Page 12 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

Rushing to the window, I peer into the early evening sky. The vanishing sun casts a soft glow on the giant shape that coasts across the horizon while flapping a massive pair of wings.

A tangle of awe and terror keeps me captive.

The mammoth, silvery-gray creature stands as high as the tallest trees, yet glides through the wind with a dancer’s grace. After a few moments, I spot the figure clinging to the dragon’s back. I gasp as the dragon tucks in its wings and the duo plummets toward the ground, plunging with heart-stopping speed. Just when I’m sure they’ll crash, the dragon pulls out of the dive, swooping inches from a cluster of treetops before executing a barrel roll and zooming toward the cliffs.

Goose bumps pebble my skin. I can only recall seeing a dragon in person once before, back before my fire magic manifested when I was nine or ten years old, but I still remember the exhilaration that swelled inside me, filling me up until I felt like I, too, was soaring with the birds. I could almost see the blue sky stretched out ahead of me…feel the wind brushing my wings. Savor the sweetness of freedom on my tongue. And then, when the rider yanked hard on the reins and altered my course, the frustration and rage as I fought for control and failed.

The experience left me dizzy and limp, with vivid hallucinations and a shock of pain in my head. Mother expressed concern at the time, but luckily, it never happened again.

Shaking off the past, I squint up at the sky. I’m too far away to recognize the rider, but I’m certain it’s Thorne. Who else would ride like that? He might possess the manners of a rampaging wildebeest, but at least now I can understand the arrogance. Watching him and the dragon chase the wind elicits a sharp pang in my chest—similar to when I tracked the birds flying free outside my window at home—along with the tiniest glimmer of hope.

Three sharp raps rattle the door. “Are you ready, Fledgling Axton?”

Turning from the window, I hurry to join Flyer Quinnelle, shivering with fear and excitement as I prepare to meet the other fledglings.

Chapter Six

Quinnelle leads me to the mess hall, giving me a rundown of mealtimes. The cavernous space features a large dining area packed with wooden tables and benches, each long enough to seat at least twelve bodies. The resulting cacophony caused by the chatter and rustling and clanking forks of all these people scrapes my nerves. I resist the desire to slap my palms over my ears. Too many eyes glue onto our arrival, and I long to slip in the shadows like I often did back home whenever Mother hosted a party.

Not everyone watches. Some people ignore us, focusing on their meals and conversations. But far too many stare with open curiosity, or worse, leer and shoot me dirty glares. Whispers track our progress as Quinnelle guides me to a table with an open seat at one end.

Quinnelle gestures to a young woman with auburn hair swept back in a low bun. “This is Fledgling Holte, one of your roommates.”

I recognize the surname. The Holtes are one of the long-standing noble families, though that designation could be in jeopardy. From the rumors I’ve heard back home, they support our king while maintaining tentative ties with the kingdom of Kamor. Due to clashes in the past, Aclaris is on shaky terms with both Kamor and Tirene. It doesn’t help that Kamor seeks to exploit our natural resources and keeps raising the prices on food exports, which we desperately need given our recent struggles with failing crops.

The young noble flashes me a smile so warm that her eyes crinkle at the corners. “Please, call me Olive. You must be Leesa’s sister.”

Her friendly greeting loosens a knot in my gut. “Yes. I’m Lark.”

Quinnelle introduces me to several others at the table. I think. I can’t tell for sure because overwhelm mode strikes and her words swim beyond my grasp. Rubbing my damp palms on my trousers, I scan the nearby faces. Two men sit across from each other on the far side of Olive, casting interested glances at me before returning to their conversation. Olive turns to the one closest to her and, while she’s distracted, the sandy-haired man with twinkling blue eyes sitting beside her snatches a roll from her plate. He tears a piece off, pops the sustenance in his mouth, and returns the half-eaten bread to her plate with a wink.

The teasing gesture, so reminiscent of Leesa and my interactions at the dinner table, soothes my buzzing nerves. I raise my eyebrows, and he lifts a finger to his lips.

Finished speaking with Olive and another fledgling, Quinnelle addresses me again. “Any questions?”

Plenty, but I lie since I don’t even know where to begin. “I’m okay for now.” At her pointed stare, I add, “Flyer Quinnelle.”

These titles are going to take some getting used to.

“Excellent.” Quinnelle nods at Olive. “Fledgling Holte has agreed to show you the ropes.”

After Quinnelle leaves, Olive shows me where to grab food. Tonight’s meal is some type of savory stew, along with hunks of brown bread and butter. I sit across from her and take a bite of my dinner.

“What the hell, Theo?” Olive slaps the back of the blue-eyed fledgling’s head. “I know I still had a whole roll left.”

Although she’s glaring, her lips quiver like she’s fighting a smile.

“Ouch!” Theo rubs his head, his eyes wide. “Why do you automatically blameme?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she narrows her eyes, “maybe because you have a habit of eating other people’s food?”

“Fair point.” He chokes out a laugh, pushing back from the table. “I’ll get you another one.”

“You’d better.” Olive shakes her head and takes a sip of her drink. “Don’t let him fool you. Theo Everheart’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but he’s the kind of guy who’ll always have your back.”

“Good to know.” I eye his retreating form. He’s tall and muscular. Attractive in a boy next door sort of way.

Once Theo returns with not one but two rolls, we resume eating, and I enjoy the atmosphere of comradery and easy banter around us.

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