Page 45 of Swift Wings Shadowed Heart
When the dragon finishes his roll and gets right side up again, some of my tension dissipates, and I slump on the saddle, heartbeats booming in my ears. My terror morphs to anger, quickly reaching a boiling point.
“Fucking prick!” I shout as I squint up at Vaylen, wind whistling in my ears.
His expression betrays surprise. I imagine no one calls the High Prime a prick, but the bastard is trying to kill me. What does he expect?
Surprise vanishing, his features relax into a mask of utter calm.
Oh, no! Now what?
Fragor executes another roll, this time plunging through the turbulent currents upside down. I cling to the saddle, nails digging into the leather and threatening to rip free from their beds.
My arms and legs tremble with the exertion, slowly growing weaker as wind batters me. My head swims as the ground rushes by, too close for comfort. Fragor rolls right side up again, and I think I’ll be all right, but then he beats his wings, rising, rising, rising. He is nearly perpendicular to the ground, and I have to fight not to slip backward and slide along his spiked tail.
His wings finally still, and we hang against the backdrop of the moon for a quiet, interminable moment. Suspended there, I feel as if I can touch the stars, and it’s almost peaceful for a breathless instant, but then we drop, Fragor slowly changing positions to dive head-first toward the ground.
We plummet at a staggering speed. Wind tears at my face, prying my mouth open with violent fingers and making my jowls flap.
One moment, I think I can hold on, I can stay on the saddle, and the next, I’m thrown off, a gust wrapping me in its fist and flinging me toward infinity. I roll head over heels before I start plummeting toward the ground. For the second time and in as many days, I’m faced with death.
You always knew your big mouth would get you killed one day. Well, here we are.
But Vaylen won’t let me die, will he? He can’t. I’m a precious Skysinger of the Kingdom of Embernia. He can’t waste me just to prove a point.
Except, perhaps he can. No one’s here to witness my demise. Vaylen can make up any story he wants to explain how I ended up in bits, painting the ground red. And as I catch a glimpse of Fragor flying away, rather than toward me, the chilling truth dawns on me: that’s exactly what the High Prime is doing.
The ground rushes up to meet me, the rest of my life span reduced to mere seconds.
Oh, Heratrix, forgive me. I’ve wasted the chance you gave me.
I close my eyes and pray harder than I ever have.
23
Vaylen
Fragor lands atop the plateau, alighting as gently as a butterfly. He always takes extra care when I’m with him, even though I’ve tried to convey the message that he doesn’t have to, while he conveys that it’s absolutely necessary.
I release my Tethers and quickly dismount, sliding down his leg. The Claws on duty rush in to tend to Fragor. A few of them look from the empty saddle to me but say nothing. Captain Stoneberg would have sent in a message announcing the arrival of High Prime Stormsong and a member of his Clutch.
“She had a big mouth, so I got rid of her,” I tell them, then head for the lift.
I still feel Fragor’s disapproval coursing through me. It mingles with my own sense of guilt, souring in my stomach. The lift clanks as I descend, plunging me into the bowels of the earth. When I exit, I head straight for my quarters, trying to forget about Skysinger Wyndward.
The corridors are busier than normal, but it seems the news from Commander Voltguard got out to all the Primes, and they were able to reach their pupils, who now run around in an excited state, happier to be here than on break. I remember those days. Now, I long for free time, but mostly… I long for peace.
In my chamber, I find several Boltgrams on my desk. I examine them to determine their source. They all have a signature from the Commander, except for one, which comes from Chief Inspector Cragmere. I open that one first, frowning at the request. Odd.
Setting it aside, I read the others. They contain more details about the enemy attack as well as further instructions on our reduced training schedule. One missive in particular surprises me. Normally, the Commander would have consulted me before making such a decision, but the situation must be dire enough to warrant expedited action. I wouldn’t have declined anyway. We need every dragon and every Skyrider we can get. It seems now I must deliver instructions to my new pupil. We need to begin training early tomorrow morning. There’s no time to waste.
With a sigh, I head back out but stop short as I open the door. I have no time to do anything but blink as a brutal slap lands across my face. The force of the impact snaps my head to the side, my cheek stinging like the Seven Hells. I growl between clenched teeth and capture the culprit’s wrist, squeezing hard. Tugging on the arm, I pull Skysinger Wyndward into my room. Temper boiling, I grab her shoulders and slam her against the door, shutting it close in the process.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss.
“What the fuck is wrong withyou? You nearly killed me. I thought I was dead and said my last prayers, you bastard.”
“You need to understand that disobeying my orders can get you killed.”
“Perhaps it’syouwho wantsmedead.”
