they caged you in gold, let me break the lock

Iago Otho had been Master Blacksmith for the kingdom of Letrell for decades. He revolutionized armor and weapon designs, worked on his own inventions and was developing possible methods of flight when his luck turned for the worst.

The problem with living in a prosperous kingdom is other nations end up getting ideas. And for all his work, he could not prevent Letrell’s downfall- they had superior technology. The other nations that allied against them had the numbers. Iago never felt much loyalty to the kingdom he grew up in, so he packed his cart with his work and tools and left in the dead of night.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before he runs out of funds- materials for inventions are costly, something he didn’t have to worry about while being the queen’s pet blacksmith. So, ironically, he finds himself at the doorstep of the castle of King Marcus, one of the nations that seized Letrell and caused him to land in this predicament.

He’s dressed in his finest black robes, he’s waxed his mustache and hair into place for the occasion. He’s holding an example of his finest work that tends to go over well on nobles: a metal rose, complete with small spikes and lifelike petals.

Iago is brought into the King’s throne room, the court fully in session with men and women dressed resplendently in gowns and suits glimmering with silver and gold. Full of the disgusting trappings of the rich nobles he has to spend his life appeasing.

He’s pushed forward by a guard and he turns to snarl at the man as he’s marched into the center of the room. Iago looks up to see a king sitting on a golden throne, nothing new, but sitting at his feet is…

Something miraculous. Something out of the Biblical stories the women at the orphanage would read them. A man with huge, feathered white wings that have been dusted with golden glitter. He’s almost naked, his body tanned with lean muscles, a white silk veil protecting his modesty. Iago’s eyes trail down his legs, where he sees a golden cuff around an ankle attached to a golden chain that snakes behind him.

The winged man looks back down at him with glimmering brown eyes. The lower half of his face is hidden behind a golden mask.

“Presenting Iago Otho, a master blacksmith in need of work,” calls the guard next to him.

He tears his eyes away and looks back up to the king, an aging man with silver streaks through long black hair. He’s so thin he’s almost skeletal.

“You’ve come at a good time,” he says in a rasping voice, “My court’s blacksmith died just a few days ago.”

Iago hums sympathetically. He ate with that very man and slipped arsenic inside his wine cup.

“If you hire me on, your Majesty, I will craft great works at your demand. I served Letrell for twenty-five years as her master blacksmith and now look for a new home. Ask me to craft anything and I will prove myself better than any smith you’ve worked with.” He says confidently, if a bit pompously. He’s earned it, after all.

“And you’ve brought an example of your work?” At Iago’s nod, he waves a hand. “Bring it forth.”

He begins walking up the stairs of the raised dais. He stops in front of the winged man and holds out the metal rose, which the king leans over to take. As the king examines it, his eyes drift down to feathered white wings. They’re beautiful. Iago wants to study them, draw them, see them flex and move.

“You have skill,” the king says, and hands the rose back to him. “My horse needs better armor. Use my smithy, you will be given the materials you demand. Make something impressive and I’ll make you my new Master Blacksmith.”

Iago nods and bows. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

King Marcus coughs and waves a dismissive hand. He’s about to turn away when he hesitates.

“A gift, your Majesty,” Iago says, and holds the rose out to the winged man, who looks up at him with wide eyes.

The king chuckles. “A rose for my angel? Of course.”

The winged man reaches out and slowly takes it. Their hands brush and Iago wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves.

“It will never die,” Iago whispers to him, “It will always stay in bloom.”

Brown eyes turn sad again. Iago tears his eyes away and goes back down the stairs.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

Iago throws himself into his work. Kings rarely give second chances, and he really doesn’t want to make the trek to the next kingdom with winter setting in. His workplace is decent enough, and there’s a swarm of young apprentices eager to do busy work.

Five days in and one gains the courage to ask him a question that isn’t about metalwork.

“Are you going to the feast tonight, Master Otho?”

He rolls his eyes and dips the plate mail into water with his tongs. “Too busy for loutish nobility. And neither should you if you want to learn a thing or two.”

“But the angel will be singing tonight! I heard it’s like the Heavens opened up and it's the most beautiful song in the world.”

That does peak Iago’s interest. “Do you know why he wears a mask on his face?”

Another apprentice speaks up. “Heaven’s wrath. Angels shouldn’t be kept in captivity.”

“Aw, come on George, enough of your doom and gloom nonsense.”

“It’s true! The king’s going to Hell because of what he’s done.”

The apprentices begin sharing wild rumors, like how the angel made a guard kill herself when he was left ungagged for too long. Silly superstitions and wild tales made up by the bored. And yet it did spark Iago’s curiosity.

