Chapter Nineteen
Chapter
nineteen
“How was the rest of your evening?” Yara asks the following morning, eyes scanning me up and down. “You look like you haven’t slept.”
I rub at my bleary eyes, fully aware they bear the shadowy traces of sleeplessness.
For hours I tossed and turned, plagued by memories of the day before.
The battle and its aftermath. Seeing the floating Frostlander bodies in my mind, a relentless parade of images.
Envisioning the sunken fleet rotting on the bottom of the bay forevermore, an unending reminder of my own ruthlessness.
Questioning what on earth was happening to me since coming to this city, and why I seem so incapable of denying my basest caprices when it comes to my power.
Or, apparently, my body.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” I direct the question back at Yara, skirting her need for an answer. “You’re the one who spent the night…How shall I put it? Properly welcoming the men of Daggerpoint?”
“Just doing my part to give the bridegroom’s half of the wedding party a warm reception.”
“I have never seen such creativity in fulfilling one’s civic duties.”
She giggles lightly. “You’ll see far more than that if you come out with me again tonight. Have you been to the pleasure clubs yet?”
I shake my head.
“Right. I forgot Soren’s been keeping you all to himself, locked away in his villa.”
“I am not locked away. I come and go as I please.”
“Do you?”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” I pin her with a look. “Are you going to introduce me to the Paexyrian way of life or not?”
She grins, but gives me no more trouble as we walk around the open-air stables and unfenced grazing lands where the winged steeds spend much of their free time.
I try to listen as Yara prattles on about flight formations and aerial maneuvers, but most of my focus is on the cluster of Paexyri just beyond the stables, where a natural spring bubbles gently.
I’ve seen them from a distance, of course, but up close they are even more spectacular.
Yara rolls her eyes at my childlike awe when she calls Umyr close, but is quick to give me pointers for how best to approach—head bowed, eyes downcast, hand outstretched with an offering of something tasty, be it a sugar cube or a clump of sweet seagrass.
It is important to display respect and to show you are not a threat when approaching for the first time.
To a Paexyri, trust is paramount. If they do not trust you inherently, you’ll never get close enough to pet their velvet nose; you’ll certainly not get a chance to climb astride their back and take to the skies.
Umyr acknowledges me almost instantly. Even Yara is surprised—and, I would guess, a tiny bit wounded.
It had taken her a fortnight of bribes and bows to gain the chestnut beast’s acceptance, reputedly freezing her ass off in the frozen tundra atop a Ll?rian mountain where the Paexyri fly wild.
But the moment my eyes meet Umyr’s glossy brown ones, I see the understanding there along with a keen intelligence.
It takes no more than a few moments for her to accept my offering, her soft muzzle butting against my palm, her nostrils flaring with warm breath.
“Horses have always liked me,” I tell Yara, shrugging as I run my hand along Umyr’s flank.
I hesitate when I reach the joint where her huge wing joins her torso, but she shifts toward my touch as though she craves it.
I grin as I feel her feathers against my palm; they are far softer than I expected, each longer than my forearm.
“She’s not a horse,” Yara mutters. “She’s a Paexyri.”
“I know that.”
One of the feathers comes loose in my hand, ready to be shed. I hold it up to the sky to properly study its colors. The sunlight filters through the finest strands at the tip, turning the red shades to bright flame.
It is a glorious morning, drenched with warm sun. Not a cloud in sight. For the first time since my arrival, the Hylian climate lives up to its reputation.
Smiling, I call a thin tendril of wind and send the feather spinning in a lazy spiral high overhead.
It casts strange shadows across Umyr’s strong back as it moves under my command, tumbling and turning like an acrobat onstage.
My control has improved by leaps and bounds since that first day in the aviary.
“I suppose it makes sense,” Yara mutters, eyeing me as I send the feather dancing toward her.
She swats at it absently as I tickle the side of her face with the tip.
“Creature of the air that you are, it’s only natural you’d have an affinity with flying beasts.
You really should think about joining our ranks. ”
“Recruiting without my input, are you?” a new voice cuts in.
The feather flutters to the ground as I whirl toward Arwen. She’s hopped the fence and is striding our way across the pasture, eyes fixed on me, expression frosty as ever. In contrast, Alaric is grinning warmly by her side. They stop six paces from us.
“Last I checked, I had final say over who joins the Paexyrian.” Arwen’s tone is flat. “Just because you’ve taken a shine to some untested interloper—”
“It’s not just me. Umyr likes her,” Yara interjects, muscular arms crisscrossing her chest. “That’s all I need to know.”
