Broken Wings (10 page)

Rye smiled. She folded the note and slipped it into the back pocket of her
pants. After lighting the ovens, she set the chestnuts to steep in the rosemary
water.

Rye hummed as she alternated between stirring pots and shaping little acorns to
look like stars. This was the most incredible kitchen. The knifes were sharper
than sin. Flora probably never used them.

Rye was so absorbed in her cooking that she didn’t notice that Flora had
returned until she spoke.

“Rye? You like?” Flora paused halfway across the kitchen to strike a pose. “It
took long enough to do. It’s got enough spray on that it’s brittle enough to
break.”

“You look terrific.”

Flora quickly closed the gap to give Rye a long kiss. “Hmm. I’ve been looking
forward to this all day. Everything going okay?”

“Great. I’m only panicking about twenty things.”

Flora smiled. “Something smells good already.”

“You feel good.”

Rye kissed Flora. The temperature of the kiss rose. Rye’s hands explored Flora’s
body. Flora pressed against Rye in all the right places.

The buzzer sounded.

“Branch,” Flora said. “That’ll be the florist.”

Flora had the delivery people set the flowers on the end of the table, well out
of Rye’s way.

“I’d better show you where everything goes.” Flora led Rye through into the
dining room.

“Holly is bursting to do this,” Rye said.

“I’m bursting to do you,” Flora said.

“We’d better not mess your hair.”

Flora sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But it won’t be easy knowing that you’re
just through there. Especially not when Windy starts prosing on about some
esoteric subject. I just know I’ll be thinking about sex the whole time and have
nothing intelligent to contribute.”

Rye grinned.

Flora set about arranging flowers in vases. Rye hummed to herself as she moved
between the stove and the preparation counters. She only had to glance across to
see Flora. It would be very easy to get used to doing that.

After taking the last vase out into the living room, Flora returned to stand
close to the stove.

“Something smells really yummy,” Flora said. “May I taste?”

“No.” Rye shooed her away.

“What can I do?”

“Nothing. You’re the boss, remember?”

“What time do you expect Holly?”

Rye glanced at the clock. It was nearly four-thirty. “Soonish.”

“Then I’ll set the gates to automatically open again.”

Flora pulled up the screen on the main communications unit and fiddled with
several on-screen menus before sinking into a chair at the table. She idly toyed
with the baby carrots. Rye took the chair beside her and moved the carrots out
of Flora’s reach. Rye began peeling and trimming them. Flora wriggled around and
laid her legs across Rye’s lap.

“So, who are these people tonight?” Rye asked.

“Well, Leaf Longdale is my agent. He’s a cutthroat, but I’d willingly pay him
twice as much as long as I don’t have to do all that hateful wheeling and
dealing.”

“He seems to have done pretty well for you.”

“Yes, he has,” Flora said. “He’s not someone whose company I enjoy socially, but
I have complete faith in his business acumen. Leaf can get very argumentative.
The least pretty event in the whole history of Infinity is Leaf Longdale and my
mother in the same room.”

“Your mother is argumentative?”

“Mother is always right.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.” Flora stole a carrot and nibbled the end off before Rye could wrestle
it back. “Then there’s Letty Elmwood. She’s a middle-aged lesbian sylph. I’m
guessing that you’d not like her one little speck. She’s terribly gifted and
terribly aware of it. She owns the two most important galleries in the Three
Forest area, including the Lightning Tree in Noonpine. For some reason I’ve
never been able to fathom, she likes me.”

“Perhaps she finds you attractive.”

“I’m not her type,” Flora said. “She prefers strong, muscular women. Letty is a
divinely opinionated control freak, but, I’ve heard, is very much a ‘throw me on
the bed’ type. I should make sure she doesn’t see you. I’d have a hard time
keeping sweet with Letty if she stole you from me.”

Rye shifted uncomfortably, though she knew that Flora was only teasing.

Flora listed the other guests. “And, lastly, Ginger Grangegrass. Founder of the
Newbud Collective. He’s the one I’m going to ask about taking Holly. He’s not
the top of her list, or exactly at the forefront of innovation and daring, but
he’s an excellent teacher and has a knack of knowing where someone’s strengths
lie.”

Flora sat forward to kiss Rye. Rye took the precaution of clamping a hand around
Flora’s wrist to prevent her from stealing more carrots. Flora slumped back with
an exaggerated pout which made Rye want to kiss her even more.

“And then the sixth one is that Flora Withe woman,” Rye said.

“What’s she like?”

“All right, I suppose.”

“All right?” Flora said. “I’d heard that she’s fabulously talented, terrific in
bed, a great hostess, and wildly fun to be with.”

