Chapter 15
When the sun sets, the whole sea burns red beneath its glow.
I stand at the base of Sava’s front left leg and stare up at her scaled, hulking body. Am I really about to do this—willingly mount a dragon, not to kill it, but to use it as transportation? The circumstances can’t be helped, but it goes against everything the War-Father raised me to be.
Roiven leans over the edge of the dragon’s body. He’s so far above me I can barely even see the enchantment marks on his skin.
“Knight. Do I need to carry you?” the witch calls down.
I bristle. Gritting my teeth, I grab hold of the spiked plating on Sava’s leg and begin to haul myself up. Hand over hand, I leap as much as climb, moving as quickly as I can.
Did I or did I not mount the beast while she was in flight, run across her body, and nearly kill the very man waiting for me to reach the top of her back? And he thinks I can't do this?
As I reach her knee, the dragon’s neck curls around to level her giant mouth with my body. I freeze. Nervous sweat dampens my back as her rancid breath washes over me. I can’t even see her eyes. Just a row of jagged teeth, each as long as one of my legs.
This would be the perfect time to kill me, and maybe Sava is thinking it too. Roiven is too far above me to throw himself in front of me if Sava decides to eat me or burn me to char. I can’t stop her, so I draw in a slow, steady breath, and make myself keep climbing.
The dragon doesn’t attack.
“Here,” Roiven calls, as I sidle past the joint where her leathery wing connects to her body. He’s standing, arms crossed, looking unbothered.
My sensible mind wants me to crawl, to keep a grip on the dragon at all times.
I nearly died the first time I fell from this dragon, and unlike before, there’s no ocean beneath me right now.
Just hard, cold stone. My pride wins out.
I stand and pick my way across the uneven jagged scales toward where Roiven waits.
The witch points to his side, to the base of Sava’s neck. A double-row of spikes march down her long neck, shrinking and flattening into ordinary scales just past her shoulders.
“We’ll sit here.”
“We?” I’m a little proud that my voice doesn’t shake. My legs feel weak and I’m having trouble breathing evenly.
I’m going to fall. I’m definitely going to die. There’s no way she doesn’t throw me off.
“Something to hold on to,” he says. “Sit between the rows. Keeps your legs from sliding.”
“And you?”
His eyebrow raises ever so slightly.
“I’ll sit behind you and make sure you don’t fall.”
Sit behind me, as in… right behind me? The dragon’s huge. There’s no shortage of space. I turn and look down the long expanse of her back, then up at the witch in front of me.
“Is that necessary?”
“Without my magic, I can’t keep us grounded. I’m used to dragonback, but you…”
“I’ve been on a dragon before.”
“Yes, and it went so well for you,” Roiven says dryly. I glare. There’s a shadow of a smile on his lips, like he finds this hilarious.
“If she hadn’t barreled over…”
“She might have to again, if we hit a bad storm, or a Hellion spots us,” he interrupts. “And if it were any other day, knight, I’d happily watch you fall, but considering I need you to take the enchantment off me, I’d prefer you make it through this flight alive.”
I give him a nasty look, but I take a seat between two rows of her spines, like he suggested. The spikes in front of me come halfway up my chest. I grab tight.
“Move up,” Roiven says. He’s standing over me.
“What?”
“Against the spikes. All the way.”
I scoot forward until the front of my thighs press against the dragon’s ridges.
And then Roiven squeezes in behind me, both our bodies bracketed between the rows of spikes.
The space isn’t wide enough to fit us both comfortably.
His body crushes against mine, thigh to thigh, my buttocks tight against his hips, my back pressed to his chest. He’s warm, and his clothes are extremely thin, and just because he isn’t erect doesn’t mean I can’t feel the bulk between his legs pressed against my ass.
I draw a shaky breath. I thought he was going to sit in the set of spikes behind mine, not both crammed together like this.
When I try to lean forward, all it does is grind our lower bodies closer.
There’s not an inch more space to be gained with the spikes in front and him behind.
And then Roiven reaches his arms around me to grab onto the spikes, his large, ink-lined hands resting an inch above mine. His chin grazes the top of my head.
It feels, almost, like being held. Something that hasn’t happened in a very long time. Because no, Roiven picking me up and hurling me out a window or into the ocean doesn’t count.
By all that’s holy, he’s the King of Witches. He’s the man I’ve sworn to destroy, the man who killed countless numbers of my people, sank my Hellion, and ruined my life.
