46. Return to crystalspire
46
RETURN TO CRYSTALSPIRE
The Crimson Skies rattled, occasionally dropping with gut-churning swiftness as the winds tossed it about. The cutter couldn’t fly a straight line from the safe, placid eye of the hurricane. Instead, they flew in an increasingly violent, frenzied arc, an arrow pushed astray after being loosed at the target.
Anahrod couldn’t judge the speed, but it seemed tremendous. For several hours she had little recourse but to grab the bolt handles, stay clipped in, and distract herself with the taste of Ris’s lips.
Kimat became violently sick at one point, but she was hardly the only person on board with that problem. Even those not prone to airsickness succumbed to nausea in such turbulence.
The whole cutter seemed to sigh in relief when the cloud cover broke and the rains lightened from waterfalls to showers. The extraordinary velocity of Captain Bederigha’s “slingshot” slowed to something easier to tolerate. The crew busied themselves with damage assessment while Kimat left to wash her mouth and change her clothes.
Ris and Anahrod were repeatedly told to find a room.
Anahrod would’ve gladly done so if rooms had been available, but as Captain Bederigha had once pointed out to Jaemeh, the Crimson Skies was not a passenger liner. Rooms were either already occupied or filled with equipment and supplies. Anahrod and Ris were, like the crew itself, relegated to the main hold.
Anahrod might’ve contemplated retreating to the pantry if having sex on top of food stores didn’t violate every rule of safe cooking practices. But it did and she wouldn’t, so they stayed in the hold. Anahrod made rude finger gestures at anyone who had a problem with kissing.
Most of them didn’t have a problem with it, but they wanted to tease.
“You’re nervous,” Ris told her at one point.
“We’re flying back to Crystalspire where my last, angry words to my mother were a promise that I’d keep the child she really loves safe. I’m going to have to tell her I didn’t even do that.” Anahrod scoffed. “What’s to be nervous about?”
Ris caressed her face. “You’re also coming back with the means to track him down and people skilled enough to rescue him.”
“Don’t forget the news that they’re going to have to evacuate the entire city because Neveranimas is going to order Crystalspire burned to the foundations—because of me.”
Ris opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again. “Hmm.”
“Right. So again, what’s to be nervous about?”
Ris sighed. “I’d offer to let them all come to Viridhaven, but we can’t take in that many people. Crystalspire’s easily twice the size.”
Anahrod stared at her. Sicaryon used to joke that her sword—which used to be his family sword—was made in Viridhaven, but she’d always assumed…
“You’re serious.”
Green eyes met hers. “Of course I am.”
“I thought—” She blinked. “Even if Viridhaven ever existed, wasn’t it destroyed when the Cauldron blew…?”
“We moved,” Ris explained simply.
“Right,” Anahrod said. “You moved to the Deep?”
Ris pressed her face against Anahrod’s neck and nodded. “Long before I was born, but yes. They moved to the Deep. The dragons have no idea where Viridhaven’s located. It’s stayed hidden and secure for centuries. We could hide there.”
“Hiding isn’t the answer,” Anahrod whispered, feeling an ugly finality steal over her. Varriguhl hadn’t been wrong—she might be the only one who could stop Neveranimas. And she needed to be stopped—not placated, not driven off, not fooled.
If she didn’t kill Neveranimas, the dragon would come for her, her family, Crystalspire, and finally Seven Crests. And it seemed unlikely she would stop there.
Maybe it always would’ve come to this.
“What do you have in mind?” Ris asked her.
Anahrod didn’t answer. She didn’t have an answer.
Instead, she gave the redhead a saucy grin and eyed the eye bolts, the rings, all the various places designed to tie off ropes spread out around the hold, and indeed around the cutter. “You know, I think I screwed up,” Anahrod said.
Ris tilted her head. “How do you mean?”
“I shouldn’t have just let you clip in during that ride through the storm,” Anahrod murmured. “You should’ve been tied down. Thoroughly lashed to the wall, so you could only writhe against your restraints.”
