I hold my breath. The illusion-shrouded overhang, and the precious egg it conceals, is only a hundred feet ahead. But she can’t see it, can she? No one can.
My mother’s shoulders roll back, her chin rising. This is Commandant Ainsley standing here, the hero of Eryndor. And she is always victorious, whatever that means today.
She raises one hand, giving a sharp gesture with two fingers, and the crate carriers settle their burden to the ground. Another gesture and they unsling their bows, notch arrows in perfect unison and stand at the ready.
“Left quadrant,” the commandant orders. “Loose.”
A volley arcs into the air, whistling through the storm to land in the mud. I clap my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. At least they aren’t shooting auric steel. Though they have it. I can feel the alloy greeting my magic.
“Again. Shift fifteen points east. Loose.”
Arrows are nocked, strings drawn. The second volley cuts through the air in a deadly whisper, rain sliding off the shafts. Like the first set, they fall harmlessly into the field, splattering mud. One of the archers runs a hand through his hair in disappointment and Collin groans softly.
I let out a breath.Keep walking the forest, Mother,I beg.Whatever you are looking for, it’s not here. There is nothing here. Nothing but mud.
“Again. Another fifteen degrees.”
I do the calculations a moment too late. Not that it matters. Four shafts fall to the mud as before, but the last, it doesn’t fall at all. It vanishes. Mid-flight.
“That’s not nothing,” Badger says.
“Correct.” The commandant’s voice is a blade. “That’s a lie wrapped in fog. Change tips.”
One of the soldiers unslings a black-wrapped quiver and draws out auric steel. The arrowheads glint faintly even through the storm as he passes one to each archer.
Panic rushes through me and I can’t imagine what the draken and riders inside must be feeling. How close Pherix and Ilian must be to throwing caution to the wind and charging the humans. Which would be suicide. The archers have all the advantage at this distance. Stars, the fae may not even know what arrows are being notched now.
And if theydon’tmake that run? My pulse slams against my throat. The arrows will pierce the ward. Hit the egg. Kill the dam. I step back, mud sucking at my boots, mind spinning.
“Loo—” Ainsley starts.
“STOP!” I don’t think. I just move. I crash out of the tree line and into the open, stumbling and slipping over the wet ground. “Stop,” I yell again, planting myself between the humans’ bows and the invisible overhang. “Please. This isn’t what you think it is!”
Chapter 29
Kai
Isaw through the first rope section with a serrated dagger edge, the blade finally catching and slicing through with a satisfying snap. The tension releases, but the net still clings, the remaining sections wrapped tighter now around Ulyssus’s spike.
Can you burn the rest off?
Are you fireproof?
I attack another section of rope, my fingers numb with cold and my shoulder screaming. Blood trickles down my arm, warm against my chilled skin. Lightning cracks the sky open, illuminating the battlefield below. The Eryndor forces are regrouping with terrifying efficiency, now concentrated into teams which each seem to target its own draken and rider. There is too much precision down there. Too little panic down there.They expected us.
Ulyssus’s massive body shudders beneath me as he fights the net's drag.Less talking, more cutting.
Another volley of arrows arcs upward, this one thicker, more concentrated. I press myself flat against Ulyssus’s scales as iron-tipped shafts whistle past. One grazes my calf, slicing through leather and skin.
Blood wells from the fresh cut, but compared to the burning in my scorched lungs and pierced shoulder, it's nothing of note. The archers below adjust their formation, spreading out in a fan pattern that maximizes coverage. I've seen that formation before—in Spire East tactical manuals. They're setting up a kill zone, ensuring that no matter which way we bank, we'll fly through a wall of arrows.
The humans are herding us. The way we’d intended to herd them.
Hold fast.Ulyssus points toward the clouds, his massive wings beating against the wind as he takes us into a near vertical climb to get out of the humans' range. With the netting around his tail throwing off his balance, we can't maneuver reliably—and the next volley of arrows might have auric steel. It's just a matter of how confident an archer feels about his shot.
The world tilts sickeningly as we climb, rain lashing horizontally across my face. My stomach lurches with each wingbeat as Ulyssus battles the storm and his own compromised balance. Moving back to the saddle ridge while Ulyssus is in hard flight is damn hard in good weather. It’s near impossible in the middle of a storm when I keep slipping in my own blood. But I’m not about to ask him to slow, not with how hard he fights for every foot of altitude.
My grip falters just as I finally reach the saddle ridge and haul myself in, leaning close to the draken’s neck to decrease wind resistance. "Come on, you overgrown lizard," I mutter. “Almost there.”