There are fantastical things in this world, that much is true. He’s seen a unicorn paraded around court, heard mermaids sing from a ship, and everyone knows not to follow the lights you see in the woods at night lest the fae snatch you.

That doesn’t mean Heaven and Hell exist, or that there’s a God up there judging him and his sins. He believes in what he can see, and make, and God’s never done anything for him and praying as a sad orphan never gave him the happy family he desired.

Iago wants to talk to this so-called angel, learn where he came from, and what he can do. What’s his name? How did he get captured? Can he actually fly with those wings, and for how long?

So he closes the workshop early, to his apprentices’ delight, and goes to his quarters to freshen up for the feast.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

He’s wearing his fancy robes, black with golden outlines, and is sitting at one of the tables in the ballroom. The room is filled with mindless chatter as nobles wait for food to be served. Iago can’t take his eyes off the winged man, who’s still sitting in front of the throne. He’s close enough to see he’s now wearing a gold leaflet crown in his black hair and has on golden make up.

The king eventually stands and claps his hands. The crowd quiets.

“Thirty-nine years ago, on this very day, I was crowned King of Ashward. I have watched this nation prosper, guiding and nurturing the various talents…”

Iago tunes out the rest of the speech, his eyes never straying from the winged man.

“... and tonight, I would like to bless you all with my angel’s voice.” The king sits on the throne again as nobles applaud. He gestures, and a man wearing the captain of the guard’s uniform approaches the throne, bows and holds out a hand. King Marcus gives him a small golden key.

The winged man glares up at the captain as the man easily yanks him to his feet. The captain uses the key to unlock the golden mask around the lower half of his face, pulls it away to reveal a short beard and a resigned expression.

The captain of the guard steps back next to the throne as the winged man turns to face the nobility. His white wings stretch out, and Iago would think he was getting ready to fly away if not for the golden cuff and chain still around his ankle.

“Sing,” the king orders, and the man bows his head. He begins to sing a tragic ballad.

Iago is entranced. He has the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard, haunting and magnificent. It brings tears to his eyes that he furiously blinks away, tugs on a heart he didn’t think was still there. He feels a strange sensation of falling forward, a pull and tug towards this strange, winged man.

The song ends and he begins singing another, and yes, yes, yes, he wants more, he wants to listen forever-

The captain steps forward and he tries to knock him away with his wings, but the captain grabs the man’s wing and twists and yanks on the feathers. He lets out a pained, discordant screech so different from the beautiful harmonies of before as he falls to his knees. The captain gags him, slides the golden mask over the lower half of his face, and steps away.

White wings wrap around himself in a protective fashion, hiding most of the man’s body from view. Iago blinks, the spell broken as the nobles around him begin to applaud and cheer.

He knows one thing: Iago must speak with him.

---------------------------------------------------------------

He doesn’t get a chance until a week later, after he’s finished with the King’s horse’s armor and made Master Blacksmith. He’s told to bring his tools to one of the king’s royal chambers as there’s something that needs to be fixed.

Iago walks past guard after guard until he arrives at the correct door. He pushes it open.

In the middle of the room is a large golden cage that almost touches the ceiling. Several of the bars are broken and bent, which is most likely what he has to fix. Inside of the cage sits the winged man on top of a pile of cushions.

The room must have once been a study, because there are bookshelves on the walls and a desk and chair in the corner of the room. A window is open that overlooks the gardens.

There’s also a guard in here, a heavyset woman who’s looking him up and down with suspicion in her eyes.

“I’m Master Iago Otho, here for repairs,” he says, holding up his tool chest. She grunts and turns to the winged man, who stands up. His wings look horribly cramped against the golden bars.

Want me to stay? The guard signs with her hands. Iago made it a point to learn as many languages as possible, sign language being one of them.

I think it’s fine. He gave me the rose. The winged man signs back. Go take your break, M.

The guard grunts again and makes for the door, glaring at Iago on the way out. The door closes behind her.

The winged man bends down and rummages through cushions, pulling out a familiar metal rose. He holds it out and spins it between his fingers. His eyes are crinkling like he’s smiling behind the mask.

“Yes, that was for you. Now, I have some questions for you. If I take that mask off, do you promise not to try and kill me or whatever you do with that lovely voice?” He could just sign, he knows, but he really wants to see the man’s full face. Besides, it’s not like he can do much from inside a cage, right?

The winged man nods and gives him, of all things, a thumb’s up. Iago rolls his eyes and pulls his lockpicking tools out of his box. He steps up to the side of the cage that’s bent and broken.