The pupils of Ris’s eyes grew large. “With all these people here watching?”
“Probably for the best that we keep you clothed, because the ropes they use on these whaling cutters are coarse, harsh things. Where I’d have to tie you…” She leaned in, whispering. “With every bounce, every jump, the ropes would’ve tugged and yanked, rubbed against your breasts, between your legs. If you were nude… the burns would’ve been torture.”
Ris closed her eyes, breathing fast.
“I’d keep your clothes on,” Anahrod continued, “just suspend you from the ceiling with enough slack that you’d really feel the tugs and pulls, the vibrations from the turbulence. You’d be helpless, only able to writhe and squirm and beg. Oh, you’d have begged.”
Ris dragged her bottom lip through her teeth. “Begging for you to untie me?”
“No.” Anahrod moved her back against the wall, leaned her head against Ris’s shoulder. They didn’t look like they were doing anything more than recovering from the storm. “Not begging for that kind of release, anyway,” Anahrod whispered in Ris’s ear. “The ropes wouldn’t be enough, you see. They wouldn’t press hard enough, tight enough, they wouldn’t rub in the right places. After an hour, you’d be begging me to shove anything—anything at all—inside you. A dagger hilt, a belaying pin, my fingers, my tongue. You’d be screaming for it.”
Ris shivered, her eyes heavy-lidded as they both watched other people come and go through the room. Other than Anahrod’s head on Ris’s shoulder, they weren’t even touching.
“Everyone would know, you realize,” Anahrod whispered matter-of-factly. “The clothing wouldn’t fool them. You’d be panting for it, screaming, and everyone could tell. Some of the crew might even take pity on you and offer to fuck you, but I’d tell them no. I’d tell them you’re mine and I’m the only one allowed to touch you. Then to make sure they really understood, I’d cut away your pants until the only thing covering your pussy was scratchy, knotted rope and I’d shove my fingers—”
Ris bit down on her lip hard, grabbed at a ring as if her life might be at risk if she let go, and shuddered. She was trying with all her might not to betray how her muscles were clenching, the way she wanted to arch her back, to scream.
“Shhh,” Anahrod whispered. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry now. I’ve got you.” She gently pried the other woman’s fingers from the bar, interlaced them with her own. She stroked the other woman’s hand.
Ris exhaled in one long stream and didn’t move for a minute.
“I think you might be the cruelest woman I’ve ever known,” Ris told her finally.
Anahrod just smiled. “And you love that about me.”
“And I do,” she sighed happily. “So much.”
“Let you in on a secret,” Anahrod said.
Ris raised her head. “Oh?”
“You know how Sicaryon has roses on his garden rings?”
Ris frowned. “I noticed that, although it didn’t really match his behavior in bed—” She stopped. “Wait. Was he lying ?”
Anahrod laughed. “I can’t say for certain—tastes change—but… the Sicaryon I knew was much more of a fan of following orders in bed than giving them.”
“Oh, what a brat.” She gave Anahrod a faux serious look. “Someone needs to train him better.”
Anahrod sighed. “So I’m realizing.” She pushed herself away from the wall. “I’m hungry. Do you want me to bring you back something?”
“Yes, please.” Ris raised an eyebrow. “Anahrod.”
“Yes?”
Ris’s expression turned serious, and her eyes lost their flirtatious sparkle. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you didn’t answer my question and changed the subject. I loved it, mind you, but I still noticed.”
Anahrod still didn’t have an answer to that, or rather, she didn’t have an answer that she dared speak out loud. Technically, Ris hadn’t repeated her question, so Anahrod chose not to acknowledge it.
Some things hadn’t changed since when she met this frustrating, intoxicating, glorious woman. Anahrod still wished they’d been born under different stars. Rather than stealing diamonds, Anahrod wished they’d been better about stealing time with each other. She wished she’d been less of a proud, stubborn fool, that she’d let herself enjoy what few moments she’d been given. It ultimately would’ve changed nothing, but it would’ve been nice to die with better memories than a drunken three-way and a few words whispered in the hold of a leviathan harvester.
