Against the Wind

21.2 || Amina

When there finally were footsteps to break the silence, Amina jumped, gasping for a breath she'd forgotten to take. Her gaze tore from the creature's stare just as a russet shape scampered into view. Kyril's hand clapped its shoulder, fingers tracing the armour's grooves all the way down in a familial fashion the other Feralite did not appear to reciprocate. "Now, Lyxxira," he purred. His voice still made Amina's skin crawl; it was like grainy syrup, sweet and distastefully rough. "Do not scare our guest."

Amina clenched her fists. "I'm not scared."

His ear twitched, levering his head to the side, analytical.

"And I'm clearly not your guest," she spat before he could say anything mocking.

With a final pat to Lyxxira's arm, Kyril slid up to the bars, brow furrowed. "Sorry," he said, the word dragged out meaningfully, like he meant it. "My friends and I have had... difficult times with people like you. We find it difficult to trust you. We need some time to see you prove you can be a friend to us, you understand?"

Amina only glared. Smooth liars were aplenty, and she would not believe a word of Kyril's silky tongue no matter how grand his pretense. "I will never be your friend." The word grated between her teeth.

Kyril let out a little sigh and withdrew. "Shame. I did think you would like it." He flicked Lyxxira's arm again—the creature hadn't moved a muscle—and spoke in a string of low, growling tones. Lyxxira dipped its head in a singular nod, and they began to walk away in tandem.

There were insults Amina wanted to fire at them, but they were jarred out of her by the scrape of the door being opened. She flinched again, stumbling backwards. Her exchange with Kyril had blinded her to the approach of two more figures; only now did she see the winged Feralite shove Rayanah through the crack in the door and yank it shut behind her. Rayanah landed on her hands and knees, her midnight cloak dragging through the dust. Beyond the bars, the Feralite cackled, curling long, ashy fingers around the bars as the laugh buoyed through her, but Rayanah said nothing.

Amina surged forward with a stomp of her foot. The Feralite's attention swivelled to her, her smile crawling higher at one end, then scampered away with a flick of her pale wings.

With only emptiness yawning beyond them, the dingy bars came fully into focus. Amina's chest began to constrict again, sucked inward like a void had been sharply drawn inside her ribs, and she spun fast on her heels to look at Rayanah instead. The other mage was slowly shuffling into a sitting position, every motion stiff and laboured. Her dark eyes never left the dirty floor. Something within Amina seethed and bubbled at the intensely pitiful sight, enough to distract.

Mouth twisting into a grimace, she folded her arms. "Your plan is going amazingly so far." Her voice came out sticky and pushed through clenched teeth.

Rayanah showed no sign she'd even heard. Finally up, she propped her back against the bars, one knee drawing to her chest. Her sharp cheekbones were shiny with traces of tears.

"Well?" The quiet pressed at Amina, tight enough to leave a sprawling itch. The world seemed to tip beneath her feet, just a little, not quite solid. It raised her voice's pitch. "What now?"

More strained silence. With some frustration, Rayanah swiped at her eyes, lips thinned like a woman used to fighting tears and yet still losing the battle. She stared, pointedly, at the wall. The stare had a ghostly haughtiness to it, a vague attempt that was about as effective as a knife without a blade.

It made her look younger than before, eerily so. Amina drew in a breath and shifted her weight, prepared to ask the question again with a little more bite, but Rayanah must've sensed it.