“Dunno where you heard that.”

Flora’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And just what have you heard?”

“That she’s a year or two past her best, and –”

Flora gasped. She grabbed a handful of peelings. “You wretch!”

Rye lunged to clamp her hands around Flora’s wrists. “But she has okay legs.”

“Okay!” Outraged, Flora twisted and writhed in Rye’s grip. “Okay? Just okay?”

Their tussle shoved the table back a couple of inches. Flora eventually freed a
hand and jammed a fistful of carrot peelings down the front of Rye’s shirt.

“Can I do that, too?” Holly asked.

Rye shot out of her chair so fast that she came close to dumping Flora on the
floor. “Holls! How long have you been – I didn’t hear you.”

“Hi, kiddo,” Flora said. “How was school?”

Holly dropped her bag, slumped in a chair, and helped herself to a carrot.
“Boring.”

Rye’s blood roared through her ears. Flora looked up at her with a very
matter-of-fact expression as if she had no idea why Rye was so distressed – as
if she and Rye had not just been caught in a highly compromising position.

“Hey, your hair is astronomical,” Holly said.

“It should be,” Flora said. “I was at the salon so long that I could’ve grown an
extra head by the time they’d finished.”

Rye shoved around the table and stomped into the hall. Her hands shook so badly
that she couldn’t get the carrot peelings from her shirt without dropping them
on the floor.

“Rye?” Flora said.

Rye jumped.

“It’s okay,” Flora said. “It’s not a problem.”

Rye glared but held her tongue because Holly appeared in the doorway behind
Flora.

“She’s been in a stupid mood for over a week,” Holly said. “Moping around as if
the world was about to end. And she goes on at me for teenage moodiness.”

“Perhaps cooking will help,” Flora said. “I’d better leave you two to it. I have
some things to do before I dress. Yell if you need anything. Okay?”

Rye nodded stiffly. She walked back into the kitchen and tried to remember what
she’d been doing.

“Isn’t this the most astronomical place you’ve ever seen?” Holly asked.

“Um.” Rye looked around. Everything seemed unfamiliar. Then she heard the soup
pot bubbling. She dashed across to remove it from the heat. “Finish those
carrots for me. And wash the chamomile in cold water. Shake it well. Give the
floor back here a quick sweep. Then go and ask Flora to tell you about setting
the table.”

“Slave driver,” Holly said.

“You begged me to let you do this,” Rye said.

Rye knew that Holly poked her tongue out at her back but bent her attention on
the soup.

About half an hour before the first guests were due to arrive, Rye sent Holly
off to change into the black dress she’d wear for serving. She didn’t return for
nearly twenty minutes.

“Where have you been?” Rye asked. She swung around from the stove and stopped.

“Flora helped me get ready,” Holly said.

Rye blinked. The young woman in front of her, with the makeup and budding
figure, wasn’t the skinny little kid sister she was used to seeing. When Rye
hadn’t been looking, Holly had grown up.

“Flora said I could pass for eighteen or nineteen,” Holly said. “Wow, those
little pastry things look really good. Do they have that fish paste and
blackbird’s egg stuff in them?”

“Um. Yes. No scoffing them.”

Rye frowned as she fetched a jug of wine from the pantry and began stirring some
into the sauce mixture. She kept glancing at Holly. The kid looked old enough to
have her wings.

“Flora said that I’ve got great skin,” Holly said. “And Flora said –”

“Go and double-check that the table is set properly,” Rye said. “Did you
remember to put water jugs in the dining room?”

“Yes, she did.” Flora walked in through the doorway from the dining room.

Rye turned. Her eyes bulged. She hadn’t thought Flora could get more beautiful
than when totally undressed, or in that glitzy magazine photo, but Flora looked
stunning in a long, slinky dark green dress and a few diamonds.

“The table looks fabulous,” Flora said. “I love the napkins. Holly, could you
please check that I put water in the vase near the patio door?”

Holly bolted.

“Well?” Flora said. “Will I do?”

“Um.”

“Did you mean to pour wine down your trouser leg?”

“Fey!”

“Relax. Holly is fine. Dinner will be great.”

Rye dabbed at her leg with a dish cloth. “Relax? When you look like that? I’d
have to be dead not to notice.”

“That’s the nicest compliment you’ve ever paid me.”

“What did you do to Holly?”

“She’s going to be a pretty woman.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

“You’re getting better at that. That just might make amends for the
disparagement of my legs.”

Holly poked her head around the door. “Flora, there’s someone at the door. Shall
I let them in?”

“Yes, please.”

