Chapter 8

It was colder at the back. At least, Meira thought so. She felt more wind here, every stroke of the dragons’ wings in front of her sent another current of winter air in her direction. The cloth that covered her face was stiff with ice. What moisture was in her breath had collected on it and immediately frozen.

Only her legs were warm where they clamped down against her Bold Wing’s side. Even her gloves were stiff and icy as she curled her fingers tighter around the harness strapped to Mrithun. It could be that tonight was a particularly chilly night or it was also possible that her highly coveted spot as Second Cord had spoiled her. If Bram meant to humble her, then he was certainly doing a marvelous job.

Those who flew first were often considered their betters. The best leaders, the best riders, and the most skilled at combat. Meira and Brooks were the best riders of the group. On any given day she was his better in combat. Now that she rode back here, she wondered if Isaac, Bodie, and Willa were actually their strongest. They survived the curse of riding at the back and she’d never heard them complain. In fact, the three who rode next to her all looked to be comfortable on the back of their dragons, as if this wasn’t even the worst of it.

Through the haze of clouds, Meira couldn’t make out the point of her legion where Bram rode. If finding and ending this curse that bound her wasn’t so damn urgent then she’d consider calling him out to fight. On a good day, she might be able to earn his title as legion leader. Even if she couldn‘t beat him in a one-on-one fight, it would feel good to take a few hits and deliver some of her own.

Bodie’s dragon, Icor, swooped downward underneath the heavy white mist. She caught the flick of his yellow scales before Mrithun followed them into a dive. Mrithun’s massive black wings stretched and then pulled in tight. For a time, she was weightless. Only her feet tucked in tightly to the bootstrap of the harness kept her on the Bold Wing’s back. Wind pressed her clothing against her body and the icy face wrap burned where it met her skin.

As quickly as the dive had begun it was over. Her weight met against Mrithun’s back once more and she tightened her knees against the dragon’s scales trying to soak in her heat again. They’d broken from the cloud cover to reveal the vast expanse of Warlord Vigor’s territory. Small glowing pockets of the city revealed the districts that didn’t bother to sleep. If it hadn’t been such a cloudy night, it would have looked as if the city below was mirroring the sky with its splattering of white lights.

In every direction surrounding the city were the Deadwoods. She knew she wasn’t the only one whose attention had drifted to those trees searching for any flicker of movement. While most of the towns and cities built in this half of the Empire had taken to areas with the least amount of dragonis activity, the animals still ventured close. And they wouldn’t take kindly to seeing a group of Bold Wings approaching anywhere in their hunting grounds across the Deadwoods. Territorial little brats that they were.

Mrithun huffed a hot breath that collected in the space in front of them for a heartbeat before they flew into it. The warmth of it still lingered when Meira passed through, giving her a reprieve from the cold, even if only for a second. She tried to stroke her fingers against the dragon’s smooth scales in thanks, but the leather of her gloves sounded more like shattering glass when she tried to move. If she lost her gloves, then she’d lose her fingers next.

Here she could make out the dark shapes of her legion, all the way up to their leader. He was nothing more than a shape made to match and dissolve into the night. He banked right and brought the group closer to the twisted branches and gnarled treetops.

The city was close enough to see the distinct shapes of buildings and homes, several of which leaned at odd angles or had fallen into disarray, crumbling away. Meira had never cared much for the warlords, each from the four leading families who had once helped the first emperor gain the country. Vigor, especially, was not known for his kindness. If a warlord did not care for his people, then why, Meira wondered, would they care for him? Warlords were as replaceable as leaders amongst the scale riders. All one would need to do is challenge him and win.

A whistle pulled her attention back to the legion. One leather-clad arm rose from Bram’s side as he moved his pointed hand up in a circle. Everyone would land except for the ninth and tenth cords who held the Pocket’s Edge; they would circle to do a quick patrol. Which meant Isaac and Meira were not coming in to land yet.

“You remember how to do this, deadweight?” Isaac shouted over the roar of the wind. Her answer was simply an obscene gesture that caused Isaac to flash a smile.

Both riders tugged gently at their dragons’ harnesses in command. The Bold Wings slowed as the rest of the group circled and found brief clearings between the reaching tree limbs to land. Meira muttered every terrible name she wished to call Bram under her breath, but it only made the ice layer on her covering that much thicker.

She lost sight of her legion as they disappeared under the canopy of the woods. With one last nod toward Isaac, the pair veered off in different directions. It was a relief to not have the wind from the other Bold Wings in front of her any longer. The slight reprieve made it easier for her to focus on the task at hand.

In large arching circles, she flew looking for signs of humans or beasts. They’d come to a stop at the east side of Olden. She scanned for signs of campsites, though she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to do that at this time of year. She watched for shadows larger than man but smaller than the Bold Wings. They were higher than the dragonis typically flew so she didn’t worry to look up. After several circles and no signs of threat, she and Isaac met back where they’d started.

“All clear as I see it,” Meira said.

“Clear,” Isaac agreed.

A bright burst of flames brightened the evening sky. The opposite end of the city took shape as it was illuminated for several long seconds. One of the large platform canons was in use at Olden’s opposite end, several miles from where the legion had stopped.

