Page 183 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Beck nudged him forward with his beak. Dawson’s smile lingered before his eyes met hers, something tender flickering there. With another shove, his stoic mask snapped back in place.
“We got it, Beck. We’re going.” He exhaled a plume of white breath. “He’s not a fan of the cold.”
“Agree with you there, Beck.” The griffin squawked his mutual disdain for the tundra.
Caius and Dawson had already tested the caveat from the riddle—on foot you must tread—while Kaia and Alaire were changing. The celestials couldn’t fly here.
Solflara stepped beside Beck, raising one wing. Her flames flared brighter, and Beck instinctively retreated.
“You’re feeling better?” Alaire asked down the bond.
“Yes.Much.Healing drains me,but Beck’s wound was small.Without flying you around,I’m practically back to my usual version of perfection.”
Beck’s eyes softened into a dreamlike haze.
“I refuse to spend substantial time alone with that lovestruck griffin,though.”
Alaire chuckled. “It’s not permanent.You’re our best shot at staying warm.Beck doesn’t have flames.”
“I don’t see how that’s my fault or responsibility.”
“It’s called being kind,Solf.”
“I am kind.If it were Onyx,I would have no qualms.I already healed Beck.Somehow,he’s taken it as a declaration of undying love.Tell the prince if he doesn’t keep Beck in line,I can’t promise he’ll survive this trial.”
Alaire bit back a laugh. “Solflara.” She tried for an admonishing tone.
“I am a phoenix of my word,Firework,” she added saccharinely.
Alaire ignored her. The last thing she needed to worry about was her phoenix’s love life—or aversion to one.
“All set,” Alaire declared.
“Me too,” Dawson said.
They turned westward. The mountain loomed in the distance like a silent observer, its peak piercing the stormy sky.
Snow began to fall as they left the meet-up point. Alaire’s breath frosted in the air; despite her new gear, the cold gnawed at her skin. The wind howled like a prowling beast. Somehow Dawson seemed unaffected—or if he was, he didn’t show it.
As they pressed onward, snow deepened, flakes swirling in chaotic patterns that cut visibility. When it became impossible to see more than a few feet, Dawson led. Her eyes fixed on his back, Alaire stepped in his prints.
“Almost there,” he called over the wind. He kept up a steady rhythm of reassurances, with variations of “Just a little further” or “You’ve got this.” His patience was infinite.
Each step grew heavier, the snow dragging her down. More than once she had to stop, inhaling from her breathbind reliquary before pushing forward again. Their progress was painfully slow.
It felt like eons before they reached the mountain’s shadow. The cliff face glistened with icicles, some as wide as Eclat Castle’s turrets, others thin and needle-sharp, ready to pierce her at the slightest provocation.
Alaire held a hand above her forehead to get a better look. There was a massive ice crevasse at the peak, its details obscured by the swirling snow that forced her to squint. A narrow, winding trail at the mountain’s base vanished into the clouds above.
Her eyes widened. “This is what we have to climb?”
Dawson nodded. He seemed focused yet calm, his attention fixed on scrutinizing the natural obstacles before them.
“Any chance the winterflame might just float down here and save us this death trip?” she muttered. “Doesn’t feel like too much to ask.”
Dawson pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. “Afraid not.”
She let out a slow breath. “Might as well get this over with, then.”
