9. The Sacred Forest
The Sacred Forest
T he wagon carrying our sparse supplies was already lumbering out of the courtyard when Lukas and I stepped out into the sun.
It was so blinding that I raised a hand to shield against the snow glare and the glint of flashing scales.
Lukas gripped my hand tightly to help me down the icy steps as the group gathered below watched us descend.
Lenn stepped forward, leading Yorik behind him. Three of the Hersir stood a way’s off near their mounts, casting wary glances across the courtyard. I took Yorik’s reins with an appreciative smile and patted the stallion on his cheek.
Lukas pressed in behind me, placing a hand on my shoulder and leaning down to murmur in my ear.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?
” he asked, apprehension in his tone. “I don’t trust these útlendingur.
” The word was a curse in Clan ?asgrin’s dialect, something I’d rarely heard from Lukas.
I angled myself toward him, following the line of his gaze to where he watched the dragons standing near the main gates.
Prince Bentein was looking around the courtyard, gazing up at the soaring stone edifice of the Citadel and the watchtowers scattered along the inner wall.
Corbyn, once again wearing his scaled plate, stood silently with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at us out of the corner of his eye.
The other dragons huddled around Lightwing, conversing in hushed tones that I couldn’t pick out.
“Foreigners though they may be,” I said quietly, hoping they weren’t paying enough attention to listen, “we have no choice but to play our parts. And I’m sorry to say this, Lukas”—I turned to face him fully—“I am not in need of your protection.” The words conveyed a confidence I didn’t entirely have.
The Shadow chuckled in that strange way of hers. No, that is what I am for.
Lukas smiled lightly as he placed his hands on my shoulders. “Of course you aren’t.” He leaned in for a chaste kiss, hovering slightly after he pulled away. “Come home safe,” he whispered against my lips, stealing another kiss before stepping back.
“I will.” I gave him the most reassuring smile I could muster. But the knot of worry forming in my gut made it difficult.
He squeezed my hand before turning to Lenn and clapping him on the shoulder. “Safe travels, Thane. And watch your back,” he said, dropping his voice low.
In my periphery, the two Talons approached, the thin membranes of their wings fluttering in the cold breeze. Corbyn stood slightly in front of the prince, whose expression was dour as he glanced past me at Lukas.
“Are you ready, my lady?” Corbyn asked.
“Yes,” I answered. My heart raced, though no longer from anger. It was my shame that caused me to tremble now. “Corbyn, if I cou?—”
“We should get moving then,” he cut in, his voice as icy as the ground. Heat crept into my cheeks at his tone.
The prince looked slowly between us, gray eyes flashing almost silver. “How far is it to the Temple from here?”
I swallowed my hurt pride to answer him. “It should not take the horses more than three or four hours. Less if we push them.”
Corbyn gave me a sidelong look. “A little more than an hour by wing,” he said to the prince, turning his shoulder to me. “But we’ll take it slow, for Her Majesty’s sake.”
Every fiber of my being wanted to be furious with him. My already-wounded pride couldn’t take much more of his derision. But I had to keep reminding myself that I’d treated him the same way for the last week. It was now time to take as good as I gave.
Up to a point.
“Talon Arlbright,” I forced out through my clenched jaw, “I would ask that you scout ahead for any trouble. Talon… Forgive me, I...” Damn it all, I’d forgotten his family name already. So much had happened since Rensif Lightwing first introduced him in the throne room.
The prince let out a low laugh, a warm and pleasant sound. My heart stuttered at the realization. I shouldn’t find anything about this prince to be pleasant . But he was smiling. Something I wasn’t used to when it came to the dragons.
“You can call me Trygg, Your Majesty. Everyone else does.”
The Shadow perked up and I got the sense she was studying him. He certainly is a strange one, she mused. I wonder if he is genuine.
We have to assume it’s a farce, I replied. One that was handsomely packaged, but disingenuous all the same.
Corbyn cleared his throat unceremoniously. “You’ll hang back,” he said to the prince, finishing my earlier thought. “I’ll lead the way.”
Trygg nodded, pushing his dark, collar-length hair away from his face. My cheeks warmed inexplicably at the sight.
Gods, what is happening?
