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One of the horses huffed and stomped its feet impatiently. Did the animal not sense that it was just as likely to get eaten as he was? Stupid horse. But the driver didn’t urge the animals forward. It was quite possible he was considering turning around. What had his father promised him to get him to go along for this ride? Or rather what did he threaten him with?
With one last glance back at his home, Remis sent a prayer up to the heavens, to whichever gods cared to listen to his feeble pleas. Silently, he begged for safety for his friends, the driver, and his sister. For himself, he only wished that whatever came for him first, the winged beasts or the witch, they’d be swift with his death or not come at all. Then because he wasn’t a monster, he prayed that the horses would make it out alive too.
“Last chance to back out,” Remis announced.
Merritt only snorted in response and Percy made a show of getting comfortable against the cushion. Finally, the driver cracked the reins and the wagon jostled forward. Remis swayed with the movement and did his best to ignore the rapid beating of his heart that had leapt up into his throat.
“I hope you both updated your wills and testaments before making the absolutely terrible decision to join me.”
“Nah,” Merritt rested his arms against Remis' seat. “Remember that brunette I was telling you about?”
“The one that isn’t interested in you?” Percy closed his book with a solid thump. “Really, Merritt, leave the poor woman alone.”
Merritt stiffened but the smile on his face only widened. “You only say that because you wish she fancied you.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I wrote a letter to her. Had to tell her that I was off to face the dangers of the Deadwoods. She’ll be filled with worry for me, no doubt. And then when we return, she’ll recognize her true feelings for me. I bet she throws herself at me upon our arrival home.”
“I bet she throws something at you, for sure. Like a fist. Or a small dagger.” Percy stretched his legs out in front of him.
Their friend only knocked his knuckles against the bench and sucked his teeth. “You’re both just sour.”
Remis chuckled, but the sound dried up in his throat. He looked through the trees that hung over the road and up to the sky. Stretches of clouds were pulled like spun sugar in wisps of gray and white and the stars were already glimmering like a diamond-studded necklace. Dragonis were masters of disguise; their dark underbellies blended in with the night sky and the treetops. Would they even know if one was near?
There were too many unanswered questions. Remis knew nothing of survival outside of civilization much less how to withstand dragons. Of all the things his father had prepared him for, this was not on the list. All those classes were useless now unless he made it back in one piece. Etiquette? Not necessary. Swordsmanship? He’d be dead before he could pull the damn thing from his belt. Mathematics? History? Worthless.
His father had thrown his natural talent back in his face. The inkling of magic that Remis was able to gather from the world around him. The one skill that his mother had always encouraged him in. Not even that small power could spare them, especially since that was the one area of schooling that Remis lacked. Perhaps if he’d already been enrolled in the mage school then he’d have something, but shifting a gentle wind or causing a bud to come to bloom and open were not talents that would save his ass or his friends.
The three of them fell into silence and Remis wished someone would say something. At least that way their minds would be busy with something other than watching the shadows and the skies.
They’d listened to the clomp of the horses’ hooves, the creaking of the wagon wheels, and the steady turn of Percy’s book pages for hours before the wagon began to slow. The driver was the first to break the silence as he let out a panic-driven scream.
6
Meira
Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Meira felt that tug in her gut that screamed for her to give chase, to follow the magic of the huntress mark, but she’d only just awoken from her witch’s sleep and her legion already had orders to move out on a mission toward Croughton. She was somehow doing too much and most certainly not enough and that left her with a tangle of anxious energy trapped within her ribcage.
Thanks to Bram and his demand to have her cleared by a healer she now sat before Arno, the head healer within Mount Ridmond, attempting to hold her fretful body still. Her eyes followed the back and forth motion of his finger. As a former scale rider himself who’d been the lone survivor of his legion after they’d met their tragic end, he still looked one part warrior. All of this had happened before Meira had even been born but Arno’s frame was still built with muscle stacked upon muscle. The simple white jacket he wore looked more like a child’s play costume as it stretched across his shoulders and bulging arms. When Arno was satisfied, he dropped his hand and looked up with a gentle smile at Yule. Meira looked toward Yule too, trying her best not to appear too hopeful.
“Can I see the injury on your hand? Bram mentioned before that you’d managed to cut your hand when you fell but he’d wrapped it so thoroughly and swore he’d cleaned it prior that when it didn’t bleed through, I’d thought to leave it alone. Is it healed up?”
The wrap that had been on her hand before had been replaced with her riding gloves. Meira clutched her hands together and laughed though the sound was hollow. “It’s hardly even there now. Just the slight pink line. Nothing more than a scratch and nothing worth worrying about.” She waved Arno off and tried to keep her smile from falling.
Arno nodded. “Well, that’s certainly good to hear. If it starts to show any signs of infection, though it sounds like you may be past that point, you can use the salve that you have in your pack.” He patted his shoulder as though he was remembering the pack he used to carry and the precautions held within. Sighing, he turned back to Yule. “She appears to be in good health. Her illness has left her just as fast as it came. Peculiar but not worth keeping her bed-bound for. She’s cleared to ride.” Arno’s baritone voice vibrated throughout her body as she replayed his words again and again in her mind.
Bram couldn’t stop her now. She had the blessing of a healer, and in Arno’s case, a legendary scale rider too. Meira’s grin spread slowly across her face like the sun finally cresting the horizon.
“Are you packed?” Yule arched a thick dark brow.
Already in a fresh uniform with her stomach blissfully full again, Meira dropped to her feet from Arno’s cold examination table. “I packed as soon as I left the grand hall.”
Yule’s chuckle was approval enough. Still, the lieutenant motioned with her hands toward the infirmary door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Bram would be pissed. She could already picture the look on his face, the terrible deep draw of his brow over his darkening evergreen eyes, and the way his broad chest would swell with frustration. It was very clear the pair would not be sharing a bed anytime soon. On any other day, that idea might lessen Meira’s good mood, but when she considered finding her pleasure she imagined dark messy hair and even darker eyes as they stared at her with that hungry pleading look.
Nausea stirred in her stomach. She didn’t know him. She didn’t want to know him. Why else would she have placed this huntress mark upon herself if not for the sole purpose of bringing him to a swift death? These swirling feelings of desire that ran like an undercurrent to the vision of him in the forest…they were only a snippet of what had happened and she needed to refuse herself any sort of positive notions toward the man. She couldn’t afford to get attached.
Pulling her shoulders back, Meira marched from the infirmary with renewed ambition. There would be no keeping her from this mission and from finding her stranger. She stopped long enough on her walk back to grab her pack from her room before flinging it over her shoulder. It was heavy with spare clothing and rations. Next, she strapped a dagger to her belt, relaxing as it patted again the fullness of her thigh.
The shakiness that had plagued her when she’d first risen from that terribly long sleep was entirely gone now. A full belly had been the best remedy to calm her body and clear her mind it seemed. This time when she tracked through the halls she didn’t need to cling onto them to hold her up, nor did she balk at the upward climb of thousands of stairs. The in and out of breath filling her lungs and being expelled warmed her body in the very best way. Even her calves and thighs—out of practice and a bit sore—didn’t give her pause when they began to ache. All of this meant she was alive. These sensations were what pushed her in battle. She’d come to crave them and now that she was feeling healthy again, she’d never felt more intoxicated by them.
