Page 21 of Wings of Destruction

You’re not surprised about the direction we’ve been given today. I bend to loosen the straps keeping me to the saddle and by the time I land, I’m stiff everywhere.

Given the rush in my head, the tensing of Mozi’s legs and the grimace showing fangs, we share the same sensation.

I pat him on the shoulder before stepping out into a wind that should have been sweet but hits me like a bitter slap across the face.

I knew we’d be punished no matter what the outcome of the fight, Mozi agrees.

The trees in the old wood creak in the invisible breeze and their leaves shiver in our presence. It’s not the strangest backdrop we’ve had to a conversation regarding punishment but it’s certainly one of the most beautiful.

Just another part of our world tainted by power.

My back straightens. If you’re right, there will be many more than just Fallkirk and its forests and secrets.

Mozi’s smile flashes in my head. I am always right.

The wooded area off the charred grassland boasts staggeringly tall trees and a few rock formations with plenty of space between them. The hills roll gently upward toward the crest of the mountain with sporadic dots of granite crags.

Sunlight dapples the lush grass and moss underfoot. The fairy tale purity of the forest darkens under the taint of smoke and charred meat lingering in the air.

Alarm crashes into me when Omram lands as well. His bulk mangles the trees around us, large enough for only his leg and part of his torso to be visible at this angle. It takes way too long for my brain to catch up to what’s happening in front of me.

“Well?” I call to my father.

Ryson pauses, waiting for me to erupt against him, to chafe at the idea of being sent to look for survivors. My earlier explosion was a one off, and I’m back to silence, my teeth finding the grooves in my tongue from before.

“Your cousin will go with you. I don’t trust you by yourself, son.” Ryson lifts an armor-covered arm to gesture for my blond, brutish cousin to step through the trees where he’d been listening.

Tristan smirks, stepping up into the light and staring at the woods like everything is beneath him. There is nothing but disdain in his pitiless blue eyes.

Is he being punished too?

“I didn’t realize I needed a watchdog,” I say, forgetting to disguise my scorn.

Ryson perches in half light, half shadow. “Round them up. Do your duty.”

Once my cousin and I stand shoulder to shoulder, the General takes off.

“Poor little Kieran,” Tristan coos the moment my father is out of sight. “It’s almost worse than being bent over his knee. Isn’t it? You’re saddled with the repercussions of your failures.”

I don’t spare him a glance before taking off around the low limbs of a maple tree. “You’re here, too.”

I shouldn’t have to remind him.

“Yes, but I’m here by choice. I asked to be assigned to you.”

I scowl over at him. “Why?”

“Because I couldn’t wait to see the look on your face.”

“How wonderful,” I say through tight lips.

Tristan is General Ryson’s first in command instead of me, the son of my father’s late brother. At first glance, the only marked difference between Tristan and me is our hair color. He is fair and golden like the sun kissed and blessed him, while I’ve been scolded for bringing gloom to match my dark strands.

The discarded first born, marked and dismissed for having heart.

I shoot my cousin an empty smile.

Today, in lieu of regular armor, Tristan wears a half cloak fastened with a holster strapped across his bulky chest. His trousers are high waisted and held in place with a thick belt hiding a number of weapons and vials of poison.