A Cursed Hunt (The Wings & Witches Series Book 1), page 12
Her stomach twisted. Being grounded on horses was far worse than being stuck in Pocket’s Edge. Bram confirmed as he rose from the couch, leaving Meira to wonder if this was more punishment or if he truly wanted her at his side. There was no protocol for escorting rich men about the countryside. This was new and should be exciting, but all Meira could feel was dread.
She’d already failed to reach her stranger. Her life as she knew it was at risk. Hunting her stranger could pull her away from her mission with her legion and in doing so could cost her standing within her legion or even get her dismissed from the ranks entirely. Meira, being absorbed into the scale riders, did not have a family to protect her like Bram and the others did. No one would fight for her but herself. Should Bram punish her by grounding her on a damn horse, she’d grin and bear it.
Valen led them from the home and out to the stables beyond the back road. She couldn’t help another look down the street, a hopeful glance for the carriage that carried her stranger away. The road was empty, silent, and dark. When the horses were readied, Bram let Lowell call down his dragon, Ridden, to inform the others to mount and follow overhead.
Ridden was all copper scales and white-tipped spikes. Not a beauty when compared to other Bold Wings, but this beast was particularly cruel when necessary. He swooped from the cloud cover above and dropped into a landing beside the stables, baring his pointed teeth. Horses whinnied and stomped their feet at his proximity. Two of the four that were saddled and ready to ride startled and reared up onto their back legs.
Their host was quick to coo at the animals, and though he watched the dragon with narrowed interest, his curiosity was natural. Citizens didn’t interact with Bold Wings, only the dragonis, which picked them off one by one.
“He’s marvelous!” Valen called out over the ruckus the horses in the stables were causing. Ridden snapped his jaws toward the heir and flicked his spiked tail like an agitated cat which only made the man smile more.
Pulling his hood over his features and lowering the shield of fabric that protected his face from the worst of the bitter cold, Lowell mounted his dragon, once again dressed as the night. Away from the main house, with only a couple of lanterns lit, he melded with the shadows, only visible because Meira knew to look for him.
Ridden blew a warm breath toward Valen strong enough to push his hood right off his head. The man blinked but didn’t balk, impressive for someone who’d never been this close to a dragon before. Then, with one strong flap of the leathery wings, Ridden and Lowell were airborne. In their wake, wind rustled the other’s cloaks.
“They’re so large,” Valen said quietly as everything settled and Lowell disappeared somewhere above them.
Bram passed her, pointed her toward one of the horses, and made for his own. Lowell’s horse was tied behind his until the rider was back on the ground. “They’re about three times the size of the dragonis. When a Bold Wing is still considered an infant at little more than a year old, the species are roughly the same size and only for a few months. You can still tell them apart at this age because Bold Wings have thicker necks and longer tails.”
He was simplifying for the sake of someone who knew absolutely nothing about Dragons, though it appeared to win him favor with Valen who listened with rapt attention.
Meira was content to let the men talk. She hadn’t practically begged for this mission to make friends. Though she did feel some smug sort of satisfaction that she’d been right about this job leading her right to the man she was meant to kill.
She paused as she came to the horse’s side. She’d ridden a horse a few times as a girl but that was many years ago and her memories of doing so felt as though they were buried under layers of fog. It couldn’t be much different than riding Mrithun. She bore a saddle too, though, instead of the thin straps that fit around the protruding spine and sharp ridges of a Bold Wing’s back, it curved gently against soft hair. Valen asked questions she didn’t listen to as she grabbed ahold of the saddle and swung herself up onto the animal's back. The seat was wider than she was used to, shaped more pleasingly to accommodate someone of a larger stature. Probably one of the larger Brendal’s,
“We’ll ride until daybreak, then make camp.” The words were pointed toward her.
