diatessia influence.” He opened my door for me and let me sit on my bed. “Pili’s agreed to that already, we’ll leave late tonight. I’ll help you pack, get some rest, Ezollen.” I kicked off my shoes at his words and laid on my side, still feeling the pain in my clipped wings throbbing in my shoulder blades.