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7
The Duchy of Inglewood
Aquitainia
Even from the air, the wood was vast. Amelia had thought it might look smaller, but the canopy stretched from horizon to horizon in the thick of the Inglewood, dense and impenetrable. She followed the winding, dirt ribbon of the road for a while, the occasional deer or lion darting across it, beneath Alpha’s wide shadow.
Flying was like riding, in so many ways. The wind in her face, the speed of travel; the way her mount anticipated the minute shifts of her weight, the turn of her head, the slightest pressure on the reins. It was a natural, lifelong skill enhanced by her special connection with Alpha; when she thought it, he did it.
But, then again, it wasn’t really at all like riding a horse, because she was in the sky.
That first leap, when Alpha had flapped hard and climbed into the air, had left her stomach swooping; sweat beaded beneath her armor and clothes. She’d had a moment of panic: gods, what am I doing? But then Alpha had sent reassurance through their bond, and the view had stolen her breath in a wholly lovely way. She had no doubts about Alpha’s willingness to keep her safe, and she trusted Billy’s handiwork on the harness, saddle, and the straps and hooks that connected her to it.
Delightful as it was, she managed to gather her thoughts, and then it was all business.
They’d decided, before she left, that she would scan as much of the forest as she could for potential enemy troop movements, traps, encampments, etc., before she descended on Wood Manor with her two drakes.
Speaking of…
She twisted to look over her shoulder, to where Marigold had dropped down low toward the treetops. Reading her thoughts, Alpha sent a forceful command to his youngest female, and she came winging back up to them, remnants of a vulture she’d snatched from a high branch in her jaws.
Amelia’s first response was a laugh – she was proving insatiable, that one. But then she remembered Oliver and Tessa’s letters warning of the Sels using some sort of magicked, trained vultures to scout and attack their messenger falcons.
Have another, she thought, and a moment later, Marigold was diving again.
~*~
They found nothing out of the ordinary. Because Connor had evacuated his Strangers to Drakewell, all of them camping out in hide tents in pastures, there weren’t even any woodlander campfires shining through the treetops – nor were there any signs of Sel invaders. Granted, they didn’t search the entire Inglewood, but that would have taken days. So, instead, as the sun went down like the flare of a match beyond the horizon, she pointed Alpha toward Inglewood proper, and they melted up into the dark sky.
They approached amidst a cloudbank, dropping down low enough, beneath a crescent moon, for Amelia to catch a good aerial view of the manor that Connor had once been run out of, and where his brother and sister-in-law (and first wife) had met their deaths. The house itself was dark, all five floors of it, its many, narrow windows black and lifeless. The lawn wasn’t manicured, but trampled from the passage of many armored feet, a dull expanse more dirt than grass. As they floated up and over the spines of the roof, she finally caught a flicker of light out in the stable yard.
A fire.
Careful, she thought. There would be no masking the distinctive clap of the drakes’ wings working, but she wanted to stay high enough that they couldn’t be seen – and targeted – until she’d determined the source of said fire.
Alpha circled, and she leaned out to peer over his neck. It was a small fire, a figure seated on either side of it. She thought, at first, they must be travelers searching for a bit of shelter in the cold, the stone stable wall serving as a windbreak. But then she caught the gleam of firelight on gold. Their armor, removed and stacked beside them.
Sels.
Both of them jumped and scrambled when Alpha landed in the midst of their fire. There was no mistaking them, then: their pale faces and white hair.
“Hello, boys,” she drawled.
Alpha’s frills flared wide; he hissed, and the stable yard filled with an entirely different sort of fire.
~*~
“They must have been scouts,” she mused, lifting a brand from what remained of the fire to serve as a torch. “But why? Suppose they don’t want to totally abandon the ground they’ve gained.”
The drakes were having a snack, so to speak, so, after a cursory glance into the dark stable, she headed toward the house.
Alpha rumbled his worry through their bond, and out loud, an inquisitive mrrp like a big cat, while Marigold munched happily.
“I’ll be careful,” she promised. “And I’ll call if I need to.” She wasn’t all that worried, though. The house, which she approached with torch held aloft, bore that particular air of abandonment.
Worried or not, a shiver still licked down her spine. It had been years, but the last time she was inside this house, the windows had glowed, well-dressed silhouettes shifting behind the glass. The terraced front steps had boasted urns full of potted trees, topiary forms, and big spills of seasonal flowers. There had been liveried footmen on hand to sweep the doors wide for her, and she’d lifted her skirts so she didn’t step on her hems on the way through.
Now, her armor clinked softly as she drew the short sword at her hip, and tugged at the door handle with her torch-bearing hand.