Meira paused her fidgeting in the saddle to look up and give Bram the barest of nods. He nudged the horse forward with his heels, riding ahead and putting Valen between them. Meira followed his movements and dug her heels in. The horse surged forward only for her to fiercely grip the reins to slow it. By then, she found herself side by side with the warlord heir himself.
“Hello there,” Valen said. He was still surprisingly chipper and even more surprisingly awake for this particular hour. Shouldn’t he look tired or be falling asleep in the saddle? She was sure his father would be.
“Hello.” The word came out tinged with her annoyance. She knew she should be kind, quieter, more appeasing, but she couldn’t find it in her.
“Don’t ride horses often?” That blue gaze drifted over her form.
Instantly she straightened in her seat, mocking the way he was poised on his much larger stead. “I was trained to ride dragons, not horses.” Her gloves groaned as she tightened her grip on the reins.
“Something is bothering your hand?”
Her neck cracked with the speed at which she turned to look at him. She was certain she hadn’t done anything to show the terrible burning sensation of the curse under her glove. He shouldn’t know anything. He couldn’t.
“I noticed you keep scratching at your palm and opening and closing your fingers. Is that why you asked after the physician?” Valen pushed, a blond brow raised.
She hadn’t scratched at it. Nor was she dimwitted enough to draw any attention to it. She was certain. Their conversation was quiet enough and she wasn’t worried about Bram picking up on what they were saying over the clipped sound of the horses’ hooves, but it unsettled her that he’d somehow known. She stared at him until he too was shifting in his seat.
No one, save for the man she was tied to, or a witch should be able to sense something of the magic that stained her skin. Seeing how Valen was neither the dark-haired man she’d seen nor a woman capable of magic, she couldn’t fathom how he might have even an inkling of knowledge. Perhaps she had been scratching it or twitching and not noticed it.
“My hand is fine. I was only curious about the physician because it must mean you’re very rich.”
“About to be richer too if this trip is successful.” He gave her a playful wink.
Ah, yes, Meira thought bitterly, the peak of my life as a scale rider is only to help make rich men richer.
14
Remis
Remis woke to the smell of warm syrup and sweet cakes with an erection far more severe than he’d remembered having before. His room was light, but he refused to open his eyes yet, still clinging to the last of the dream he’d had.
He dreamt of long brown hair and pale green eyes. Somehow, he could still feel the warmth of the woman’s skin beneath his fingers, the brush of her lips on his, and the scrape of her teeth against his neck. It had been one of those dreams where nothing had made sense, save for his wanting. And he did want. He wanted to hold onto whoever she was with such ferocity he’d forgotten momentarily about everything else.
Yawning, he stretched only to recoil when his arm brushed against a form next to him. Remis stilled. His heart stuttered in his chest. Had his dream been real? Or was there some other woman in his bed? Either option would be great to rid himself of the demanding need between his legs.
Light momentarily blinded him as he cracked an eye open and then forced the other open as well. Sleep clung to his lashes in small, crusted clumps that he rubbed at with the back of his fists. His vision cleared only to reveal a tiled ceiling and unfamiliar blue walls.
Remis sat up and the blankets fell away from his torso. The person next to him rolled over and groaned. A mess of dirty blond hair stuck up at weird angles and the shine of drool dampened Merritt’s cheek. Remis frowned down at his friend, both relieved and annoyed to see him there.
The events of the evening before came charging back to the forefront of his mind, as did the terrible pain in his shoulder. Remis was in Warlord Vigor’s room at the inn. Yesterday had been a blur of highwaymen and near-death experiences. That same anxious knowledge that he was being hunted lingered. It was what got him out of bed.
When he stood, he felt the constriction of clothes that didn’t quite fit him. The length of the clothing was nearly right, except perhaps the legs were a little long and the torso was almost too short, but the waist dug in uncomfortably. After locking every window and door inside the warlord’s suite they’d found spare clothing, Remis guessed the ones that were close enough to fit belonged to the son. Valen was near enough in height but was more slender and the sides of his pants dug into his hips. He tucked his straining cock into the waistband with a wince. The trousers, shirt, and waistcoat were nicer than what Remis ought to have borrowed but everything else in the dresser drawers was far more outrageous than the last.
