Sure enough, Haven’s mare is swift, but I would never give up Aspa. “What use do I have for two horses?”
“For when one gets tired and yet you have not?”
I laugh. “Fair point—it’s a deal then.” I won’t actually take her horse, and she knows it.
“It’s a deal.”
After that, we’re quiet. The nights at the outposts are not for words or idle gossip. The night here is for listening. The night here is for blending. I’ve been shooting and taking down rogues since I was eighteen, on the hunt since I was twelve, and wielding the bow since I was six. The tip of my arrow gleams in the moonlight, ready to cut into the flesh of rogue serpents of the night—ones who betrayed the gods, their curse a punishment for their crimes, or those of us turned by the curse upon entering their Realm. So we’re warned. Ninon seems to believe it though, and for the most part, I believe what she does.
There’s tension in the air. Lean muscles coiled, sharp eyes trained, delicately pointed ears perked—one of our only gifts from our fathers. Gifts that we take and useagainst our enemies.
When I continued coming on hunts after Alixor claimed me, my mother and others tried to have me tend to the other mechanisms of running our community instead, as was commonly the duty of the carremai. But I was too accurate, too useful here in the Sere when I wasn’t visiting the opulent sky kingdom, and so the arguments to keep me confined soon ebbed. I would have kept coming regardless, would have found a way even if they tied me to the stone walls each night, even if I had to chew through bindings or cut through stone.
Movement to my left catches my attention and a dark streak slices through the sky, stars winking out for a bare moment before returning to their glory. I signal with a hand to Haven and she drags her fingers through the fine layer of rock and debris, the sound a message to Dashka.Look to the sky.
We hear the shift of wind first. Then the zip of an arrow is loosed, sprinting through the night. A tumult of air beats against the rock arch, sending tiny pebbles skittering. The arch is deep enough that claws cannot reach inside, and thick enough that it can’t be crushed, though it’s riddled with claw marks that show it’s not for lack of effort. I watch Dashka loose another arrow.
“Missed again!”
“Get out of there,” I hiss at her. She’s revealed her location twice now. When the dragon comes back around it will know exactly where to strike.
“No, I’ve got it, it’s turning back around.”
I curse and scramble away from my position, throwing my body into her dugout. I have to climb several feet to reach her.
“Wait—” she pauses. “Where’d it go?”
My skin prickles with sweat, my ears straining to hear. “Get out, get out, get out,” I repeat quickly, grabbing hold of her ankles. With a single hard tug I pull her back as the mouth of the dragon collides with the opening.
Dashka screams. Rubble crumbles down on our heads, sticking in our hair, coating our mouth. Now she’sscrambling back, our bodies awkward and tangled as I wiggle out of the channel. The dragon strikes with his claws again and again, sending a storm of rock and debris into our faces.
Haven grabs my legs and pulls us out as the dugout collapses in on itself. The dragon’s high pitch scream pierces my ears.
“Haven, to the right,” I shout. “I’ve got the left.”
Haven goes wordlessly, and at my back Dashka pleads, “I’m sorry!”
“Stay here,” I reply, snatching up my bow and arrows.
Out in the open air, I see the dragon swoop low, shoulder dropping, wings loping on the air. The beast gets so close I catch the cloudiness of its eyes in the moonlight. My arrow is already drawn and I let it fly. The rogue’s head kicks back, a pained keening ripping from the beast. The creature lands hard, thrashing and tangling itself in its wings. I watch, even as tears pinch my eyes. I watch, even though everything in me screams at the wrongness of it. Every time. It’s like this for me every single time.
Haven is breathing hard at my side as the rogue’s limbs stop moving, its mighty wings drooping.
“Well. I guess I owe you a mare.”
“You pulled me out from being buried alive. Let’s call it even.”
After another moment, vapor rises to envelop the beast, slow and sluggish as the dragon at long last, turns back into a human. I once thought death was the only way a rogue could shift back into its human body. A rogue, we’re told, is a rogue because it couldn’t shift into a human again. An abomination to their kind when they turned against the gods. After what Ninon and I witnessed two mornings ago though, I’m not so sure. I try and fail to recall if the dragon Ninon and I met had clouded eyes, like this one, before it shifted.
Dashka’s at our side as we approach the rogue. A male—not one of our women. I’m not surprised. It never is. Women used to disappear all the time when my mother was young apparently. Now, it doesn’t happen. If there are any Nevobans in the Realm of Rogues that were cursed to turninto beasts, they’ve never made it out again.
“Wow,” Dashka breathes, swiping a tear from her face with the back of her hand.
“Your first rogue slaying?” Haven asks.
“Yeah,” she murmurs, nodding.
I want to tell her that the feeling never gets better. Instead I say, “When we get back, send word with a raven to Dyeus. One of the collectors will take care of this. I’m done for tonight.” Then I turn, go back to my horse, and head for home.
