Page 14 of Kissed By the Gods
“The faravars crossed into this world not for men, but for war. Where a faravar flies, the darkness trembles.”
The Songs of Sky and Shadow, recorded early in the Eternal Wars, exact date unknown
CHAPTER SIX
Alden usedto marvel at flying creatures. He would often stop his work—be it hauling water, plowing, sowing, threshing—and stare up at the sky as a flock of birds winged high overhead or a butterfly danced on the breeze. To Alden, flying was the epitome of freedom.
What he wouldn’t give to be here now with a faravar, a beast of myth and legend, about to launch into the sky. Grief settles deep in my chest, and Ryot whips his gaze around from where he’s readying his small pack of supplies. He raises an eyebrow in question, but I resolutely ignore him, refusing to meet his eyes. Despite what he may think, he’s not entitled to a single piece of me. Not my past, not my present, not my future. He may sense my grief, but he doesn’t get to know why.
He turns his attention back to his pack. He straps it to his back with brisk efficiency, and then he secures my scythe to it, too. Interesting that he doesn’t attach either to the massive faravar, though I should have realized Einarr is not a beast of burden. He doesn’t even bear a saddle or reins.
“How do we hold on?” I turn back to Ryot, and his mocking smirk rankles. My hands ball into fists, and his eyes dart downto catch the motion. His smile only widens, and I force every muscle in my body to relax. He gets too much enjoyment out of my frustration.
Ignoring my question, he jerks his head toward his beast. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Where am I to sit, exactly?”
Pure amusement spreads across his face, and he barks out a laugh. I fight not to growl.
“On my lap, rebel girl. You’ll sit on my lap,” he says, finally answering my question. But his eyes are gleaming, as if he’s waiting for me to fight him and, moreover, looking forward to it. I’ll sit in his lap without a word, if for no other reason than to defy his expectations. Well, that and having no clue how to ride a horse, much less fly one.
I turn until I’m mostly facing Einarr. I get perverse satisfaction from seeing Ryot’s surprised eyebrow lift from my periphery. I wait for him to mount Einarr, a feat I’m actually very interested to watch. I’m sure it’s a move he’s completed countless times, but Einarr still whinnies and dances to the side, shaking out his wings as he moves to adjust to Ryot’s weight astride him. The earth quakes beneath my feet from the pounding of Einarr’s hooves, and the slight flutter of his wings creates a wind that wasn’t there before. The trees sway and bend from the force of it.
I’m grounded to the spot by sheer terror and quaking legs. We forgot to imagine this part, Alden and I, when we dreamed of flying. We didn’t consider that humans aren’t meant to fly, that our feet aren’t made to leave the ground. There’s something supernatural, something fundamentally inhuman, about taking flight. It has me paralyzed. I’m dizzy.
I’ve forgotten to breathe.
Ryot urges Einarr forward, until his black leather boots fill my view.
I can’t do this.
I raise my gaze to Ryot’s, expecting that same taunting look he’s shot me all evening. Instead, there’s a keen understanding reflected in his eyes and he opens himself up. I feel his emotions, and they nearly mirror mine. Mind-numbing terror. Body-racking nerves. Fear of the unknown. Overwhelming incompetence. But other emotions come through, too, and once I sense them from him, I recognize them in myself. Anticipation. Exhilaration. Near-intoxication from the adrenaline.
“Before my first ride,” he says. My eyes widen as I realize what he did. He shared his emotions with me—from thepast.
He shuts off the connection, and I’m left to wade through my own emotions and the remnants of his. Then he holds out his hand, and my gaze drops. Scars zigzag his palm. Some are white and nearly completely faded with time. Others are much newer, almost raw. I reach out and grip his hand. The new scars are rough under my palm.
I raise my eyes back to his, and his lips slowly curl into the first real smile I’ve seen—no taunting, no smirking. Just pure, genuine satisfaction, like he’s taking pleasure in experiencing this with me. And that’s when I realize—Ryot is beautiful. Not like Alden. He’s not pretty, like the sunrise. He’s alluring and magnetic, like the stars.
Then he moves. One moment, my feet are planted solidly on the ground, and in the next I’ve been pulled into his lap. That is all the cue Einarr needs, apparently, he’s running and launching us from the little clearing. The world tilts wildly as we go near-vertical, clearing the tops of the trees, barely.
My stomach heaves and my breath catches as the ground slips away. I’m surrounded by Ryot. His firm chest braces my back, his thighs are my seat, and his arms wrap around my body as he reaches around me to grip Einarr’s mane. It is oddlycomforting, but it’s not enough to feel secure. I fist my own sweaty palms in Einarr’s mane, too.
In a matter of seconds, we’ve soared beyond the treetops of the Weeping Forest. Einarr’s great wings beat the air with brutal grace, each stroke a surge in my spine, in my bones, in the pit of my stomach. Moonlight slips across his feathers. My breath catches—half scream, half laugh—and I clutch tighter to his mane. I shut my eyes against the rush, then crack them open wide as if Alden whispered a dare into my ear.
It’s night, and the moon casts a faint silver light across the landscape. To the east is Selencia, the land where I was born. It’s mostly hills and farmland, cut through by rivers that reflect the moonlight in broken lines. It’s my homeland, but it’s also not. At the core, in every way that matters, Selencia is Faraengard’s. They took it long ago.
I drag my eyes away from Selencia, from the roads I once walked barefoot and the villages I know by name, and turn west.
To face Faraengard. It’s not visible yet, but it presses closer with every beat of Einarr’s wings. Faraengard is a kingdom that rules by strength alone. Its cities are carved from stone and ruled with iron, or so we’re told by the boys who survive the mines.
To the south is another kingdom—one where it’s hot and never rains. I’ve never been there, and I don’t remember what it’s called. I just know that when the winds blow from the south, they’re dry and sharp.
To the north is nothing but ice and endless winter. I’ve heard stories about it, too, of people who somehow live under the ice, but that’s all they are. Stories.