The suite itself was a half-decent recreation of their lavish home. It had the same white flooring and everywhere he turned his eyes were quick to catch some glimmer of gold. When they’d arrived, the innkeeper had quickly taken them back to the suite but commented on how more often than not the rooms were used for Warlord Vigor’s discretions, thus making their stay here safe and secure. They’d all assumed that Warlord Vigor’s discretions were a fancy way of saying lovers. They’d flipped a coin to decide who got to sleep on the couch and who had to take the bed. Percy won.
This morning Percy was also the first to awaken. He waved from the table where he ate breakfast next to two other plates sitting covered and waiting. Remis’ stomach growled with a predator’s strength. The sound was loud enough to surprise him.
“I could sleep for another day and a half,” Merritt mumbled against his pillow before he sat upright, and Valen’s shirt strained further against his bulky form.
“Best not to do that. When I talked to the innkeeper, he said we’re only allowed to stay until half past noon. So you have enough time to eat breakfast.” Only half of what was said was easily discernible between Percy’s racing bites. His cheeks poked out like a chipmunk before the statement was truly complete.
Apparently the warlord’s hospitality only ran so far. Remis was thankful for the medical care and the few hours of rest; it was more than he thought he’d get.
He didn’t need to look outside to know that it was nearly noon now. The sun was peeking in around the curtains in startling bright streaks of light. He knew if he opened the curtain he’d find Olden busy with activity under a pretty blue sky. He’d been robbed, attacked, and hunted then would continue his harrowing trek and somehow the world was still going. There were so few who cared if he lived or died or how his life unfolded.
Led by his ravenous hunger, he found himself sitting at the table. Percy gave him a showman’s smile before pulling the lid of his plate away for him. Steam rose to greet Remis’ nose and he inhaled the sweet aroma. Thick round breakfast cakes were coated in glistening syrup and sprinkled with powdered sugar. Colorful berries were clustered all around the edges of the plate.
By the time Merritt pulled himself out of bed and they’d all eaten, the innkeeper was knocking on the door. He was a polite man, non-threatening, but stern, and Remis wasn’t one to push when their welcome had clearly run out. So without a carriage, a horse, or any of the supplies they’d previously packed, the three of them stepped out onto the busy Olden street.
Frost had melted in the windowpanes that glistened under the warmth of the sun, though even the sun couldn’t ward off the bitter chill in the air. Remis pulled his borrowed cloak against him. His hand moved to touch the coins still waiting in his pocket. It wouldn’t be enough to get them everything they needed, but hopefully it would get them at least to Croughton where his father’s accommodations waited.
“What now?” Percy looked down the road. He’d managed to find a bag to sling over his shoulder where his book and both Remis and Merritt’s salves were stored. Remis had been surprised to see how far his wound had come in only hours. The stitches were ugly, the skin still pink and bruised, but most of the pain had dissolved. A witch’s magic at work? Or was the medicinal salve making him numb to both the pain and intelligence?
“Now we barter for a couple horses?” The faster they could get through the woods the better. Though he was well aware of his need to get to Croughton, he felt a hazy sort of loss, now that they no longer had the luxury he’d grown up in. He hadn’t had to fend for himself in such a way even though his father had taught him how to haggle on behalf of a business.
“And put two men on one horse?” Percy asked.
“We don’t have enough money to get more than two, possibly not even that. So either we ride together or we walk.” Remis shrugged.
Wandering up and down the road, it took a while to find anyone with a horse who dared to stop and talk to them. Even then, only one person didn’t laugh when they asked to purchase their horses. After another failed attempt Merritt stopped to lean against a building, shadowing himself in an alley.
