Chapter 2

The last of Meira’s dreams slipped away as she hurtled toward consciousness. Air rushed into her lungs as if she’d been submerged below water and only now was able to break the surface. Her throat ached. Every surface of her mouth was dry, her tongue rough against her palate, and the metallic taste of blood lingered on her cracked lips.

Awareness crept into her limbs, a slow tingling sensation that stretched toward her fingers and toes. The weight of several blankets rested over her torso, trapping the heat that had begun to gather sweat along her collar and behind her knees. It was suffocating.

Dim light was visible through her eyelids. If only she had the strength to open her eyes. Vaguely she was aware that she didn’t even want to try. Exhaustion was bone deep within her physical body even if her mind had already begun to wake.

Then, painted like an expensive piece of art, within her mind’s eye she saw him.

With dark eyes wide, he stared down at his palm. Hair fell carelessly over his forehead, giving her the distinct feeling that his hair looked different than it should. As though this man she could not name ought to have the strands pushed away to show off the cut of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. But that was a ridiculous notion. She didn’t know him, and she didn’t know how his hair should or should not look. He was a stranger.

His shirt was only half tucked, his trousers wet. Dirt covered the toes of his boots and left a trail behind him. Whoever he was, he was every bit disheveled as he blinked at the raised flesh that appeared as if it was watching him back.

Because it was.

And, by the dragons, if he wasn’t the most attractive man she’d ever seen. That thought rose like a desperate declaration. She pushed it back down.

As if her mind knew that this image wouldn’t last much longer, she began frantically trying to take in every little detail around him. The wood boards under his feet were stained a rich brown, the walls decorated with a vibrant patterned wallpaper, and behind him, double doors were closed. Sunlight was cast over his face from a window she couldn’t see. The slice of light turned the dark color of his irises to honey. Meira’s pulse quickened. He was beautiful. And unfamiliar save for the ripe attraction that darted through her at his image.

Nothing about his scenery was telling of his location. Or who he was. Or why her body pulsed with the need to find him.

A haze took to the edges of the picture filling her head. All too soon his surroundings blurred. She greedily took in her one final look at the man, but then he was gone, replaced by the fuzzy awareness that her eyes were still closed. There was a hollowness to her chest in the aftermath of the vision. The need to cry stung her eyes. Were there tears streaking her face? Confusion and want haunted her thoughts.

She stretched her legs until her feet left the confines of the blankets. Her fingers curled into the sheets as her next breath brought with it a medicinal scent. A groan clawed its way out of her throat as she finally blinked her eyes open. With the back of her hands, she wiped at them, frowning at the evidence of her sorrow.

At least everything here was mostly familiar, she thought as her room came into focus. The same worn quilts she always used fell away when she propped herself up on her elbows. Her latest read was face down, holding her place on her small dresser. Her riding jacket hung on the back of the closed door, and her scuffed boots lay sideways where she’d last kicked them off. The same stone walls. The same polished floors.

Meira exhaled. A tremble passed through her arms, almost convincing her to lay back down. Instead, she sat herself up, pushed the blankets away, and flung her legs over the edge of the bed. She looked down at her body, still dressed in the midnight blue riding gear, though it hung a bit loosely.

Fabric, tattered at its edges as if it had been hastily ripped, wrapped her left hand. She brought her palm mere inches from her face and stared at the material. No blood stained it but she could feel the stiffness of a healing wound beneath it. Swallowing the nerves that bubbled up from her stomach, she tugged at the knot holding the wrap closed. The fabric was unwound and fell away to reveal the pink cuts carved into her flesh in the shape of an eye. Meira traced a finger over the marking and flinched as dull pain was renewed with the touch.

What did I do?Her breath quickened as she tried to search her memory for an inkling of what may have happened. Nothing readily came to mind. Yesterday she’d returned from a small mission to the Catalough Isles and celebrated with the other riders. Bram had walked her back to her room, then she’d come to bed, a little inebriated but otherwise fine, and fallen asleep. Whatever had happened between then and now was lost to her.

Her stomach felt painfully empty as she eyed the glass vials lining her nightstand. Mousy brown curls stuck to her forehead; shorter strands slipped free from her two frizzy braids. She pushed the loose hair back. What had they tried to give her? What illness did they think she had?

Whatever they’d given certainly hadn’t worked. What caused this fatigue wasn’t a physical sort of illness that a healer might treat, though it appeared whoever had been here was blissfully unaware.

Thank the dragons. A small blessing.

She’d been lucky. Just like the millions of other times she’d managed to scrape by without anyone knowing her secret. At what point would her luck run out though? It couldn’t last forever, could it? If anyone knew, she surely wouldn’t still be sitting in this room in her sweat-slicked uniform. The fact that no one else had put two and two together and condemned her was proof enough that Meira held the dragons’ favor.

On shaky legs, Meira stood. There could only be a few reasons she had been thrown into a deep sleep such as the one she was waking from. Truly, there was so little that might sway her to be so reckless. Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she rewrapped her hand, hiding the evidence of her nature.

What time was it? What day?

