Chapter 4

The grand hall was the only space large enough to fit the entirety of the Horde. Five dens resided within Mount Ridmond. While numbers still lingered in the thousands across several locations, Horde Ridmond held six hundred riders. Now they were all crowded together, filling up the long rows of seating or lounging against the smooth stone walls.

Meira wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her sleeve before squeezing her way through the throngs of people. The trembling in her body had lessened since returning from her flight but a fog still clung to her mind. She could still picture the tousled dark strands of the stranger and the curious look on his features as he found the mark on his hand. Mostly, as she weaved amongst the crowd, she could still feel the strands of magic that connected them.

Magic was peculiar in the sense that it felt undoubtedly tangible one moment and unreal the next. She was certain if she closed her eyes all she would have to do was follow the tugging sensation in her chest and they’d find one another. Meira wasn’t certain that was how it worked though. While she’d had a vague understanding of the huntress mark, she’d never created one herself. Though someone had carved the curse into her skin; if it had been her she couldn’t recall.

Up ahead she caught a glimpse of blond hair several rows away where Bram sat with his arm draped over an empty chair. Instinctually, she knew that he’d saved the seat for her. The two of them had made a point not to flaunt whatever sort of relationship they’d sometimes participated in, so up until now, they had never actually sat next to each other during official meetings. The parameters of her health and curse would be cause to break away from the normal distance they kept. No matter how much she disliked the idea of being watched by her legion leader.

Bodies shuffled out of her way as she nudged her way past. More than one conversation stopped as Meira slipped by. Watchful eyes clung to her skin. They seared against her clothes and burned through until she felt the heat of them like a thousand suns.

She was certain they knew. That everyone around her could see that lively rush of power living within her as clearly as if she’d written ‘witch’ across her forehead. Swallowing against her dry throat, she wiped her hand over her face again to be certain. There was no way for them to know, not truly, and certainly not by looking at her. Meira was as plain as any other rider and only the jagged shape of an eye in her palm, hidden under her glove, might be enough to give them pause. Bram had only thought her victim to it. Perhaps she was a victim. Only time and the return of her lagging memories would tell.

“Pardon,” Meira said, sidestepping between the backs of seats and riders’ long legs in the row behind them.

Bram dropped his hand from the back of the chair and crossed his arms over his chest. The muscular shape of his biceps was apparent through the tight fit of his long-sleeved shirt. Her attention caught on the dark fabric, unable to rise to see his face. Behind him, the room turned brown with winter foliage and trees and Bram was no longer Bram. He was the stranger.

His hair was slicked back with sweat which felt strange when Meira noticed that he wore a thick cloak and his breath fogged up the air. The man struggled to catch his breath as he sat upon a log and stretched to look up at her. He smiled and her heart tumbled in her chest.

“I would have died back there if it wasn’t for you,” he said. His voice was like an old lullaby; soft, smooth, and tinged with a dangerously dark reminder.

Words were pulled from Meira’s mouth without her control or consent. Her words were just as breathy. “I’m sure you can find ways to thank me.” Her tone dropped an octave with the suggestion.

While his cheeks were pink with exertion the color deepened and his smile grew wide. “Meira,” he said her name with the promise of threat. A thrilling warning that turned her body hot.

“Meira,” he said again. His smile remained and so did the hungry glint in his eyes. “Meira.” His voice turned urgent. “Meira.”

“Meira!” Bram hissed through clenched teeth, reaching for her arm and pulling her down into the hard wood of the seat. The hall had gone quiet and those who didn’t watch Meira stared up at the platform at the front of the room. Crimson stained her cheeks as she shrunk down in the chair. “What the fuck is wrong with you? I told you to rest more.”

“I—” But what was there to say? She’d possibly been having visions of an alternate reality? There was an entire timeline where Meira and this nameless man knew each other. How could she tell Bram that this stranger was locked away in memories that hadn’t fully returned? Would he understand if she told him that she was the wicked creature the scale riders often hunted? That she was the witch? Would he let her live?

Bile stung at the back of her throat as she tried to formulate a response, but Captain Litorick raised his hand from his position at the podium to cut off any lingering whispers. His hair was shaved close to his scalp making the sharp cut of his cheekbones look even more harsh. Litorick narrowed his already slitted eyes.

