Page 116 of Deadwood
In response, Vulcan blew a burst of steam through his nose. From this angle, I could barely see over the arch of his neck to the back of his head. But even from here, he was just as menacing.
“Ready?” Bowen asked, situating himself behind me in a similar position. His knees brushed the backs of my legs, his body flush with mine.
I gave a stern nod, despite the flutter of my heart. From fear or Bowen’s presence, I wasn’t sure. “Ready.”
His hands fell to my waist like an anchor, and my stomach dropped as Vulcan flared his wings, beating them against the wind. My eyes wanted to squeeze shut, every instinct in my body screaming to lie flat and hold on for dear life, but I held my position. Almost reassuringly, Bowen’s thumb brushed the skin peeking out from under my shirt. I wasn’t sure if the sensation was more thrilling than the ride itself, but I didn’t have time to think about it as Vulcan banked left, throwing my body to the side. Despite gravity trying to pull us down, Bowen kept me in place until Vulcan straightened out. The sound of his wings was like a steady heartbeat, and once we were off the ground, the flight became almost peaceful.
“You’re doing so good,” Bowen praised, and his words shot straight to my core, heating me from the inside.
To distract myself from our position in the sky and Bowen’s hands on me, I focused on the gold shimmers hidden in Vulcan’s black scales, the sun dancing over them almost like the blazing ball of fire was meant to do just that. The glimmering splotches stole the rays, soaking them in and spitting them out with ten times the vibrance, the beauty almost blinding me.
“They manipulate the light when he needs them to,” Bowen explained, his mouth close to my ear in order for me to hear him over the howl of the wind. “Comes in handy sometimes.”
“Manipulation?” I clarified.
I felt him shake his head, his chin coasting over my shoulder. “No. Working together with an unlikely ally.”
I assumed the sun could make a dragon a target for predators—if they even had any—so the trick of the light would definitely seem helpful to Vulcan in some circumstances.
Daring a glance over the side of Vulcan’s wide body, I looked down upon the tops of the trees, their size seeming almost insignificant from this high up. On one side, the mountains stood in the distance, looming over the land like they, too, knew their beauty and held it proudly. In the opposite direction, the terrain held the desert, bordering the other side of Deadwood. Ahead, the forest ended, opening to a large expanse of green grass. The fields stretched forever, butting up to what seemed to be a river in the distance.
Little brown specks popped up among the sea of green as we flew closer, revealing themselves to be a herd of bison. I sucked in a breath, the confirmation that they were truly alive and indeed not extinct almost threatening to take the air from my lungs. I remembered eating bison as a delicacy growing up, the memory as vivid as when my father told us they had been killed off, never to be seen or hunted again.
Minutes later, Vulcan landed in the field, far enough away from the herd that I had to squint my eyes to make them out. Vulcan dropped his shoulder so Bowen could help me down his scaled leg. All the while, my heart raced with anticipation. For the most part, it wasn’t seeing them that amazed me, but more so the confirmation that my father had lied. It made me wonder how many other things he had twisted for his own benefit—and why.
Vulcan made himself comfortable, finding a spot to lie in the shade, as Bowen walked through the tickling grass beside me. The breeze blew the blades as clouds cast shadows over the ground all around us.
“Your father made the announcement of their extinction almost two decades ago,” Bowen said.
I glanced at him. “How did you know that?”
With his gaze focused on the herd ahead, he said, “It was when he cut off all trade with Deadwood.”
My brows furrowed. “Why would he do that?” The town was full of criminals, but if they provided a staple, surely my father would’ve negotiated a deal good enough for the both of them.
“How well do you think you truly know your father?”
“Enough to know he’s greedy,” I replied.
Bowen dipped his chin, the grass rustling around his boots. “That’s a start.” He hesitated, thinking on his next words. “He doesn’t think he needs to rely on any other kingdoms to remain flourishing.” He glanced sidelong at me. “And I assume that’s because of you.”
“I hardly think I have much to do with it.” I couldn’t produce food or other goods with my power, only duplicate magic that was already in front of me.
Bowen stopped, a finger ghosting my wrist to cause me to face him. “Don’t underestimate your value, Auria. Before I saw you, truly saw you, I did the same. Which was foolish of me, might I add. But you are much more magnificent than you’ve been led to believe.” He stepped forward, a lock of hair blowing over his brow. “That man and those walls are not your end, Princess.”
I swallowed, slightly taken aback by his affirmation of my magic. Still, it felt odd to hear someone speak about it so…openly. But not only that, his confession. His demeanor toward me had changed since my group arrived in Deadwood, and he noticed it, too.
“Your father thinks that with you, he can create all that he needs,” he continued.
“But wealth is not the only thing keeping Amosite alive,” I explained. “They need to eat, to drink, have shelter and clothes.”
He cocked his head slightly, studying me. “When you went into Silicate, did you get that impression? That the people were taken care of?”
The conditions of the citizens had been clear, and Bowen’s point was proven. I shook my head in response.
“Your father’s greed is killing your kingdom. Other kingdoms, innocent people—they’re all suffering at his hands. He doesn’t like Deadwood? He cuts us off. My people have suffered just as much.”
My head tilted at his phrasing. “Your people?”
