A Cursed Hunt (The Wings & Witches Series Book 1), page 5
“And as a result, money,” Merritt finished for him.
“He is condemning you to death all for the chance at greater wealth. Money is a plague upon this world.” Percy clasped his hands in front of him. “What if you just ran away?”
Remis snorted. “And then I’ll never get into school.”
“But perhaps you’ll live,” Merritt said.
Remis closed his eyes. So these were his options? Run away and live or chase his dreams and risk death? But his heart had already chosen. Even if it was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
“You’re already set on leaving, aren’t you?” Merritt continued and Remis grimaced. “It’s a good thing our bags are already packed then, right, Percy?”
“Right.” Percy pulled the carriage door open and climbed into the seat, Merritt right behind him. The pair stared out at Remis who’d sent rocks skittering away as he stopped.
“Get out of the carriage, right now,” Remis demanded. “You two are not coming. I will not have your blood on my hands.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be on your hands, really. It would probably be all over us, the ground, maybe even on these seats.” Percy patted the thin cushion underneath him, his expression blank as he waited. Merritt stretched himself across the padded bench and let his head fall against the wall. His eyes drifted closed as if he was ready for a nap and not about to take off into the uncertain territory that was the Deadwoods in the winter.
“You’re both assholes, you know that?” Remis asked, but he didn’t mean it.
A warmth spread through his veins despite the cold. It perhaps went without saying, but he was certain he had the best friends in the entire world. He tried his best to hide his smile as he went ahead and climbed in, pulling the door closed behind him.
Perched on the edge of his seat, Remis watched the Deadwoods through the window. The bench creaked underneath him as he leaned back. Every breath he tried to take was too shallow, never reaching the true depths of his lungs. Perspiration was beginning to pool in the palms of his hands. That damn huntress mark itched and he adjusted the wrap over it to ensure it remained concealed. Neither of his friends had brought it up yet and he hoped it stayed that way.
“No better time than the present,” Merritt said, though his voice was quiet. Both he and Percy sat together on the opposite bench. While Merritt leaned forward to look out into the treeline, Percy had yet to lift his face from his book that he read by the firelight of the small lantern at his side.
There was no need for urgency when no one dared to come and go from the city. The road they sat on was painfully empty, a stretch of dirt that curved around the brush and tree trunks. To their left sat one of the city's mage-made flame canons mounted and angled to reach above the treetops. Remis did not envy the man who’d have to manage it if and when one of the dragonis drifted into the city. Though it hadn’t happened yet this season, it was inevitable. When they grew desperate toward the end of winter they dared venture this way. Then, for a moment, he considered seeing if he and his friends could somehow get it onto their carriage. No…then the city would lose another defense. He couldn’t. Not when Lettie was here.
Remis shivered at the thought. He could recall the stories of children plucked out of their mother’s arms and swallowed whole by the dragonis. He wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. Well, mostly anyone. Would it be so bad if it happened to whoever was hunting him? While he was likely too big to be swallowed in his entirety due to the dragonis’ narrowed faces and shorter snouts, the idea of those razor-sharp teeth splitting him in half was not pleasant either. He’d seen enough of them at a distance that he knew he didn’t want to see one up close.
From here, the sounds of the city had yet to fade. Day gave way to the bustle of nightlife that the city hosted in its many taverns. A chorus of laughter came and went with a gust of wind. Normal people, doing normal things. People who would go to bed in their homes tonight instead of snoozing in a carriage rolling through the Deadwoods. Breath fogged in front of his face as he exhaled and pulled his cloak tighter against his body.
“Ideally, the best time would be in the summer when the dragonis have migrated back to the mountain tops,” Percy said.
One of the horses huffed and stomped its feet impatiently. Did the animal not sense that it was just as likely to get eaten as he was? Stupid horse. But the driver didn’t urge the animals forward. It was quite possible he was considering turning around. What had his father promised him to get him to go along for this ride? Or rather what did he threaten him with?
With one last glance back at his home, Remis sent a prayer up to the heavens, to whichever gods cared to listen to his feeble pleas. Silently, he begged for safety for his friends, the driver, and his sister. For himself, he only wished that whatever came for him first, the winged beasts or the witch, they’d be swift with his death or not come at all. Then because he wasn’t a monster, he prayed that the horses would make it out alive too.
“Last chance to back out,” Remis announced.
Merritt only snorted in response and Percy made a show of getting comfortable against the cushion. Finally, the driver cracked the reins and the wagon jostled forward. Remis swayed with the movement and did his best to ignore the rapid beating of his heart that had leapt up into his throat.
“I hope you both updated your wills and testaments before making the absolutely terrible decision to join me.”
“Nah,” Merritt rested his arms against Remis' seat. “Remember that brunette I was telling you about?”
“The one that isn’t interested in you?” Percy closed his book with a solid thump. “Really, Merritt, leave the poor woman alone.”
Merritt stiffened but the smile on his face only widened. “You only say that because you wish she fancied you.” Percy rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I wrote a letter to her. Had to tell her that I was off to face the dangers of the Deadwoods. She’ll be filled with worry for me, no doubt. And then when we return, she’ll recognize her true feelings for me. I bet she throws herself at me upon our arrival home.”
