Page 12 of The Queens and the Kings
“Henrik saved me, Malcolm, Denerfen, and Tesserdress. As such, we have an honor-bound obligation to help him.”
Displeasure seeped from her aunt.
“Did he?”
“In pursuit of honoring his help,” Britt said carefully, “I came to ask if we might outfit Pedr’s vessel for a voyage to the mainland to search for Henrik’s mother. Not for myself, but for Henrik. Without him, we would not have returned. Kapurnick owes him gratitude. For the draguls,” she added.
General Helsing licked her lips.
Britt fidgeted in the quiet. Her dowager aunt would never acquiesce for two reasons. One, she wouldn’t outfit Pedr. Two, she wouldn’t support what she’d deem as a frivolous mission, even if the vague notion ofhonorhad been invoked. General Helsing was too efficient for matters of the heart.
The rain slowed on the veranda. Crashing moisture and cracking thunder gave way to rolls and purrs. The lightning swept onward. Day would grow into evening, and night wouldpass without the sunset. Disappointment was palpable. Britt missed the wash of colors on Kapurnick’s emerald water palette.
“A ship like Pedr’s requires many resources,” General Helsing stated.
“He doesn’t need a full stock, just enough for a run to the mainland. I’ll . . .” Britt cast about for a response. “. . . figure it out from there.”
The pinched disapproval on General Helsing’s face expressed her opinion ofthatplan.
“Rolf sent me updates and reports on the other draguls while I was convalescing on the ship,” Britt hurried to say. Their time diminished, and she wantedoutof here. “The draguls have been fine without me and Denerfen. Getterbett bonded with?—”
“Convalescingon the ship?” General Helsing asked sharply.
Ice slushed through Britt’s veins. Hadn’t Malcolm toldher of their injuries? On second thought, probably not. General Helsing had no capacity for illness or pain. Her tolerance for failure to show up for one’s duty was null. Besides, she’d probably blame Britt for the whipping,as well.
“What does that mean?” General Helsing demanded. “Why were you convalescing?”
A roar sounded.
Britt ducked as something flew by, so massive it blocked out their view of the sky in a sweep of black, then departed as quickly as it came. General Helsing froze, eyes wide. Denerfen squeaked. He flung himself away from his latest puddle, through the window, and winged to Britt’s shoulder. She raced for the veranda, throwing open a glass door, and rushed outside. Her waist hit the top of the wall as she bent over it, seeking the dark image in the air.
“Den,” she whispered. “Am I seeing things?”
He chirruped again, this one low-toned and questioning.
Her stomach clenched as clouds shifted, revealing the monster she had surely imagined. A wyvern. The ashen creature nearly blended in with the thickening clouds. It soared through the fog, dodging in and out of banks. General Helsing scuttled around the desk and joined Britt outside. Islanders screamed. Shouts erupted, echoing through the gentle rain. The wyvern banked as it flew around Dragul Mountain, spiraling toward the top.
“The draguls!” Britt cried.
“Britt!” General Helsing shouted. “Don’t you dare!”
But she had already skidded out the door, headed for the top of the mountain.
Wet floors sent Britt careening into the comblike walls more than once.
Her teeth rattled as she rounded a corner, arm scraping the rocks. Denerfen dug his talons into her shoulder while she skidded to a halt, hooked a sharp left, then raced ahead. Occasional flashes from open windows along the outer corridor gave glimpses outside. No visual of the barbed tail, the wild wings as sprawling as Pedr’s sails, the hanging back legs.
Shouts followed the wyvern’s path, tripling through the hallways as the beast flew up the stony slopes. No one met her in the hallway. The almost-empty outer passage spilled into a wide, main corridor that ran along the exterior. It sloped toward higher levels, allowing access to the top. No one but Keepers had any reason to be up there, and ancient arcane prevented others from accessing the doors.
Britt’s heart thudded as she raced, hair streaming in wet clumps. She halted at a wrought iron door and wrenched it open. It groaned as she forced herself between it, Denerfen croaking a protest. Quick as she slipped through, it thudded shut. Moss-covered stone stairs ascended into the foamy clouds, revealing a circular swatch of sky.
Rain drizzled onto her scalp as she hurtled up the stairs two at a time, zig zagging up each flight. Vines warbled along seams in the stone walls as she flew past, panting. Her ribs ached along her scars, where remembered pain ignited. They hadn’t bothered her unless she lay on her back or breathed too fast.
She halted at the top. The world lay at her feet, sweeping into verdant black rock mountains, draped by emerald carpets peeling to the left and right. Clouds smeared each ridge like scrapes of whipped butter, their mountain forms mere suggestion in the inky night.
A scream sounded behind her. Still gasping for air, she whirled. The slippery mud squelched and squashed under her feet. The wyvern circled Dragul Mountain, the tallest peak. Its giant wings soared around the highest spire behind Britt and Denerfen. Definable markings spread from the bottom of its neck and across the underside of the wings. The wyvern headed away from the draguls’ main perches, where they nestled into hollows and caves, and almost out of sight. It became more outline than monster.
Was it . . . only flying?
