“He could have valuable insight about the Aquitainians,” the shorter one said, head cocked to the side, expression openly curious.
“He could,” Romanus agreed. “And I think he should be rewarded for his loyalty, don’t you?”
The taller one tsked, folded his arms, and turned to pace away from the table.
Romanus straightened to his full, impressive height, shoulders pushed back, chest out. “Cassius.” It was a command, and Cassius could do nothing but meet his gaze, no matter how badly he wanted to shrink from it. “You will not return to the barracks. Instead, you will serve me.” The corners of his cruel mouth twitched upward in a hint of a smile that sent a shudder down Cassius’s spine. “As the Lady Amelia’s personal servant.”
14
Náli had been too highly prized as the Corpse Lord to be allowed out on hunts, or fishing expeditions. He’d become an expert swordsman, but only thanks to his Dead Guard, and hadn’t had the chance to duel with anyone else until he’d started journeying to the capital with only his Guard as chaperones. Had it been up to his mother, he never would have learned to ride. But quietly, secretly, Mattias had swung him aboard his first pony and taught him all the ins and outs.
It had been years since then, and he was now not only an accomplished horseman, but a drake rider as well. The habit was deeply ingrained, his responses automatic. It was rare that he ever called upon Matti’s years’ old advice.
It was Matti’s voice that filled his head, now, as his mind froze, and spooked, and scattered.The horse can feel it when you’re frightened. Calm your breathing, calm yourself.
Easier said than done. He was panicking, which meant Valgrind was panicking, and there wasn’t a functioning brain between them.
But Rune was panicking, too, shouting, clutching Alfie’s reins for dear life, and so it was Mattias’s old wisdom that came to Náli now, and gave him the strength to shake the haze of disaster from his eyes.
One thing at a time. That was another Matti pearl of wisdom.
He tightened his hands on the reins and hauled Valgrind’s head around. “Hey now!” he shouted. “Stop that!”
Valgrind bleated in distress, but stopped thrashing in the air; settled into a steadier hover.
Náli didn’t share a psychic connection with Valgrind the way Oliver and Tessa did with their drakes, but he could read his mount well enough without it. Alfie had lost her mistress, and was frantic; Percy and Valgrind were in turn frantic as well.
“Hey,” Náli said again, leaning forward in the saddle. “Listen to me.”
Valgrind let out a pitiful cry, but cranked his neck around to nose at Náli’s boot.
“We have to keep our wits about us,” he instructed, sternly, mostly to himself. “We’re the only ones left who candoanything.”
Gods. He could go to pieces if he thought about that too deeply.
For now, he had to play general, because Rune was still clinging to a distraught Alfie’s saddle, screaming almost as loudly as the drake.
“We have to be composed for your parents,” Náli said, sternly, and when he steered, Valgrind, thankfully, went. He ducked his head, and flapped his wings, narrowing his body so he could arrow toward his mother, who was trying to dive down through the cloud layer while Rune shouted and wrestled with her reins.
Náli swooped Valgrind in close enough that the tip of Alfie’s wing raked through the air an inch from his nose. “Rune!” he shouted over the howl of the wind. “Rune, stop it, you fool! Calm down!”
When Rune lifted his face, his eyes were huge and wild, his cheeks pale save the two windburned spots of pink high along the bone. He looked feverish and terrified. “What?” His hair whipped around his face, tugging loose of its braids, and Náli didn’t think the tears leaking from the outer corners of his eyes were merely the result of the wind.
Poor sod.
Rather than try to talk up in the air, with the wind shrieking in their ears, Náli pointed downward, an exaggerated movement, and then heeled Valgrind and leaned low over his neck.
There was a moment, in the thick of the clouds, when Náli wondered if they were diving straight into a Selesee ambush. He envisioned gold-armored soldiers camped on the mountainside, a massive wood and iron scorpion loaded and wound tight, ready to fire the moment a cold-drake breached the mist.
But Valgrind dove quickly, and he didn’t have time to worry for long before they were beneath the clouds, and the jagged spines of the uninhabited mountains rushed up to meet them.
There was no vegetation at this elevation, and so Náli had a clear view of the mountaintops. He spied a flat patch of ground, crowned on all sides by tall rocks, filled with unblemished snow. He steered Valgrind toward it, and when they landed, the snow proved deeper than he’d thought. Valgrind sunk down to his shoulders; the soft powder fluffed up over Náli’s knees, cold and thick around his boots.
“Bollocks.”
Snow swirled in a stinging miniature cyclone as Alfie landed, and then Percy. Alfie cried out heartbrokenly, and Percy butted his head against his mate’s in an obvious attempt at comfort.
“Rune—” Náli began, but Rune wasn’t listening.