“This isn't working.” Merritt pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need to try something else. Remis, what…what can you do with your abilities?”
Remis felt both his friend’s stares, eager and hopeful. It was his turn to be the hero but what if he wasn’t capable? He stepped closer into the alleyway letting the shadows cover his face. This was a subject they didn’t often broach. They knew he practiced magic and that he longed to go to school to be trained to hone his abilities, but it was still so culturally taboo they’d always skirted around the specifics.
“Only things that are elementally based. Wind. Water. Earth. Fire, if it already exists. And all of it takes a great deal of concentration.”
“So what? You can shoot water from your hands or call down rain?” Merritt pressed.
“No.” He shook his head. “No, I can’t produce the elements, I can only bend them to my will and again…only with immense concentration. I can tell the water to rise in a wave or flow in a certain direction if it’s not too much. Fire must already exist for me to tell it to do anything.”
Remis scrubbed at his face. This was exactly why he needed to attend school in the fall. With help, he might be a mage who could bend the elements with little thought, someone who could be something more than a charming heir to a business he didn’t want.
Merritt was nodding now, pacing up and down. People passed them on the street sending weary glances but never stopping to question them. Merritt ran a hand down the straining buttons of his shirt and came to an abrupt stop. “Isn’t there a body of water near here? The Mitus River?”
The fuzzy recollection of the map lingered and was pulled from the back of his mind. It was all blurry words and terribly illustrated treelines, but there was water that cut through the empire, rivers, and tributaries that fed into lakes.
“I think so. Yes.” Remis kept his eyes closed, willing his fogged memory to clear, but the words and images remained a blur to him.
“If we were to make a raft could you use your abilities to speed us down the river toward Croughton?” Merritt had that gleam in his eyes now. The healthy joy that came with every solution he might conjure up. If hope was a person, it would be him. Merritt was a fountain of it, an ever-flowing river of ideas and resolutions. Nothing was beyond him because he simply wouldn’t allow it to be. Everything had an answer. Every problem had a fix.
Admittedly, Remis thought this could potentially have the makings of a good idea. If he could sit in the quiet peace of flowing water, he could encourage the river to carry them along. It would be faster, much faster, but during dragonis season there would always still be risk.
“Do you know how to make a raft?” Remis asked.
Percy perked at the question. When Merritt shrugged and said, “How hard can it be?” Percy jumped in and said, “I know how to make a raft.”
It was his turn to watch his friend now. Though Percy seemed unaware or uncaring of the speculation he and Merritt wore. His thin lips split into a grin.
“Remember when I read all those books about tsunamis and natural disasters?”
Remis scratched at his chin. “Yes, you were convinced the next rainfall would cause a flood. Kept rambling about preparing?”
“Yes! Well, part of those preparations was teaching myself how to make a raft using only materials I could find and not purchase…assuming my home was flooding and I didn’t have access to my father's coin.”
Desperation made it easier to see this plan working. The three of them, never having made a raft before, could put one together, and Remis could use his connection to the magic of this world and send them promptly to where they needed to be. Less time spent traveling meant fewer chances of an encounter with the dragonis and hopefully greater distance between himself and the witch.
Remis shook his head and laughed. “Are we crazy for this?”
“I think we’d be crazy not to try this. Keeps our coin and we won’t be walking through miles and miles of dragonis haunted woods.” Merritt started laughing too.
Perhaps they’d all lost a little bit of their mind yesterday as the three of them held their stomachs, chuckled, and considered the absurdity of it all.
What other choice did they have? No one wanted to sell them horses, at least not for the price they could offer. They certainly couldn’t afford a carriage and no wagons were traveling through the woods during the dragonis season.
It was refreshing to have some semblance of a plan instead of wandering aimlessly in hopes that something or someone might help them. Building a raft was actionable. Using his gifts was productive.
So with renewed determination, Remis stepped from the alleyway with his friends beside him and set off to find the river.
