Chapter 15 Thyra
Chapter Fifteen
Thyra
Ican’t stop the shiver racing down my spine as Antony promises me I’ll have regrets.
The Iron Forges are bound to be a dangerous place. I have no idea what I’m headed toward. Meeting his mother suddenly seems like a much better option.
Too late now.
The giant blue eagle circles the forge buildings, carving a neat path around the myriad smoke stacks rising from each of them.
Rust-colored smoke rises from each stack, but it disperses straight up, contained within what appear to be translucent funnels reaching high into the sky, the smoke swirling within them.
I’ve never considered before exactly how the Iron Fae forge their iron or how they manage the danger involved.
The smoke itself doesn’t sparkle. There’s no sign it’s contaminated with iron dust. But the height of the funnels indicates the Iron Fae aren’t taking any chances that particles of iron might float across the city.
The lower we fly, the more details I can make out, although the final descent is a rush that lifts my stomach, and I’m forced to close my eyes and abandon my study.
A moment later, we’ve landed, the rush of wind halting, replaced with a soft breeze whispering across my face and arms while the afternoon sunlight keeps me warm but, surprisingly, not hot.
My eyes fly open as I rapidly assess my new surroundings.
We’ve landed on a bright white platform, the tallest of those that make up the Iron Forges.
It appears to be made from the same brilliant stone as the towers in the Constellation, and it’s wide enough that it extends for a hundred feet in every direction.
The eagle has set down at a point that’s near perfect to the platform’s center, facing a small hut-like structure on the platform’s far side.
I expected a multitude of fae to appear and rush toward us, but there’s nobody else here.
I glance to the left, and the Constellation towers rise majestically on that side. It’s impossible to know if Antony’s detour has caused a flurry.
Before I have time to catch my breath, his arm tightens around my chest, and his voice sounds in my ear. “If you want help, you must ask for it.”
I consider how far away the ground is. When he’d whisked me up onto this eagle, he was moving fast, and I’d clung to him, my chest to his and my arms and legs wrapped firmly around his body.
Now, the bird cranes its neck back to stare at me, its red eyes gleaming, as if it’s challenging me to risk a final fall.
“Just with getting down?” I ask, refusing to lower my eyes from the bird’s face. “Or for anything I need help with?”
Antony seems pleased that I asked for clarification, the corner of his mouth rising slyly. “With anything.”
The bird shakes its head in Antony’s direction, a gesture I can’t interpret, before it looks away again.
“I would like help getting down,” I say, and then add, as a precaution, “Please.”
Antony gives a soft chuckle. “Please is optional.” In the next breath, he says, “Turn around on your own, and I’ll help you.”
“And risk falling? No, thank you.” I honestly have no idea how I turned around the first time without falling off, but I remember him supporting me during the maneuver.
I recall more clearly the thump of vampyrs against his body and the way he held himself off me each time they flew at him.
I remember the stomach-churning scent filling the air, a burning stench I’ve never inhaled before. It was nothing like the scent of burning iron, more like the ghastly smell of rotted flesh.
The awful memories halt abruptly when Antony’s voice sounds again, softer this time, his lips closer to my ear. “Then ask for help.”
My eyes narrow. He may have told me that please is optional, but it seems he was serious about me asking for help with everything.
I consider whether I could actually turn on my own.
I’ll need to swing one leg over the bird’s back, but the muscles in my legs are cramping, and I’m not sure I wouldn’t slip forward or, worse, back.
If I thought I’d land on a soft surface, I’d be willing to risk it, but the white stone increases the chances I’ll crack my ankles if I fall badly.
I can’t risk an injury. Not when the alternative only endangers my pride.
“I need help turning around,” I grind out.
I catch his increasingly sly smile a moment before he lifts my backside off the bird, raising me high enough that he can easily slide his free hand across my left butt cheek and beneath my thigh, gripping the underside firmly before he lifts my leg and slips it to the other side of the bird.
It’s a slow maneuver, and not technically necessary before he rises to stand, pulling me up with him and turning me.
The plates of his armor flex as he moves, but nothing pinches me, and before I know it, I’m facing him.
Moving swiftly now, he supports my back as he bends, scoops my legs around his hips, and orders me, “Hold on.”
The moment I wrap my arms around his steel-clad chest, he leaps from the bird’s back.
