Page 2 of Wings of Destruction

General Ryson is a nightmare made of flesh and known for his brutality.

It’s only a miracle from the Ether that got us the message in time, a message to warn, to prepare, to evacuate. Roman Ryson and his armies are coming to quell an uprising from a community of cheats and thieves and liars.

We’re none of those things.

The unicorns in our herd are no innocent creatures content to wait for a virgin maiden to find them in a forest. These are bred for battle, bred for the fight, their whirled horns topped with a killing point to spear through our enemies. In this case, the king’s men.

Or any dragons he chooses to send with his favorite general.

We’ll do whatever it takes to defend the village with homes crafted of living wood, the stables for the unicorns bonded to riders.

Steeds flow around me like water, mounts of all colors, their riders wearing matching armor and swords strapped to their backs and saddles. There are lances, flails, and most of all, savagery.

An answering sensation crawls up my throat and my teeth flash.

There is no uprising in Fallkirk. There’s only a proud herd, a village of peace and prosperity far outside the capital, and those who are not willing to triple our taxes to the crown. The moment Mom and the rest of the village council decided to take a stand against the unjust… look what happened?

It hasn’t happened yet, Morgan.

I tell myself it’s the voice of reason yammering like a lost sheep in my head. But I know it’s a lie.

I stumble toward a house perched on a crest, my boots skipping over small stones nestled in the grass. My ankle twists and the muscles in my legs flex to accommodate the strain.

Grunting against the pain, I limp, because this is not how I saw today going. Today was supposed to be a celebration.

I’d been accepted to DragonSpear Academy, the best graduate program in Manifest, our world. There, I’d train to be a warrior and learn to be a scholar. I’d be chosen by one of the strongest mounts possible and join my herd in a place of honor.

My stomach lurches and goes soft.

I’d make my mother proud.

She had the celebration dinner planned for the night. Now⁠—

How many people will be left alive to see me off to military academy?

“Morgan, Ether take me. Get out of the way before you’re trampled!” Mother’s words cut through the blur in my head.

A stampede of hooves thunders against the solid, dried ground and Illonia Whyte pulls up short with inches to spare before collision. Her mount, a gilded stallion radiant enough to rival the sun, stares me down with obvious dismissal. He’s never cared for me.

Not when my mother is the leader of our herd and I’m a dismal failure, too angry, too hungry, too everything to be chosen by a unicorn.

Mother shifts with her mount’s movements, her sword already drawn.

“Well?” she asks with a hint of bitten off ferocity. “What are you doing? Get out before you find yourself impaled on the wrong end of a sword.”

Her mount paces, furious at being kept from the trenches for the duration of this conversation.

“I want to help. I’m ready to go.” I straighten and stand my ground. “I came to find you.”

“Absolutely not.”

Her eyes are emeralds. But her discordant laughter is anything but beautiful.

My sister has already raced past to protect our town from the invaders. Isn’t it my right, too? My mouth is dry, my tongue tasting acrid and coppery like I’ve already given myself a bloody lip.

I step toward Mother on light feet, like I’m picking my way through broken glass.

“I’m ready to go,” I repeat. “Give me the order and I’ll move into place.”