Why then did my mare’s joy run through my very soul when we were out riding with the open sky above and fresh air filling our lungs? Or, maybe that was my own joy, and my mare was content to stay underground, hidden and safe.
Ninon swings herself onto her saddle. “It doesn’t matter.” She faces the cavern entrance, the darkness carrying a deep violet that suggests morning will soon arrive. “It has to be tonight.”
I mount Aspa, and a vibration courses through my veins. I shake it off, attributing it to my readiness to ride, to feel the wind tear through my hair and pull tears from my eyes. It has nothing to do with Ninon’s words, the definitiveness with which she says them. Or that far off look in her eyes that’s strange, even for her.
“It will take three days to brew,” she goes on, “and I’m not certain Alixor is willing to wait even that long.”
I lift my chin and we guide the horses out into the waning night. “We’ll get what we need and when Alixor fails to impregnate me, I’ll come home and we’ll be back together, on these horses, doing as we’ve always done.”
Ninon’s fingers tighten on her horse’s reigns. Mine tighten on Aspa’s and as one, we spur our horses on. Hooves pound the ground underfoot, louder and faster as we gain speed. And together, we fly.
CHAPTER TWO
THE AIR OUTSIDE Nevoba’s concealed caverns is cool and fresh. The knee-high yellow grass is awash in the blue of night, hissing softly against my horse’s powerful legs, the only sound in these final hours before dawn. The twin moons are thick crescents tonight, hanging low and bright, and on the other side of the sky just above Dyeus are two hazy opaque ovals that we call the gods eyes.
Past the plains surrounding our underground home, the barren wastes of the Sere yawn wide ahead, the flatness interrupted by occasional rock arches and monoliths jutting up out of the ground. Far away to the west sit the hazy mountains that blockade us from the world beyond where the common humans reign. To the east, the Sere goes on and on, all the way to the dark coast of the Rising Sea. Above the Sere, along the edge of the coast, floats the islands ofDyeus, a lush, green paradise with waterfalls that drench the ground below, nourishing the farmlands that feed our people and trickling into the river that serves Nevoba.
Clouds of dust churn behind us as we gallop into the Sere, dodging stones and ruts that we know like the backs of our hands. By day, the Sere is hot, dry and arid, but in this transition between night and day, moisture has managed to manifest itself into the air. I relish the tiny beads of water that cling to my cheeks and thread through my hair. My hands are slick with sweat as I cling to Aspa, pushing her as fast as I dare. Her hoof falls thrum through my muscle and bone and I don’t know where my heartbeat ends and the rhythm of her stride begins. Beside me, Ninon looks as free and joyous as I feel, a small, rare smile gracing the corner of her mouth. It almost makes me forget the strangeness I felt from her earlier.
Ninon guides us to the west, giving a wide berth around our hunting outposts to avoid encountering our fellow huntresses. Ninon and I are the only two people who can know what we’re attempting to do.
From the outposts, we can barely see the mists that veil the Realm of Rogues. Sometimes at night, we hear the rogues’ wild, angry shrieks. When I was a young huntress, it terrified me and haunted my restless daytime sleep. But now, only when they’re overhead, close enough that the sound of them is so shrill it can make your ears bleed, do I have any fear. Our hunts rarely end in bloodshed of a rogue—less than twenty in a sun cycle. A testament to how well the dragons of Dyeus do their duty to protect us, I suppose, leaving us free to hunt for game in relative peace.
The sky is growing ever lighter as dawn nears breaking. We edge ourselves towards the mountains and closer to the Realm than either of us has ever been. I wonder if we will see it more clearly as dawn rises or if the mists that shield it from view will appear as thick and impenetrable as ever.
In Ninon’s books, the last ingredient we need for my contraceptive is a small flower that grows in cracks at the base of the mountainside. The flower only blooms as the first morning light skitters across the ground, reachingthem deep within the rock that protects them from the harsh elements of the Sere. She’s always simply referred to it as “the flower.”
“Does this finnicky flower of yours have a name?” I ask as Ninon slows us to a trot once we reach the mountains’ base. To the north looms the mists of the Realm of Rogues, their shrieking calls few and far between, but still there, reminding us of the danger.
Ninon hesitates. When she speaks, her voice is a barely above a whisper, as if she were worried the sky itself were listening. “Dracduat. More commonly known as dragonsbane.”
My hold on Aspa tightens and she stops in her tracks. If Ninon were the type to crack a joke, I’d think it was one. I’ve heard of it before—we all have.Dragon’s death. A fabled herb that’s said to poison a dragon so that his blood runs free from his veins and detaches his godly soul from his body. She understands my silence better than any words.
“It’s the only way.” She’s already taking her horse toward the sharp, jagged rocks. “With the petals intact, it’s a powerful healing herb. There’s no risk to you. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Ninon,” I begin, a warning in my tone. I don’t want to die, but that’s not why there’s a protest on the tip on my tongue. I tie Aspa to the rocks, winding the rope carefully around the jagged edges. Even if I could leave, seeing the mountains so close serves as a reminder that I shouldn’t dare attempt to cross them. Each rise looks like a set of sharp teeth waiting to shred trespassers apart. “I shouldn’t let you do this. What if the dragons find out you have it?” I shudder to think of what would happen if Alixor discovered I used something like this, but I fear more for Ninon than myself.
She’s already tried, on several occasions, to collect the flower, but shorter than me, she’s never been able to reach it in time. I accompanied her on her last venture and my reach was long enough, but my timing poor. I grasped it too late, the petals falling from the plant, useless, our time wasted.
“They won’t.” Her tone is abrupt and resolute. Then she beckons me over to where she’s already identified a place where the flowers will bloom. “Can you reach these?”
I stare at her, my mind teetering back and forth on what I should do, but we’ve come this far, and I don’t want to fall pregnant. I lean sideways and stick my left arm into the crevice, my vantage point on the horizon where the sun will rise beyond the mists of the Realm. Above me the stars have all but disappeared, the sky more light than dark now. It’s a tight fit, but my fingers brush the soft, velvety leaves and bristled stems. “Yes.”
“You’ll need to move your body this way or you’ll block the light,” she says, and I feel her hands on my waist, guiding me back and to one side. I suck in a breath as a jagged rock bites into the skin of my upper arm through my riding wrap, threatening to latch on tight and keep me.
“Are you hurt?” Her face comes into view above me.
“The rock is cutting into me a bit, but,” I adjust, making sure I can free my arm when it’s time, “it’s not as painful as childbirth seems.” I crack a smile and Ninon shakes her head.
“Now we wait for—” Her words are cut off by a thunderous screech ripping through the early, silent morning. The glimmer of dawn is still not strong enough to chase away the rogues and we’re close to their territory.
My arm still deep in the crevice, I search the skies for a dark figure while I beg the sun to rise. “Come on,” I say through gritted teeth, even as my heart leaps in my throat. A moment later, the screech rends the air again, and out of the corner of my eye, I see it.
A dragon. A rogue.
“Ninon.”
“I’m on it.” I hear her quick footsteps fall away from me, probably heading to her horse to get her bow and arrows. The dragon’s form draws nearer. An erratic flight path, a long serpentine body thrashing like a snake in hot sand, wings beating in uneven tempos. A sure sign that this isn’t one of Dyeus’s dragons. It’s so close that I can see the shape of its head and its open maw full of sharp white teeth.
