Page 132 of The Queens and the Kings
“See? We don’t have time for hesitation!” she snapped. She paused, considering. “Why are you in here, anyway?”
The faraway thuds became a distinct crackle, like wood giving way. Settled silence turned to the patter of many feet descending stairs. The closer they approached, the louder she heard them. She clutched the wall as the ship violently tilted.
“Fine! Wallow and die for all I care! Come, Denerfen.”
The swooshing sound, gentle as a wingbeat, came again. This time, it was closer. She sensed it near her in the dark. The lightest touch caressed the back of her knee with a slough of sinew and skin. A tail wrapped around her waist, far too big to be Denerfen.
“Wyvern!”
At the same moment, a door burst open to reveal dozens of faces. Bodies spilled out. Lantern light flashed and indignantshouts carried into the cavernous room. The wyvern issued an ear-splitting scream, his tail tightening around her torso and elevating her. Britt suppressed a shout, managing only a breathy, “Denerfen!” before the wyvern curled her onto its back and left her there.
Wings spread, the wyvern straightened, filling the interior. Hehidher.
Sailors at the front stalled, mouths open. Incoming sailors didn’t notice the wyvern. They attempted to clamber over their frozen comrades until a horrified shout stopped all of them. Every eye turned to face the growing beast.
Britt clung to his cold, leathery back, ducking below the shoulders. Denerfen had launched into the air, vanishing. The preternatural silence, broken by panting breaths and sailors muttering, revealed no tiny wings.
“Den?” she hissed. “Where are you?”
A sailor called. “Easy there, wyvern. We aren’t your enemy. We’re just checking on a stowaway.”
“Stop talking to it,” snapped another. “It’ll eat you.”
He’s not an it, she longed to snap.
“Can’t,” said a third. “It’s strapped. Boss said to leave it strapped. You know the special ones we got?”
“Thought we were supposed to unstrap it in the hold?”
“Ahh . . . well . . . we’re not abiding by . . .exactly. . . what the mainland requested. Wants us to take it to the Westlands, don’t they? But there might be a better market for the wyvern in the southern colonies.” He cleared his throat. “Once we get out of the storm, boss’ll cut south. Tell the Ladylord he lost the ship and the wyvern in the sea, then take his profits from the sale. The citadels’ll want the beast, if the colonies don’t.”
A chorus of guffaws broke through the air. The wyvern shifted, perceptible only because she rode his back. Tensionrippled across the wings in visible, minute muscle shifts. Heknew. The wyvern understood every word they said.
A clink caught Britt’s attention.
Another.
The sound of iron on iron.
She slammed the heel of her hand into her forehead. Nowonderthe wyvern did nothing. She’d wasted time scolding him for not busting through these walls when she could have been setting him free.
“Easy does it, wyvern,” cooed a man with throaty undertones. “Easy, now. Take your time, wyvern. We’re just checking for the stowaway.”
The boat lurched, sending Britt sprawling. The wyvern had risen higher so the men couldn’t see her. She cursed herself anew. The wyvern was more intelligent than she gave it credit.
Because it was aKing. The Teller’s story hadn’t felt truly real until this moment. Now, it overwhelmed her. Sliding down his back, she landed gently on the ground. The same cursed blackness that hid the wyvern hid her, and she felt immensely grateful for it.
The men held their lanterns a little higher and crept to one side or the other. The wyvern lowered his neck and wings, shielding Britt as she stole to the left. A bitty movement, so fast it might have been a hallucination, drew her gaze.
Denerfen.
Her dragul alighted on her arm when she crouched on the floor, feeling with her hands. The sailors spoke to the wyvern as they sidestepped, lanterns held high. Several sprinted up the stairs again. The wyvern, shifting around to keep her hidden, growled low if any men skirted too close.
Britt’s fingertips collided with something chilly and metallic on the ground. Her fingers flew around the edge, feeling every portion. An anchor. It was square, with four bolts, one on eachcorner. A chain sprouted from the middle. She dropped to her knees, following the chain winding to the wyvern’s back leg. Something sticky and thick came away on her hand. Wyvern blood.
No clasp. No easy way to remove it. Which, considering their skeevy ship Captain, made sense. Britt paused when a voice slipped into her mind. Crisp, with commanding notes, and a sense of business about it.
Water.
