Page 22 of The Sundered Blade

“Irredeemable and unnecessary.”

Vaniell let out a silent huff of laughter. “Probably. Or at least, I will be once we have resolved this crisis. For now, however, I know the present King of Garimore better than anyone else living, except perhaps Senaya. They will need me until he is dealt with.”

“Have you wavered, then, in your determination to take the throne?” Kyrion did not sound accusing so much as curious.

“No.” But how could he explain? “I am determined only to be of service to Garimore in whatever capacity I am needed. Should my kingdom be saved by some other sacrifice on my part, I would gladly offer it. It is only others who seem to believe that my most noble sacrifice would be accepting the throne. And if that is where my path leads, then… so be it.”

“Would you still hesitate, if not for Karreya?”

Drat the wyvern anyway.

“I don’t know,” Vaniell returned frankly. “It’s a blasted nuisance, really. I’ve nothing to offer her unless it’s a crown, but that’s the one thing she could never accept.”

They flew on in silence for several minutes, drifting over the dark forest beneath, and in the moonlight, Vaniell could see the beginnings of the mountains taking shape between the wispy clouds.

“Leisa and I faced a similar dilemma,” Kyrion said at last, almost gruffly. “Your situation may not be impossible.”

Genuinely startled by what could only be named kindness, it took Vaniell several moments to find his voice.

“I don’t even know how she feels,” he admitted. “Never found the nerve to ask, so…”

“Hold on!” Kyrion snarled a vicious oath and banked hard to the right, diving steeply towards the trees.

“What…” But Vaniell had no need to finish the question.

A scream shattered the stillness of the night—a harsh, rasping cry that was soon echoed by another. And when Vaniell turned his head, he had only a moment of wide-eyed shock before a dark, winged shape struck him, knocking him off Kyrion’s back and sending him tumbling through the air.

Falling.

Wet clouds. Flickering moonlight. A cliff side, rushing to meet him.

There was nothing in his pockets that would save him this time.

A memory of Karreya’s scowling face flashed through his mind just before…

Something snatched at his cloak. Claws fastened around his leg, then his waist, jerking him one way, then another, stopping his descent just before impact.

“Kyrion?” he gasped, but there was no answer. Only the slow flap of dark wings and a hiss that shot tremors of fear through his chest, followed by a second dark shape arrowing out of the night.

It crashed into the wyvern holding him with a scream of territorial vengeance. The claws opened, and Vaniell fell once again.

He didn’t even have time to cry out before he hit the mountainside. Pain tore through his shoulder, but he couldn’t even scream because his breath was utterly gone, driven out by the impact.

Yet somehow, he was still alive. And from the sounds of the battle overhead, Kyrion was still in danger. Did he dare try to help, or would his efforts only make it worse?

The night suddenly flared with light. Twin jets of flame shot through the darkness, illuminating the struggle between not two, butthreewinged shapes as they ripped and tore at one another.

Two against one, Vaniell saw with horror. He could not tell who was winning, and his sense of helplessness grew until it rose up to choke him.

If Kyrion lost, would this be yet another tragedy credited to his account?

With a scream, one of the wyverns fell from the sky, crashing to the ground somewhere downslope. The remaining creatures circled one another, their flight faltering, but neither willing to yield. Until, at length, the larger one struck, fastening its teeth on the smaller wyvern’s throat.

It went limp. Surrendering. But it was heavy, and the two were inextricably tangled.

They fell, struck the mountain with a crash, and then all was silent. The clouds covered the moon, and Vaniell found himself alone in the darkness, fighting through pain, and wondering what in all the hells he could possibly do now.

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