“I like her, too,” Alaric says kindly, though he barely knows me. I smile at him and am rewarded with a brown-eyed wink of support.
“It does not matter who likes her.” There is no heat behind Arwen’s snarl. Her chin jerks haughtily as our gazes meet. “Though I suppose you weren’t entirely useless with the water cannon during the battle yesterday.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Of course she only respects me when it comes to my skills at indiscriminate slaughter.
“I wonder what you could do for our flight speeds…” Her head cants to one side in an evaluative manner that reminds me of Soren. “Do you think you’d be able to manipulate the wind currents at altitude?”
“I’ve had no occasion to try,” I tell her truthfully.
“Pity.” She looks over at Alaric as he takes her hand, lacing their fingers together, and scowls at him. “What did I tell you about displaying affection in public?”
“That it’s wholly unacceptable,” he replies.
“Correct.” Her cheeks tinge with a hint of red. “So, do you care to explain why my hand is currently in yours? As we are, in fact, in public?”
In response, he leans in and kisses her soundly. She stiffens for approximately three seconds, then goes totally pliant and sinks into the kiss like she’s powerless to stop herself. Only the sound of Yara’s poorly suppressed laughter pulls her back to reality.
“Is something funny?” she snaps, cheeks pink as a sunrise, lips slightly swollen.
Yara’s shoulders shake with silent chuckles. “Nothing at all, flight leader.”
Alaric is grinning even wider than before.
The sight of that grin inspires one of my own.
His joy is infectious. He is absurdly handsome, like he’s stepped out of an oil portrait and come to life.
I do not fail to notice he is still holding Arwen’s hand, despite her periodically tugging in a halfhearted attempt to extract herself.
“Lovely weather we’re having today, isn’t it?” His chocolate eyes twinkle. “If it holds like this, it will be perfect for the wedding next week.”
It is a valiant attempt to change the subject. Little does he know, this is a point of contention between me and his blushing bride. Arwen’s eyes narrow on me again. “See that it stays this way, airhead.”
“No promises, sea urchin.”
“Sea urchin?”
“Spiny. Occasionally poisonous. But inside…” I shrug. “Pure mush.”
Yara makes a strangled sound.
Alaric coughs to cover a laugh.
“Mush!” Arwen shrieks, outraged. “My insides are not mush!”
Her cheeks are redder than ever.
“There is a certain resemblance,” Alaric puts in quietly, brushing his lips against the side of her head. “Don’t worry. I find your spines quite charming.”
I brace myself for Arwen’s retaliation, but her attention has shifted over my shoulder to something on the other side of the pasture.
I turn to see what she’s looking at and lock my knees when I spot Soren striding across the grassy stretch toward us.
He looks windswept, his cheeks ruddy, his dark hair slightly wild.
His broad frame is encased in clothing I’ve never seen him wear.
It almost looks like a male version of the Paexyrian flight uniform, with a leather vest instead of a corset layered over a shirt of such deep navy, it is almost black, and breeches fit for riding.
A full-body tremble moves through me as our gazes tangle together. I have not seen him since last night. I’m unsure how to act around him in the aftermath. But he smiles easily at me as he comes to a stop at my side, then shifts his focus to the others like it is any normal day.
“Yara, Alaric,” he greets, then looks at Arwen. “Daemon incarnate.”
“Another lovely nickname,” Yara murmurs, earning her a glare from her flight leader and a chortle from Alaric.
“Someone is just begging for stall-mucking duties, aren’t they?” Arwen asks sweetly.
Yara winces.
Arwen’s eyes shift to her brother, scanning down his form, taking note of his clothing. “You went to see Zephyr without me?”
Zephyr?
“You were occupied.” He jerks his chin toward Alaric, mouth tugging up in a knowing smile. “Besides, I needed to clear my head.” His eyes flicker to mine. “I had some…tension…to work out.”
My stomach flips.
“I would’ve made the time,” Arwen grouses. “It’s been ages since I paid a visit. And I know Atyr misses him.”
Soren is still staring at me. Ignoring his sister, he asks, “Are you finished here?”
“I believe so. Why?”
“We have a lesson to get to at my villa. Unless you are no longer interested in the things I plan to teach you?”
For whatever reason, the question makes my cheeks flame. I quickly avert my eyes to Yara, brows lifting in silent inquiry.