I hum against the wind and catch a current, the feel of it almost like music drifting through my talons. Floating higher, I also sense the distant inflow of winds to the storm over the Crimson Keep. Lightning breaks through the gloomy clouds like a stone skipping across water. The faint sizzle of it hits my nostrils, and I inhale.
The Forest of Ruin spreads out beneath me, the dark trees flitting in and out of view through the clouds. Snow dusts the higher peaks, the trees wearing the white like a shroud. I should fly lower and search for any sign of Sela or her warriors. Instead, I loop around and head north. This path is one I’m loathe to fly, but also one I find myself flying far more than necessary as of late. Ever since the Bargain. Ever since I brought my mortal to the DragonKeep.
More lightning, the deep roll of thunder tickling along my eardrums. Swooping lower, I get a glimpse of what drew me here, what I fear will draw me here forever. The DragonLands.Forbidden for any DragonKin to enter, forever closed to us because of the evil wrought by the DragonKin amongst ourselves. Another streak of lightning, this one breaking off into a dozen spidery strands across the sky. I wonder if the silvery light reaches all the way to the Palace of the Sky, brightening the tombs of my ancestors or the bones of my family still lying under the foreboding firmament.
The curse is eternal. The lands forbidden. My heart sinks as I approach, the familiar, invisible push emanating from the DragonLands borders and forcing me away.
My only hope is Larellin. She could break the curse.Mycurse. I roar at the futility of approaching my homeland, at how inevitable it is that I must turn my back on it again and again.
But I remind myself I deserve this. After all, I brought the curse down on all DragonKin. My cowardice. My failure.
I bank away and flap my great wings hard, lifting into the clouds again and aiming for the Usurper’s Aerie. If Sela and her warriors have returned to their lair, at least I’ll know Larellin is safe for now. It’s the only comfort available to me, the sliver of hope for my mortal’s survival despite the lethal nature of Oblivion.
Chapter
Seventeen
LARELLIN
“This smells so bad,” I complain for what must be the dozenth time.
“You can’t go around smelling like a mortal. You’ll be found out, maybe absconded with, maybe eaten, and then I’ll never hear the end of it from Vander.” Lenka pats me on the back, sending up a plume of noxious stink.
The cart we’re riding on rocks gently as the horses pull us through a chilly wood. The tree limbs seem to lean toward us on either side, as if they’re moving closer as we pass. I tell myself it’s just my imagination, but when a limb snags on my hat, Lenka swipes at it with her hand.
A screech splits my ears, and I slap my hands to the sides of my head to block it out.
“Try it again, and I’ll burn the lot of you!” Lenka shouts. “Gods, the nerve! Keep your filthy twigs to yourselves.” She clucks her tongue, and the horses walk faster.
I hold onto the seat. If I tumble over the edge and into the woods, I’m certain I won’t make it out again.
“We’re almost there. Smell the smoke?” Lenka asks.
“I can’t smell anything except … what is this again?” I look at the gray cloak draped along my shoulders, then down at the too-big trousers that are absolutely filthy.
“DrudgeGolem. I caught one in the larder a while back. The bugger was completely naked and using a handful of tallow to stroke his?—”
I gasp.
Lenka gives me a sidelong glance. “Well, you get the gist. He ran as soon as he saw me but left his duds behind. I’d meant to burn them, to tell you true, but I suppose it slipped my mind. Lucky, that.”
“Yes. Lucky.” I try to breathe through my mouth. Whatever a DrudgeGolem is, I never want to meet one. Not if they all smell like this—a mix of animal dung, mold, and garlic.
“Immortals—most of them anyway—have much better senses than what mortals are accustomed to. If someone were to sniff you out, that’s trouble we don’t need.” She holds her hand out, palm up. “But don’t worry, we aren’t exactly unarmed.” A large burst of orange flame shoots up, and I could swear the tree limbs beside the narrow lane shiver and retreat. She stows the flame and grabs the reins again. “Besides, everyone in Churlytown knows me. We’ll be all right. You remember what to do if there’s trouble?”
“Yell for you.”
“What if someone’s bothering you?”
“Yell for you.”
“What if a pixie threatens to take out your eye?”
“Yell for you.”
“What if a troll?—”
“I’ll yell for you, Lenka.”
