Page 7 of Tortured

Brainpower. Imagine your light warming you.

Will it work the same way? I ask. Niawen established that my light was fused to my physical make-up, not balled in my spiritual heart-center, waiting to be harnessed as hers was.

Try it. It couldn’t hurt to experiment and learn what your abilities are.

I don’t have to exert mental power to warm my body. I am already warm enough. My body regulates its temperature without my thought. As for cementing myself into the saddle so I won’t fall . . . my reflexes react whenever my body shifts one way or the other. My muscles contract and hold me steady without so much as a thought, as if my body knows what to do to ensure survival.

When Seren’s wings slow into a steady flap and her flight path levels off, I feel brave enough to open my eyes. We are soaring near some low clouds.

The world is minuscule below, a patchwork of trees and fields, snaking with blue lines of rivers. With daring, I sit upright and lift my arms into the sky. I let loose with a long whoop.

Seren! Why didn’t I do this with Niawen? It’s beautiful. Excitement pummels my chest, and I scream into the air once again. Yes!

Seren laughs, and smoke from her snout blows back and billows into my face. I laugh too. I feel like a kid again. For the few hours that we fly toward the portal between worlds, I let go of everything. I only have this small time to pretend my troubles don’t exist, and I am going to enjoy it.

Before long, the Eirwen Mountain range rapidly grows to span my sight, nothing but snow-covered, gray peaks blasting toward the heavens.

I’m sorry you never had the chance to fly on me before, Seren says.

I smirk. You’re forgiven.

I’ll tell you a secret.

What’s that?

You’re one of my favorite humans, she says.

My mouth curls into a smile, and I squeeze Seren’s neck in a crushing hug.

After a few minutes of silence, I begin mentally preparing myself for whatever will meet me in Gorlassar.

Am I going to find resistance at the portal?

The portal into Gorlassar is a rift between worlds—the mortal world Bryn and the immortal world Emira. Gorlassar is just one of the valleys where the dragons and their guardians, the emrys, dwell.

Aneirin knows you’re coming, Seren says. He’ll be waiting inside the portal. Ieuan is guarding the outside. He traded shifts with another guard. We didn’t tell any others that you were coming.

So it should be easy?

Not necessarily.

What’s that supposed to mean? I ask.

If you can enter Gorlassar, your presence will be felt immediately.

So I might be forced out.

Or you might be taken, Seren says.

Taken?

Prisoner.

Hmmm, prisoner. I can cope with being a prisoner.

Didn’t I just spend weeks as one?

After flying for what feels like an eternity over an endless expanse of white, Seren nears a mountain peak. From what I can surmise, it’s the highest peak of the cluster that forms this range.

---