Page 48 of From the Myths of Kings

“Be careful.” Aurelia pressed her lips together in a thin line. “Do what you can to bring them back, but do not be a fool. Remember that you can return and seek help if needed.” Dark purple circles sat heavily under her eyes. It didn’t look like she’d gotten a wink of rest last night, worrying over Saoirse instead of sleeping.

“Noted.” Rook slung the satchel over his shoulder and flexed his wings. His shoulders already felt sore. Not the best way to start a journey. “I’ll start searching for their ship on the eastern coast of Terradrin. I’ll try not to do anything foolish in the process.” He was doing something foolish just by volunteering to fly solo across the continent, but he kept that to himself as he pushed open the door and stepped into the frigid air.

The golden sunrise sparkled over crystalized frost coating every surface. Rook inhaled, savoring the feel of cold air filling his lungs. A surge of energy pulsed through his blood as he unfurled his wings in the dawn.

It was going to be a difficult flight, but he was born to do this. He’d always felt more at home in the clouds than on land. He looked back over his shoulder one last time, taking in the sight of Aurelia standing in the doorway with an expression of concern painted across her face. Oddly enough, the vulnerable conversation he’d shared with her last night had armored him with strength. Though his body was weakening with every passing day, he felt more confident now than he’d felt in a long time. Where Raven had criticized his vulnerability in the past, citing his empathy as a weakness, Aurelia had proven it was a strength.

“Be safe.”

He gave her a short nod and launched into the air.

22

ROOK

It took Rook just two days to reach Terradrin’s eastern coastline.

After the first day of continuous flying, Rook’s shoulders and limbs had gone numb. It was almost a mercy that he’d stopped feeling his wings beat. Each ragged breath burned like fire in his lungs, but at least his shoulders weren’t screaming at him. Eventually, the physical pain building up behind the wall of numbness would burst like a flood, but for now, he would take advantage of his dulled senses and fly as far as he could.

As he soared across the southern plains of Terradrin, the frigid wind of the north was replaced by incessant seasonal rain that soaked him to the bone. Though stinging rain blistered his cheeks and drenched his heavy wings like a sodden cloak, Rook was thankful for the thick curtain that fell over the land, shrouding him from watchful eyes and soothing the ache in his throat. He flew much higher in the swirling storm than was safe, ensconced in a veil of dark clouds and sputtering lightning. Even with bursts of crackling bolts shuddering through the dense clouds, Rook felt a measure of safety within the eye of the storm. Not even the boldest Aerial spy would be foolish enough to fly in such dangerous conditions.

Yet even as the storm diminished his vision of the land below, Rook had expected to see flocks of soldiers and military encampments as Terradrin’s armies mobilized at the behest of his sister. But instead of military tents or throngs of armies marching north, he saw nothing. Something about the quiet, barren landscape felt off. Raven had made it seem like she was amassing a force of Auran and Terradrin soldiers, forming an army the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the War of the Age. Perhaps they’d already gathered at the roots of the mountain range, collecting near the trade city of Meysam after the uprising. Or maybe the storm was simply hiding more of his view than he initially thought. Either way, he didn’t have much energy to ponder the strangeness of it as he focused on staying conscious.

Though his body was numb and his wings kept him aloft with little difficulty, Rook’s mind felt as cloudy as the tumultuous sky. It was as though the putrid blood of his festering wound had flowed into his bloodstream and seeped into the corners of his brain. His body was getting worse as the wound refused to heal. Behind his eyelids, he kept seeing fragments of his previous dreams: the blood on the corner of his mother’s mouth as she burst into the carriage, the mysterious eyes of the prisoner locked away within the bowels of a cave, the broken bodies of soldiers piled around Cira thousands of years ago. Were they all connected, or were they just a string of incoherent nightmares? He prayed this mysterious Forge in the Northern Wastes might provide him with some answers.

As the coast of Terradrin came into view, Rook drifted over the eastern gates of the Under Kingdom. There were only three entrances to the subterranean city: one to the north, one to the west, and one to the east. Each set of obsidian gates was built into the rugged earth, opening up like scars in the ground. Every entrance was fortified by a slew of well-trained underguards loyal only to King Grivur and to the bearer of the Crown of Revelore. Saoirse and her company were supposed to meet a group of underguards secretly working with the resistance. If he remembered correctly, Neia had arranged for them to meet in one of the unmapped sea caves that tunneled into the coastal cliffs of Terradrin’s eastern border.