As soon as Holly stepped out of the kitchen, Flora blew Rye a kiss. The strength
of the temptation to return it for real, with Holly so close, surprised Rye.

The hours of the evening whizzed by in a heated blur of steam, carving knives,
serving spoons, sauces, plates, and dirty dishes. Once, Rye peeked through the
living room door to see Flora laughing with some of her guests. When Holly
returned to refill a tray, she alerted Rye to the fact that one of the men had a
habit of resting his hand on Flora’s back. Rye knew an almost overwhelming urge
to stomp out there and break his fingers.

Later, Rye sneaked a look at the dinner table. The main course seemed to be
going down well with Flora’s wine choice. Her brief glimpse of the heavily
powdered sylph, Letty Elmwood, convinced Rye that Flora was correct in believing
Rye wouldn’t like her. Rye couldn’t imagine the woman who wouldn’t be utterly
overshadowed by Flora Withe.

Rye pulled the plug and let the dirty water gurgle down the sink hole. She wiped
her hands on her dishtowel apron and removed it. She dropped down onto a chair
at the table. Holly sat slumped asleep using Rye’s rolled up jacket for a pillow
on the table. Rye ate one of the leftover desserts. Not bad. Perhaps a shade too
sweet. Maybe she should use a few black currants to give it a little more
breadth of taste and a dash of tartness.

The door from the hall swung open. Flora smiled as she came in.

“Rye, you’re a genius!”

“Ssh.” Rye put a finger to her lips and nodded at the sleeping Holly.

Flora took Rye’s hand and tugged her through into the dining room. She clicked
the door shut behind them. She slid her hands up Rye’s chest and around her
neck. Her kiss was like a goddess breathing life into Rye. Rye slipped her hands
around Flora’s waist and held her close.

“I’ve been dying to do that all evening,” Flora whispered. “You’ve no idea how
many times I was tempted to come in there to you.”

Rye smiled and started another long, exploratory kiss.

“Your dinner was the best I’ve ever given,” Flora said. “Truly, Rye. Everyone
raved. If anything, I think the vegetarians loved that mushroom and chestnut
dish even more than the rest of us did the ferret. Three of them wanted to know
how they could hire you.”

“What?”

“Really. Rye, you’re very good. Superb. As a cook, too.”

Rye grinned.

They kissed again. This time more probing. Flora slid a hand down Rye’s back.

“That’s strange,” Flora said. “It feels like you’re wearing a bandage.”

“I am.” Rye turned her head toward the door.

“She’s asleep,” Flora said.

“I thought I heard something. She worked her heart out tonight. The poor kid’s
exhausted.”

“Why don’t you put her to bed in the guest room? It’d save you having to wake
her up and drag her home. And I bet anything you like that she won’t mind waking
up here in the morning.”

Rye coaxed a still half-asleep Holly to rise and mostly carried her to the
bedroom. She lowered Holly onto the bed and eased off her dress before letting
her sink onto the bed. Rye pulled the sheets up around Holly and gave her a kiss
on the forehead. Holly was asleep again before Rye softly closed the door.

Rye followed Flora through to the living room and dropped onto the sofa. Flora
extinguished most of the lights before joining her.

“How much do you think she saw?” Rye said.

“She saw me stuffing peel down your shirt. We were acting like a pair of
children. If she gave it a second thought, she didn’t mention it to me. That
really is a bandage, isn’t it? What did you do to yourself?”

“Nothing.” Rye took the glass from Flora’s hand for a sip of wine. “I bound my
wings this morning.”

“That must be very constricting. And hot.”

“A bit. But they move around and twitch a lot when I’m near you. It’s safer to
keep them bound.”

Flora’s fingers already worked the buttons down Rye’s shirt. She soon had the
shirt off and began unwinding the bandage.

“Great Branch, your wings look terrible. All pale and scrunched up.”

Rye grunted when she tried to unfold her wings. She had to ask Flora to help.
Flora was very gentle in easing them out straight, but Rye had to bite her lip.
Parts of them were numb and the blood rushing back made them tingle and ache.

“You’re going to have to stop doing this to yourself,” Flora said. “It’s like a
tourniquet. One day the poor things will drop off.”

Flora ran her fingers firmly along Rye’s wing supports as if massaging life back
into them. Rye sighed and sagged.

“You should be very pleased with yourself,” Flora said.

Rye grunted. “That feels really good.”

“Come into the bedroom,” Flora said. “You can lie down and I can do this more
easily. And I have got to take a shower. However lovely this hair looks, I could
not sleep on it.”

