“You…” he says with sheer surprise.
My chuckle is low and very amused.
“Serves you freaking right.”
Chapter 21
I miss my palace, now more than ever, with that giant arch of a gate burned into my vision - figuratively, of course. I’ve heard stories about the tall stone construction connecting the two Peaked Mountains, but nothing comes close to the real thing.
I tilt my head, desperately searching for their tops, but find none, as they disappear into the fat purple clouds.
“Toxins,” Riven explains,his eyes flicking over my face, “since they can no longer open the sky, they ensure no one else flies over their territory.”
I step back to show him I don’t welcome his company, and he flinches, but masks it in a heartbeat.
I feel fucking sorry. Since we departed, I’ve made it my life mission to show them how little regard I have for them, but every time it lands, parts of me die with them.
Sighing, I decide to let go of the pity party and just be civil, but I won’t let them get closer; never again.
“Leftovers from the Great War between the Dragons and the first Baba Yaga?” Jestin asks, trekking at my left.
“First traitor, most likely,” Riven grunts in reply, and no one could blame him for his displeasure; hags are the natural enemies of his clan, as Argos are to Beriganders.
The mood is tense, mostly because Samira hasn’t sent a word, and Bane hasn’t returned either.
The silence looms over all of us like an abusive dad over a kid refusing to eat their veggies. My stomach twists thinking I’ll need to face her sooner or later.
“That grudge is ageing like fine wine. Haven’t you tried to make peace?” asks Aidon, who has only recently transformed back into his Fae-form. At least he remains his sarcastic self, except maybe the suspicious glances he throws my way.
Riven’s answering glare makes me giggle, and he punishes me for it by turning his murderous look on me.
“I know, they’re uncivilised,” I mutter, throwing my arms up. He’s only said that a dozen times since we departed.
“We won’t be welcome there. Stay on guard,” Riven warns, drawing his axe.
“Let’s go, girls.” I simper.
“I can morph into the body of a female, if you fancy it,” Aidon says, earning half-baked laughs from the others.
Of course my comment backfires.
“I’m too vile to enjoy other females,” I reply, marching forward, my feet sinking into the slate chippings.
They mutter something to each other, but the howling wind prevents me from eavesdropping.
I should have stayed and listened.
After at least another twenty minutes of climbing, my breath is a joke, but we are finally on top. I inhale and exhale, trying to regulate my pulse, while the steep path sets my glutes on fire.
I grimace as the mountain morning air assaults my nostrils. At this point, I’m convinced too much fresh air is as unhealthy as none at all.
Jestin and Aidon trail behind, pressing the Dragthrall for more details about the war, but he offers little.
I decide to try it myself and wait for him to join me. He does, noting my panting with a raised brow.
“Do you miss the dragons?” I ask bluntly. I planned to ease the truth out of him gently, but he mocks me, so fuck him.
“Yes,” he says without an inch of hesitation. “It was the greatest honour of my life.”
