by K. S. Nelson

Suli lies curled in the nest of pillows she calls a bed, under the heap of tattered blankets that smell like sour socks and a bit like berries because he’d poured cherry soda on them when she said she didn’t want to drink.

He might still be home. She can’t tell because the door deafens the discord enough that if she lies perfectly still only her spine aches.

Her fingers twitch, tightening around her shawl, hand-painted in a bruising violet and reptilian green. The balm’s sting still lingers, drawing tears like Nani’s fierce embrace.

Remember, my jaan, surrender to the divine. Give fully to be loved.

She’d filched the shawl from his closet days before her birthday, wrapped it in a sheaf of newspaper, and left it on the wobbly dresser, then pretended to be so surprised to find it later.

That was ages ago, five months at least, back when she imagined the scrap of muslin to be a magic carpet that could spirit her to where Nani had gone.

Tink.

Suli twists just enough to glance out the window. Jade wings flutter against dust-caked glass—once, twice, then gone.

She’s not ready to leave the warmth of her nest, but they need her, so she frees her foot like a hatchling breaking from its shell. Her bones are weaker than before, but she can still stand.

Tucking the shawl away, she eyes the clothing tossed in the corner of her room. Awful, scratchy hand-me-downs. She’s not supposed to go out in a nightie, but it’s the softest, with seams that don’t press into her skin, and the nestlings won’t care what she wears.

She grasps the knob and pulls the door open, carrying her pain carefully, like a teacup that’s too full. She picks her way down the stairs, and even though she moves so slowly, when she opens the screen door it still shrieks at her. She stops, shoulders hunched, one hand on the doorframe, not breathing with the spikes piercing her spine, but through them.

It didn’t quell the pain like Nani promised, but she can move again.

She’s outside now, just twelve more steps. So close to the gathering place, the prickling spurweed under her bare feet won’t stop her. Only one thing can, and he’s not here.

Ten more.

Eight.

With a bang he emerges, screen door slamming against the warped vinyl siding, each footfall bruising her senses.

Suli collapses to the hard earth, her chin tucked to her chest as dew wicks into her pink nightie. She has to breathe through—

The pain.

Seizes.

Her belly tightens, twisting and knotting. Her ears ring. The world tilts.

“Hey!” he bellows, and she shakes. “If you’re too sick for school, you’re too sick to play outside.” He isn’t even mad yet, but the nerves don’t care. They spark and jolt.

“No work today?” The neighbour calls, her voice cutting almost as much as his.

“Night duty,” he shouts back.

“What’s your kid doing in the mud?”

“Faking it, and she’s not mine.”

His words crash into her like fists into bruised flesh, and it’s stupid because she doesn’t want people to think she’s his.

A fluttering against her hand brings Suli back. She focuses on the wings against her skin, so scratchy, but they carry a promise, one that helps her navigate the pounding of the world.

Straining to open one eye, she fixes on its transparent jade wings. The dragon, no bigger than a tree sparrow, has its head bowed, poised to strike.

The nestlings are here. She strains but can’t see any glints of glassy wings. They must be hidden somewhere in the dandelions and thistle, desperate to feed. But they can’t. Not with him here.

Wait. She signs the word, and it huffs, its tail lashing.

Please, she begs soundlessly, and it settles into the spurweed, slitted eyes yellow and intent.

He’s still hollering. “That old bitch said she couldn’t give anymore, whatever that means, then left her useless brat with me.”

Useless. The word presses in, finding the cracks, prying them further apart.

“I thought it hurt to walk,” he says, his voice tearing through her so easily that he must be looming over her. “So how the hell d’you get out here?”

Nani said to talk, say words so he feels better, but it’s all too much.

“You ignoring me?” His work boot, caked with clay, presses into her ribs. “Fine. Lay in the mud all day—”

The torment extends like a stretched tendon, ready to snap.

“—not gonna carry you. You can’t con me like you did your gramma, so you can quit that fake shaking shit.”

He stomps away, his footfalls distant, but the quaking has taken over and she can’t stop.

Useless. The voice in her head warps, deepens. That’s why she left.

The dragon nudges, rasping against the back of her hand, then the nestlings crowd around, their gauzy wings a murmur against her fingertips, the inside of her wrist, her cheek, and the agony dies down to a whisper.

They stayed.

And she is useful to those who matter.

Ready, she signs.

The dragon flits a few feet away, turns, and charges. Suli holds still as it butts against her head, right between her eyes, knocking her free into the perfect stillness.

No flesh, no form.

She expands outward, not stopping to glance at the wraith of a girl below, not because she can’t watch the glittering reptiles swarm her spindly body; it’s captivating to see them pulse and twitch, but she has to do this right. She must gorge on the stillness so she can live long enough for them.

It will hurt when she returns, her bones whittled to wisps, nerves rent by the divine, but she can bear it. For she is their mettle, their magic, their very breath of life. And they love her.