Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Twenty Four: Conflict of Interest

"I'm not wearing that." Jeorge eyed the garment spread out on the table and took another step back. "Absolutely not."

"It's none of my business if you want to continue getting beaten up," came the flat reply, "but Harkenn paid for it, so if you really don't want to wear it, take it up with him."

Jeorge glared at Nika, who returned the gaze without flinching. He was forced to look down as the pounding in his head increased, spurred on by the magic exuding from the Unspoken. He'd never really understood the Gift, and the last couple of sessions with Nika had done absolutely nothing for it.

In his case it was a fucking curse.

"I'm not enjoying this, you know," Nika said, seeming to make a concerted effort not to betray his frustration. A wasted effort, of course. Jeorge could see and sense aura as well as ever. "I'm not taking pleasure in it, even if you are insufferable."

Jeorge smirked without humour. "Feeling's mutual."

Nika sighed and rubbed his face under the hood. "Just...try it on, at least? And fair warning, if you are going to petition Harkenn I'm not coming with you."

"Fine." Jeorge scowled and eyed the cloak on the table once more. His eyes were throbbing with the pounding beat today, and of course it was when he was feeling most wretched that the dark-damned thing arrived. None of it would have happened if he'd kept his head down and stayed in Caelum.

He'd also probably be dead.

With a sigh he picked up the garment and slung it around his shoulders. It caught uncomfortably on the feathers of his wings, and he tucked them in tighter.

"Try removing your jerkin." Nika moved as if to come and help, but stopped himself. "It should be warm enough for you without one."

"What's the point in it if I have to be virtually naked underneath?" Jeorge snarled, tugging it back off and undoing the clasps of his jerkin.

"Stop being dramatic. It's supposed to make your wings less obvious. Wearing enough clothes to make you look double your normal size is not being less obvious."

Jeorge dumped his jerkin on the table with a vicious sneer and tried again. It still felt entirely wrong to be encasing his wings in this way, but the lump on the back of his head still hadn't fully healed from the last time he'd been caught unawares. He didn't really have a choice; though he was loath to admit it, it was reassuring that he would no longer have to constantly check whether his cloak was covering everything. He did up the small clasps along the front, but left the buckle at the throat open, daring Nika to say something with a glower.

"No one should look twice," Nika said, with a satisfied nod. "It looks a little bulky in the back, but I don't think anyone will assume it's wings." He cocked his head, considering. "Don't forget to keep your hood up."

"I thought we were just covering the wings."

"You're wearing an Unspoken cloak. You'll have to play the role. Cara's already had to pull strings to get this for you, Harkenn didn't like the idea at all."

"I don't like it," Jeorge muttered. He sighed. "I like getting hit around the head even less, though."

"That we can agree on, at least," Nika muttered. He scooped up the brown paper packaging that the cloak had arrived in and folded it up into a neat square.

Jeorge stepped back from the table to get a better look at the garment. There was no mirror of any sort in the castle kitchens, so he had to evaluate by feel as much as sight. It looked very similar to Nika's cloak, only brown, and didn't clip as tightly at the waist. It had been adapted with extra fabric in the back which had made it look like an intricate vegetable sack when spread out on the table, but further investigation revealed that the tailor had done a remarkable job of guessing the amount of extra material needed.