Page 14 of Wings of Destruction

The unicorn merely looks at his rider in a brief acknowledgement. They know what they have to do.

A cramp twists my ankle, my muscles tense from the attempt to stay upright, and I shoulder the pain as I always have. I’m no stranger to it, and I’ve been through worse. By the end of the day, my head will feel like I’ve packed it full of glass shards and the bruises and cuts will make practice tomorrow a terrible ordeal.

Unicorn and rider approach, and I grit my teeth for their next attack, rallying my strength. But before I have a chance, a basilisk slithers out of nowhere and clamps its teeth around the unicorn’s back leg. The roan screeches, the sound echoed by its rider.

I reach out and grip Mozi’s back claw as he swoops overhead, and he drags me away from the carnage.

Your sympathy makes you lower your guard, he says. You allowed the warrior to distract you.

As he already said. The thought is unspoken.

Pardon me. My heart will get me in trouble.

We both know it.

My mouth tastes as though I’ve coated it with acid and I’m panting. The throbbing ache in my head has only grown worse since our arrival.

It’s a mistake to glance behind me, to see the way the acid sizzles through armor and skin, tendon and bone. The red-haired girl goes down, melting into a puddle as though she’d never existed.

My gorge rises, and I clamp my molars against a stronger swell of nausea. Mozi deposits me several feet away in a clear area. I look up to meet his flat, jewel-bright eyes, and heft my sword to kill the nearest soldier.

His head leaves his body with a clean sweep. One right after another, my blade rises, and blood pours. Amid the screams of rage and determination are more sinister sounds, sobs of terror, pleas for mercy, cries for loved ones lost.

A rider lunges for me, and I strike first. The man slumps to the ground.

A unicorn streaks by without a rider, its tail on fire. The field is nothing but an obstacle course of the dead, and the poison in my own veins increases until it feels like every breath leaving my heaving lungs is making an escape attempt.

If Fallkirk stands, then your father will destroy everything we’ve worked for, Mozi reminds me.

The slickness of his tone cuts through the fog in my head.

His amber eyes turn hard when I meet them.

Above us all is Roman, staring down like this is his own personal show, marking every death with sick pleasure, for his amusement.

Soon I’ll be just like him.

A dozen of his riders fight around us with their mounts circling overhead. We push back the unicorns with a steady overwhelm. We have the numbers. They have the need.

Omram’s belching growl stills even the most committed warrior in his boots. The sound clangs through me, turning each one of my bones into a bell, the shaking uncontrollable.

The signal! Mozi calls. Kieran!

It means we’ve reached the end of our allotted time, and Roman is done playing around.

Mozi wings closer and pauses long enough for me to grab the saddle. I hoist myself up with the help of his front leg and take half a heartbeat to settle myself, managing only one of the shin straps before he takes off.

The alarm is sounded and my heart drops. It’s time for me and the rest of our fighters to fall back. The wind jettisons down the back of my neck, along my spine, my muscles seizing.

It’s them or it’s the kingdom.

Mozi’s reminder is hollow and matches the carved-out hole in my chest.

I understand. Exhausted, I slump forward. I hate this.

Our day will come. Retribution will be sweet, he adds.

When? Even in my head, my voice cracks. It can’t come soon enough.