“Turn around, now,” he instructs, and the man obliges. Iago can’t help but stare at where the wings connect to his shoulder blades. His eyes trail down to a shapely ass barely concealed by a white veil and his face grows hot as he focuses back on the mask.

It’s a complicated lock, but once Iago had to pick the queen’s jewelry drawers after she lost her key, this is nothing compared to that. It unclicks and the man yanks it off, throws it onto a cushion.

Iago circles around so they’re face to face once more. The man is rubbing at his beard and sighing happily. He looks up at Iago and beams, and oh he is beautiful.

“What should I call you?” He blurts out, “I’m Iago.”

“My name is Samuel.” He puffs up, “And I am not an angel, I am a siren.”

“Never heard of you,” Iago says honestly.

“We don’t leave our home island. Except for me. And you can see how well that’s gone,” Samuel gestures to the cage.

Huh. So Heaven and angels are still in question. People might have mistook sirens for angels long ago.

“Are you cold?” Iago asks, and the winged man blinks, surprised.

“Here, I can’t take you seriously in that get up anyways.” He takes off his outer coat and hands it through the cage. Samuel hugs it against his chest, rubs his face on it. It makes Iago blush again.

“Hey, that’s for wearing, not- whatever you’re doing.”

“It’s warm. I miss it,” Samuel sighs, and puts the coat on backwards. There’s no way it’d be able to slide over those massive wings so Iago doesn’t correct him. “Thank you, Iago.”

“It’s- whatever.” He sniffs. “How do you sing so beautifully?”

Samuel leans closer and teases, “You think my singing is beautiful?”

Iago sputters. “You- you know what I mean! You entranced me somehow, and they stopped you from singing more at the feast. Why?”

Samuel frowns. “I just want to escape. I want to go back to my island. Home. It’s true, we can put people in a trance, make them do what we want. But your king was smart. He chained me down so I cannot fly away, and gags me so I only sing when he wants. He gave me a deaf guard, Maggie, after I killed the first one. I’m trapped.”

Iago steps closer to the cage. “It sounds like what you need is a blacksmith. To break your chains, to pick your locks, to help you escape.”

Samuel looks surprised. “You would do that? Save me? Why?”

Iago can’t believe it either, but he also can’t stand the creeping wrongness that is seeing this winged man locked away. “You deserve to be free. Give me a day or two to get everything ready. We’ll slip away in the night, you can hide in my wagon until we reach the coast and can charter you a ship.”

Samuel lets out a giddy laugh and grabs onto Iago’s shirt through the bars. “Thank you,” he says sincerely, brown eyes shining, “I will repay you somehow.”

“Yes, yes, now let me do what I came in here to do,” Iago grumbles, and starts getting to work on the cage bars, knowing his life is about to change ever since a winged man entered it.

—-------------------------------------------------------------

The plan goes off without a hitch. Iago sneaks and bribes his way past guards until he gets to Samuel’s room, where he picks the lock on the cage and the mask. He brought his best bolt cutter for the chain, but it still takes a few tries before it snaps off. The cuff is unfortunately wielded onto Samuel’s ankle, and he doesn’t know how to get it off without hurting the man.

Samuel has him cover his ears as he begins singing a song, crooning all the guards to sleep as they pass by. They make it to the stables; Samuel hides inside his wagon and Iago takes his horses and leaves.

Traveling to the coast is treacherous, Iago pushing the horses as hard as they can in order to escape the king’s knights. He gets to see Samuel fly for the first time, high in the sky as he scouts for followers. It’s truly incredible, and Samuel’s smile when he landed even more so.

Every night Iago fell asleep to one of Samuel’s songs, carried gently to his dreams, and every morning he’d wake to find Samuel wrapped around him, using a wing as a blanket. He’d reach out and touch the soft feathers, feeling like the luckiest man alive.

After three weeks of travel, they make it to a coastal town. There are ships there, and with a heavy heart Iago puts a small bag of gold pieces into Samuel’s hands.

“There should be enough in there to get you wherever you wish to go.” He says, trying to keep the sadness out of his voice and failing.

Samuel looks at him, determined, and grabs his shoulders. “Come with me.”

What? At Iago’s baffled expression, Samuel squeezes him. “Come with me, to my island. You can live with us… with me.”

Iago hesitates, looking back at his wagon full of blacksmithing supplies, but… the heart wants what it wants, and Iago can’t say no to Samuel’s pleading face.

“Yes,” he decides, choosing Samuel over the humanity he never liked much anyways. Samuel beams, reaches up and cradles Iago’s face.

And then they’re kissing passionately, white wings surrounding them, and Iago knows he made the right choice.