“War is not the kind of thing that can beexplained,” said the Master. “Nor are my methods, Prince. We did the best we could under the circumstances. No lives were lost.”
The darksoul’s corpse flashed in Kinlear’s mind.
Soraya’s came next.
He hid his own flinch.
It’s your fault,his conscience hissed.You should have seen her death and stopped it.
Will you ever amount to anything, Prince?
He shoved the thoughts away. If he focused on them too long, he’d find himself drowning in winterwine again tonight.
He’d find himself mourning for a future that was never truly his to begin with.
The scarred woman.
She was to be his true Matching.
He could feel it like a target upon his heart, and everything he did, everything he dreamt of...she was there, at dead center.
“NoSacredlives,” Kinlear said, and pointed his cane at the raphon. “Butherlifemight be lost. Secure her, so we can get her to the Citadel to be tended to.” When no one moved, he growled, “Now!”
Something whizzed past his ear, seconds later.
A glowing arrow, freshly rune-marked with a stasis rune he knew all too well. It drove deep into the raphon’s back leg. A second of struggle...and then the beast fell silent.
Only the rumbling of the war could be heard.
“Quickly,” Hux commanded.
The Sacred Knights converged upon the raphon with ropes and chains, and just like that...
The beast was a prisoner of war.
Kinlear stood there in the snow, silent as the grave, as they dragged the raphon away. Her body was limp; her wings and tail spread behind her as a smear of dark blood stained the snow.
Pity filled his gut. A sense ofwrongnesssettled in him, as if he cared for the beast...
Though he couldn’t quite tell why. This one wasn’t his.
But then he noticed the shape of the raphon’s belly as she was dragged past.
It was swollen.
Almost as if...the beast was carrying pups.
13
Gods, he would have made one hell of a Rider, if fate had chosen it for him.
The war eagle beneath him screeched, the sound cutting across the snowy sky...and Kinlear threw his head back and practically howledalong with it.
Thiswas living, even if the snow stung his cheeks and the icy cold was like a dagger to his lungs. Even if it broke every damned rule his father had laid out for him since arriving back at the Citadel.
Thiswas the kind of reckless freedom he’d read about in books. The kind he saw in his own dreams.
He relished it. He screamed his joy right into the wind, as if he could become one with it, as if he could sprout wings himself and finally leave all ---