Meira cocked her head and watched as the brilliant glow of fire parted around the lean body of a dragonis. It was hardly more than a spec on the horizon from what they could see. Both their Bold Wings let out another puff of air. Mrithun’s body warmed as the power in her body ignited and she readied herself.

But there would be no fighting that particular monster tonight. The number one rule of battling the dragonis was to avoid it if possible. Even if they weren’t a match for a Bold Wing they could still cause significant damage to both the dragon and rider which could in turn easily ruin a mission.

Together Meira and Isaac watched as the animal screeched several times, bobbing up then down, before it turned away from the flame and went back the way it came, unharmed, but highly agitated.

“Annoying little creatures.” Isaac patted his dragon’s neck.

“I wonder if that’s what they think about humans,” Meira said back.

Her friend scoffed and held tight as he steered his Bold Wing toward the group and into landing. She followed at his tail, letting Mrithun pick the easiest route for landing. Still, as the Bold Wing came down to the forest floor to land she brought with her several tree limbs. A mess of branches and twigs littered the ground around the legion’s camp. Riders had already dismounted and gathered closer to Bram for further instructions in the small circle of trees.

With a crack, she busted the ice from her covering and tucked it back on the underside of her hood. The air was bitter as it licked against her bare skin and stole away her every exhale. Pulling herself free of the thin harness, she lifted her leg over the dragon’s back and jumped several feet to the ground.

“Clear within miles of us. Though we caught the city fending off a dragonis on the opposite side. It flew off back into the Deadwoods,” Isaac finished saying to Bram as she joined the group.

Bram nodded. His attention only found Meira long enough for him to look her over from head to toe before he turned his back. Had he looked her over for signs of weakness? For injury?

She held onto her stubborn anger and reminded herself that she shouldn’t care. He didn’t even want her here at all.

“I’ll head into the city to collect Valen Brendal,” Bram started. Someone whispered, “Warlord’s brat,” under their breath pulling forth several snickers and gaining a stern look from Bram before he continued. “Get the remarks out now. They will not be tolerated while on mission. Now get comfortable and rest. Willa, you’re on the first watch. Meira…” She looked up from where she’d found the ground so suddenly interesting before the mention of her name. Then she readied herself for some terrible task, some further position meant to embarrass her after he’d not gotten his way, “…and Lowell will join me.”

Lowell, with his black hair and facial wrap, blended in with the surrounding woods until he pulled the fabric down to reveal the moon pale skin beneath. He looked between Bram and her, his mouth tugging into a frown. Though he didn’t complain, his dark brown almond-shaped eyes said it all.

Meira hadn’t expected to join Bram after he’d purposely put distance between them. Even if it made sense for her to. Even if neither of them liked it. Lowell, though, was the buffer. He knew it and he loathed it.

With a low sigh, Meira cast a glance at Mrithun. Her dragon waited where she’d left her. When their gazes collided, the dragon hissed a smoky hot breath through her teeth. Meira jutted her chin upward in a motion that meant for the Bold Wing to follow. She’d watch from above.

“Good luck,” Jaselle whispered as Meira slipped by her to pull herself through the group to where Bram and Lowell waited. She’d need the well wishes. Especially if Bram thought to scold her like a child again and she’d have to quell the urge to knock a few of his teeth out.

She’d hardly made it to them before Lowell dipped his head and pulled his dark face covering back up. “I’ll go ahead and make sure everything is clear and meet you at the city”s edge.” Bram hadn’t finished nodding in agreement before Lowell was striding through the woods, his long legs easily clearing the tangle of brush.

Bram looked at her with that same exasperated look he’d given her over an hour ago. With tightly pressed lips he motioned toward the city. He’s baiting me, she thought with abrupt annoyance as he watched her out of the corners of his eyes. The quiet chatter of the legion at their backs and Lowell headed for Olden somewhere ahead, they started between two thick trees. He’ll have to wait a while longer. I’m not taking the bait.

His behavior was uncalled for, not only as her legion leader but as someone she’d been intimate with. She would not be the one who apologized first. Not that she thought she needed to apologize at all.

The flapping of wings stirred the leaves overhead. Without looking she knew that Mrithun, Skiathis, and Ridden were taking to the sky. They’d follow their riders and circle above in case they were needed. Mrithun’s presence was a comfort as she headed into a city far larger than the size of the scale rider base she was used to. In fact, she didn’t much care for villages, towns, or cities. Really, she didn’t care for people in general. Especially strangers.

“Well.” Bram cleared his throat. Silence lingered after that single word. Then it stretched as Meira refused to speak. He laughed, though it was more a release of air. “So, you’re not done. I was hoping you’d be over this ridiculous bout of single-mindedness you’re on, but apparently not.”

Frustration flared in her chest. It was accompanied by the rush of power through her veins, the feeling she’d long taught herself not to give into. “Single-minded? By being on this mission I’ve doubled this legion”s chance of survival. If anything, you owe me an apology.”

“Remember who you’re speaking to,” Bram said, his posture going taut.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. If ever a man was talking right out of his ass it was certainly here and now.

