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The driver opened the carriage door and pointed a hand toward the inn. It was a much more slender building than the warlord’s home but rose a few stories higher. Remis cocked his head as he stared at the weather-worn building, swearing that it leaned a little bit to the right.Together they shuffled out of the carriage and toward the inn.
Remis shook his head as the carriage left them behind and looked to his friends. “I fear we may each be a fraction of an entire idiot.”
13
Meira
Meira returned to the sitting room where Valen and the other riders waited. She’d managed to get back solely on the fuzzy memories of which turns she’d made and which portraits she’d passed. Though there were an abundant number of large pale men in the Brendal family, all of them looked so similar they could claim to be the same person. All blond-haired, blue-eyed, and painted with a similar air of arrogance.
Since she left, more wood had been added to the fire and its glow cast itself upon the heir. A thick fur-lined blue cloak was draped over his broad shoulders making his eyes that much more intense. He pulled his gloves on, looking up as she entered. He had the same coloring as his father but none of the terrible demeanor. Was he destined to eventually become as round as the Brendal men in all the portraits? She struggled to imagine him with more weight on his bones. She glanced around the room, searching for his elder, but Warlord Vigor no longer frowned in the corner where he’d been before. Hopefully, he’d put himself to bed.
“Feeling better?” Lowell stood from the couch.
No. He’d gotten away. This damn curse still exists.
She smiled, or at least tried to smile. Lowell flinched when she made the attempt so perhaps it looked worse than she imagined. “Much.”
“Lovely.” Valen clapped his hands together. “I’ll be taking my father’s finest steed and as it has been arranged, we’ve prepared three other horses to accompany mine on the ground. Should I assume that it will be you three?”
Her stomach twisted. Being grounded on horses was far worse than being stuck in Pocket’s Edge. Bram confirmed as he rose from the couch, leaving Meira to wonder if this was more punishment or if he truly wanted her at his side. There was no protocol for escorting rich men about the countryside. This was new and should be exciting, but all Meira could feel was dread.
She’d already failed to reach her stranger. Her life as she knew it was at risk. Hunting her stranger could pull her away from her mission with her legion and in doing so could cost her standing within her legion or even get her dismissed from the ranks entirely. Meira, being absorbed into the scale riders, did not have a family to protect her like Bram and the others did. No one would fight for her but herself. Should Bram punish her by grounding her on a damn horse, she’d grin and bear it.
Valen led them from the home and out to the stables beyond the back road. She couldn’t help another look down the street, a hopeful glance for the carriage that carried her stranger away. The road was empty, silent, and dark. When the horses were readied, Bram let Lowell call down his dragon, Ridden, to inform the others to mount and follow overhead.
Ridden was all copper scales and white-tipped spikes. Not a beauty when compared to other Bold Wings, but this beast was particularly cruel when necessary. He swooped from the cloud cover above and dropped into a landing beside the stables, baring his pointed teeth. Horses whinnied and stomped their feet at his proximity. Two of the four that were saddled and ready to ride startled and reared up onto their back legs.
Their host was quick to coo at the animals, and though he watched the dragon with narrowed interest, his curiosity was natural. Citizens didn’t interact with Bold Wings, only the dragonis, which picked them off one by one.
“He’s marvelous!” Valen called out over the ruckus the horses in the stables were causing. Ridden snapped his jaws toward the heir and flicked his spiked tail like an agitated cat which only made the man smile more.
Pulling his hood over his features and lowering the shield of fabric that protected his face from the worst of the bitter cold, Lowell mounted his dragon, once again dressed as the night. Away from the main house, with only a couple of lanterns lit, he melded with the shadows, only visible because Meira knew to look for him.
Ridden blew a warm breath toward Valen strong enough to push his hood right off his head. The man blinked but didn’t balk, impressive for someone who’d never been this close to a dragon before. Then, with one strong flap of the leathery wings, Ridden and Lowell were airborne. In their wake, wind rustled the other’s cloaks.
“They’re so large,” Valen said quietly as everything settled and Lowell disappeared somewhere above them.
Bram passed her, pointed her toward one of the horses, and made for his own. Lowell’s horse was tied behind his until the rider was back on the ground. “They’re about three times the size of the dragonis. When a Bold Wing is still considered an infant at little more than a year old, the species are roughly the same size and only for a few months. You can still tell them apart at this age because Bold Wings have thicker necks and longer tails.”
He was simplifying for the sake of someone who knew absolutely nothing about Dragons, though it appeared to win him favor with Valen who listened with rapt attention.
Meira was content to let the men talk. She hadn’t practically begged for this mission to make friends. Though she did feel some smug sort of satisfaction that she’d been right about this job leading her right to the man she was meant to kill.
She paused as she came to the horse’s side. She’d ridden a horse a few times as a girl but that was many years ago and her memories of doing so felt as though they were buried under layers of fog. It couldn’t be much different than riding Mrithun. She bore a saddle too, though, instead of the thin straps that fit around the protruding spine and sharp ridges of a Bold Wing’s back, it curved gently against soft hair. Valen asked questions she didn’t listen to as she grabbed ahold of the saddle and swung herself up onto the animal's back. The seat was wider than she was used to, shaped more pleasingly to accommodate someone of a larger stature. Probably one of the larger Brendal’s,
“We’ll ride until daybreak, then make camp.” The words were pointed toward her.
Meira paused her fidgeting in the saddle to look up and give Bram the barest of nods. He nudged the horse forward with his heels, riding ahead and putting Valen between them. Meira followed his movements and dug her heels in. The horse surged forward only for her to fiercely grip the reins to slow it. By then, she found herself side by side with the warlord heir himself.
“Hello there,” Valen said. He was still surprisingly chipper and even more surprisingly awake for this particular hour. Shouldn’t he look tired or be falling asleep in the saddle? She was sure his father would be.
“Hello.” The word came out tinged with her annoyance. She knew she should be kind, quieter, more appeasing, but she couldn’t find it in her.
“Don’t ride horses often?” That blue gaze drifted over her form.
Instantly she straightened in her seat, mocking the way he was poised on his much larger stead. “I was trained to ride dragons, not horses.” Her gloves groaned as she tightened her grip on the reins.
“Something is bothering your hand?”