Passing into Flora’s bedroom triggered Rye’s unease. Her wings drooped. She
fumbled the buttons on the back of Flora’s dress.

“Coming?” Flora stepped out of her dress and kicked off her high-heel shoes. “I
bet some warm water will do those wings a power of good. And we can do some
serious foreplay with the shower gel and a sponge.”

“Um. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Rye chewed her lip and glanced at the door. “I can’t have sex with you. Not with
Holly here.”

“She’s asleep three rooms away,” Flora said. “You could skin a live hedgehog in
here and not wake her.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Flora looked unhappy. “What is the worst thing that could possibly happen if
Holly learned that you and I are having an affair?”

Rye scowled. The worst? If she and Holly were deported, the priestesses would
question Holly and get her to say that Rye was gay. Then Holly would blame
herself for the rest of her life for what they’d do to Rye. Even if Rye
confessed and warned her never to say anything, they’d get it out of her. If
questions didn’t work, they’d use whips and clubs. No, it was far safer for them
both if Holly knew nothing. Safer still if Rye went back to hiding until Holly
developed her wings.

Rye turned away from Flora. She and Holly would both be safer if she returned to
the single life that had served so well for eleven years. She knew that her
relationship with Flora was never going anywhere. How could it? Rye couldn’t
compete with Flora’s rich dryad girlfriend. The novelty of bonking a builder’s
labourer was going to wear off for Flora sooner or later. And Rye needed to stop
stealing the hours to be with Flora, and having sex, from time she should be
spending with Holly. With her Fifth Day mornings again free for the kid, Rye
could continue her night classes without feeling guilty about Holly never seeing
her. Rye needed those classes, and the qualifications she could get, to get
ahead for herself and Holly.

Rye clenched her fists at her sides. All those good, strong reasons didn’t stop
part of her from screaming out that she didn’t want to break up with Flora. But
she had to. And she couldn’t keep putting it off.

“Rye?” Flora put a hand on Rye’s arm. “Is this something connected with
Fairyland?”

Rye flinched, but not from the physical contact. Flora’s unexpected question hit
dead centre at the fear underlying the problems in Rye’s life.

“I bought some books on it,” Flora said. “I wanted to learn as much as I could
about fairies. Seeing that you’re the first one I’ve knowingly met. Your past is
something you never talk about, but I’ve had enough hints that it’s not
pleasant. And, to be honest, I sometimes feel like I’m treading a high wire in
the dark where you being a fairy is concerned.”

Rye’s wings defensively folded against her back.

“I knew Fairyland was a tightly closed society and very religious,” Flora said,
“but I had no idea how restrictive life must be there if you’re not one of the
upper levels of the priestly hierarchy. I was horrified to read that most people
live in rural poverty and with no proper machinery. And they have capital
punishment. It seems unreal that anywhere in the world in this day and age could
be so backwards and barbaric. I can’t imagine growing up in a place like that
would be much fun. And I’m guessing that being gay wasn’t looked on kindly.”

Rye looked around for her shirt. She felt very vulnerable.

“I’m not at all surprised you left there,” Flora said. “I can’t understand why
more don’t.”

“Um. Most don’t know there’s anywhere to go. We don’t get much schooling. No
reading or writing. No geography.” Rye’s thoughts slowed and congealed, just
like her brain shut down before she ran away. “But… but our commune was in the
south. Near the mountains. I figured there had to be somewhere on the other side
of them. And even if it was full of evil monsters, like the priestesses said, it
couldn’t be any worse than… than where I was.”

“I can completely understand your leaving the place,” Flora said. “It’s not hard
to guess that being a lesbian didn’t make your life there easy. And however much
I deplore the necessity, and what it says about our society, I think I can see
why you feel you’d rather hide your fairyness than face prejudice. But what I
don’t understand is how Holly knowing that you and I are seeing each other is a
problem. For you or Holly. You’re not likely to go back, are you?”

Rye walked away and was confused to realise that she was in Flora’s bedroom.

“Is the way your wings are all folded up part of your withdrawal from me?” Flora
asked.

Rye ran a hand through her hair. She was naked to the waist. It was very hard to
think. “Um. I think… maybe I’d better leave. It’ll be better that way.”

“I’m not sure I follow you. What do you mean?”

“Um. That… that we had a good time. But it would be better if we didn’t see each
other again.”

“
'What?
'” Flora strode around to stand in front of Rye. She looked as though Rye
had struck her. “Not see each other? What do you mean?”

Rye had to look away. “Um. We – It’s best if we end it now.”

“End it now,” Flora repeated hollowly. “You’re dumping me? Is that what I just
heard? I… I don’t believe it. Is this because I wanted sex and you didn’t?”

