Page 140 of The Queens and the Kings
Sailors raced to obey as Nils regarded Arvid. “Fair weather and following skies, Captain Arvid. Hope that rowboat holds up for you, the way you expect.”
Arvid nodded, a wry, “Thanks,” following his smile.
To Einar and Henrik, Nils said, “Strap up, you two. My ship is heading out at first light, and if you’re not on it we’ll leave you behind. I suggest you introduce yourself to the Captain before he throws you overboard. They think soldats are bad luck. Can’t say I think he’s wrong, either. Grab me a whiskey while you’re at it. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
Chapter Thirty Nine
BRITT
Needle pricksagainst her cheek roused Britt. Groggy, aching all over, she batted her eyes open to find bright, white brumes floating in delicate whorls around her. Clouds? But . . . how?
Several moments passed before she registered that moisture collected on her hair, her clothes, everywhere. A steady bobbing motion—up and down, up and down—heightened by wheezing breaths punctuated otherwise still air.
She recalled the ship, the wyvern, the escape.
Thewyvern.
Britt sucked in a cool breath. The rhythmic motion was the wyvern in flight, cutting through clouds and breaking out the other side. Denerfen popped into her view. He pressed his forehead so close to her eye that he peered right into her iris. His forehead butted up against her lashes.
“Den?”
He squawked, flapping backward. She sat up gingerly, an aching mess from head to toe. A glimpse of cloud tops awaited far, far below. Had the storm retreated? Or had they elevated?
Comprehending her physical position in the world was one thing: she sat on the back of the wyvern, was not drowning on a storm-tossed sea, and headed somewhere unknown.Understandingthat position was something else.
Denerfen trawled happily across her shoulders and through her hair, trilling his throaty pleasure at her awakening.
Pedr would be livid, but that was another problem entirely. Britt pressed a palm onto a space on the wyvern’s back in front of her. The rough skin undulated with each wing flap, which came more frequently during wind gusts, and less often during the smooth glides in between.
“Thank you,” she said.
The wyvern’s head, intent on the course, twitched slightly to the right. She took it as an acknowledgement, however frail.
“You spoke to me, right? I didn’t imagine that?”
No commanding voice replied.
Chilled from the upper atmosphere, she lay on her side, tucked her knees into her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. Miserable cold. Deeply uncomfortable ride. Inventory of her options was abysmal: she had none. Clinging to the back of this wyvern and allowing it to carry her was the only plan.
Unless she wanted to hurtle off the wyvern and plummet to her death, which she didn’t. She had no arcane ability, like Pedr. Admittedly, with the wyvern flying steady and even, it wasn’tquiteas difficult. Terrifying, though. The only thing that separated her from certain death were membranous wings.
Was the creature she rode ona Wyvern King, ortheWyvern King? Maybe some of them had the title, and others didn’t. Did they have subjugates? Beneath sinew and wing and claw, was a human in there?
Denerfen burrowed between her chest and her knees, curling into a ball on her damp dress. With each wing flap, her bodytilted from side to side. The graceful motion wasn’t unpleasant, but she had to hold her stomach tight to counter the rocking.
They lowered into a cloud bank, where moisture saturated her again. The chilly wind, combined with the wet cloud, made her shiver. Her teeth clacked. Denerfen’s irritated mewls echoed in her ears. He hated the cold as much, if not more, than her.
She wanted to shout, “Why do you have to bloody fly through the clouds?” but lacked the energy.
What might have been hours—or minutes—later, the wyvern lowered into open space. Rain thickened the air, hitting with painful drops along her shoulders. Shivering miserably, she peered beyond the firm, powerful wings and whispered, “Land-el.”
Land loomed.
The distant, black stripe filled the edge of the horizon like a ribbon. She didn’t recognize it. At this distance, it still looked nothing like the mainland. At least, not the areas she recognized. To their stern, a faint blush of pink heralded the onset of day.
They’d been flying west all night.
West.
