Page 88 of The Queens and the Kings
Recalling Malcolm’s swimming lessons as a child when he shoved her off a rowboat and made her swim home, she drewin a deep breath. Her lungs expanded her shoulders, causing a shudder down her spine. Though cumbersome, the wings weren’t terrible. Just strange.
Like everything to do with Pedr.
“Don’t forget!” he called over a roll of thunder. “You’re trying to find out where they’re headed!”
“The things I do for draguls,” she muttered.
Denerfen squawked. Pedr pressed the flute to his lip. As she hurtled off the side, invisibility stole across her body. She vanished, then squeaked. So. Strange.
She was airborne.
After plummeting twice, nearly plunging below the waves, and thrice almost hitting a mast, Britt managed to right herself in the air. She pumped away from the ship, promising violence on her brother as her wings struggled above the sea.
Her toes skirted white-capped waves that splashed her calves and knees. She fought to maneuver the gusty drafts swirling from the west, driving her farther to the east. Out of the corner of her eye, she made out an occasional, glittery blur.
“Up!” she shouted.
The wings obeyed, streaking her instantly higher.
“Less up!”
The speed softened, but she still rocketed toward the sky.
“To the . . . west?”
To her shock, the wings obeyed, moving immediately sideways.
“Move upandto the west.”
Her position changed, driven diagonally. So her commands had to be explicit. She tried the same in her head, relieved to find it worked. Intentional thoughts, with clear directions, led to greater stability. When the wind didn’t thrust her to the side, each wing pump carried her higher. With careful concentration and effort, she avoided the ocean and raced the storm.
The great, inky bulwark closed in from the west with thunderous blasts and forceful gusts. When she crossed three-quarters of the distance to the ship, she gave the silent command tohover. The wings obeyed, providing a chance to survey the changing scenery. Wind torrents tossed a gale at the ship of the line. Gentle slopes became peaked, wicked waves as the wyvern descended from the clouds again.
The wyvern’s broad, mighty wings commanded the challenges with expertise. Britt, flailing awkwardly, flew in erratic patterns. She barely managed to pause and watch the wyvern when the wind kicked up again, wheeling her backward. She tumbled head-over-feet in powerful wind sheets. By sheer force of will, she managed to even. Up, the wings bore her, to a different wind shelf that didn’t scuttle over the lower ocean.
“Got it,” she muttered. No more hovering. Movement was her friend.
Thanks to the arcane, none of the sailors noted her approach. They scuttled around, racing across ropes, down masts, from side to side. A sense of organization belied the chaos.
The wyvern descended, expertly navigating torrents of ropes and sails to land on the wide deck. The hull groaned as the wyvern hit the wood, pushing them farther into a trough. Sea spilled over the stern, nearly swiping two sailors into the tempestuous waters.
Sailors swarmed the wyvern. They tossed ropes, shouted commands. Metal chains clinked as sailors attached them tomanacles on the wyvern’s rear legs. The creature fought, but without heart. Bright red flashed from the wyverns left leg.
What was that?
Risking a closer approach, Britt swooped lower. The wyvern’s wing elongated as it struggled against the wobbly ocean. Occasional harrumphs and grunts issued from it. As she closed in, the crimson glimmer reappeared.
A rope.
Sort of.
It had an incandescence that reminded her of fire. It looped the back leg, near the manacle, and self-coiled into a bundle beneath the creature. An attachment bound the strange rope to the top of the ship. So, the wyvern hadn’t been free, but on a sort of . . . tether. They weren’t that far from the mainland. Why not let it fly back in advance of the storm?
Because, despite the storm, the ship clearly barreled west.
The fools.
It had to be significant.
