Chapter 16
GRAESON
"Where are all the fucking horses?"
Bengi, Ophelia’s little brother and the only stable hand around, blinked at Graeson, his face rapidly paling.
To his credit, though, Bengi didn’t take a step back.
Even with quivering hands, the young boy squared his shoulders.
He was the spitting image of his sister in that moment, her fierce stubbornness and all.
"They’re not here, sir," Bengi said, voice trembling only a little as he rushed to follow Graeson into the stable.
"Where are they?" Graeson opened each stall he passed, slamming each door when he found only hay.
"They’re out."
The stall gate ricocheted off the latch.
Graeson’s jaw cracked as he bit down. "All one hundred of them?"
Bengi nodded. Then he tilted his head and peered up at the roof, squinting. "Wait, no. That’s not right."
Graeson sighed with relief and leaned against a post. He could still make it. He could still get to her in time. "Thank the—"
"There are one hundred and nineteen horses, actually."
Graeson’s hand curled into a tight fist, his short nails carving crescent moons into his palm. His knuckles cracked. "Where could one hundred and nineteen horses be, Bengi?"
Bengi blinked as if it was obvious. "My sister and the others took them out for training."
"And they didn’t think to leave any behind in case of an emergency?"
Bengi shrugged nonchalantly. "I’m sorry, sir, but I am not privy to those decisions. They came, they mounted, and they left."
"When?" Graeson demanded, the syllable rough in his throat.
"Pardon?"
Graeson bit down on his tongue, trying to maintain his composure—the little he had left, anyway. "When did they leave?"
"Early this morning, sir. They’re not expected to be back until after dinner. I don’t think any of the horses will be in shape for another journey until tomorrow. I heard Ophelia talking about running them hard to—"
Graeson slammed his fist against the post. The horseshoes hanging on it rattled, threatening to fall.
"Where’s the nearest stable?"
"About six miles west," Bengi said, picking up a broom that had fallen.
Graeson groaned and spun around.
That was in the opposite direction Kalisandre had likely gone. By the time he found the stable, he would be even further behind than he already was. He pressed his hands against his temples, cursing the gods as he stared at the sky outside the stable.
There is a way, the god within whispered.
In the distance, a roar filled the air. Graeson’s hands fell.
Then, before he knew it, he was running.
"Come on, Nyrri," Graeson pleaded. He lifted the leather saddle and dangled it as if he could somehow trick the drakonis into thinking it was a treat. "It’s not going to hurt you."
Nyrri blew out a puff of air and rolled onto her back as she sprawled out on the crisp grass. She pawed at the air as a butterfly flew by, her claws nearly slicing the insect’s wings.
"There are plenty of butterflies in the sky. You can chase as many as you want—birds too." Graeson inched closer. "Just let me—"
She released a whine and rolled over in the opposite direction, tucking her paws beneath her stomach.
Graeson groaned. "Oh, don’t be like that."
Nyrri huffed and tipped up her chin in disdain.
You are wasting time, the god hissed.
Graeson held back his retort and focused his attention on Nyrri.
"I didn’t want to leave you, all right? I begged them to take you with us, but Medenia said there wasn’t any room on the boat."
Nyrri glared at him, and her ruby-red eyes turned into slits.
"That’s not what I meant, and you know it," Graeson said.
He couldn’t believe he was arguing with an animal right now, but Nyrri was his last hope. She was faster than the horses, which still had yet to return. Her landing may have needed some work, but her wings were fully healed. She was strong enough. She had soared through the sky countless times now.
Graeson groaned, and the large saddle knocked into the backs of his knees.
Medenia and Graeson had worked with the royal saddler to create the leather seat over the past few weeks, but they had yet to put it on Nyrri.
Every time they tried, she threw a fit. Once Nyrri had even knocked the princess into a rosebush, the thorns ripping through her silk dress.
Ophelia nearly combusted when she saw the minor scratches marking the princess’ arms and back.
Graeson scratched his chin. "Honestly, I think Medenia said that because she wanted to keep you for herself. But don’t you want to see something new? Something other than this godsforsaken garden?"