A pounding began in her head as she bent to shove her feet into her boots. The leather was soft from use but her bare feet still felt wrong, as though the impressions left inside them didn’t belong to her. She left the confines of her room wearing a scowl but found the halls quiet and empty. Stretching her arms out to touch the stone walls on either side of her to hold her upright, she kept moving. Her knees knocked with every step. She pretended as if they didn’t.

Only when she’d reached the stairs that she’d walked a thousand times before did she pause to take a breath. From here there was only one way to go. Up. And then up some more. Her body protested with each stair she climbed. Muscles burned as if they’d never been used a day in her life. She gritted her teeth and ascended the spiraling staircase, certain that she’d lost track of time, or perhaps that time had lost track of her when she finally made it to the top.

Sweat followed the gentle curve of Meira’s nose. Her cheeks glistened in the early morning light and her clothes clung to her flesh, heavy with moisture as she reached the mountain’s top. Through the door, the mountain flattened into a large smooth platform to allow space for riders to mount their Bold Wings. From here she could see the orange-pink that kissed the horizon as the sun rose to start a day still muted by thick fog. Most riders had likely gone to bed only a couple of hours ago. It made sense that the halls were so quiet and empty now.

Her dry lips cracked further as she put two fingers between them and whistled. The noise echoed across the rocky ledge. “Mrithun,” she called, but her voice was hoarse, hardly louder than a whisper. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Mrithun!”

Every breath she took was a shallow reminder of what there was to lose. Everything. There was everything to lose. There must be. Why else would she have taken this risk? A picture of that man staring at his palm flashed behind her eyelids accompanied by the nauseating feeling of being seasick.

Up at the top of Mount Ridmond, Meira had the growing sensation that she was alone. That only made the panic climbing up into her throat that much more powerful. For every second that passed in silence, her heart seemed to beat a little more erratically.

Then she heard it. The beat of wings. Gradually, the blue-black shine of Mrithun’s diamond-shaped scales came into view. Crimson-flecked eyes stared back at her as the dragon slowed and dropped onto the platform. Relief nearly had Meira on the floor.

She stumbled forward, stopping shy of catching herself against the silky scales of Mrithun’s front leg. Fresh demanding tears sprung to her eyes, making her vision blurry even as she tried to blink them away.

The dragon huffed a breath that clouded between them and washed over Meira’s face. Then the beast”s wet nose ruffled her hair.

“I don’t know what happened,” Meira murmured, “Something is wrong. Very wrong.”

Mrithun snapped her teeth as if that was communication enough. The Bold Wing raised her head giving her rider a nod. The pink blooming from over the horizon cast its color across her scales and her tale flicked behind her. Their reflection shone in the few remaining panes of glass that surrounded a quarter of the mountain’s edge.

Mrithun was the most beautiful dragon in the den that resided at Mount Ridmond. Her face was traditionally long but wide enough that her jaw was certainly threatening. Her backside-to-tail ratio was the perfect example of what a Bold Wing’s proportions should be, and her black scales, well that was the height of beauty. Not to mention perfect for flying at night, though Mrithun only did that during missions.

Meira smiled at her, the joy of it never fully reaching her light green eyes. “Shall we go for a ride?” she called through the rise of wind that had her swaying. The end of Mrithun’s tail scraped against the worn rock floor.

A violent gust circled the space, shifting her waves away from her face. Meira inhaled generously. Light fog curled and drifted around them, thin enough for her to still feel the sun”s warming glow. This was better than any tonic a healer might prescribe. And this was when she loved being on the mountain top the most. Every other scale rider was still snug in their beds thanks to the Bold Wings mostly nocturnal ways.

Her clammy hands tucked the hem of her loose shirt back into her belt. Exhaustion made every movement slower than it should have been. Anger spiked inside of her making her chest throb.

A clear shiver traveled down Mrithun’s spiked spine. Her toes tap, tap, tapped as her impatience built. Meira exhaled a light chuckle as she pulled a black harness from the waiting stack and fought against gravity to stay upright. After several wavering steps, she made it to her dragon’s side. Mrithun knelt forward, snorting as Meira slung the saddle over her back to settle gently against her spine. Fingers reaching for the belts, Meira stiffened when someone cleared their throat.

“I’m not sure you should be doing that.”

She knew that voice anywhere. So deep, with the rasp of a chronic sore throat from shouting above the winds. Bram. Leader of the Crimson Legion, of which she served, and the only one above the eight others in their legion who could out-fight her or whose dragon could outfly hers. As ten they were a unit bound like family, bound to their dragons, and bound to serve the emperor.

“And why not?” Meira focused her gaze on her task. Forcing her breaths to even, she quickly tightened the several straps on Mrithun’s belly and smoothed her hand over the dragon’s soft underside.

“You’ve been ill for weeks. Bedridden for practically a month.” Wrinkles framed his worried eyes, making the evergreen shade sparkle. Honey-blond hair swept into his eyes, falling from the loose bun on top of his head. Bram’s cheeks were flushed, suggesting he’d already been out for his morning run.