Behind him, the five lieutenants stood with their hands tucked behind their backs. Meira’s own lieutenant, Yule, looked over the gathered mass of riders. Her full lips were curved down with certainty. The coarse black strands of hair that typically hung loose around her face were slicked back into a tight braid behind her back making her look war-ready.

“Horde Ridmond, these are today’s orders.” The entire room sat still and silent on the edge of their seats waiting for the captain to continue. He let the silence drag.

How many riders knew the reason for this meeting? It was rare that they called the entire Horde together so urgently. Most of their missions were a long time coming, giving time for the gossip to spread before any one leader had announced it.

“We have received news that the great merchant, Elton Hamza, is dead.” Whispers moved through the riders like a wave and Captain Litorick frowned. “With this news, we have been sent requests by several members of our great Empire to escort them safely to the city of Croughton. One legion in general will be tasked with escorting Valen Brendal, son of Warlord Vigor Brendal. As always, you will protect the lives of those we escort with your own.”

More than one person groaned. Someone near Meira sighed and another shook their head. Elton Hamza had all but controlled half of the businesses across the continent. Scale riders were more than escorts though. When we were not fighting on behalf of the emperor, scale riders were called into battle to represent the oppressed. We fought for people who couldn’t fight for themselves. We were warriors with causes greater than ourselves. This meeting, while in response to a loss felt all over Augustine, was a call to act as a nanny for rich men.

“Crimson Legion.” Meira’s eyes snapped up. Bram straightened. “The Crimson Legion will escort the heir through dragonis territory. You’ll prepare yourselves and leave at first shadow. Scarlet Legion, you will ready to leave in three days” time to escort…” The captain looked down at the parchment in his hand. “Telday Martev, a businessman from Shandra, as it would seem, also to the city of Croughton. Everyone else will be prepared to fly at a moment”s notice from the emperor.”

To Bram’s left, Lowell leaned forward to look down the row of Crimson Legion riders. “All to Croughton in the wake of Elton Hamza’s death? This is a race to claim war over his business, isn’t it? We’ll be fending off the dragonis to protect rich men who want to get richer, is that it?”

“That’s what this sounds like to me, but I don’t know. This is the first I’m hearing of it myself.” A muscle in Bram’s jaw twitched as he pointed his attention forward again.

Meira could hear the captain carrying on but his words became distant as her mind began to spin. There had to have been a reason she’d brought herself back to this part of her past. This journey to Croughton, could it bring her to the very man she hunted?

By dusk, they’d be taking flight. Soon she’d get her answers. She’d find that man and she’d kill him and be rid of this curse that tied them together. She knew little about a huntress curse but she knew enough that it was made with the intention of death. Death she could do. She’d been trained in the art of killing since she was eight years old when she had been adopted by scale riders. Then at ten, when she was bonded to a hatchling and her heart had been filled with love once more, she’d known there was nothing else for her. Meira was a scale rider through and through.

“You are dismissed.” Captain Litorick pulled away from the podium.

The five lieutenants relaxed from their positions as he strode from the stage. Yule’s brown eyes skimmed over the assembly and settled on the ten riders that made up the Crimson Legion. Then her attention further narrowed onto Meira and she cocked her head. Yule leapt the few feet from the platform to the ground and merged into the crowd headed straight for them.

“Well, this is a load of bullshit,” Jaselle said, bringing herself to the edge of the long bench and exchanging a withering glance with the rest of the legion. Her piercing blue gaze pinned Bram, waiting for further explanation. Bram only tilted his head up to the tall ceilings of the grand hall and massaged the space between his brows. In his silence, Jaselle looked at Meira. “Glad to see you’re not dead.”

“Glad to be alive.” I nod, then lower my voice to a whisper, “Incoming.”

Bram straightened, searching the throngs of riders rising from their seats and moving to the exit. Cutting a path as easily as a hot blade through butter, Yule slid across the bench in front of them. She pushed her sleeves up revealing the warm brown skin of her forearms and sat herself backward in the seat.

“I tried to get them to pick another legion, particularly not one of mine, but they know the two best dragon whisperers are in this group.” Yule pointed a glance at Meira and then over to Brooks who scratched a hand against the stubble on his chin and failed to conceal his not-so-subtle scowl.

