I see my mind’s a free-for-all.
Lovely.
I arch a brow. “Do I need tutelage?”
He shakes his head, still smiling as he edges forward. “Just good balance.”
“Well, you’re in luck.”
He binds his arms around my neck, then hoists his legs up over my hips and gives me his full weight—surprisingly light for his height. “Unless Sereme hurts you again,” he murmurs, close to my ear.
I sigh, wrap my arms under his knees, and shove up. Silently praying to the Creators that we don’t come across anything that wants to kill us on our way out.
I reach back and tug Ahvi’s hood far enough forward that it covers half his face, then charge through the busted antechamber, leaping over bits of rubble and bloody limbs.
Past burnt faces and flat, lifeless eyes that stare at nothing.
He may be blasé about the things he saw in my mind, but I know a front when I see it. There’s a quiet brokenness in the nonchalance. In the shoulder shrugs and pretend smiles. In the easy stillness of those who’ve gotten too used to the world bleeding around them, leaning into chaos like a close friend. The only trustworthy thing that’ll be there—dae after dae.
The only thing that won’tdie.
This child … he needs all the protection I can offer, lest he turn out as cold and bitter as me.
I’m sprinting past the lone soldier in the corridor, still sprawled in the gory remnants of his mulched lungs, when Ahvi says, “Is this a bad time to tell you that most of the soldiers are hiding in the forest, waiting to ambush your Kaan?”
I slam to a halt, absorbing his words like a gut-punch.
Shit.
That explains the empty slumber quarters. The quietness. The soldier who took time away from his station to take a piss.
The contingent I took care of … was only thebackup plan.
The tips of my fingers flare with so much itch it’s an effort to keep my grip on the kid. “Perfect timing, actually.” I burst forward, powering through lofty corridors as the cold rage inside me simmers.
“I know what you’re planning to do …”
Darting left, I jerk Ahvi higher on my back. Something that makes the hatchling squirm, releasing a garbledsquawkas I power up a flight of dimly lit stairs. “Think it’ll work?”
I feel him shrug against my back.
Not exactly a glowing endorsement. Unfortunately, I have no other options that don’t also riskhiswell-being.
Not sure how I keep collecting folk to care about, but fuck me, this is getting out of hand.
Iplace my next step on what appears to be a dense mound of moss, only for my boot to sink through it, knee-deep in mud before I find steady purchase.
Dammit.
Glancing over my shoulder, I gesture for Pyrok to skirt farther left as I pull my boot free—slowly. Not that it stops it from squelching loud enough to wake a sleeping dam.
We still, listening for the heavy thump of beating dragon wings. Moltenmaws may be fierce in packs, but they don’t know how to silence their flight like Moonplumes do.
If we were about to get flocked, we’d know about it. But the only sound is the near-constant flutter of disoriented parchment larks flitting about in disarray, seeking a path free of the fuddling mists in their desperate efforts to deliver themselves.
Pyrok lifts the small copper cage to eye level. Inside it, our own parchment lark continues to flutter frantically, trying to wriggle between the thin bars and get to the young protégé. Its nose points through the dense mist too thick for us to see much of anything. The wall could be ten steps ahead and we’d be none the wiser.
Finding a sturdier path through the pale gloom, we continue forward, moving between giant trees we barely see until we’re almost up against them. The quiet presses on us like a hungry threat; the sort of quiet that makes thoughtsblare.
