Sorem felt like a ghost as he followed after those wide hips. His eyes slid to the right to find a mirroring dress contrasted against the dark body of the Jvalan in human form.

As strange as she looked and as much scrutiny as she drew in their walk from the tavern to the inn, Sorem couldn’t look at her. He, instead, stayed focused on the wife of the pub and inn owner. Mo’el.

She was polite as she allowed them entry into the room, turned up several basins, gave the typical routine and practiced welcoming speech then scurried away.

The door closed gently enough but it still felt deafening. And then there were just the two of them.

Sorem’s gut roiled. “Take off that dress.”

It was a terrible demand and he expected resistance and to one day explain it, but the Jvalan hurried to comply. She went a step further and threw the frock out the window.

That was taking it too far. She didn’t have another and Sorem doubted he had money to waste on a fairy who needed no coverings.

With nothing but the clothes on his back, he stared at her, and she stared at him as well.

They both looked miserable.

“I told you to make a wish,” she said, “and your wish was to find her.”

Something inside Sorem, perhaps the last shards of his dignity, simply faded. He had no defense.

“You want your revenge,” the Jvalan attested, admiration dripping from her words. “I shall help you. I shall help you avenge your honor. This I promise.”

Lips parted, Sorem waited for either of them to find some words.

But there simply was nothing, so Sorem asked, “And how will you do that?”

All fight drained from the fairy’s eyes. She hesitated then confessed, “I cannot help you with magic. Not now. Not…not in my current state. But once I can, I will. You have my word.”

The conviction of her vows had him touching his face then his temple. His thoughts…had she…taken his thoughts?

If the awkward silence was any indication, it was true.

She wore a grimace otherwise and he said, “Go back into fairy form, since you’ve thrown the dress away.”

As a human, her dark eyes were no longer silver. Her black skin was now a bronze color. The shape of her face was still the same and there was a kindness to her expression. Her hair was still as black as the night, however.

“Can I trust you, sir,” she asked but was quick to add, “as I will keep my word to help you.”

He gave no answer, but she turned and showed him her back. The welts and bruises were beyond anything he’d ever witnessed.

Despite that woeful vision, she said, “My wings. They are damaged. I—you must prune them.”

“Prune?”

“Yes. If—if my wings are cut off, I lose all my magic and I must spend the rest of my days mortal…as a human. But if they sustain damage and those bits are cut, they can heal much faster. I must regrow them and quickly if we are to survive in this savage place.”

This was no savage place. This was Wisen, Sorem’s home. He’d wished to return home. Mo’el had not crossed his mind, he was sure, but despite all that, here she was. And here he was with a willing ally. He dared not let this chance pass—he had nothing else.

“But…my hand.” Even now, his wrist throbbed in agony. “Can you heal it?”

She hesitated then approached. A touch from her finger to his wrist had his skin tinkling. Moments later, the pain vanished but a speck of blood fell into his palm.

“That’s the best I can do,” she said, tilting her head back. “Any more and I risk permanent injury.”

Still, it was enough and perhaps all he could get now that all that he’d lived for was at an end.

“What do I do?”

Still turned with her back to him, the Jvalan gave her instructions. It sounded terrible. But she assured him of success. To his surprise, she stood facing the wall and clenched her fists.

But as admirable as her bravery was, he barely managed to snip one charred end of the translucent fairy wings before she flinched and gripped the wall.

He hadn’t put much thought into the cut at first but was kinder in the second attempt. The slower method was worse. Her knees buckled.

“Lie on the bed,” he told her, but she didn’t move.

The way she trembled was what led him to hold her waist and guide her. She was face first when he pulled up the chair. Fairies had four wings, he came to find, two on each shoulder blade. They laced with one another, fluttering even when he stroked them.

Rather than the knife, he tried to tug at some bits with his fingers. Each flinch had him more reluctant to continue.

She was right, however, he needed her magic, so he carried on despite the agony.

When he was finished brushing the brittle bits off with his fingers, he found she wasn’t moving.

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The slow rise and fall of her body was the only assurance that he hadn’t killed her. It would be fitting. He’d already made a mess of every other woman he’d encountered thus far.

More than likely, she’d passed out from the pain so he took several practiced swings before snipping what he could from the wings. Upon one final cut, cleaning all charred ends, one wing shot out, renewed.

It shimmered. On his left hand, blood appeared. It was from the parts he’d cut. He checked her breathing one more time and mounted her, but kept kneeling as he swung once, twice, then a third time. All four wings shot from her back and fluttered. She shrunk down and he grabbed her without thinking.

“Jvalan?” he whispered. “Jvalan!”