But there’s a throb between my legs. My face flushes hot, and I’m glad he can't see my expression.
I can hate him and still like the way this feels. I’m not sure I’m making it through this flight in one piece.
Before I can tell him I’ll risk it and sit alone, Sava crouches and hurls herself upwards. We shoot straight up into the sky. I scream, and regret it immediately when the sound of Roiven’s laugh cracks behind me.
I’m fearless. Really. But I wasn’t ready. I hug the spikes tighter as Sava’s wings boom and shove us higher up.
“Easy, knight. You’re fine,” the witch murmurs in my ear, mockingly. My heart pounds like I’m about to die. And I hate to admit it, but maybe I’m glad his warmth is pressed tight behind me. He’s the King of Witches, and he does this all the time.
If Roiven isn’t about to fall, I tell myself, then neither am I.
The wind drags through my hair and I take a deep breath of briny salt air. I may hate the sea, but I have to admit the view is sort of beautiful.
Sava tilts hard to catch the breeze without warning.
I yelp as I start to slide, and my stomach clenches hard, remembering when she rolled and I fell.
When I had a Hellion to pull on, the magic at least helped me stay grounded, letting me anchor myself in the direction I wanted.
I was fit, too, training regularly and eating well.
Now, I have nothing but my body, and Roiven’s. My hands tighten on the spikes, but I keep slipping further left and I can’t stop. Sava beats her wings and I bounce up out of my seat for a moment, falling to the side.
I could actually fall off, if I keep slipping. She’s in constant motion.
“Help?” I squeak.
The Witch King lets go of one of the spikes. He wraps his arm tight around my waist and grinds me back into place against him. My whole body feels like it’s crackling with nervous energy. My blood pumps hard. His grip on me is so tight.
But moments later Sava evens out. I breathe deep, and the witch lets go of my waist to hold onto the spike again.
“Told you you shouldn't sit alone," he whispers directly into my ear.
I am so, so glad he cannot see my face. I can feel every inch of skin where his arm pressed. My body is wide awake.
Is it my imagination, or is a part of him digging into me harder than it was before? He probably liked the thought of me dying.
The sun slips away and the world darkens until the sea is jet black.
The moon won’t rise for hours yet. Overhead, through streaks of dark clouds, I catch glimpses of the glittering stars.
It’s cold up in the sky, but Roiven is warm, and heat from Sava’s fire seeps through her scales.
I slide my living hand further down the spikes to warm my fingers when they get too cold.
Without meaning to, I lean back against Roiven. I’m tired, and he’s comfortable. I stiffen when I realize.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
I wriggle forward with a wince. The scales beneath me are uncomfortable, and I’m tired of leaning forward to keep from crushing against Roiven’s chest. The witch lets go of one of the spikes and touches my shoulder, silently inviting me to keep leaning back against him if I want to.
“Don’t you hate me?”
“Yes. But it’s cold,” is all he says, his voice clipped.
I relent, and press myself against his study frame. We fit together easily.
I don’t know what’s waiting for us at the Bluff.
I’m sure the Governor’s dead, but what about the soldiers and other exiles living there?
Did they make it to the sea? Or is the Bluff a graveyard?
When the crystals broke, the other border isles would have been able to tell, since the Bluff held part of the border enchantment.
But no help will have reached the Bluff yet; it’s too remote.
Time passes. I don’t know how much, but the moon rises from the horizon.
“Knight,” Roiven says abruptly. “Are you awake?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’ll be back. Hold onto the spikes.”
He stands, and my back goes immediately, achingly cold without his warmth.
“What are you doing?” I twist to look up at him. The moonlight lines his face, but his eyes are the only bright point. I don’t trust him. What if he’s moving so that the dragon can barrel and toss me off?
He doesn’t answer.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” I order.
“Walking,” he drawls sarcastically.
He steps past and makes it halfway up Sava’s neck, moving casually like he’s not balancing on the back of a flying animal. He finally crouches and grabs a spike as she turns her head slightly to see him.
I can’t hear what he’s saying, but I think he’s talking to her. I guess he doesn’t have a choice since I commanded him not to speak to her in his mind.
I tighten my grip on the spikes and turn to the side, not wanting to stare straight at Roiven. There’s a familiar blue glow in the distance, on the sea. My breath catches and I stare wide-eyed.