Great, so this would all be pinned on her and Brooks all because they cared to treat Bold Wings like more than oversized pets. Once more, she felt the sweltering fever of others” attention on her face. She sighed but sat straight in her seat taking the brunt of it.

“Meira can’t go,” Bram hissed. “That only leaves Brooks to help us navigate through the dragonis without it turning into a bloodbath.”

Never had Bram forbade her a mission no matter how grueling or strange. Every ounce of heat rushed to Meira’s face as she turned toward her legion leader. “I’m going.”

He kept on looking ahead, ignoring the way she’d turned her entire body toward him. It was like he couldn’t even see her—that he wouldn’t. “She’s been unconscious for weeks and only woke up this morning. She’s weak and should stay behind to rest.”

Yule snorted. “You think Captain Litorick cares about her rest? No, if she”s up and moving she’s going.”

“She almost died,” he lowered his voice.

Panic began to form in the aching cavity of her chest. She needed to be on this mission. Had she not been ill from the expenditure of her power there wouldn’t have been any question as to her capability. Bram was babying her in a way he would never do for the others. “But I didn’t die and I want to go.” The rest of her legion were painfully quiet as they sat and watched. Meira could feel Jaselle squirm restlessly in her seat before the girl pulled her white-blonde ponytail over her shoulder to run her finger through its end.

With the slow release of a tightly held breath, Bram finally turned to look at her. “You’ll take orders from your legion leader. How we proceed will not be up to you.”

Meira blinked. Surely, he didn’t mean that. A sinking feeling twisted in her stomach. She and Bram were always…casual. Never truly an item, just two people needing their primal needs met. That had always been enough. Meira cared about Bram, his overall well-being was important to her, so she understood why he might be spooked over her recent bout with a witch’s illness. This was taking it too far though, and that terrible wringing of her guts rose like a flame inside her, white-hot and angry.

“You can’t be serious?” The trembling in Meira’s legs was back. Whether or not it was from her continued recovery or from the tidal wave of frustration that mounted within her she wasn’t certain.

“Very.” Bram held her gaze. What she saw in his green eyes was not the man who cradled her in his arms as they fell asleep together. He wasn’t even the person who’d stood at the top of Mount Ridmond and pleaded with her not to get on her Bold Wing so soon. This man was a warrior, a leader, and someone who’d already made up his mind. He sucked his teeth, letting his attention jump back to Yule who watched with raised brows.

“Look,” Yule shrugged, “if the girl wants to go, let her.”

“She looks fine to me,” Lowell added. Meira couldn’t even muster a smile to thank him as she watched Bram’s face turn a shade of purple.

Bram turned his attention to the rest of the legion as if suddenly realizing that they were not alone. The entire group, all ten of them, had stayed put. Then to Yule, he said, “Why don’t you and I go talk somewhere in private to sort this out?”

Yule pressed her lips into a thin line, and Meira was certain she was holding back the urge to roll her eyes, but she nodded and pulled away from the bench. Bram rose to follow, fists clenched at his side, and Meira reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“I want to go. Don’t do this.” Her words were laced with every ounce of frustration and need. She only wondered briefly if it made her look weak to the others, then decided she didn’t care what she looked like to them as long as they didn’t assume she was a witch.

His eyes softened, if only marginally. “This isn’t about want, Meira. It’s about your health and the safety of our legion. We’re only as strong as our weakest person.” Pulling himself free from her grasp, he slipped through the end of the row and followed Yule from the room.

One by one, most of her legion stood and drifted out of the hall to prepare for their mission. Only Willa stopped to lay a comforting hand on Meira’s shoulder for several seconds as she stared at the open hall doors where Bram had just walked out. Meira wanted to give her friend a reassuring smile, but the best she could do was a lopsided frown. Then it was only Meira and Jaselle, who picked at her nails instead of making any sort of eye contact.

“I don’t think Bram will get his way. Both Yule and Litorick want you with us.” The length of her ponytail swayed as she lifted herself out of the seat and stretched to reveal a slender line of pale skin across her stomach. “And for what it’s worth, Meira, even now you’ll never be the weakest of us.”

What Jaselle said was kind but Meira didn’t believe her. If Jaselle knew who and what Meira truly was, she wouldn’t be saying that. No matter that they were practically sisters in spirit. If there was one thing the people of Augustine hated it was scale riders. And if there was one thing scale riders hated it was witches. Meira was both.