Chapter 27. Frog in a well
☠️ --Present-- ☠️
The morning sun poured through the tall arched windows, its honeyed light dancing across the polished floorboards. A soft breeze drifted through the curtains, carrying with it the fresh scent of dew-laden grass. I could still feel the cool kiss of morning air on my skin crisp and refreshing, like the first page of a new story.
"Good morning, Poet."
He puffed out his chest and tilted his head in dignified satisfaction. "A great morning,”
I reached out to stroke the silky plume beneath his beak, then patted my lap. "Come. I think it's about time."
He hopped eagerly onto my velvet cushion, on my lap, "What do you mean, my lady?"
I traced an intricate rune through the air, my magic shimmering like moonlight across still water. Each movement was deliberate an echo of the bond between us.
"Poet," I said softly, my voice carrying the full weight of what I intended. "My guardian. My friend. My guide." I let the words settle. "I bestow upon you the title of Divine Companion."
For a moment the chamber itself seemed to hold its breath, the air thickening with something ancient and expectant. Shadows shifted along the walls. An otherworldly stillness fell over us.
Then came the light.
Warm and brilliant, it flooded every corner of the room a radiant embrace that enveloped Poet in a cocoon of shimmering luminance. Feathers and motes of silver swirled through the air as the glow expanded, bathing us both in celestial warmth.
When it finally receded, a soft gasp left my lips.
Poet stood nearly a head taller, utterly transformed. Gone were the familiar ink-black feathers replaced by resplendent plumage that shimmered like liquid ichor, each feather adorned with a faint fluorescence of sapphire blue that glittered like captured starlight. His eyes, once warm and ordinary, now held something profound ancient and deep, as though they had witnessed the unfolding of worlds.
"My my lady," he whispered, awe trembling through his voice like a plucked string still vibrating. "I do not know what to say."
"You needn't say anything." I smiled, my chest full with something I didn't have a word for. "You have earned this."
I stepped closer and stroked his head gently, marveling at the softness of his new feathers.
"You are no longer merely a summon. You are your own being alive and free. You have your own will. Your own dreams. Your own desires."
Poet lowered his head, emotion shimmering openly in his eyes pride threaded through with uncertainty, gratitude with disbelief.
"My life is yours," he vowed softly. "I wish only to remain by your side. Always."
I laughed quietly and scratched beneath his beak. "And I would have it no other way, my little Poet."
I straightened and clapped my hands together. "Come then, Little Birdie. Let us find breakfast and then make our way to the Archoness. I could use her guidance."
A snap of my wrist and my morning gown became a traveling cloak once more. Hat settled over my hair, staff in hand, I descended the grand staircase. A young footman hurried forward at the bottom.
"Please, my lady take a seat. We will serve you at once."
No sooner had I settled into the carved oak chair than platter after platter arrived freshly baked breads steaming with butter, bowls of stewed fruit, delicate pastries glazed with honey. The scents waltzed together in the air: cinnamon, citrus, warm yeast.
"Is there a special occasion?" I asked a server as he refilled my teacup.
"Not at all, my lady. We simply wish to ensure any guest of the Archoness is wholly satisfied."
I offered a polite smile. "Thank you."
Poet and I wasted nothing every crumb vanished, every cup drained, every morsel honored. When we finished, we strolled across the dew-dappled gardens toward the Archoness's gilded estate. Curious stares followed our passage, and servants parted before us like rippling water.
A gentle tap against my skirt brought me to a halt.
"Hey, lady! Hey, lady!"
I turned. A little girl seven years old at most stood looking up at me, clutching a ragged doll to her chest.
"Good morning." I knelt down to her level. "Are you well, little one? Lost, perhaps?"
She shook her head and offered me a shy, dimpled smile. "You're very pretty."
"Oh!" I reached out and tousled her curls. "And you are simply adorable."
Her small hand shot out, pointing downward. I followed her gaze to my bare feet.
She grinned. "You don't have shoes."
From beneath his wing, Poet attempted and failed to stifle his laughter.
I laughed too, brushing a little earth from my hem. "Thank you very much for telling me."
Hurried footsteps approached from behind. A matronly woman appeared, relief flooding her face the moment she spotted the girl. "There you are, darling!" She scooped her up into her arms, then turned to me with an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry did she trouble you?"
