38. The Cliff #3
A breathless, disbelieving laugh pulls from my chest as I tilt and the world moves with me, the wind rushing, my heart pounding, because I’m not falling anymore, I'm flying.
“I did it!”
Above me, something moves.
Silver.
He’s diving, fast. His wings soaring through the air as he rushes toward me, pulling up at the last moment so he’s hovering opposite me.
“I’m doing it!”
A slow smile spreads across his face.
Neither of us says anything as the moment settles between us in the open air, then he turns, a subtle tilt of his wings, and I follow without thinking.
We fly.
Not falling or failing.
Flying.
The Iron Isle rolls below us, vast and dark and alive in a way I’ve never seen before.
The farms and houses glow faintly with orblight, the harbor flickers with distant movement, and the black sand beaches curve like shadows against the restless sea.
The wind rushes past my face, tugging at my hair, threading through my wings.
My wings!
A laugh escapes me again, softer this time. “Please tell me this is real and I didn’t die hitting a rock?”
“You’re doing it,” Silver calls back over the wind.
I angle slightly closer to him, testing the movement, feeling the air respond.
“How did you know?”
He lifts a brow. “Know what?”
“That I’d get them back.”
For a moment, he doesn’t answer, watching me. “I didn’t,” he eventually admits.
I frown. “That’s not very reassuring.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “I knew you wouldn’t stop trying,” he says. “That’s more reliable.”
Something in my chest tightens. “You believed in me. Even when I didn’t.”
His gaze holds mine, steady and unflinching. “I’ve seen what you do when you decide something matters,” he says. “Like healing your friend, Az. It was never a question of if.”
The words land somewhere deep, dangerously deep.
I look away first, because holding his gaze for too long feels like stepping off another edge.
My wings tire quickly, far quicker than they used too. I need to train them, strengthen them and get my body used to using the muscles again.
Not ready to go back to Vulcaris yet, I head for the cliff. When I land, Silver is a beat behind me.
“How did you know the cliff would work?” I ask.
“I didn’t.”
I blink at him. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true,” he says. “I just… had a feeling.”
“A feeling?”
“That you needed something different,” he glances toward the crashing waves as the wind whips dark hair around his face. “The turret wasn’t enough anymore.”
I hesitate.
“My mom died like that.” The words come out quieter than I expect.
His head snaps toward me. “What?”
“Falling,” I say, forcing the rest out. “From a cliff like this one.”
Real panic flashes across his face and he closes the space between us. “Fuck, Scar. I didn’t know. If I had—”
“I know. But you couldn’t have known. I didn’t tell you.”
His jaw tightens, magnificent wings shifting slightly like the air itself has turned unsteady.
“I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“You didn’t,” I say. “Not like that.”
He looks at me like he doesn’t quite believe that I’m not traumatized by it and I hold his gaze. “You were trying to help. And you were right. I needed it.”
Something in his expression shifts again. Relief, maybe.
“I want to try something,” I change the subject.
He arches a brow.
I close my eyes and focus on moving my wings. Up and down, up and down, until my feet lift from the ground.
Silver calls out instructions, and I do as he says until I’ve built the momentum enough to be properly flying again without needing the adrenaline rush of jumping off a cliff to get them moving.
We fly in silence for a while after that. The kind of silence that says more than words could.
Eventually, the turret comes back into view.
He lands first this time and I follow.
My landing is not pretty, or elegant, but I land. On my feet.
A small, disbelieving smile pulls at my mouth again. “I’m never getting used to that.”
“You will,” he says.
I turn to him. “Tomorrow.”
The word feels heavy and so it should. The final game. Everything we’ve been training toward, not just here in the turret, but down in the training halls and sparring yard. In the games that came before it.
I step closer without really meaning to. “What’s it going to be like?”
His expression shutters. “You know I can’t tell you.”
“Anything?”
“Nothing more than I already have. You’ll need to fly.”
“Okay.”
He blinks, like he expected more of a fight. “That’s it?”
I shrug lightly. “You already broke the rules once for me today.”
Something shifts between us. “That’s it then?” he asks. “No more questions? No more rule breaks.”
The air changes, thickens, and I become very aware of how close we’re standing.
His gaze drops to my mouth and my pulse stutters.
I should leave.
“That’s it,” I agree.
His gaze holds mine a second too long before he speaks. He swallows. “Get some rest, Scar.”
“Goodnight.”
I move toward the door before I can think about the rules. And the question I really want to ask.
About the rules he’s already bent.
And the one he hasn’t.
But the question follows me all the way down the stairs and along the corridor.
Would he break it?