Chapter 45 #2
The courtyard clears of everyone but those who remained behind to fight—only a handful in my periphery.
I blow out a centering breath and focus my attention on the first row of wyvern.
Thank you, Briar, Kressa says into my mind, her balance steady despite the slight tremble of her fingers.
Don’t thank me yet.
I pull my attention from her and study the snapping of the wyverns’ jaws and the way their muscles shift mid-flight.
“One!” I call.
My pulse races like a drum in my ears. “Two!”
The group of wyvern splits in half, and my breath catches as they fan out around the courtyard. I share a glance with Kressa, and the creatures land at various intervals—in front of the tunnels and ventilation ducts.
Kressa’s chest stutters. “They don’t care about us. They’re going to fill the tunnels with fire.”
A series of clicks echoes across the space, and the wyvern freeze, turning their attention to the space over my shoulder. I whirl around, and perched on the highest ridge sits the crimson wyvern. A scarred hole pierces its wing—only big enough for light to stream through.
It curls back its upper lip and lowers its head, scanning the wyvern circling the courtyard. A stone settles in my stomach as it lets out another series of clicks.
It’s their leader. And it’s giving them orders.
It throws its head back, fanning out its scar-riddled wings.
Time slows to a crawl, and my lips part as it peels open its jaw and releases an ear piercing roar.
But I’ve seen enough death—watched enough people lose their lives at the hands of such creatures. It nearly took down the ship my crew and I were on. It almost took Kressa from me.
Bending at the waist, I snatch my dagger from my boot. I flip it in my palm and pinch the blade between my fingers, balancing it over my shoulder.
I blow out a breath and throw the blade.
It somersaults through the air and strikes home at the beast’s shoulder. It screeches, glancing down at the blade jutting from its leathery scales. A growl comes from the back of its throat, and it lowers it snakelike head, leveling its gaze on me.
I keep my feet planted, meeting its glare.
It rattles out a series of low chirps then lurches forward, clawing its way down the rock face. Kressa slides a blade free from her waist, but I hold out an arm.
“Don’t.”
The creature tosses itself from the incline and fans out its wings as it slams against the courtyard stones. The ground shudders—shooting rocks and debris into the air. It slinks forward, its forked tongue darting from its mouth as it hones its attention on me.
It’s going to kill you, Kressa says, her words rushed and frantic.
It’s either me or an entire civilization.
In my periphery, the wyvern stand at the openings of the tunnels, watching and waiting for their leader’s orders. The blade I buried into its side glistens under the light, and a string of blood drips between its scales.
It comes to a stop a handful of feet away from me, and my chest tightens—my lungs unable to pull in air. Teeth sharper than any blade protrude form its jaw, and as it takes a step closer, light filters through the hole in its wing.
I blow out a steady breath, centering my thoughts—making myself willing to receive this connection.
On my inhale, I lift my hand and splay my palm outward.
The wyvern cocks its head and sniffs at the air. A growl rumbles from its throat, and its talons screech against the stone as it stalks closer.
My heart thrashes in my chest, but I pull back my shoulders and set my face into stone. I—the Queen of the Sea, succeeded at injuring the leader of a wyvern hoard.
Thousands of creatures bow to me, and this one will be no exception.
The wyvern drags its talons along the ground and whips its head back and forth. It opens its maw and releases a thundering roar that slips under my skin like a knife. But I don’t run. I don’t scream or blanch or flinch against the sound piercing my eardrums.
It flaps its wings and bursts into the sky, but just as it gains enough altitude, it curves back on itself. Before I have a chance to run, it snaps its wings and darts at me.
Kressa shouts. The wyvern slams its claws against my shoulders and throws me to the ground. It pins me down—talons piercing through the flesh of my shoulder and upper arm.
The sheer size of it dwarfs me, blotting out the rest of the cavern overhead. It drapes its wings over us, until nothing exists but a blood-red coating.
It lowers its face inches above mine, and hot air billows from its nostrils.
“You cannot harm these people,” I grind out between clenched teeth.
As if it understands me, it narrows its eyes and digs its talons deeper into my flesh.
Grimacing against the pain, I lift my hand and splay my palm—pressing it against its snout.
A ripple shifts through the air between us, and my breath catches as its pupils go wide. It lets out a whimper, and while no words pass between us, there’s an undeniable knowing stitched into the fabric of my being.
The leathery skin beneath my palms buzzes, and the talons burrowed into my clothing loosen as the wyvern lifts itself off me. It takes a step backward, then lowers its head—bowing.
Wyvern stationed around the courtyard shift, and their scales ripple under the waning balls of light. The crimson one raises its head to eye level and holds my gaze.
The communication is nothing like how I’ve spoken to the kraken or to the selkies. Nor is it like the string of words I can pass back and forth with Kressa.
This goes deeper.
Without a single word, the uneasiness disappears from my stomach, and the wyvern gives its word that the people of Amoren will not be harmed.
It splays out its wings and bursts into the air, letting out a roar as it soars over the courtyard. The other wyvern take flight, and they beat their wings, following the crimson one as it disappears over the ridge and into the belly of the cavern.
Kressa stumbles toward me. She pauses—her chest heaving—then throws her arms around me.
A light flares from her chest and casts the walls of the cavern in a cerulean glow.