“I bet she throws something at you, for sure. Like a fist. Or a small dagger.” Percy stretched his legs out in front of him.
Their friend only knocked his knuckles against the bench and sucked his teeth. “You’re both just sour.”
Remis chuckled, but the sound dried up in his throat. He looked through the trees that hung over the road and up to the sky. Stretches of clouds were pulled like spun sugar in wisps of gray and white and the stars were already glimmering like a diamond-studded necklace. Dragonis were masters of disguise; their dark underbellies blended in with the night sky and the treetops. Would they even know if one was near?
There were too many unanswered questions. Remis knew nothing of survival outside of civilization much less how to withstand dragons. Of all the things his father had prepared him for, this was not on the list. All those classes were useless now unless he made it back in one piece. Etiquette? Not necessary. Swordsmanship? He’d be dead before he could pull the damn thing from his belt. Mathematics? History? Worthless.
His father had thrown his natural talent back in his face. The inkling of magic that Remis was able to gather from the world around him. The one skill that his mother had always encouraged him in. Not even that small power could spare them, especially since that was the one area of schooling that Remis lacked. Perhaps if he’d already been enrolled in the mage school then he’d have something, but shifting a gentle wind or causing a bud to come to bloom and open were not talents that would save his ass or his friends.
The three of them fell into silence and Remis wished someone would say something. At least that way their minds would be busy with something other than watching the shadows and the skies.
They’d listened to the clomp of the horses’ hooves, the creaking of the wagon wheels, and the steady turn of Percy’s book pages for hours before the wagon began to slow. The driver was the first to break the silence as he let out a panic-driven scream.
6
Meira
Everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. Meira felt that tug in her gut that screamed for her to give chase, to follow the magic of the huntress mark, but she’d only just awoken from her witch’s sleep and her legion already had orders to move out on a mission toward Croughton. She was somehow doing too much and most certainly not enough and that left her with a tangle of anxious energy trapped within her ribcage.
Thanks to Bram and his demand to have her cleared by a healer she now sat before Arno, the head healer within Mount Ridmond, attempting to hold her fretful body still. Her eyes followed the back and forth motion of his finger. As a former scale rider himself who’d been the lone survivor of his legion after they’d met their tragic end, he still looked one part warrior. All of this had happened before Meira had even been born but Arno’s frame was still built with muscle stacked upon muscle. The simple white jacket he wore looked more like a child’s play costume as it stretched across his shoulders and bulging arms. When Arno was satisfied, he dropped his hand and looked up with a gentle smile at Yule. Meira looked toward Yule too, trying her best not to appear too hopeful.
“Can I see the injury on your hand? Bram mentioned before that you’d managed to cut your hand when you fell but he’d wrapped it so thoroughly and swore he’d cleaned it prior that when it didn’t bleed through, I’d thought to leave it alone. Is it healed up?”
The wrap that had been on her hand before had been replaced with her riding gloves. Meira clutched her hands together and laughed though the sound was hollow. “It’s hardly even there now. Just the slight pink line. Nothing more than a scratch and nothing worth worrying about.” She waved Arno off and tried to keep her smile from falling.
Arno nodded. “Well, that’s certainly good to hear. If it starts to show any signs of infection, though it sounds like you may be past that point, you can use the salve that you have in your pack.” He patted his shoulder as though he was remembering the pack he used to carry and the precautions held within. Sighing, he turned back to Yule. “She appears to be in good health. Her illness has left her just as fast as it came. Peculiar but not worth keeping her bed-bound for. She’s cleared to ride.” Arno’s baritone voice vibrated throughout her body as she replayed his words again and again in her mind.
Bram couldn’t stop her now. She had the blessing of a healer, and in Arno’s case, a legendary scale rider too. Meira’s grin spread slowly across her face like the sun finally cresting the horizon.
“Are you packed?” Yule arched a thick dark brow.
Already in a fresh uniform with her stomach blissfully full again, Meira dropped to her feet from Arno’s cold examination table. “I packed as soon as I left the grand hall.”
Yule’s chuckle was approval enough. Still, the lieutenant motioned with her hands toward the infirmary door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Bram would be pissed. She could already picture the look on his face, the terrible deep draw of his brow over his darkening evergreen eyes, and the way his broad chest would swell with frustration. It was very clear the pair would not be sharing a bed anytime soon. On any other day, that idea might lessen Meira’s good mood, but when she considered finding her pleasure she imagined dark messy hair and even darker eyes as they stared at her with that hungry pleading look.
Nausea stirred in her stomach. She didn’t know him. She didn’t want to know him. Why else would she have placed this huntress mark upon herself if not for the sole purpose of bringing him to a swift death? These swirling feelings of desire that ran like an undercurrent to the vision of him in the forest…they were only a snippet of what had happened and she needed to refuse herself any sort of positive notions toward the man. She couldn’t afford to get attached.
Pulling her shoulders back, Meira marched from the infirmary with renewed ambition. There would be no keeping her from this mission and from finding her stranger. She stopped long enough on her walk back to grab her pack from her room before flinging it over her shoulder. It was heavy with spare clothing and rations. Next, she strapped a dagger to her belt, relaxing as it patted again the fullness of her thigh.
