It looked like half of a creature which had once been a dragon. Two large wings tied to harness swayed in the wind, as if they were alive. They’d been made out of a skin or a membrane which had definitely belonged to some poor animal at one point, the webbing stretching it carved out of wood instead of bones, held together by copper bolts.
“That is one of the greatest inventions of our generation.” Dax beamed. “Made by a peculiar fellow I met in the Fair Isles a while back when I was running from the local guards. Those merchants have no idea of its true potential.”
I snapped my tendrils back into the well of power inside of me, staring in astonishment. In the center of the wings stood a curious panel, with pulleys and too many cogs.
I wanted to touch it and step away from it all at once.
The wings flapped as a rush of wind swept through the forest, raising the hairs on the back of my neck.
It felt like a warning.
I whirled around, suddenly tense, eyes jumping between the trees.
Nothing.
No troll, no attackers, no purple light.
“This thing can fly?” I asked, my voice still a whisper. It felt illicit to be talking about something that shouldn’t exist.
I stepped closer, raising a hesitant hand toward the closest wing. The membrane was smooth and oiled, my fingers sliding easily against it. The entire machine shivered at the soft touch.
It looked impressive. Not that sturdy, though.
Still, a part of me–a reckless side which had been hidden for so long in a sea of doubt and duty, I didn’t even recognize it–ached to strap it to my back and fling myself toward the heavens.
Dria Vegheara had chosen predatory birds as the Protectorate’s symbol for a reason.
They were fierce, loyal, and free to soar.
Dax settled his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. He hesitated. “In theory, you’d use the ropes on the sides to flap the wings.”
“And in reality?”
“It glides more than it flies,” he admitted. “Maybe I just need to test it out some more.”
I took another hesitant step closer, feeling like a newborn. “So you glided into the crater?”
“Had to.” He shrugged. “Damn thing wouldn’t work properly and it’s fast. I can’t tell you how many trees I almost hit on the way down. Good thing the walls are so high up, it took a long time and some very careful maneuvering to find a clearing to land in. But I had enough time in the air to spot the city and let the stars guide me.”
I turned, scowling at him. “Dax, you could have died.”
“I dance with death each time I go out on a mission. It’s living.”
“It’s taking unnecessary risks,” I said. “You could’ve warned me you were coming, through the palaver portal, and I would’ve helped you get in.”
“I didn’t trust any palaver, even one secured by Dara. Not when I had the Protectorate crown on me. This way was safer. At least if I died here, you could’ve found my body. If Silas had known about my plans and caught me, there wouldn’t have been any body left.” His face contorted with rage as he let out a long sigh. By the end of it, some of the fury had vanished from his eyes.
Guilt ate at me, spidering through my chest.
Dax had risked his life to bring me the crown and I hadn’t been able to bring myself to even touch it.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said softly. “You’re more important–to me, to us, to the Clan, to Malhaven–than any crown.”
He shrugged.
“I know,” he said with a low tilt that betrayed the lie. “But I was dying to try this contraption out. When The Postman said he couldn’t transport me inside the crater–”
I groaned. “You contacted the bloody Postman?”