Rook flew past the coastline and out over the open ocean. The salt-laced wind mingled with the stinging rain as he surveyed the choppy waves thrashing along the cliffs. Patches of jagged rock drifted in and out of the white-foamed surf and columned sea stacks jutted from the waters like towers. As Rook hovered above the ocean, he blinked through the heavy sheets of rain and strained to see any evidence of the Tellusun merchant ship bobbing on the fit of waves. There.

Through the cloak of rain, Rook found the ship anchored behind a hefty wall of eroded rock. His stomach dropped at the sight. Saoirse’s ship had never set sail for Raj’s Point then. He had hoped they were delayed somewhere in the sea, halfway up the Terradrin coast. The ship’s presence here meant something had gone wrong. He scanned the rain-drenched deck, finding it empty. In a storm like this, the ship hands were likely below decks, he reasoned.

Or, a voice in his head said, it could be a trap.

Rook spiraled down to the wall of rock and landed with a dull thud. His boots nearly slipped out from under him as he settled his full weight against the smooth algae-coated rockface. He carefully bent over the ledge and eyed the vacant decks below. The ship’s lateen sails were tied to prevent the strong winds from straining against the two masts. At first glance, it appeared the sails had been tied for several days now. It could very well be a trap. Perhaps the crew had been captured and their ship lashed beside the rock as bait. Rook swiped a hand over his face and debated what he should do. If the ship was positioned here as bait, where was the crew? Where were Saoirse and Hasana?

Aurelia’s voice whispered in his ear: you must promise to fly back the moment you sense danger.

Warning bells chimed in his head, but it was too soon to turn back now. He decided to investigate a bit further before returning to Aurelia. He needed to get a sense of what kind of danger they should prepare for.

Rook inhaled the brackish wind and felt the rain soak down to his feverish skin. He steadied himself on the rock and closed his eyes. Now that he wasn’t flying, weariness settled deep in his bones, making his limbs go limp with fatigue. The thin coating of Joya’s golden root salve had long since dissolved in the sluicing rain, leaving his scabbed-over wound throbbing with pain. The adrenaline that had kept him pushing forward for the last two days ebbed like the tide going out. It would be so nice to rest for a moment. To lay his head against the algae-soft ledge and let the song of the ocean lull him to sleep.

No. Don’t give up.

Saoirse and Hasana might need his help. He had to push through. Rook opened his eyes again, droplets of rain clinging to his eyelashes. He looked back down at the swaying ship and made a decision that would probably end in his corpse being tossed over the side of the ship’s railing.

He leaped off the ledge and dove for the ship, letting his wings catch the wind just before his boots hit the slick deck. He braced himself for a swarm of soldiers to come rushing at him. But nothing happened as he circled the empty deck, his footsteps chased away by the wind. He ducked under swaying riggings and loose ropes caught in the storm. There were no discarded swords, overturned buckets, hastily abandoned weapons, or anything else to indicate the crew had been suddenly captured. The ship’s railing did look a little worse for wear, though. Rook strode over to a splintered section of the taffrail and examined the jagged wood. His eyes traced down the broken railing, finding deep grooves torn through the wooden planks of the deck. The gash marks were dragged in the direction beyond the boat. How strange.

“Who goes there?” A voice barked.

Damn it.

Rook raised his hands in surrender and slowly turned around, keenly aware of his vulnerability.

“Prince Rook?” a female voice asked.

Rook found Adresin Vasalor pointing a rain-slicked blade at his chest. His shoulder-length white hair was flattened against his skull, rivulets of water pouring down sharp cheekbones. To his right, Noora Mir was lowering her bow and arrow. Her signature braid fell down one shoulder and loose tendrils of dark hair swirled against her neck in the rain.

“Where is Saoirse?” Rook’s voice came out a little harsher than he’d intended. “Why didn’t you meet us at Raj’s Point?”

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