When we rode to the Bluff, didn’t he say something about his magic? How, without his magic, he couldn’t keep us grounded, so we’d need to sit together?
He has his magic now. My mind replays the surprised look on his face when I walked up to him and asked him to make space for me, and the way he was sitting comfortably between the spikes instead of wedged back against them to leave me room.
By all the gods, I was meant to take a different seat, wasn’t I? He could havesaidsomething. Now it feels too late to. I could die of embarrassment.
Sava straightens. Roiven’s hand slowly loosens from around my waist and grips the spikes again.
I wonder if I should say something now. But if I admit I know this wasn’t necessary, it might make it sound like Iwantedto sit like this, with his hips grinding against my ass and his arms reaching around me to grab the spikes. Better to pretend it never occurred to me, about his magic. If he’s uncomfortable, he can tell me to move.
Soon I’m not even thinking about it. Roiven is comfortable and warm. The wind rushes through my hair, so loud my ears ache.
It’s bright out, not nighttime, and despite all the hours I’ve spent looking at maps, seeing the actual world from above is different from an ink drawing. The waves are white-capped, and achingly beautiful from all the way up here. I spot a terror of reapers frothing by a set of sea-spines, devouring some unlucky beast. A sea-titan flying our way screeches, as if demanding Sava get out of its way. She doesn’t change course. At the last second the titan drops below us with another squawk, realizing it stands no chance against a dragon. We fly over a set of small, low rock isles, and past larger ones. There are mountains in the hazy distance. I’m sure I’ve seen maps of this place; I must have. Over the decades the imperial navy has mapped all of the Wild Seas. But I can’t recognize any of it from the view on Sava’s back.
The kraken is somewhere down there.
We stop for the first time around noon, on a massive island with flowing freshwater and the ruins of old stone houses. When I ask if the Tower is here, Roiven only shakes his head and tells me nobody’s lived here for a long time. He looks freezing, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. We drink the water and Roiven unpacks the bag to offer me a meal. By the time we mount up the sun seems to have warmed him.
“Are you feeling sick?” I ask. I don't feel cold at all.
“No. Why?” He frowns.
“You looked cold. Like you…,” I start, but Sava launches up into the air, and I abandon words in favor of trying not to scream.
“Flyingiscold. I’m surprised you aren’t freezing,” he says as she levels out.
“I’ve always run warm.” I shrug. “If your hands get too cold on the spikes, feel free.”
“Feel free to what?” he asks, his lips right by my ear so I can hear over the wind.
“Warm yourself,” I say, my throat tight enough I’m not sure he can hear me.
But Roiven’s hands slip away from the spikes. He wraps his arms around me, hands tight against me.
“Better?” My voice is thin and too high.
He doesn’t answer. A few minutes later he lets go and tightly grips the spikes again.
When the world darkens in dusk, my stomach drops. A barren gray stone mountain stands in the far distance between us and the horizon. And to the left, at the edge of the visible world, there’s a blue glow so wide it must be the entire imperial fleet. I gulp. At once Roiven’s emotions, gone all day, flood back into my head. Roiven is fiercely protective and grim. Sava is nothing but fury.
The dragon spirals down toward a rugged, barren spit of rock. We land near the middle, perhaps a quarter mile between us and the ocean. The isle is so flat I doubt there are any houses hidden here. But my visibility is low, now that it’s evening. I squint as Roiven scales down her side, his large pack slung over his back and thumping against his legs as he climbs.
“This can’t be the Tower.”
“No. We’re not there yet.”
Sava grunts and turns her neck to look at me, as if telling me it’s time to get the fuck off.
I nod to myself, and follow him down. After a whole day of riding, my thighs are so sore every movement of my legs makes me ache.
“We’ll get there by afternoon if we leave early tomorrow. She needs rest,” Roiven tells me. He drops the bag onto the ground beside him with a thump, then rubs his hands for warmth again with a shiver.
“We can’t be very heavy.” The massive dragon launches up into the sky, and the wind knocks into me so hard I lose my footing and stumble a few steps back, nearly falling. I feel Sava laugh at me again through him.
“We aren’t. But most adult dragons spend all their time sleeping or hunting. She won’t fly all dayandall night without a real break unless she has to.”
I guess that means the blue glow of the Hellions is still far enough away that Roiven isn’t worried about it. I nod and start stretching with a wince. Sava tilts away from the isle we’re on to skim low over the ocean, hunting for her dinner.
“Should I work on the enchantment?” I ask, as Roiven crouches down and pulls a bottle from his bag. I widen my legs and reach down toward my feet in a stretch.