The shakiness that had plagued her when she’d first risen from that terribly long sleep was entirely gone now. A full belly had been the best remedy to calm her body and clear her mind it seemed. This time when she tracked through the halls she didn’t need to cling onto them to hold her up, nor did she balk at the upward climb of thousands of stairs. The in and out of breath filling her lungs and being expelled warmed her body in the very best way. Even her calves and thighs—out of practice and a bit sore—didn’t give her pause when they began to ache. All of this meant she was alive. These sensations were what pushed her in battle. She’d come to crave them and now that she was feeling healthy again, she’d never felt more intoxicated by them.
She was battle-trained through the scale riders, top of her legion, and beneath it all, she was a witch with the ability to travel through time. When she reached the top step, she reminded herself that her confidence in herself was not ill-placed as a solid form stepped out into her path. Darkness had swallowed the mountain revealing stars large enough she might be able to reach out and touch them. Their glittering forms framed the silhouette before her. Bram crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her.
“Reporting for our mission, legion leader,” the sting of sarcasm and anger laced the words she spoke.
“Why are you doing this?” His voice was so low, she wondered if he’d actually spoken or if the wind had somehow howled between the nearness of their bodies. “What do you gain? What do you lose?”
Questions she couldn’t even quite answer herself. Standing still wasn’t an option. Sitting on her ass and twiddling her thumbs wouldn’t solve this curse or provide the answers lost with her memories.
“I’ve been cleared by Arno. There’s no reason I can’t go. Plus,” she raised her voice as she spoke, “everyone knows you need me and Brooks to make it through this trip.”
The rest of their legion was little more than shadows amongst the haze of fog and cloud that was descending upon the mountain. Quiet indistinguishable chatter and echoing chuckles could be heard from their distant conversations. She didn’t hide her smirk as she tried to step around Bram and toward the group. His thick calloused fingers wrapped quickly around her forearm, pulling her to a stop. Her annoyance ticked upward at the contact. Heat burned through her shirt where he touched her, a fire fed by his anger. The same hand that had once brought her to climax was now holding her back.
Bram’s mouth peeled into a sneer; one he’d never pointed so directly at her before. It curdled her arrogance and somehow made him more beautiful as far as scale riders were concerned. He was strong and he was wholly unyielding. “Fine, but don’t think I’ll risk this team or jump to save you should your decision prove to be wrong.”
“I’d never ask that of you.”
Some of the laughter behind them died down. His hand dropped back to his side, though he kept his eyes trained on her. Her arm quickly grew cold where his touch had once been. It felt somehow as if his touch belonged to someone she’d never known before. That spark of anger she held quickly fizzled out.
He’d never been angry at her. Not truly. Not like this. She’d never gotten a glimpse of this side of him directed at her before. She wasn’t sure if she liked it. Then she wasn’t sure if she cared enough to convince herself to like it. Still, a fraction of her recoiled at his acrimony. First, he’d so fiercely tried to keep her here when her place was with her legion out of what…worry?
Meira somewhat regretted egging him on with her sarcasm and pettiness, if only for the sake of respect that his position over her was due. Bram had no right to fret over her as more than another rider in his legion. Even if they were in an actual relationship, she couldn’t convince herself that this sort of behavior wouldn’t bother her. Maybe they were simply outgrowing one another, and these were their growing pains.
Huffing a breath, Bram turned and strode toward Yule who leaned against the mountainside watching in silence. Yule’s attention met Meira’s and the lieutenant pursed her lips. Yule knew, just as the legion knew, about their occasional relations. She’d never once mentioned it, though Meira could read the disappointment in that single look. She forced her shoulders back instead of letting them slump forward like they wanted to.
She’d awoken to such a mess. Everything was off, this entire timeline felt stilted. Meira was fighting an uphill battle against forces she didn’t remember.
“How are you feeling, deadweight?” Isaac, a lesser rider but a typically humorous friend, tilted his chin toward her as she approached the small standing of riders. She forced herself to keep her attention on him and not allow herself the opportunity to look back over her shoulder.
His jab made the strangeness of her feelings worsen. “I’m fine,” she said and hoped that her true emotions weren't playing out on her face. She’d never been good at hiding how she felt. Her expressions were a wide variety of perfect showmanship. Whether she wanted them to be or not.
“I tried to tell him not to call you that,” Quincy said from where she sat on her pack. She thrust her leg out toward Isaac who easily jumped over the low sweeping kick. Her long braids swayed against her tall frame with the motion, several beads clacking together. “It’s rude.”
How fiercely Quincy defended others was one of the many reasons Meira liked her.
Isaac shrugged and pulled a pick from his pocket. He stretched the tight coils of his curls though they were already arranged in a perfect halo around his scalp. “Oh, she can take it, can’t you, deadweight?”
The moon poked out between a break of clouds and light glinted off his pick. Meira snatched it from his hand, fisting it tightly between her fingers as she held his gaze. Never once did his smile falter, if anything it grew wider. “Why don’t you worry about the mission instead of how pretty you look?” she snapped.
