Page 29 of Of Steel and Scale

Kin?

I waved a hand to Gria and the little male.They are your kin.

You kin. You saved Gria.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save them both.

Her grief washed through me, thick and heavy. I briefly closed my eyes, battling the tears that nevertheless pushed past my eyelashes.

We go, she said.See you?

I nodded.Gria’s wings still need repair, as do yours.

I heal. We go.

I moved out under her neck and then retreated. Once I was far enough away, she hunkered down and then launched into the air, her wings pumping furiously, sending a maelstrom of dirt and grass my way. I shaded my eyes with a hand and braced against the force of it, my heart in my mouth. She was barely getting enough momentum to rise thanks to the massive gaps in her wing membrane.

Slowly, ever so slowly, she rose. Gria followed, the still loose membrane on her right wing a bright flag that flapped wildly. She was even more unstable than Kaia, and I watched with no small amount of trepidation as they both fought for height.

Eventually, they were high enough to catch the wind, and as one, they swooped around and flew toward the hills and the Black Glass Mountains beyond.

I watched until they were little more than specks on the horizon and then whistled Veri down. I wasn’t wearing a gauntlet, so her talons pierced the leather sleeve of my tunic and dug lightly into my skin. I sucked in a breath but otherwise didn’t react. Her claws could never do the same sort of damage as the queen’s.

She squawked impatiently, wanting her scrap of meat. I squatted down, untied the pack’s front pocket, and found not only her treats but also a chunk of travel bread for myself. I handed her some meat, then undid the small message clasp on her right leg. As she hopped off and strutted several feet away to tear her prize apart, I dug deeper into the pocket, found the stylus, and wrote out my message. Once I’d clipped it onto her leg again, I sent her back to Mom.

As she sped away, I walked back to the little male drakkon. His body was a mess of blood and wounds, but it quickly became obvious none had been the ultimate cause of death. That honor belonged to the long piece of wood sticking out of his eye.

I moved past his jaw and clambered up his neck, his scales still slick with blood. I grabbed the nubs of his horns to steady myself and then carefully moved past them and squatted down just behind his eye ridge. The spear was at least an inch in diameter, and its sides were as smooth as silk, meaning it had been created by human hand rather than nature. I rose, gripped the end of the shaft, and tried to remove it. It had obviously lodged deep into his skull—maybe even as far as his brain—because for several minutes it only released in small degrees. Then, with a loud pop, it came free—and, Vahree help me, his eye came out with it.

My stomach threatened to rebel, and I spent the next couple of minutes sucking in air in an effort to maintain control. I’d seen many a gruesome sight over my years of patrolling Mareritten, and some had certainly involved eyes being torn from skulls in various ways—crude if graphic warnings of what the Mareritt would do to us if we were captured. This shouldn’t have affected me, especially since he was already dead. Maybe it was the other bits of matter that had come out with it. Or maybe it was simply the lingering aftereffects of my connection with both his mother and sister.

I carefully lowered the spear and its gruesome catch to the ground and then climbed down. The spear’s point appeared to be made of the same metal as the feathers and was triangular in shape, with two thick barbs on either side. It had clearly been designed for throwing, which confirmed my hunch these birds were not alone. Someone had been astride them—there was no other way such a weapon could be thrown with such accuracy toward a target such as a drakkon. Not from the ground, at least. In all the centuries we’d used the ballistas, there’d been less than a handful of direct kill shots.

But it was a scary possibility, if true. How in Vahree’s name could we battle an enemy who not only could control such creatures but, through them, command the skies?

I moved on, studying the rest of his wounds. There were multiple metal feathers lodged in his flesh, but there was no sign of the deeper gash I’d seen on Gria. I guessed there’d been no need for a closer-in assault when the spear had so successfully taken him out.

I walked back to my pack, sat cross-legged on the ground, and munched on the dried meat and crusted trail bread while I waited for the rescue party.

The sun was riding toward noon by the time they appeared on the horizon. I rose, dusted off my butt, and waved an arm to catch their attention, even if that was unnecessary. Mom was well aware of my location, thanks to her light connection to Veri.

There were seven all told in the party—Mom, her four guards, Damon, and, rather annoyingly, his father. Desta ran free beside them and was the first to arrive. She nuzzled me lightly, hoping for a carrot but quite happily settling for a scratch behind the ear instead, then wandered off to eat some grass.

Mom pulled her sweating mount up and leapt off. Her guards remained mounted and fanned out to keep a steady eye on surroundings. She touched my arm lightly. “You okay?”

“Yes, though being carried aloft in a drakkon’s claw is not a mode of transport I’d recommend.”

“And yet you are your father’s daughter and probably enjoyed every scary minute of it.”

A smile twitched my lips. “A fact I cannot deny.”

She chuckled softly, but her amusement quickly faded. “How did the queen take her drakkling’s death?”

“As badly as any mother would.”

“I’m surprised she’s not here keening. They tend to grieve for days.”

“She has another drakkling to look after.”

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