Nyrri continued swatting at the butterfly that circled her as if he wasn’t even there. As if she was perfectly content to be surrounded by butterflies and decaying flowers.
This is a waste of time, the god complained, his patience dwindling. To have wings yet refuse to fly—such a pity.
Graeson may have been a demi-god, but he couldn’t force Nyrri to fly.
The saddle hit the ground with a sad thump.
Graeson plopped down beside it. He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his interlocked hands.
"You know, I expected more from you. Do you remember when you saved us? We would have been dead if it wasn’t for you. You didn’t have to stop, but you did."
Gods, what was he doing? Talking to animals wasn’t anything new to him, per se.
They might not have been able to talk back, but Graeson still believed they could understand him.
If nothing else, they could understand emotions: love and fear, hate and sorrow.
But he had never had to convince his horse Calamity to do anything.
She loved riding—anytime, anywhere. Still, as foolish as it might have seemed trying to convince Nyrri to put a saddle on, he persisted.
"I know you have a good heart, Nyrri. The best heart." He was laying it on thick, but desperate times called for drastic measures. "Kalisandre needs us right now."
Nyrri’s paw stopped in the air, her talons withdrawing an inch. An ember of hope ignited in his chest.
He kept going. "Kalisandre is out there, and she needs us. She needs you."
Nyrri rolled over, her limbs spread out like a starfish across the grass
Graeson raised a brow as he carefully brought his hand close to the saddle. "You promise you won’t try to bite my hand off this time?"
Nyrri set her chin on the ground with a defeated huff.
Smiling in relief, Graeson snatched the saddle and hurried over before she changed her mind. To his relief, Nyrri didn’t back away, only sneered at the saddle, a sharp, yellow canine peeking beneath her top lip. She closed her eyes and sulked as Graeson strapped it on her.
The saddle was beautifully crafted, made of a similar black leather the Tetrians used for their sheaths and uniforms. Along the edges, the maker had sewn brilliant purple, green, and opaque crystals into the material—Medenia’s idea, of course.
Graeson had to admire the craftsmanship, for in the sun, the crystals sparkled brilliantly, like stars in the night sky.
Snapping the last latch shut, Graeson patted Nyrri on the back. "See? That wasn’t so hard. Now was it?"
Nyrri wiggled as if she was trying to shake off the new accessory. When the saddle didn’t budge, her head fell. Disappointed, she huffed out a heavy exhale.
"It’s only temporary," he promised.
She blew smoke out her nose before reluctantly crouching and lowering her back for Graeson.
Once mounted, he shifted, grabbed the pommel, and leaned forward. He tapped Nyrri on her neck like he would Calamity. "Let’s go get our girl."
Nyrri released a roar as if in agreement, and Graeson barely had time to reestablish his grip before she sprinted across the open field.
Her paws smacked the ground and kicked up plumes of dirt.
When she spread her wings out parallel to the ground, Graeson flattened his body against her back. Then she jumped.
Nyrri flapped her wings, fiercely beating the air. As they soared up the side of the castle, Graeson could hear nothing but the racing wind roaring in his ears. The wind pushed his hair back. He squinted against the force of it, trying to maintain a visual on the path ahead.
He peered behind him, and he could have sworn the saddle shifted an inch.
Do you seek to kill us? the god roared, his fingers wrapping around the cage of his cell as he gritted his teeth.
This was your idea, he snapped back, gripping the pommel tighter.
The god exhaled a low rumble that hummed through his veins.
He supposed it didn’t matter whose idea it was, not as Nyrri scaled the castle and pivoted around the spire. He sank deeper into the saddle, his body pressing flat against the drakonis' back as she climbed higher and higher. Air zipped past his ears, a numbing drum.
Unable to help himself, Graeson peeked at the ground once more. Dozens of tiny individuals scattered across the property, stopping and pointing at them in horror.
You are an embarrassment, the god hissed.
I do not care, Graeson gritted back.
As he held onto the pommel, his knuckles blanched, the thin skin drained of its normal warmth. He did not care if he looked like a coward or an embarrassment. For Kalisandre, he would do anything.
He only hoped he would make it to her in one piece.