Page 60 of Wings of Destruction

There was no one there to help save those people whom my father is likely to burn for simply existing.

A soft groan sounds, and I turn to watch Astrid’s throat bob. She catches my gaze, her golden eyes burning with the same kind of fire I’d recognized in Morgan’s when I first saw her.

Dragon’s teeth.

My knee bobs uncontrollably.

Mozi uncurls in my head, stretching, his claws unsheathed. You okay?

He’s close now. Up in the aerie.

Were you aware that my father has razed the village of Onassis recently? Because that’s the important information Clark wanted to convey, the smug thorn.

But I know Mozi isn’t. His silence speaks more than his words.

It’s time, Kieran. You can’t keep putting it off. His distress is a flash of sensation before he tamps down on the emotion, and I do the same. We must act. We can’t do this without you.

My jaw clenches hard enough to send a muscle at my cheek twitching.

I’ve got to figure out a plan going forward, who to trust, and who to scatter to the winds. I have the start of a rebellion mostly thanks to Astrid but how do I find more people who may be on my side?

The violence needs to stop.

If Roman and Omram are left unchecked, there won’t be a kingdom left.

My mind returns again to Morgan, to the fiery maid who looks as though she alone will split the enemy in two.

I’ve got to move fast. Every move is a risk, and I have so much to lose.

The needs of the few versus the needs of the world, Mozi reminds me solemnly. As long as your father is perched in a position of power, then people will continue to suffer. This goes much deeper than him, however. He is merely the face.

The reminder is an insult because I understand it better than he thinks. The risk is worth it.

The risk has to be worth it, otherwise this is all for nothing, and the dead become nothing more than fuel for an endlessly hungry war machine.

Thirteen

Kieran

Iblock the attack on instinct, lifting both forearms in front of my face and knocking the jab of the wooden staff aside before it takes out an eye. Astrid doesn’t miss—she aims to maim.

A flash of wicked smile flickers across her features before she schools them back into neutrality.

“You’re too slow,” she reminds me.

I toss my head to fling the sweaty hair off my forehead. “Isn’t there a saying about slow and steady being the winning combination?”

“Sounds to me like a man trying to justify his loss.” Astrid smirks. “Get back into position.”

“Have mercy on me!”

“There is no mercy. There’s only me and the weak excuse you call muscles.”

I groan. “You are the harshest taskmaster I’ve ever had.”

She twirls the staff in front of her with expert ease before leveling it with my gut. “Which is why you love me.”

A grin splits my face. “You know I do.”