He holds me, as if in this small encirclement of his arms, I don’t need to be brave anymore. This little act, this closing of chest against chest, brings me back to being a child, when I didn’t need to be brave all the time. He’s never pulled away first but instead lets me cling on for as long as I need, as if he had nowhere better to be.
This is the first time we’ve been able to talk without an audience in seven years. Finally alone, I blurt to my father, “Are you okay?”
He gives a wry chuckle. “You stole my question.” He smiles at me, his teeth stark white against his brown skin. “I’m fine. Adjusting to Nevaeh and being away from you all was a torture. But seeing you again … I cannot express how much relief it has brought me.”
“And Remus? You said you knew he was okay—”
“I’ve seen him during my time in the immortal realms, and he’s safe. But I’ve been forbidden to talk more about that.” My father straightens, pressing a hand against his white, braided tunic as if pushing down the sin of getting close to some barred topic.
My heart cracks open, threatening to bleed me out.
“Please … tell me you’re safe here. Tell me you’re happy.”
“I’m okay.” It’s honest. True. And I don’t want him to worry. “I … wasn’t for a long time. I was unsafe, alone. But … I’m good now.” Why is this next part so hard to admit? Maybe because I realize I’m not just pacifying my father’s worries but saying something that feels a betrayal to admit. “I’m happy here.”
“And the prince?” My father kisses my forehead, and his tears flow with earnest. “Is he a good man?”
Draven seems to sense our attention, and his eyes meet mine, the deepest blue I’ve ever seen. I realize he’s scared. Terrified my father will scoop me up and take me away.
I turn to my dad. “Yes he is.” I pull away to look into my father’s eyes, to find him smiling in a way that is both devastating and filled with pride.
“That’s all a father can hope for. Safety. Happiness. A partner who loves you.” He kisses my forehead once more, the act held a little longer. Some silly part of me wants to argue that Draven doesn’t love me. That we’ve never said the words. That I fear he may just want me. My mouth fumbles on how to express that, but my father cups my face in his hands. “I could be wrong. But I’m pretty certain he’d toss that crown into the volcano if you told him you wanted a normal life.”
I snort. One thing I do know is how much Draven wants his throne. And power. Sighing, I tell my father, “I don’t want to live an eternity like this. You on one side and me—”
“You wouldn’t be safe there. In Nevaeh.” He curses quietly, his halo at his hip glowing red. He flinches—he can’t say more. “We’ll have to settle for moments pressed between years, but I am always with you.” His warm hand squeezes mine. “I’m afraid I need to talk to your betrothed. But we’ll see each other again soon.”
I nod, hoping it’s true, and he walks away from me, turning into the light of the sun as he moves to where Draven adjusts the onyx wyvern’s saddle. As my father joins him, Draven straightens up, and of the two, I can see only the prince’s face, the solemn look in his expression and the way his lips twitch. He says something emphatic, to which my father just nods. They shake hands.
Then my father is looking at me over his shoulder, giving me one last smile, before he takes to the skies, the other seraphs joining him, flying northwest, toward the Sedah palace.
My breath catches in my throat, but I shove down the emotion and hesitantly approach Draven’s side.
“What did he say to you?” I ask.
“He said if you’re still the same little fireball he remembered, you’d throttle me just for repeating it.”
I let it go for now, returning his wry smile.
Draven leads me back over to that opal-colored wyvern, shooting me an impatient look when I hesitate to get close to it. “Pretend Spirit here is a horse. You must have some experience with those, I assume.”
I sigh and swing my leg over, preparing for the wyvern to throw me off, but she just cocks her head back at me with those fiery golden eyes. Draven settles the reins in my lap. I grip more tightly than maybe I should. Each of Spirit’s mighty breaths rattle my thighs. Draven grasps a piece of saddle I’m unfamiliar with, a leather belt that will keep me attached to her for flight. He wraps it around my waist, using an intricate buckle to secure me, palm lingering on my knee.
“Let’s stay at each other’s sides within the elven borders.” He looks over his shoulder. Scorpius and Fable are watching our interactions closely. He adds, “We can trust my friends with alot, but not our vow, and I don’t know Soto’s men. They don’t know we’re looking for the Arcadian Artifacts or your family. Keep your shields up and your eyes open.”
I nod. A guard brings him the reins of the onyx wyvern, and he mounts it so smoothly it’s as if he was born to it.
“Prepare your wyverns,” he shouts over his shoulder, and the others corral their beasts to face the same direction as him. “We’ll portal closer to the elven borders to shorten our flight.”
He channels the Death Arcana, and a large portal opens. Our wyverns slither through it after him, their front wings acting like paws, and beneath me, Spirit jerks forward, rushing onward.
The darkness engulfs us, raging all around us, as if we were dropped into the ocean, and the winds are buffeting harder than usual. I grip the horn of the saddle. The wyvern’s movements are confident, as if she knows where we’re going better than I do. I brace against the steep force of wind, my cloak threatening to fly off.
And suddenly we’re in an unfamiliar wide-open field. The grass is scrubbier, and steep marbled tan and gray mountains cut the sky like teeth ahead. Strange rock spires gather, like the child of a giant stacked them up and forgot about them. My wyvern keeps walking, its strange trot turning to a wending gallop as it lifts its wings, following the others.
It flaps once, twice, then suddenly it leaps upward, and I’m forced to grasp the horn again, wishing I’d secured the saddle myself. It seems too tenuous a thing to be the only separation between living and dying. With every few wingbeats the temperature drops a degree or two, steadily morphing from a muggy heat to a cool breeze, but the sun stays strong on my face as we climb. The wind laces through my hair, and the feeling of freedom traces my veins like a fingertip on a map, sending blessed chills through me. Once we stop climbing, we even out,and I release my grip, balancing my arms out to either side of me. If I never touch ground again, it might be worth it for this.
Draven whips around, long hair flapping behind him as he watches me over his shoulder. His wings are tucked in tight, body leaning forward, half standing like someone would if their horse was in full gallop. I copy his stance and my little opal wyvern sprints ahead, catching up with him.