“I feel fine now.” She shrugged. Other than being excessively tired and slightly weak, she had no other lingering symptoms. Tiredness could be easily ignored. Weakness could be fought past. The month of her life spent at death”s door, well, that could be easily explained—if only she’d dare tell a soul.

“M,” Bram whispered, eyes shifting to confirm they were alone.

In only a few long strides he stood before Meira. At this distance, she could make out every bit of his concern etched upon his rugged features. Guilt grew heavy within her stomach. Her eyes fluttered closed as his calloused hand cupped her cheek. Warm against her face, she took her time inhaling his scent, something like mint and cedarwood mingled with the salt of his sweat.

If only it didn’t have to be this way.

“You’re going to hurt yourself jumping back into it this quick. The others will understand if you are slow to ride again.” Two fingers traced her jaw before he tipped her chin and lifted her gaze to meet his. “I worry for you.”

“Mrithun needs her wings stretched. She is restless.” Meira sighed, trying to look anywhere but at Bram’s face, knowing that she needed the flight far more than her Bold Wing did.

Fresh waves of need washed over her. Every cell begged her to lean into him to let him escort her back to bed and hold her until she told him her truth and forgot about everything else. The words sat restlessly at the edge of her tongue wanting to be said.

Bram can’t know. No one can know.

If he was put at risk for the dangers that she harbored, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself. And that was if he could stand to look at her if he knew.

“Then let me ride her.” He straightened, giving her a good view of his wide frame.

Meira fought a sad smile trying to force her lips into a frown. Gently, she brushed aside Bram’s touch. “You know she won’t allow that.”

Mrithun released a low rumble from her throat. Those ruby-red eyes of hers narrowed while she stomped her feet.

“See.” Meira pointed toward the Bold Wing.

“I would try…for you.”

Another dagger right to her heart. Bram would try many things for her. Bram would die for her. Another reason she had to keep him at arm”s length. Another reason she and Bram couldn’t be together. Because the only future Meira and Bram had together was a tragic one. People she loved were taken from her. She’d hold no love for him if only to keep him from his death.

“You would try and you would fail. Mrithun hasn’t let anyone else ride her since she was a sprout learning to take a rider. We are bonded and she is stubborn.”

Mrithun snorted. Bram muttered under his breath about the Bold Wing not being the only stubborn being.

“What do I have to do to get you to keep both feet on the ground where it is safe?” Bram finally exhaled, taking a step away from her.

“There is nothing you can say. I belong in the sky.” With a smile and a lot more bravado than she actually had, she took hold of the harness meaning to pull herself up.

“Why so soon then? You could ride with me and be in the sky.”

“You know riding along isn’t the same as being a solo rider.” And there was something she needed to be ready for. By the dragon, it was a vague thought to have, but she knew that something big or bad or otherwise life-altering was about to happen. It could be felt in her bones and the way she’d woken not long ago knowing there were gaping holes in her memory. She just wasn’t certain exactly what was destined, only that it was.

That was the trouble with traveling through time. Memories were slow to catch up as they moved through different versions of reality. She’d remember soon enough though. Absently, she brushed her fingers over the cloth on her palm.

Bram’s attention followed the movement. “That appeared when you passed out. I didn’t want anyone else to see it so I told them you had cut yourself when you fell and I bound it. Do you know what that means, M? I looked into it while you slept. You’re being hunted.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “By a witch.”

A witch. Wild women loathed and hunted to near extinction by the entire empire. It took everything within her not to roll her eyes. What shock he might find himself in if he found out that he was looking at one now. That when he got drunk he sometimes kissed a witch, occasionally took that witch to bed. Instead, she turned back to her dragon and held onto the harness with all her strength. The leather of her riding pants groaned as she seated herself upon the Bold Wing. Mrithun’s eyes glowed dangerously bright, clouds puffing from her nostrils as she eagerly awaited her order.

“I’m not worried.”

Another half-truth. She was not worried about being hunted. She was worried about everything else.

Bram folded his arms over his chest, the realization that he wouldn’t be getting his way settling in. “Perhaps you should b—”

Chest heaving, Iyla, a newer scale rider to Cardinal Legion and part of the three legions that made up their clutch, appeared at the top of the stairs and practically burst through the doorway. Her cheeks were rosy and only darkened more when Bram let his full attention fall on her.

“All riders are to report to grand hall in two hours.”

Bram lifted a brow, the young rider easily buckling under the force of his gaze.

“The great merchant, Elton Hamza is dead,” Iyla said quietly, before disappearing down the stairs.

His lips parted and his head snapped in Meira’s direction.

And there it was. Her something big.

Elton Hamza, the richest man in all of Augustine, with his fingers in every pot of coin he could get his hands on. The entire continent would be buzzing with this news if it wasn’t already. Augustine had a violent past and no doubt would have a violent future. What sort of wicked creatures would crawl from the dark depths of the earth to try and become something as powerful as Elton Hamza had once been? That’d be what she and the other riders would face.

“We’re being called to flight, no doubt.” She sat tall on top of the Bold Wing, heels digging into her sides. “I’ll see you in the grand hall.” One massive pump of Mrithun’s wings and wind swept through the mountain top sending them bursting into the sky.