Page 259 of Of Empires and Dust

Alina restedher head against Rynvar’s snout, her eyes closed. She drew a long, calming breath through her nostrils, rubbing her hands along the scales that armoured the ridges below his eyes.

“Not much longer,” she whispered, her fingers trailing over a long wound that stretched from just above the wyvern’s mouth and back to his jaw. A new scar to go with the old. “I promise.”

Not a night had passed in which they hadn’t flown out and torn into Lorian forward camps or ripped a supply caravan to pieces.

Dayne and Joros had used the horses their forces had captured in the Lost Hills to chase down any supply caravans or wagons that moved during the day. But they left no survivors.

The night attacks always left survivors. ‘To spread the fear’, Dayne had said. Her brother liked to think he didn’t understand the logistics and semantics of war. But to him it was second nature. Dayne understood the ways of the human mind to a depth that almost unsettled Alina. He knew how to drive terror into human hearts, knew how to break them.

She exhaled, then leaned back and opened her eyes.

Two pools of sapphire blue stared back at her, deep and vibrant. There was understanding in those eyes. Wyverns may not have been able to speak, but they were still creatures of immense intelligence. Rynvar understood her, felt her pain, saw into her heart, just as she did his.

A soft, clicking purr left Rynvar’s throat, and the wyvern nuzzled his head into Alina’s chest. He continued to purr as he moved around Alina and curled into himself, his tail trailing about her legs, his head resting on a rock.

She drew another breath and stroked his head. When he was tired, he was more like a pup than a wyvern, always seeking out her hand, always curling up in the first place he found warmth.

“Rest,” she whispered, running a hand along the black and orange scales of Rynvar’s snout. “You’ve earned it. You did your part, and now I must do mine.”

Alina checked the poultice mashed into a wound on the wyvern’s flank, held in place by straps and cloth, before stepping from the shallow cave he had dug in the side of the rock face.

A small ledge jutted from the cave, and a cool wind greeted her as she stepped to meet it. She allowed herself to stand there a moment before descending the ladder that had been pegged in place.

In the wild, wyverns always built their Rests in the highest possible place, ensuring that predators on the land couldn’t butcher them in their sleep or ravage their eggs while they hunted. When traveling, those wyverns who had been claimedby riders could delay that natural inclination to create a Rest, but in a case like this, where they had been encamped for weeks on end, there hadn’t been a choice.

The entire rock face of the cliff that overlooked the camp was now cratered with shallow Rests, hundreds of wyverns creating homes away from home. And from each Rest dropped ladders of thick rope and short planks, some descending over two hundred feet to the ground.

Even Alina, who was well used to heights, had to stop for a moment when a gust of wind pulled a peg from the rock and the ladder swayed. She paused as the wind died down and looked out over the camp.

Thirty thousand strong, gathered from all the Major and Minor Houses in Valtara, along with hundreds of wyverns and Wyndarii. Never in Valtara’s history had such a force been brought together in a single place with a single cause. Pride swelled within her at that thought, but she curbed it. It was not time for pride. Valtara was not free. And if Aeson Virandr didn’t fulfil his vow and arrive by the new moon, the army she had assembled would either starve or crash against the walls of Achyron’s Keep. And even if he did arrive, it might still be too late.

Besides, there was little pride to be taken in what needed to be done next.

Five of her Royal Guard stood waiting at the bottom of the ladder, the wyvern of House Ateres worked into their new golden cuirasses, capes of burnt orange clasped to their shoulders.

“My queen, this way.” Savrin Vander pressed his hand to the wyvern on his chest. He gestured towards a path through the camp, bowing his head. Savrin had said little to her since Dayne had appointed him, but he had always been a man of few words. In truth, until Dayne had brought him to her, Alina had notknown Savrin was still alive. The man had lost himself to drink years ago. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him again, at least not so soon. But she trusted Dayne, and that was enough.

“Rynvar is well after the battle, my queen?” The commander of her guard, Olivian of House Arnon, stood a head and a half taller than Alina. Her face was soft and kind, but beneath the surface the woman was wrought iron. “I can arrange to have food brought to him if he is too weak to fly. And two new Alamant Healers arrived with Captain Kiron’s ship last night.”

“He needs rest, but he will be fine. That would be kind of you, Olivian.” Alina looked back over her shoulder at Rynvar’s Rest nestled into the rock face almost two hundred feet up. “But?—”

“I will bring the food myself, Your Grace. I spent my childhood climbing the Abaddian cliffs, watching the wyverns soar over the ocean. It would be my pleasure.”

Alina nodded softly in thanks.

Her guards led her through the camp, walking in a square about her, Olivian at her side. They eyed everything askance as though the evening shadows themselves might come alive and strike her down. Two Hand assassins had snuck into the camp the night before, killing twelve guards and injuring three. Had Alina not decided to spend the night in Rynvar’s Rest, she may well have been dining in Achyron’s halls come dawn. As it stood, the pair found the end of Savrin’s blade. That, combined with the battle earlier that day, had set the whole camp’s hackles on edge.

They walked past a set of House Ateres banners on the camp’s western edge and up a dirt track that curved around to a sheltered flat.

There Alina found her brother along with three of his Andurii captains, Belina Louna, Mera, Luka, Amari, Joros, and the heads of each Major House with the exception of Hakari Herak, who remained in Ironcreek to protect their flank.

The group circled around four women who knelt in the centre, their hands bound. Two of Alina’s Royal Guard stood behind them, Ravan and Evrian, valynas gripped in their hands.

The others greeted Alina as she moved closer, tilting her head to the side, a rage swelling in her belly. Black ink tattoos covered each woman’s fingers, lines tracing down towards their hands. Wyndarii they had captured in the battle that morning. Traitors who had sided with Loren.

Not a word was spoken as Alina stood there in silence. Even Tula Vakira, who always seemed to have something to say, held her tongue, her son Oben at her side.

Alina took another step closer, Olivian matching her, never straying further than an armspan. “Why?”

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