Ris should’ve been worshiped—she deserved that, damn it—and Anahrod had been too busy telling herself that admitting her feelings meant surrender to bother entering the church.
She left to see if she could beg something from the galley without waiting until mealtime.
Because humans could make smart decisions, they rarely spoke of how modern flyers—flush with the latest inscriptions, built to the latest standards—traveled faster than most dragons flew. It was only after too much wine, lounging in a drinking house that dragonriders never visited, that they might lower their guard enough to brag about speed records.
It isn’t because cutters are faster. Rather, dragons have to stop to rest, to sleep, to eat. Whereas a flyer only stops when it reaches its destination.
Combined with the violent but effective head start they’d gained from the hurricane, it wasn’t such a surprise when the Crimson Skies arrived at Crystalspire before any dragons flying there from Yagra’hai.
With one exception. Apparently, Peralon flew so fast he still made it to Crystalspire before the Crimson Skies .
Once they disembarked, they took a carriage to the dragon landing yard where Peralon waited. Ris ran over and pressed herself full body against the dragon’s head. She then ignored everyone else in favor of scratching the dragon’s cheek while crooning softly.
“Why are we here, again?” Claw asked as they watched Ris’s reunion with her dragon.
Anahrod sighed. “We’re waiting for my mother’s spies to report to her.”
“Oh,” Kimat said. “That makes sense.”
Eventually, two carriages pulled up, one of them the familiar, gaudy official mayoral carriage. That carriage door opened, revealing Belsaor Doreyl, who looked like a queen who’d forgotten to wear her crown.
She dressed like it, too—as though Belsaor suspected that at any moment some palace revolt would force her to flee Seven Crests with only the wealth she carried on her person. Anahrod wondered if the ostentatious display of wealth had worked for or against her mother’s political aspirations. In Crystalspire? It was just as likely to be taken as proof of Eannis’s favor.
Belsaor walked forward. Her gaze swept over the group, noted who was present and who was absent. Her eyes finally landed on Anahrod and stayed there. Her expression was as cold as the highest mountaintops, twice as sharp, and every bit as dangerous. Anahrod was so surprised to find herself unslapped that for several seconds she could only return the woman’s stare.
There was no sense delaying the worst, was there?
“The other dragonrider who was involved in this, Jaemeh, has murdered his dragon and kidnapped Gwydinion,” Anahrod explained without prelude. “Jaemeh’s fled with him, and we plan to track down Gwydinion the same way they originally found me.”
Belsaor digested that news with a sour expression. Finally, she said, “Why are you here, then, and not doing that?”
“Because Neveranimas knows who I am and that I’m alive,” Anahrod said, “and we discovered that the whole reason she wanted me dead—the reason she still wants me dead—is because of my blessing. Because I can calm animals. And since Gwydinion has the same blessing, and she knows the two of us are siblings—”
“She’ll come here to kill the whole family,” Belsaor finished for her.
“You might be underestimating just how little she cares about humans,” Ris said as she walked back from greeting Peralon. “Don’t assume Neveranimas will content herself with the Doreyl family when she can instead wipe out the entire city.”
“Since Gwydinion’s a lot harder to find than a city right now,” Anahrod said, “we came here first.”
Belsaor looked like she had just swallowed raw fruit. “Given the magnitude of the two options, there’s no reason to think she wouldn’t do them both at the same time. She knows how to delegate.” She walked up to Anahrod and rested a hand against her daughter’s face.
It was strange indeed to realize the woman had to look up to do it.
“Do you need anything?” Belsaor asked her. “Food, supplies, weapons. Anything?”
Naeron pushed forward. “A map.”
The woman turned to him. “A map of what?”
“The south,” he told her. “Aerial map of land from mountains here south to coast, from Yagra’hai to east of Seven Crests.” He paused. “Include the Bay of Bones.”