“No!” Rye rubbed her face and tried to get her brain working again.

“Then why? Because I talked about Fairyland? Or is there someone else?”

“No.”

“But –” Flora shook her head and put a hand to her face. “This can’t be
happening. I thought we were doing great. We didn’t spend as much time together
as I’d like, but I thought that was because you couldn’t, not that you didn’t
want to.”

“Um. Maybe you should find someone who can spend more time with you.”

“You’re the person I want to spend time with.”

Rye looked away to the doors. “You could have your pick of women like me.”

Flora hissed in breath. “Holy Elm. Is that what you think? That I cruise around
picking up women for casual sex for a while, then toss them aside? Rye? Is that
how you think of me?”

Rye’s wings tightened even harder against her back.

“Have I given you that impression?” Flora demanded. “Or is this a conclusion
you’ve reached all on your own? Branch! Answer me!”

“Flora, I –”

Flora cracked a stinging slap on the side of Rye’s face. “I hate what you do to
me. That you can do it so easily. I should really be hating you.”

Rye wanted to be a million miles away. It didn’t help that she didn’t want to be
doing this.

“All this while,” Flora said, “I’ve been thinking we were fine. Branch, Trunk,
and Root! Trust the buds. My arse! This is the shittiest end to a great day. Did
you set me up for this? Give me such a wonderful dinner so that you could break
my heart afterward?”

Rye squirmed.

Flora stalked to the doors and yanked one open. “Get out.”

Rye wandered to the door but stopped near Flora. Rye could hear Flora’s angry
breathing. She could feel Flora stabbing a glare at her, but couldn’t look at
her.

“I’m sorry,” Rye said.

“By your logic, I was just a casual screw to you, wasn’t I?”

Rye bit her lip and scowled down at the carpet. This hurt.

“What are you waiting for?” Flora said. “You want to watch me cry? Rub salt into
the wound?”

“Oh, fey.” Rye turned to see Flora with tears already rolling down her cheeks.
Something snapped inside. “No. Oh, gods, no. You’re the most wonderful person
I’ve ever met.”

“Then why in the name of the Holy Elm and All the Trees of the Sacred Grove are
you dumping me?”

“I –”

“How can I be so wonderful and… and at the same time be someone who just
casually picks women up and casts them aside when I’ve worn them out? How? Come
with me.” Flora grabbed Rye’s wrist. “I’ve got something to show you.”

Rye let Flora tow her around the hall. Flora shoved open the door to her
workroom and flicked the lights on. Rye blinked in the sudden brightness.

“See.” Flora pointed to the unfinished weaving on the loom.

Rye frowned at vivid colours in an abstract design.

“I’ve been working on it for barely a week,” Flora said. “My fingers ache to
complete it. It’s as though the pattern is pouring out of me ready-made. It’s as
though every part of me resonates with it, and it’s part of me. My fingers are
moving of their own accord. This thing is happening independent of my brain.
It’s like I’m pouring pure emotion out, but that it’s leaving me fuller, not
emptied. I feel a little drunk when I rip myself away from a weaving session.
Vitalised. More alive.

As if I’ve tapped into the essence of Infinity. This hasn’t happened to me quite
like this before. Not to this extent. Not so raw. So intense. So amazing. It’s
how I wish all my creations would come to me.”

Rye didn’t know what to say.

“You want to know what it is?” Flora said. “It’s how I feel about you.”

Rye looked up from the cloth to Flora’s face. Flora’s expression made Rye hurt.
She felt as lousy as it was possible to get without the mercy of dying of it.

“Here.” Flora plonked a pair of scissors in Rye’s hand. More tears spilled from
her eyes. “Your turn. Show me what you think of me.”

Shit.

“Go ahead. Cut it up. Hack it apart.”

Rye threw the scissors away. They clattered on the floor. Rye clasped Flora’s
face in both hands and kissed her on the lips. After a momentary stiffness,
Flora kissed back. Angry. Hungry. Rye tore Flora’s underwear as she pulled them
off. Flora’s grip on Rye’s hair and wings blurred pleasure and pain. Rye ground
Flora into the wooden floor as she drove her to a climax. Flora’s ungentle
fingers hit the spot between Rye’s wings to push her over the edge in a jagged
orgasm.

Panting, Rye rolled onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling half-dazed.
Beyond the bright lights, the glass part of the roof showed unrelieved
blackness. What was she doing? Her life had become this thing out of her
control. It slipped and writhed away from her, and carried her along.
Dangerous. Wonderful. Scary. Amazing.