Page 4 of Wings of Destruction

In other words, she won’t repeat herself a third time. Or fourth.

“I’m risking me,” I insist. “I want to ride and I want to fight.”

I’ll never forgive myself if I run and hide like a coward. If I retreat without trying. I’m the youngest of the family. I’d never been treated like a baby, particularly, more like this creature in a fragile state of balance whose family had to tiptoe around me to make sure I didn’t explode.

Today, Mother is done tiptoeing. Today, it matters the most.

“Oh, honey.”

She reaches out to push a lock of hair behind my ear. She’s done the same gesture thousands of times in my life.

Why does it feel different now?

I’m geared for an argument I refuse to lose. That’s why.

“Your job is far more important than being another soldier on foot,” she says. “I can’t fight unless I know the children are safe.”

My heartbeat lurches against the bony cage of my ribs like it’s trying to get out there and accomplish both jobs.

“Father would never have run away from a fight.”

He was a soldier, like her, like Elspeth. I come from a family of fighters who more often than not tries to do the right thing and ends up broken. We all have our secrets and our traumas.

If I retreat today, I’ll scar.

“Your father—” Illonia severs the words, gnashing her teeth. “I trust you to keep our people safe.”

Her insistence falls flat but it’s not her, it’s me. I’m torn.

“Please.” I don’t know what I’m trying to accomplish, but I know I’m failing. “I want to help.”

“Then help me by doing as I’ve asked.”

Her eyes go as hard as iron and Himself stamps his foot behind her in a clear bid for us to end this maddening discussion. Illonia is needed elsewhere. She certainly doesn’t have time to waste convincing me to execute her will.

A unicorn screams from the plains above and Mother’s gaze narrows further. Her lips are bloodless as she thins them into a line, and I halfway wonder if this is the last time I’ll see my mother alive.

“The dragons are coming,” she murmurs. “It’s nearly time.”

A part of me wants to grip her by the shoulders and insist she be the one to protect the elderly and the children instead of me.

But it’s impossible.

She’d never agree even if I voiced those feelings out loud.

My skin strangles me. There’s no relief. Nothing when my insides feel too hot and squirmy and even my best insistence falls short.

“Morgan, I need you to do this for me.” Her tone brooks no further argument. “Do you understand?”

She manages to keep the helmet tucked beneath her arm while she reaches up for the clasp of the chain around her neck. With controlled grace, she takes off the necklace I’ve never seen her without and holds it out to me.

“Here. Take it.”

Emotions clog my throat and make it impossible to breathe. I back up a step, shaking my head, as terrified as any mount who refuses to accept a bit in their mouth.

“I don’t want it.” My words are garbled. “It’s yours.”

The gold is rubbed thin from generations of Whyte women keeping it safe. The necklace and the sapphire pendant, a blue oval, have been in the family for generations and is passed down when the next generation takes their place leading the herd.