The Shadow only flapped lightly in response, as if patting me on the shoulder. Without another word, I spun away and mounted my stallion. Lenn was already in his saddle and waiting with the Hersir by the gates. I gave Yorik a light kick on the haunches, urging him over to the group of four dragons.
Yara shot me a dark look as I stopped next to them, and the twins seemed determined to stare blankly at the inner walls. But Rensif tilted her mouth into a smile, appearing for all the world like the most congenial of guests.
“Your Majesty,” she droned, bowing her head.
“Forgive me for not giving you a proper send off,” I said, unable to will it into a request, “but this matter requires my immediate attention.”
“We understand, of course.” Lightwing gestured to her companions, each of them bowing slightly at her prompting. “May the Nighteater grant you clear skies and strong winds for your journey.” Something dangerous sparked in her eye.
And I was reckless enough to chase after it.
I couldn’t help my scathing smirk or the vicious edge in my voice. “May the Mother grant you Her grace, and the Witchdame guide your path through the mountains.”
Fuck this dragon and her gods.
Enough, Asvoria, the Shadow warned, rippling against my mind.
Lightwing didn’t respond to my jibe; her face remained as impassive as ever. But that suited me fine. I would have the last word today, as Bridja Falk had the last word a thousand years ago.
With a swift kick, I spurred Yorik into a trot, angling him toward the massive, black iron gates. Lenn and the three Hersir followed as I passed, leaving the Talons standing alone in the snow-laden courtyard.
They’ll catch up.
I thought we decided you’re going to be nice to them, Asvoria, the Shadow chided. Make them think we don’t suspect any treachery?
I never promised I’d be able to keep my composure. You still have a lot to learn about me.
Whatever she might have said next was overshadowed by the tell-tale flapping of leathery wings filling the air and the ground rumbling beneath Yorik’s hooves.
We were halfway down Kjarra’s main thoroughfare when Corbyn’s massive dragon form streaked overhead, buffeting us all with the gale force wind of his downdraft.
I raised an arm to shield my eyes from the snow he stirred up.
I get the feeling that was on purpose.
You don’t say? I shot back sarcastically, wiping snow from my hair.
Before I could say anything else, a heavy sound filled the air, like the unfurling of a longship’s sail as it caught the wind out to sea. And the quake that shook the earth this time caused Yorik to stumble. A frightened call rang out, joined by several others before too long.
Of course. The AEldinians arrived this morning in half-Shift. No one had seen Trygg in his beast form yet. Soon enough though, the sight of the new dragon would become commonplace. The thought unsettled me.
Too many familiar things—Lukas, my sense of self, the relative peace of our lives—were beginning to feel foreign. I didn’t know how to accept that something so foreign might eventually become familiar.
I looked back over my shoulder at the Citadel, and my breath lodged in my throat.
Gods above and below, the Shadow cursed quietly.
Trygg was the largest dragon I’d ever seen, his wingspan stretching further than the length of the Citadel. By my estimate, he was nearly twice the size of Corbyn’s beast form. I watched in awe as he rose into the sky, his enormous, black wings sending a wave of hot air over us with every stroke.
“Gods help us,” Lenn proclaimed darkly as the dragon’s shadow loomed over the city.
The wind reeked of sulfur, stinging my eyes and burning my lungs. He climbed ever higher, carrying the offensive draft away from those of us on the ground. My hands shook where they gripped the reins, even as I could not tear my gaze away from the black-scaled beast above us.
What kind of power did he hold to have grown to such a size? What new terror had landed on our doorstep?
For supposedly being the site of man’s first meeting with the gods, the Sacred Forest was a rather plain place.
Even more so in the depths of winter, when the spindly branches of linden and ash reached their naked fingers into the gray sky.
Icicles clung to the ends of their limbs, catching the sunlight above as they slowly melted.
My eyes glossed over the barren trees, landing on the two figures waiting near the stone arch that served as the Forest’s entrance.
At least Corbyn had informed the prince he needed to revert to his human form before they could enter.
Beast forms were forbidden here. And though dispensations were made for the Talons, no other dragon could step foot on this hallowed ground.
When our small, mounted company reached the arch, I pulled Yorik to a stop. He jerked his head as I swung out of the saddle and dropped heavily onto the snow-covered ground. Lenn walked over and took the reins, leading his own destrier behind him.
I turned to address the prince. “No man is above the gods. We walk the remainder of the way.”