He lands lightly, and I sense, rather than see, the way he bends his legs to absorb the impact, the landing not jolting me at all, before he straightens without even a wobble.
It demonstrates to me that I’ve only seen a fraction of his physical strength so far.
I’m not sure what to expect now. Or even what to do.
I’ve handed myself over to him. I’m currently wrapped around him while his armor is a constant barrier between us, and I’ve promised compliance.
But at what point do I start to exert some sense of independence? Where is that line? And to what extent, and when, should I risk a war of wills with him?
All I know for certain is that my self-reliance and determination will reveal themselves at some point. I can’t bottle them up for so long that they explode at a dangerous moment like a pent-up rage.
I can’t keep the frustration from my voice, a frustration born of uncertainty, as I follow his rules and say, “I need you to put me back on the ground now.”
He moves slowly again, taking his time.
I’m aware of the way his lips have turned toward my cheek, the press of his bristles against my jaw, the way he inhales and murmurs, “salty sea” before he lowers me to the ground.
A moment later, his arms slide away from me, and I’m released from his hold for the first time since we left the village.
I feel oddly off-balance.
I tell myself it’s the after-effects of being so high in the air.
My movements are uncertain as I take a step back, testing how far he’ll let me go while the muscles in my legs scream at me, and even my stomach muscles struggle to ease after I held them tight for so long. Maintaining my balance on an eagle’s back is far harder than it looks.
Keeping Antony within my sights, I start to turn. Slowly. Continuing to test how far he’ll let me go as I take a step toward the building ahead of us.
No sooner has my lifted foot landed on the ground than both of his arms snake around me from behind, and his voice sounds in my ear.
“At all times, you will stay in front of me where I can see you. You will never leave my sight. Do you understand?”
“I understand.” My head was half-turned in his direction, allowing me to look up into his eyes. “Always within your sight.” Then I reconsider, unable to keep the awkwardness from my voice. “What about when I need to attend to my bodily needs?”
His hands splay against my hips. “Hmm.” He purses his lips. “You will bathe in front of me, Thyra. But, as cruel as I am, I’m not an animal. For your other personal needs, I’m sure I can find a way to keep you close while allowing you to maintain your dignity.”
It’s probably the best I can expect in the circumstances.
With that, his arms fall away from me, and now it feels like he’s giving me a different sort of test.
“Where should I go?” I ask, although the building I’m facing seems like the only option.
In every other direction, the platform simply drops away. Dangerously, there isn’t any sort of balustrade or railing. It looks like I could simply walk right off the edge.
“The stairs are contained within the building directly ahead,” he replies. “Go through the door, and then we will descend into hell itself.”
My focus snaps back to him at the talk of hell.
In the process of turning, the Constellation comes into view, and this time, I spot a flurry of movement at the edge of the tower where Antony said his mother and brother would be waiting.
I can’t make out any particular fae, but five eagles rise into the air above that tower. It won’t take them long to dive toward us.
“Unless you want me to carry you, I suggest you speed it up,” Antony rumbles from behind me. “There are many fae who won’t set foot in the forges, including Mother and Hadrian. I’m surprised she’s even taking to the air to come after us. But the sooner the door closes behind us, the better.”
He inclines his head at the little building ahead of us. The passage of time didn’t seem to concern him until now, but the press of his lips tells me that the flurry of eagles has perturbed him.
I move in the direction of the stairwell as quickly as I can, trying to stretch my legs as I go, and find I am unable to keep my footsteps light, the heaviness in my muscles getting the better of me.
It’s maddening that Antony’s footfalls are near-silent as he follows me so quietly that, if he were anyone else, I might forget he was there.
It’s impossible to ignore his presence.
He is as startling to my senses as the image of the blade now blazoned across the underside of my right arm. The dagger’s shape gleams in the sunlight as if it’s painted in gold.
The moment the blade disappeared into my skin, it became a part of me. Not rigid anymore. Certainly not cutting me from the inside. It may as well be part of my flesh. I can’t even feel it. Only see it.
As for how to get it out? Who knows?
Reaching the door, I lift the large, black, metal latch securing it closed. I’m a little unsettled to see that it locks from the outside, as if it’s designed to keep things in.
“Why is this—?”
Antony’s suddenly brutally cold smile stops the question in my throat.
The visible side of his lips lifts away from his mouth in a declaration that makes me shiver. “You will soon see.”