She still slept so he searched around for a place to put her. When the thought occurred to him to check his belt for the cage, he was both happy and sad to see it still attached to him, though bent and beaten, much like his pride. He was careful to put her in and close the door.

After he rested it on the table, he sat watching it until nightfall.

The moonlight spilled through the window, touching the still fluttering wings and the Jvalan awoke.

She reached behind her with a smile which faded when she recognized her usual prison.

Relief rushed through Sorem and he said, “Thank you for your help today.”

There was no answer, no response beyond her bringing her knees higher.

“How long before you can use your magic again?”

Why did he have to say that? Something about her changed in that very instant but he couldn’t fix it.

He had so much he had to say—should have said. He should have thanked her for saving his life. He should have made some lies about what she’d seen of his life. He should have…not put her back in the cage.

But he had nothing else. There was no land, no money. Hell, even his horse was gone. This fairy was his fortune and he needed to keep it.

He wasn’t sure why he reached in and stroked her feet. “Do you require anything? I can get some water and you can wash off.”

And maybe fly away.

She didn’t answer so he brought the basin and water and did just that. A more spirited creature would have bit at him; he deserved as much but she looked defeated when he put her in the water. Truly, he didn’t feel right watching her but equally, he feared her escape.

At the very thought, he shot to his feet and shut the windows then locked them. He returned to find her unmoved from where he’d put her.

His lips parted in realization. “The water must be cold. It will take time to fetch something hot but I will.”

With no warning, he shoved her into the cage and hid her under the bed before rushing out of the room. Surely there was a kitchen and therefore hot water. He’d get some and mix it with the tepid one.

But as he landed after jumping down the steps, he only found one person he knew worked there.

“I need hot water,” he told the woman.

Two haunted brown eyes stared back at him as Mo’el hurried to bring him a kettle.

He snatched it from her without another word and hurried back up to his room. The empty table startled him until he remembered his hiding place and dropped to the floor and peered under the bed.

A rat jumped out at him. He boxed it aside and grabbed the cage.

“Jvalan. Jvalan!”

She still rested on the cage floor so he hurried to pick her up again. A quick examination showed nothing wrong with her.

No matter, once he’d rewarded her with a nice bath, she’d return to her usual self. Sorem prepared the basin, using his elbow to test the water before he put her in it yet again.

She simply sat with her posture hunched.

He hoped to get a response, so he doused some of the water on her head. “Come on. I for one would love a beautiful bath this big.”

In the end, he concluded that she was probably tired. Once he finished washing her and rolled her in a towel, he put another towel into the cage before placing her inside. It would be a softer bed.

Until now, he never considered how cold and hard the cage floor probably was. The moment she curled up, allowing her wings to flutter and dry in the night air, he felt some satisfaction.

Seeing her so sullen unnerved him. He thought to ask what he’d done but deep down, he knew.

She could have left him on that cliff to die. But she hadn’t and for what? To come back to a cage then eventual death once she lost power and he had no use for her.

It was awful of him, but he closed the cage and covered it in hopes nothing would disturb her as he went down to get a drink. He needed something, anything to help his nerves.

One drink led to two and his life came to him in all its misery. By mug number three, he even found himself wondering if fairies liked liquor. He blamed the alcohol for why he brought a final mug up to his room with him and closed the door.

The cage still rested on the table. The windows were still closed, and yet, when he pulled the sheet down to see her there on the towel, he was surprised.

A sadness came over him and he flopped down on the bed. The mead in his hand embarrassed him; he could have used that money on a new dress.

She still slept and he scoffed. “You thought I came here for revenge, Jvalan? That I’d come to reclaim my honor. But perhaps you already know, perhaps that is why you can’t even look at me. My worry about the money, my wish to be here.” His eyes drifted to the dark recesses of the cup, and he wanted to cry. “I did not come to attempt any murder or injury, but rather…to pay her for a night.”

Something fell into the mug, disturbing the murky brew. When the next tear fell, Sorem smiled through his sadness.

“Oh, what am I fit for? I wish to rescue others? Sorem, you cannot even rescue yourself.”

Though he knew it was best not to, he drank the last of the liquor alone and lumbered to the window. Once the cool night air spilled in, awash with sorrow and self-pity from the nearby pub, he stared out at the moon.

It was said the moon goddess protected and commiserated with all Jvalan. But where was she now to save this one he’d captured?

All thoughts fell to his efforts and one conclusion. He had nothing left. Only this. Sitting down on the bed to watch his final prize made him feel hollow.

This wasn’t what he needed. No amount of magic would dull this sense of failure, so he stood up, walked over to the table, and tugged the little fairy’s towel out and left her to sleep outside her prison.

By morning, she’d be gone, and that would be best for both of them.

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