“You don’t think you owe me an apology? Or do you think it is beneath your title? Think carefully, Bram.” The last bit hadn’t been meant to come out sounding like mockery but some of her ire slipped into her tone.

“I’m not convinced of your health.” Then softer he added, “M, you were out for a long time. I thought you were dying. How am I supposed to just let you get up and jump on the back of your dragon and fly across the Empire for some stupid nothing of a mission?”

Since when had whatever they were, whatever their relationship was, contained feelings? This worry…it was the budding sign of something greater. Something far more frightening and dangerous for Meira to even consider.

“Would you have made Lowell or Quincy stay back if it was them?” Meira hooked her thumbs around the straps of her pack. She stepped over a decaying log, the pitter-patter of tiny paws scurrying through it already behind her as she sped up her steps. Her anger was giving way to something else. Emotions that she didn’t want to confront, and doubted Bram did either, made her chest tight with worry.

He kept her pace, surpassed her even, to hold aside the length of a thin stretching branch that crossed their path. “Of course, I wouldn’t let the health of one rider put the whole legion at risk. This isn’t special treatment, no matter what anyone else thinks.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

“Bram—”

“M. I don’t think we’re going to agree on this.” He caught Meira’s eye. “Perhaps not ever.”

That all depends on if you’re always going to be a controlling fuck or not. But instead of saying that she answered with, “Likely not.”

The city lights were starting to shine where the trees began to thin. It was an easy way to end the conversation. She didn’t want any more of her relationship, or lack thereof, to be broadcasted to any more of their legion. It was clear they were sick of it too if Lowell’s hasty exit meant anything.

The Deadwoods came to a sudden and clear end, giving way to overgrown yards and a few worse-for-wear houses. Past those there was a road. Movement shifted in the dark space that separated the woods and the homes. Lowell drifted forward, eyes darting between us.

“Follow and stay in the shadows. This isn’t meant to be a publicly known mission.” Bram started between two of the homes, pulling his hood up over his blond hair.

On the outskirts of the city, it was still relatively quiet. Even once they’d made it onto the main road that led them farther and into a slightly more populated area, Meira could still pick up the sound of the wind through the trees, bugs chirping, and the occasional call of an owl. Distantly, the true call of Olden came. Though winter was well upon them, carriages still carried people out and about before an echo of laughter drifted down the street. Lampposts were lit, illuminating the cobblestone road.

The three scale riders drifted from shadow to shadow, moving from the decaying edges of the city toward a row of well-kept manors, each one larger than the last. Meira couldn’t see any definitive line between where the crumbling homes ended and these large, showy houses started but it existed nonetheless. In one step she’d crossed some threshold into the lives of the wealthy. She wondered what the people who lived in these four-story manors with their iron gates and matching shutters thought when they looked out the window and saw the destitution so close. Did any of them care?

Once she’d been in a simple home somewhere between the two sides of poverty and wealth, but that home was many years gone, hardly even a memory she could recall at this point. Time had made that long-ago place more like a dream than something that had ever been real. Mount Ridmond was her home now. Her place was amongst the scale riders who snuck down darkened streets.

Bram looked at every house they passed, stopping once they’d come to the end of the road. Built on top of a hill, the Warlord Vigor Brendal’s mansion looked down upon the city. Certainly, from this vantage point, he would notice the unkempt homes.

The mansion stood like a ghost against the night that surrounded it. Each brick that had built all five stories of it was painted a ghastly gray color. The shutters were a navy that matched the door. From their stance on the street, she caught the gleam of the gold door knob and knocker. Curtains were drawn over the windows, but light still trickled through and smoke billowed from the chimney.

So this was the home of the warlord’s brat. She couldn’t help but glare at it. The riches of a warlord so clearly flaunted over his failing territory. It was no wonder he was sending his son after the great merchant’s death. Though he might be able to solve his own problems if he didn’t horde every coin and diamond for himself.

Bram pushed through the unlocked gate. It opened soundlessly. A paved path branched from the road and led them up to the wide staircase that took them to the navy door. The gold knob and knocker were so well polished that Meira was able to see bits of her reflection in them. She watched the disdain mirrored in her green eyes until Bram fisted the knocker and let it bang against the wood.

Shifting on her feet, she brushed against Lowell who stood next to her with his arms crossed over his broad chest staring straight ahead. The three of them waited without a word as the quiet stretched into several minutes and no one came to answer the door.Lowell exhaled and took a step back to look up at the back glow of the curtained windows. The gentle flicker of lantern light didn’t give way to the silhouetted shape of the home’s inhabitants.

“Is anybody even here?” Lowell whispered.

“This is the right house.” Bram glanced up then back at the street. He repeated, “Yes, this is where we are supposed to be.”

“Knock again,” Meira urged.

Taking hold of the metal again, Bram pounded against the door. This time the noise echoed back louder, giving her the impression that the home itself was empty. He dropped the knocker and stepped back. Before he’d even lowered his hand to his side the door cracked open an inch as though it had never fully been latched shut in the first place.

“Hello?” Bram called through the door, poking it open further with the tip of his finger. “Warlord Vigor? Valen?”

No one answered him.