Below us, the world drops away.
The wings don’t feel like anappendage. They feel like truth, like the missing piece to the puzzle of me, and now that it’s fallen into place, the rest of me finally makes sense. I’ve got Max with me, and everything else is irrelevant. There is only the pull of the sky, the steady rhythm of my wings, and her.
I should focus on the path ahead, on everything that still stands between her and safety. Instead, I notice the way she breathes harder as we rise—but not out of fear. Her head lolls into the dip between my arm and chest, like we’ve done this many times before.
Like she belongs in the heavens. With me.
I don’t want to think about what happens when we land, when gravity takes her back, and I have to let her go. If it were up to me, I’d carry her into some secluded tower in the clouds, and worship her until the sun itself forgot our names.
Chapter 32
Lysandra
MAX
Edawdles on our way over, giving Nick ample time to catch up, flirting and making jokes.
“At this pace, Nick will beat us there,” I grumble, trying to hide how exhilarated and terrified I am. It’s a strange feeling, wanting to scream and laugh at the same time, but then again, I’ve always had a fear of heights.
“I love the sight of you in my arms,” E says huskily.
“Of me entirely dependent on you, you mean?”
“You’re enjoying it. I can tell.”
“Lady isn’t,” I joke, petting her through the carrier.
I’m enjoyingmost of it, but I would much rather be able to see him and look into his eyes than feel like I’m floating in a bridal carry position all by my lonesome. Below us, the narrow trail Nick is hiking is perfectly visible from our vantage point.
“He’s got a bandage on his wrist,” I say. “What happened while I was out?”
E sighs. “Oh, that. Nick wants to tell you himself.”
The strained tremble of his voice convinces me not to press the matter further for now.
After about another ten minutes in a slow, upward flight, the rapids become a river again as the forest levels out, and the canopy obscures the trail below. The orange and red trees begin to show signs of yellow, then baby green, then a deep summer green.
A flock of bright birds cuts through the branches in flashes of red, purple, and yellow, their high-pitchedcawsrippling through my chest as they flee.
While the Red Forest felt heavy with secrets, these woods buzz with life, like the land is on the verge of spilling over.
From what I’ve read over the years, beasts of all shapes and sizes hunt these trails, and like the snake that bit me, most of them are lethal.
When E finally flaps his strong wings and veers toward the forest, I hold my breath. The ground rushes closer in a blur, and I clutch E’s arm at the sudden change in temperature. The chill from the flight evaporates in an instant, the rush of wind fading into the softer hush of trees. The air is warmer and thicker here.
My boots brush the earth as E sets me down carefully.
The scent of floral blossoms invades my nostrils, laced with a hint of burnt, exotic spices, as though the rainfall that left the leaves and earth slick is cradling a trace of fire within the dew. The waning light filters through the green canopy ahead in molten emerald streaks, highlighting a handful of lost red leaves peppering the vibrant underbrush.
Here we are.
The border to the Summerlands.
I let out a shaky breath, my hands half-curled around E’s invisible arm like I’m still bracing for the fall that never came.
“You didn’t drop me,” I murmur, more to myself than to him. “Well done.”
I begrudgingly let go of him to stand on my own two feet.
