Page 25 of A Matter of Destiny

He’s scared, I realize. He’s scared of me, of this new body.

And what’s more, he’s lying.

Because this isn’t a gift I’ve been given, at least not from Ensyvir. I learned what I was the night my mother died in the mountains above Cairncliff, although it took me a while to accept it. I glance back down at my body, the scales and muscles and claws that are so achingly similar to the mother I never knew. And then I unfurl my wings.

They feel every twist of the air, these massive wings. The draft from the open door pulls across the underside, and the sky gate whispers to my wings through the hole in the roof. I think of Doshir, the way his wings spread across the rain-smeared sky, and the pain is as blinding and beautiful as a bolt of lightning. I wanted to spread these wings with Doshir. I wanted him to show me the sky.

Another growl pulls tight inside my chest, reverberating through my scales. The time isn’t right to lay waste to Ensyvir’s tower and plans, whatever those plans are, but I can be patient.

Because I am no weapon. I am a dragon.

Chapter13

Rayne

Iknow how to fly.

My muscles ache in broad bands across my chest and back, and my wing beats are jerky and clumsy, but I’m doing it. I’m flying.

The few times I’d dared let myself imagine it, I’d thought flying would be a hard thing to learn, like sword fighting or tossing a dagger from one hand to another. I’d imagined it would take a few days of practice, perhaps on a beach, with Doshir at my side, laughing with me, gently guiding me with his soft touch.

I blink, surprised that tears still exist in the body of a dragon. Is this normal, or is this some remnant of all the years I spent as a human? Is it some lingering effect of the curse? If I ask Ensyvir, I’m sure he’d tell me exactly what would most benefit him, and he’d probably throw in something about how he gave me this form as a gift.

I huff, and smoke rises from my nostrils and drifts back over my beating wings. I’m following Ensyvir, keeping low to the water like he ordered, and now I’m so close to the waves that I can hear them hiss and murmur as they rise and fall in the straight between Valgros and the greasy little harbor town of Mynndar. We’re not heading toward Mynndar, not exactly, although we’re drawing closer to the burning lights of that little town.

And, kings, I can smell the place. Smoke, pitch, and spilled ale, threaded with a thousand delicate scents of food. Frying dough, roasting meat, the sour tang of the yeast that’s rising tomorrow’s bread—

“Pay attention!” Ensyvir barks.

A moment later, his tail hits the waves before me with a sound that’s alarmingly similar to a smack across bare flesh. Cold water covers my face, stinging my eyes. I shake my head, which makes my whole body wobble, and my claws hit the waves.

Panic seizes me. The water is so damned cold, and the kings only know how deep it is out here. In a flash, I’m remembering all the stories I’ve ever heard about shipwrecks and monsters and drowned sailors who rest uneasily beneath the waves. Another wave breaks over my snout; salt coats the inside of my mouth before I can scream.

Something hits me across the face, and pain flashes through the haze of salt and fear. I gasp as my vision explodes with white stars.

“Focus,” Ensyvir growls.

There’s a gust of wind as his wings pump the darkness above me. I swallow, trying to drown the salt and the bitter burn of anger that coats my throat, and force my wings to work once again. Muscles I’ve never used burn as my body climbs above the water. Ensyvir narrows his red eyes at me, just once, and then he turns. His wings beat the air above the waves, sending ripples of foam out to brush my claws. As I follow him, my chest aches with a strange combination of rage and a deeper, sharper pain, the kind that makes me think of Doshir. Of my stupid fantasy of sitting with Doshir on a beach somewhere, laughing as I stretch my wings for the first time, listening as he explains how to use them.

I shake my head, sending salt spray everywhere. I don’t need that kind of instruction, clearly. Just like I didn’t need the family I sometimes fantasized about having, or the kind of relationships I’d observe in the marketplace or the court. But, kings above, that didn’t mean I didn’t want it.

I’m panting by the time we reach the shore, my lungs burning with each breath, the strange bands of muscles across my back and chest throbbing with every beat of my new wings. Ensyvir lands cleanly on a pebble beach beneath a low, sloping hillside, and I follow, clattering against the stones as I crash into the ground snout-first. Ensyvir’s lip curls back like a dog who may bite.

“Quiet,” he growls.

I stagger to my feet, then glance around. There’s nothing here but broken stone and the lonely hiss of wind through pine trees. What does he care if I’m quiet?

“It’s too early to be seen,” he continues. “We’re going to fly high, and we’re going to fly quiet. Understand?”

Fly? Again? My body is already trembling, but I don’t dare disagree. Ensyvir’s lips twitch, and I have the strange impression he’s laughing at me.

“Follow me,” he growls.

He leaps into the sky. I spread my wings shakily, then reach forward and follow him.

The climb is cold. A chill rolls off the mountains, and it bites through my scales as I trail Ensyvir’s wide circles, climbing higher and higher. Now I can see why he chose to land here; there are towns on either side of us, little lakes of bright lights surrounded by darkness. I trace the harbors and the gray gashes of roads, trying to align them with my memories of the maps of Cassonia. Not that I thought I would ever travel to such a strange, dangerous land; Cassiona’s alliance with the dragons of the Iron Mountains was cause for ridicule in Valgros, if not outright hostility.

Until King Donovan married their princess. An image rises in my mind, Princess Nepetha riding through the streets of Valgros, radiantly beautiful beside her betrothed on his stallion. I’d unbuttoned my shirt that day, when King Donovan returned from his voyage to bring home his bride-to-be. The King hadn’t even noticed me as he’d passed on his mount.

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