"Not in the slightest," I assured her. "She's a delight."
From the pocket of my cloak I produced a silver coin and extended it toward them. The mother began to protest but the girl had already hugged it to her chest with both hands.
"Thank you, lady!" she chimed, her eyes sparkling.
"Don't forget your shoes!" she called after me as I walked away, her laughter ringing bright over the noise of the marketplace.
"I promise," I called back, raising a hand in farewell.
At the estate gates, wardens in polished armor stood at attention. As we approached, the Archoness herself glided down the marble steps in a gown of emerald silk, her expression shifting from composure to surprise.
"Lady Veil I did not expect you so soon."
"Good morning." I offered a respectful bow. "I was hoping you might direct me toward the Kingdom of Valenford."
"If you like, I can arrange a carriage," she offered. "It is a two-day journey along the trade road."
"That won't be necessary. A bearing will suffice northeast, I believe?"
She smiled. "Exactly right. Follow the paved road through the northern pass and it will lead you straight there."
"Thank you, Archoness." I turned to leave.
"That witch is still here?"
Marcus pushed forward from the doorway, his expression twisted with contempt. "You should be dead by now, Mother. You shouldn't be fraternizing with heathens like "
Ribbit.
He stopped. Blinked. Pressed a hand to his own throat in confusion.
"What in the " He tried again. "She's nothing but a filthy little "
Ribbit. Ribbit.
Every word that curled toward insult, every syllable that reached for cruelty swallowed whole and replaced by the flat, indignant croak of a frog. His mouth kept moving. The sounds that came out were entirely amphibian.
Servants covered their mouths. A young footman turned completely away, shoulders shaking.
I looked at Poet with wide eyes.
He gave me a long, measured sidelong glance and said absolutely nothing.
Marcus pointed at me, his face crimson, his mouth opening and closing frantically.
Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit.
The Archoness observed her son for a quiet moment. Then she exhaled the deep, particular sigh of a woman who has entirely run out of surprise.
"I suppose," she said with great composure, "that this is what he deserves."
She pressed a sealed letter firmly into my hand. " A letter of recommendation for you.” “They have tightened their gates considerably in Valenford this will see you through."
"Thank you." I dipped my head respectfully.
Behind us, Marcus was still trying to form words.
Ribbit.
I stepped to the center of the courtyard and tapped my staff once against the stone.
The shadows at my feet stirred then answered.
They rose first along my spine, climbing like dark water finding its level, spreading across my shoulders in slow deliberate waves. Then came the sound a deep resonant unfurling, like the pages of something ancient being opened for the first time in centuries. Midnight-black wings emerged from my back, vast and absolute, each feather catching the morning light and throwing it back in fragments of blue-black iridescence the way a raven's wing holds color differently depending on how the sun finds it.
They stretched wide wider than seemed possible blotting out a full arc of sky above the courtyard. The nearest hedges bent slightly in the displaced air. A servant took an involuntary step backward.
Beside me, Poet rose to his full height, his newly luminous wings spreading in kind sapphire blue shimmering against the dark of mine, emerald and silver threaded through each feather like light caught in moving water.
For a moment we simply stood there shadow and starlight, side by side.
"With your permission?" Poet asked softly.
"Of course, my friend."
I rolled my shoulders once feeling the weight of the wings settle into something natural, something entirely mine and then I pushed off.
The ground dropped away.
Not with the frantic urgency of escape but with the slow inevitable grace of something that had always belonged in the sky. The wind caught beneath the span of my wings and held, and I rose in a long sweeping arc above the estate above the hedgerows and the fountain and the marble steps until the courtyard below was small enough to hold in one hand.
The courtfolk had gone completely still. Heads tilted back. Mouths open. Someone forgot they were holding a tray.
Poet rose alongside me, his sapphire wings leaving faint trails of light in the morning air like scattered stars refusing to go out.
Together we turned toward the horizon and climbed the city falling away beneath us, the world opening wide and golden ahead, the wind carrying nothing but the promise of distance.
Behind us, growing smaller by the second, Marcus stood alone in the courtyard with his mouth open.
Ribbit.