“The Bay of Bones will be accurate in location since it’s a common navigational reference point, but don’t expect any great fidelity to the shape of the coastline. It changes too often, no one goes there, and thus no one cares if the cartography isn’t faithful.”
Ris visibly stopped herself from responding.
“Close is fine,” Naeron replied.
“Food might be a good idea,” Anahrod said. “We ate on the cutter that brought us here, but we don’t have our own stores.” She smiled at her mother. “Oh yes, and the cost for hiring a whaling cutter to sneak us out of Yagra’hai when every dragon in the city wanted to kill us is an exemption from all sky amber tariffs for the next five years.”
Belsaor opened her mouth and then shut it again with a sharp, angry click. “Fine.”
Anahrod raised an eyebrow. She’d expected more of a fight on that one.
Belsaor stood there for a second, glaring at Anahrod with her glittering, sharp eyes. Her gaze was judgmental and appraising.
“Take that off,” her mother demanded, pointing to the veil.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” A rhetorical question: it was a terrible idea. Anahrod had zero doubt that it would be a political disaster for her biological father if word spread that not only was Anahrod the Wicked back but had been given aid and succor by her parents.
“I don’t care,” Belsaor announced. “I want to see you.”
Anahrod hated the way her stomach clenched, the way she felt like she was about to be graded and found wanting. Told to straighten up, neaten her clothes, put a comb through her hair…
She pulled off the veil.
Her mother stared at her with an expression that Anahrod had no idea how to interpret. She didn’t think she’d ever seen it before on her mother’s face. She had no basis for comparison. Her mother’s mouth twisted strangely…
Oh. She was smiling.
“My little girl,” Belsaor whispered. “My baby. I don’t know how you managed to survive all these years. I didn’t even let myself dare dream you might still be alive. This might be the only chance I have, so I have to tell you”—her mother stepped closer and wrapped her arms around Anahrod—“I am so proud of you.”
After a panicked second of confusion, Anahrod realized that her mother was crying.
So was she.
Belsaor pulled back, hands still on Anahrod’s arms. Tears were still falling down her cheeks, sparkling in the light. Anahrod nearly laughed, even though it would’ve been inappropriate, because her mother was a beautiful crier.
Of course she was.
“That bastard never told me,” her mother said, “not until you were already… already gone. I didn’t know. You have to believe I didn’t know.”
“I believe you,” Anahrod said. She did. She couldn’t imagine her mother lowering herself to tears and a public scene for anything less than the actual truth. Not when those tears, that scene, would cost her so much.
“Your brother let nothing stop him from bringing you back to us,” Belsaor said. “Now it’s your turn. I know you’ll succeed, because what has ever stopped you?”
Anahrod laughed and reached out, mirroring her mother’s hands on her arms. “Okay, that’s enough. I can only handle so much sincerity before I go into shock and then I’ll be useless to everyone.”
“I fear that allergy comes from my side of the family.” Her mother took a step back. “I’ll have supplies delivered immediately, along with a map. Don’t worry about us. We have an evacuation plan for just such circumstances. We’ll start right away.”
Anahrod exhaled. She’d feared her mother wouldn’t take the danger seri ously, that she’d accuse Anahrod of exaggeration. To have her word accepted immediately meant more than anything her mother might have said about being proud.
It meant her mother trusted her.
Anahrod swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”
Belsaor sniffed. “When this is all over, return to us. You’ll spend time with your father, understand? And you’ll bring your girlfriend for dinner.” She gestured in Ris’s direction.
Anahrod gaped. “How could you know—?”
“Your brother said you two couldn’t keep your eyes off each other the entire trip back from the Deep,” her mother said primly. “I’m expected to believe you left it at flirting? Please. I have eyes.” She swept away from her daughter, back toward the carriage.
Ris watched the woman go, then turned to Anahrod. “Did your mother just say I’m sexy?”
“Yes, I believe she did,” Anahrod said, “and we will never speak of this again.”
Ris’s laughter followed her all the way back to the Deep.