Chapter 7 #2
Up, they pushed, a spiral of wind and wings and feathers as he aimed Cyra like an arrow towards the sky. The others behind them followed, falling into place, for Soraya was going too high.
To the belly of the clouds, she went.
And then beyond them.
He gasped as the clouds began to thin, pulling past his vision in delicate threads of white and grey. He could see every tendril of them as they rolled past Cyrra’s feathers like dew. Soon, they broke away entirely...
And for the very first time in his life, Arawn saw the sunrise.
He had never seen beyond the veil of winter that wrapped around Augaurde like a thick blanket. He had never seen colors, such as this. The clouds were a sheet of white beneath him, as if he were back on the surface of the world, hovering just above the snow.
But here, it went on forever...
And above that blanket of white?
The sky was on fire.
It had melted into oranges and reds and the most brilliant pink he’d ever seen.
Not the oncoming sheen of a snowy sky, but something that was vibrant with life.
Eager to be seen. The sun sparkled in the distance, a ball of flame so bright he couldn’t look upon it.
It set Cyrra’s feathers to burning, for how golden they shone.
It called to him, sang a song to his bones.
It was like he’d broken out of a cage he’d been locked in all his life.
This was freedom, and glory, and every promise from the gods he’d ever been given. This was what it felt like to rise above.
To walk in the light.
He never wanted to leave it, and as Cyrra gave a final push, climbing higher...Soraya suddenly filled his vision. Her war eagle was level with his now, their beaks twin flames of burnished gold.
Soraya didn’t even look at him, her lips set in a firm line of determination. The sunlight bounded off her dark hair, and he could tell, clever as she was, that she’d used her magic to push the wind from her face during the climb. Because not a single strand had come loose form her flying braid.
She was born for this.
She glanced sideways at him, as they climbed. As their eagles began to dance in the sky, playing with the pull of the wind.
Soraya eyes...
They shone like burning embers.
He could have melted into them. He could have fallen. He was falling, he realized, with a jolt to his system that felt like a blade. When had it happened? Was it only now, or had it been brewing in him, for quite some time?
And when she smiled?
Oh, gods, when she smiled at him, she was more beautiful than any sunrise could ever be.
He realized it all in the span of a breath. She was his best friend. She was his freedom, the most he’d ever felt...and he never wanted to leave her side.
“It’s us, Arawn!” she shouted. “Just us!”
And he wondered if she felt the same as him, if she noticed the way his heart suddenly seized in his chest. He wondered if she meant it would be them in the end, Matched together as he hoped. Because suddenly Arawn wanted it. He craved it, the thought of her and him...and no one else.
But then she tilted her chin behind her, and he realized...
She meant the other Riders.
They had stopped racing. Now, the rest of them followed, as if their war eagles had accepted their place. And when he turned back to look at Soraya, her smile had turned to a mischievous grin.
The two of them could climb forever. They would never give in to the other, for even their eagles seemed to accept that they were a unit. That they could fly this way, side by side, until the sun melted into the night.
But to fly was also to fall...
And Arawn would not lose his place.
He could not.
Not even for her.
So he tore himself away. He pressed his right heel into Cyrra’s side, eased the pressure with his left, and dipped, because this was a race for glory. For honor.
For his father, yes, but also for the Five.
You must not fail.
For one moment, as Cyrra obeyed, Arawn swore he was going to slide from her back, for she wasn’t well trained yet. She was still a fledgling, her motions not nearly as smooth as the older mounts.
His voice left him as she turned so fast, they were upside down. It was a miracle – or maybe it was the sudden gust of magicked wind that pushed at his back, refusing to let him fall – as Cyrra dipped back upright, and he managed not to die.
Soraya soared past him, her Eagler smaller, faster, as she raced towards the ground.
No.
He managed to twist Cyrra around, until she and Soraya’s eagle were two arrows of gold, with two more behind them that fell into place.
The blanket of clouds grew closer, closer, until Cyrra’s beak cut through them like a knife. And then there was the wind and the snow again, so cold Arawn could have screamed. He swore Soraya was using her magic to send it barreling right towards his face.
He whispered an invocation, formed a blaze of heat before him like a shield, melting the snowflakes.
He could see the wards clearly again, a dome of purple light that encased the Citadel, the cliffs, and the tiny specks of nomage tents with glowing fires set among them. His entire life was below him, a world he’d vowed to protect, but from here...
It all looked so small.
The tailfeathers of Soraya’s eagle were inches from Cyrra’s beak.
They cut through the wards, back into that pop of the gods’ protective magic as it sensed the goodness in their souls. The Citadel closed in, until Arawn could see the lines between the stones, and the shape of glowing runes upon them.
And still, he chased Soraya.
Still, it looked like she would win.
I must not fail.
I must never fail.
Arawn’s heart was in his throat. He could picture the look on his father’s face. He could almost smell the smoke rising from his skin as he paid penance, accepted the brand that signified his failure. A Crown Prince did not follow anyone but the gods.
A Crown Prince was born to lead.
But today...he was going to lose.
Soraya’s eagle dipped past the cliff face, soaring so close, her talons nearly scraped the window of the training room.
Arawn was a breath behind her, Cyrra screeching as she pushed and pushed, but she wasn’t fast enough to win.
The Snow Gates were right there, towering black obelisks that he was supposed to fly through first. His father had ground it into his brain last night, and the night before, and the months before, that Arawn would be First Rider, or he would be as good as dead.
I’m sorry, Arawn thought, as the cliffs faded behind Cyrra’s feathers. I’m sorry.
He wasn’t even sure who he thought the apology for.
To himself, or to the gods, or maybe to the queen that had gone south with his brother without muttering so much as a goodbye. Maybe it was to the King that had never looked at him with real love.
Just once, Arawn thought he’d see it when he got first place.
But Soraya’s eagle was wingbeats from the Gates.
A final push more, and she’d soar through them and cement herself as First Rider.
Arawn would follow her. Of course he would follow, for she would lead the way she always had...without an ounce of fear in her bones.
But just before her eagle reached the gap between the Gates, she glanced back.
She smiled. He saw it in slow motion, as if the world had stilled for just the two of them... for him and for her.
And he saw, ever so subtly, the way she shifted her position. The way she leaned back, so that her eagle slowed. It was hardly even a dip, but it was enough that Cyrra took the window and saw it as a challenge.
And with a final burst of speed...Arawn took the lead.
He soared through the Snow Gates first, into the Expanse and then up again, where he glanced back to find that he’d taken first place.
Soraya was second, the other riders – Indriya and Riven – soared in at third and fourth.
He was First Rider. He was in command of this group behind him now, this war eagle aerie that was now his.
But it didn’t feel like a victory at all...because Arawn knew, deep in his bones...
Soraya had let him win.