Wings

16: Six Feet To The Grave / With The Skin Of A Saint

NPOV

Track: Skin of a Saint, Connor Kauffman

I used to know better.

I remember the days before I met Will Solace as if they were spent underwater—I don't think I had even realized how each day blended into all the others, every moment overshadowed by a constant, vigilant look over my shoulder to check for hunters. No day unlike the rest. I thought that because I was floating, not drowning, that I must be doing pretty well for myself.

And then the golden boy pulled me from the depths, oxygen filled my lungs, and reality became a little sharper and the sunshine reached me more easily than before. This is it, I had thought. This is what living is supposed to look like.

But look where I am now, I think as the knights half-drag me out of the Solace's house. Drowning—water filling my lungs and the sun getting further away with every step.

I used to know better—I knew that floating was better than drowning and that although surviving and living may not be the same, one is a lot less risky than the other. Because the moment you go from surviving to living, you have so much further to fall—I really am Icarus, and Will Solace is the sun—and Hades, I should have known this story would only ever end one way.

"Keep an eye on him," orders General Clarisse. "Now that we have a verified witness testimony against him, His Majesty will have a much easier time seeing a formal trial go in our favor, so no need to fake an accidental death anymore. Now we just need to make sure he doesn't escape." She gives me a once-over. "Shouldn't be too hard, considering you guys' aim. Good work, soldiers."

She then gestures at one of the knights to take her spot restraining me on my left side, and he steps forward to do so, grabbing my arm firmly so that General Clarisse can let go and lead the team back to the castle. My stomach roils at the thought of walking all the way to the castle—it has to be miles away, and one of my legs screams with every step, let alone the pain in the rest of my body. If they're planning to make me walk the whole distance, I'm not sure I'm going to make it even halfway without passing out.

I keep my mouth shut, knowing better than to argue.

"It's weird," mutters the knight restraining me on my right side. "The Monster kind of looks like an angel, doesn't he?"

"I'd arrest Jesus Christ himself if it paid well enough," jokes the guard on my left. "Who the fuck cares if he's an angel? If the King's money says this is the Monster, I say it's a monster, too. I'll have a moral crisis on a full belly, at least."

The men laugh, and General Clarisse rolls her eyes at them.

We head through the town, and the townspeople step out of their houses to watch, like it's a parade. I try to ignore the jeering aimed at my wings and the applause for the knights who bravely arrested me.

Somehow, despite the hundreds of pairs of eyes trained on me, the feeling that I'm being watched doesn't come until near the end of the parade, and I debate whether or not I should look up or ignore it.

Finally, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I look.

The Chase family stands outside of their house looking grim as we pass. Annabeth's jaw is clenched, and her gray eyes are trying to convey some sort of question to me. I'm not sure what she's trying to say, and I can't communicate with her without potentially getting her and her father in trouble for helping me, so instead, I move my gaze to her father instead.

He looks horrified. His eyes dart from wound to wound on my body, his medical mind probably calculating my chances of survival. Finally, he swallows hard and meets my eyes. He raises his fingers to his temple in a salute, and although the knights probably assume it's to thank them for their service, the way he nods at me tells me that that isn't his meaning at all.