Bellamy’s running out of time to decide what to do about that revelation.
Or maybe he’s already decided. Rakos is flying from one danger to another, risking his life just to take Bellamy home. Living a lie with Rakos was thrilling enough. Now, Bellamy wants to build a new truth with him too. He refuses to say farewell.
Bellamy rests his forehead against Sarka’s warm scales. When he speaks, his throat is hoarse from all the shouting. “Rakos?”
“Right here.”
“I don’t want to say goodbye to you,” Bellamy admits.
Rakos tenses behind him, palpable where their thighs press together. Where Rakos’s bound left arm lies parallel with Bellamy’s. “Have you changed your mind about the island paradise?”
“Actually, I’m hoping you’ll change your mind.” Bellamy takes a deep breath. “Move to Silaise with me.”
A few wingbeats later, Rakos says, “I don’t think your family will approve.”
“They haven’t met you.”
“That’s the problem, they have.” Rakos laughs. “Prince Audric has tried to kill me several times.”
“It wasn’t personal. I’m sure I can persuade them.” Bellamy swallows hard, wishing again he could see Rakos’s face. He should say this properly—but when has anything about this been proper? “I have to persuade them. Because I can’t pretend this is casual anymore either.”
Rakos buries his face in Bellamy’s hair. “Is this a confession, minstrel?”
“Seems as good a time as any.”
Rakos’s right hand finds Bellamy’s, entwining their fingers. “I’ll go anywhere you want me to go. Even to certain death at your family’s hands.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you,” Bellamy promises.
“My hero,” Rakos murmurs in his ear.
***
An hour later, Rakos shifts his weight behind Bellamy. “All right, this one’s on you. Ready to go home?”
Bellamy clutches the leather straps. Familiar forests spread to the east, not that Bellamy’s seen them from this angle before. He still recognizes the wyrm woods and House Frenn’s lands, then Greenhaven Castle beyond, where his brothers wait.
“I’m ready,” Bellamy says, and Sarka glides forward.
Silaise’s border magic glitters faintly green gold, an uneven, natural line from tree to tree. Some of the anchor trees are hundreds of years old. Some are newly grown from regions Sarka herself razed to the ground just seven years ago. Bellamy reaches out his own Sandry magic, connecting not with the trees but the spell itself.
Warmth washes through him. The magic recognizes him. Welcomes him.
Allows him through, companions and all.
Bellamy’s eyes sting with relief. It’s as if the sky itself transforms from one wingbeat to the next. One moment, he’s lost. The next, he’s home.
“Wow,” Rakos says in his ear. “I’ve never gotten across that easily.”
“Don’t try this alone,” Bellamy warns with a laugh, before light blazes ahead of them.
The magic rises from Greenhaven Castle itself. Streaks of fire and living air soar and twist together into a burning tornado, far above the ground—hurtling directly towards them.
“Hang on,” Rakos yells as Sarka dips sideways.
Bellamy’s stomach lurches, and the harness tightens around his limbs every time Sarka changes direction. She dodges the tornado easily, without Rakos even needing to nullify it. But the tornado pivots too, hurtling back towards them under the mage’s perfect control.
No, that’s two different mages, twisting fire and air together. There’s something familiar about the air magic too.
