Page 66 of The Hopeless Romantic’s Guide to Enchantment

(Admittedly, her research wasn’t entirely meticulous.)

(Okay, according to Tasi, her research was a “tragedy of errors,” where Cera “opened a reference book, read sixteen words, and promptly succumbed to narcoleptic boredom,” which resulted in the master librarian evicting them for “drooling on the pages.” It didn’t seem like such an offense to Cera, but Tasi had been mortified and furious.)

(She still was, considering her bitter silence.)

“It’s cold,” Cera yelled. As always when flying on Korvi, the wind whipped her words away, snarling them until they vanished into the open sky.

Still gripping Cera’s stomach, Tasi stayed silent. For an onlooker, this might seem intimately close – but it was a position of necessity right now. No one, not even Tasi, fucked with heights when riding a warbird, especially one without a saddle. The safest place was the ground. The second-safest was clinging to the warbird rider for dear life.

Korvi was focused on their destination, and didn’t care for human trials regardless, even those of his chosen rider. He flew smoothly, tilting his body unpredictably to capture currents they couldn’t see or fathom. His scruffy black feathers looked iridescent in the high-up sunshine.

“You’re ignoring me,” Cera said.

Tasi stared at the clouds far below them and didn’t reply. “See, you’re proving my point.” Cera shifted, which made Tasi tighten her grip. At the subtle motion, Cera smirked. “Ah, you do love me.”

“I love not dying,” Tasi replied through gritted teeth.

Progress. Cera patted Tasi’s gloved hand. “You can’t still be upset about that librarian.”

“That was my favorite library,” Tasi hissed, almost inaudible over the howling wind.

“There are one hundred and sixty-seven libraries on the continent. I’m sure Dalet has at least seventeen. The duke may even have one inside his palace.” When Tasi didn’t respond, Cera attempted to cover her bases. “It seems a little silly that a librarian would label ‘falling asleep’ a crime.”

Wrong thing to say.

“By the Shining Eagle and every warbird in the skies,” Tasi said with a snarl. “Don’t talk to me until we land.”

Twenty-three minutes passed, which felt like decades considering Cera spent the entire time humming under her breath and watching the dark storm clouds below them. It got colder. Her fur-lined gloves and a thick scarf were usually sufficient for riding Korvi, but this far north they felt comically thin.

She started shivering.

Tasi moved closer, offering body heat.

“Do you forgive—”

“No,” Tasi said flatly.

Welp.

Thirty-seven more minutes passed. Cera knew, because she kept staring at the timekeeping device mounted on her bag, watching the smooth pebbles slide through a mechanism that seemed both absurdly simple and ridiculously complex. Cera had tried to decipher it multiple times; after she broke the third one, Tasi told her to leave it alone. “These are expensive, Cera! It’s one clink for one minute,” she’d said, “and that’s all you need to know.”

So, one clink for every minute Tasi was mad at her.

Cera finally muttered, “In my defense, the book was boring.”

Tasi huffed, but her response was overridden by Korvi’s deep squawk.

Korvi didn’t squawk for nothing.

Cera muttered, “Okay. Let’s do this,” and Tasi pressed her lips together, scanning the horizon. Sure enough, a single white mound was rising out of the dark clouds.

No, not a mound. A warbird.

An owl.

“Why does royalty always go for the birds of prey?” Cera grumbled.

“I can think of a few reasons,” Tasi drawled.