“You’re…amazing.” His voice held disbelief and something that sounded dangerously like pride. “I’ll have to renew them.”
“You should,” I shoot back. “They were surprisingly easy to slip through.”
His laugh rumbled against my back. “My impossible woman. Is there anything you can’t break into?”
“I’m waiting to find out.”
He shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling across his brow. “What did you learn from the book about the Skathes?”
“That they’re mindless beasts, driven by hunger for magic. But a master is controlling them, someone who has turned them into an army.” I relayed what I’d read, including Velacross Blyte’s theories and their fear of a will guiding the will-less, of the wasteland spreading in their wake, plus the odd line and the drawing that looked eerily similar to my mother.
When I finished, I waited to hear what he’d say. At his command, Kyreth banked, her massive wings tilting us toward a village nestled in the crook of a wooded valley.
“I don’t know what that line means, but your mother?”
I explained her history, the little I knew of it. Only now did I wonder if what I was told was true.
“We need to solve this mystery.”
I nodded. “Doing so may show us how to permanently take care of the Skathe problem.”
“The person who controls the Skathes might’ve killed her.”
“You think it’s someone who learned to use their magic?”
He shrugged. “I assume it would take magic to control the Skathes.”
“Perhaps.”
“Whoever it is could have Fenmark.”
“Do the Skathes bond with beasts?”
“Not that I’ve seen, but I suspect whoever controls them is not Skathe.”
The world tilted again, the breathtaking view below suddenly feeling treacherous. My sister was a pawn in a war we were nowhere close to understanding.
“We will find them and kill them,” he said simply.
The certainty in his voice made me believe impossible things.
“I want to see the book when we get back,” he added, his tone all king, all commander.
“Of course.”
He didn’t say anything else for a long moment as he guided Kyreth into a wide, slow spiral toward the valley floor. The village below grew clearer, a cluster of stone-and-timber houses with vibrant gardens and smoke curling from chimneys. A place of life, not only survival.
“You think your cousin is still alive.”
“I think we have a mission, Minx. And we’ll do it together.”
Kyreth landed with a ground-shaking thud that was surprisingly gentle when seated on her back. Her claws sank into the soft earth of the village commons. The moment we touched down, people began to emerge from homes, welcoming smiles on their faces.
A murmur of Trew’s name rippled through the small crowd. They bowed, but it wasn’t the stiff, formal gesture I’d seen so often in my court. This was respect, warm and genuine. Like those back at the castle, these people adored him.
“Your Majesty,” an older woman called out, her face a lovely map of wrinkles, her silver hair secured in a thick braid down her back. She strode toward us, wiping her hands on an apron, her eyes sharp but kind.
Trew swung down from the saddle before helping me, his hands lingering at my waist as my feet found solid ground. Every touch was a claim, a public declaration.
