Page 73 of Reaper's Ruin
Well, those lessons remained because when Rhyker said stay put, I wasn’t going to go scampering off and get myself swallowed up by a rogue Storm Court cannibal tribe. Not this girl. I was staying put, exactly as promised.
Minutes ticked by, the forest quiet except for distant bird calls and the occasional far-off shouts from the hunting party. I was beginning to wonder how long Rhyker would be gone when I caught sight of movement on the path ahead.
It was the guard who had accompanied the man who’d killed me, riding back alone. He passed by without noticing me, hidden as I was among the trees.
Where was my murderer? Had they separated? A knot of anxiety formed in my stomach. What if this was our only chance to confront him? What if he slipped away?
I bit my lip, debating with myself. I’d promised Rhyker I wouldn’t move, but I glanced over and saw a ridge nearby, not a few hundred feet away. If I just rode up to the top, I’d have a good view of the land to see where he’d gone, and I could tell Rhyker when he returned. We wouldn’t lose our only lead.
That wouldn’t be breaking my promise. Not really. It was just a short ride away, and with significantly better positioning to not lose our prey.
Cautiously, I guided Silverstreak forward along the path. Just to the top of the hill, I told myself. Just far enough to see where he went, then I’d come straight back.
The path wound upward, and I caught a glimpse of my murderer in the distance, riding toward what looked like a narrowpass between two rocky outcroppings. He was moving with purpose, as if heading somewhere specific.
Where the hell is he going?
He disappeared from sight, and from my new vantage point I could see one more ridge a little higher up. I wondered if I rode up there if I’d have a clearer view of where he was going. Then I’d wait for Rhyker.
I looked behind me at where I had been told to stay. It wasn’t far at all. It wasn’t like I was going off adventuring. Just up to the top of one more hill.
As I urged Silverstreak into the denser trees to skirt the edge of the path, something changed. The Stormsteed’s muscles tensed beneath me, and her head came up sharply, her little tufts for ears swiveling nervously.
“What is it, girl?” I whispered, patting the soft feathers on her neck.
She snorted, pawing at the ground, clearly agitated. Around us, the forest had gone strangely quiet—no birds, no insects, nothing but the sound of Silverstreak’s increasingly anxious breathing.
Then I felt it—a shift in the air pressure, the hair on my arms rising as electricity built around us. The sky darkened with unnatural speed as clouds gathered overhead.
“A storm?” I murmured, glancing up.
Silverstreak’s anxiety escalated to panic.
“You’re okay, girl.” I patted her again. “You’re a Stormsteed. You shouldn’t be scared of a little storm.”
But I looked up at the rapidly approaching treacherous clouds, knowing this could be one of the rogue storms Rhyker told me often swept through the Storm Court territory. And though Storm Fae could resist electric shocks and lighting, I couldn’t. I started to look for somewhere to hunker down for what I hoped would be a short storm, but with no warning, Silverstreak bolted. My headsnapped back as I screamed, grasping the front of my saddle to keep from flying off her ass. She tore down the hillside at a speed that took my breath away.
“Whoa! Stop! Easy, girl!” I cried, but Silverstreak was beyond listening.
We crashed through trees, branches whipping at my face as I hunched low over her neck, holding on for dear life.
Suddenly I heard Mrs. Peabody, my camp instructor in my head.
Heels down! Shoulders back! Eyes up!
I tried to do as she’d taught me back then in that little sand arena on my spotted pony, Pickles. But none of those pony-walking lessons had prepared me for galloping full tilt on a panic-stricken magical flying horse-bird through a storm-swept forest. But somehow, I stayed on, even as Silverstreak leaped over fallen logs and swerved around trees with reckless abandon.
The skies broke open, and rain hammered down, soaking me to the skin in seconds. Lightning cracked overhead, followed instantly by thunder that I felt in my bones. Each flash seemed to drive Silverstreak to greater panic.
Suddenly, we burst from the trees into a small clearing. A small ravine was just in front of us, and I screamed as we barreled straight toward it. But just as we reached the edge and I was certain we would tumble down the steep decline, Silverstreak’s stride hitched, and I felt a surge of muscle beneath me as her wings—which had remained tightly folded against her sides until now—snapped open.
For one heart-stopping moment, we were airborne.
The sensation was indescribable—weightlessness, freedom, the wind rushing past despite the rain. I let out a shocked laugh, my terror momentarily forgotten as we soared above the clearing.
The flight lasted only seconds. Silverstreak’s wings weren’t designed for sustained flight, just for gliding and leaping. As we began to descend toward the trees on the far side, she twisted in mid-air, trying to avoid a lightning strike that hit too close.
The maneuver was too much. I felt myself slipping, my wet hands losing their grip on her feathery mane. I scrambled to hold on.
