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These past two days had been quiet with half of the Wild Hunt gone, leaving the auction house practically empty save for concubines and servants. I thought maybe I could get to know a few of the other halflings working in the auction house as I saw the same faces coming and going every day. That plan failed within the first hour of trying. Everyone seemed to be avoiding me. They would cut their eyes at me when I entered a room, turning to whisper to their companions. Servants wouldn’t even make eye contact unless they absolutely had to ask me a direct question.
Clearly, I wasn't very popular among the other halflings, and something told me it had everything to do with the fact that the princes were no longer indulging in their options.
I spent most of my time sequestered in my room sketching, painting, and trying to keep my mind occupied. To my surprise, Haelo had agreed when I’d requested supplies. The next morning my room was filled with canvases, parchment, charcoal, and paints. There were more books delivered to my room as well, and I knew they were gifts from Erix. Still irritated with him, I chose to sketch instead, filling my room with drawings of the treetop city from memory, renderings of the beasts down below, and the faces of faeries I passed in the halls. It grounded me for a while, possibly the only thing keeping me sane until they returned.
But Vazden, I realized, was excellent company. These past two days he’d been teaching me about various steeds and how to properly care for them. I never realized just how different faerie creatures were to...say horses, sheep, or cows. They required skill and training to handle unless you wanted to lose a limb.
I didn’t particularly enjoy messing with the barrels of raw meat, so I usually let Vazden do the heavy lifting while I was content to provide support. He humored me mostly, telling me stories of past hunts he and his…brothershad been on. He told me about their long journeys through Faerie, riding their steeds through valleys, forests, and foothills while he flew high above them scouting their bounties.
I asked him to tell me about the faerie courts since I doubted I'd ever get to see them in person. That’s where his stories took a darker turn. Apparently, he had a rough history regarding the pure-blooded court. Their king despised creatures and anything with primal blood in their veins. It made me wonder what had happened to him. His visceral reaction to my dampener collar had me suspicious.
“Sleep doesn't come so easy anymore,” I said. I fiddled with a violet flower I’d plucked from a nearby bush, twisting it between my fingertips.
A low rumble emanated from Vazden’s chest. “The dampener is hurting you.” It wasn’t a question. He glared at the collar as if it personally offended him. I could tell it was really bothering him.
“It’s not the collar, I promise. I’m just complaining. Taking advantage of not having the others within earshot for once.” There always seemed to be one of my captors somewhere nearby. Someone was always watching, always right around the corner.
He shook his head, his long, beaded braids clinking together, brushing all the way down to his hips. His skin shone nearly purple in the moonlight, soft like velvet and yet as hard as stone. “You’re a bad liar, I hope you know that. You wear your emotions like a second skin.” At my dry look, he huffed a low laugh. “Fine, I’ll drop it, but if your pain gets any worse, I’m going to skin Riven alive slowly until he removes the fucking dampener.”
I laughed, not doubting for a single second that he actually would. My smile fell as though of Riven’s last words to me before I left his study days ago.If only you knew how badly I want to keep you.
What was that supposed to mean? Riven had been nothing but argumentative and dismissive towards me since I was brought here. Once again I would give just about anything to know what was going on inside his head. Faeries were confusing to the point of madness. Not to mention the fact that he still hadn’t told me what this dampener was even for, somehow he twisted his words enough to make me forget what I’d even asked in the first place. Damn faeries and their sharp tongues.
“It sounds to me like you could use a night away from this place,” he said after a long stretch of comfortable silence. I looked at him in confusion, noting a glimmer of excitement shining in his yellow eyes. “I think I may go fly for a while. Care to join me?”
“I might be a faerie, but I don’t have any wings.”
“You know what I meant.” He laughed, nudging me in the shoulder and nearly knocking me over. “I meant on the back of my dragon. What do you say? It’s a clear enough night for it.” Tilting his head back, he looked toward the sky, which managed to peek between the trees that swayed far, far overhead, the pale moonlight glinting off of his dark skin.
“Are you sure that’s…allowed?” I’d never seen a drach in their true form before. Sure, I’d seen paintings of dragons before, with their massive scaled bodies, wings that were powerful enough to sweep armies off their feet, and talons longer than my arm. The prospect of riding one was almost absurd.
“I wouldn’t have offered it if I wasn’t sure,” he said as he rose to his feet, towering over me, the silhouette of his curling horns stark against the moon behind them. “The offer is there if you want it, but you’d better decide quickly. The sky calls to me tonight, and I have to answer.” With a grin that showed his sharp teeth, he walked off into the tree line.
* * *
Of course,I followed him, trying my best to keep up with his long strides, yet nervous that at any moment, one of the erasu would try to stop me from leaving the woods. I had no doubt the princes had ordered them to keep an eye on me while they were gone. But Vazden had no doubt already communicated his plans to them.
After a small trek through the trees, we came to a stop on the edge of a massive cliff overlooking a valley. Below us was a labyrinth of streams and fields of tall grasses spotted with acacia blooms. Thick fog undulated over the grassland, creating the illusion that the land was moving on its own. For all I knew, it was.
“Are you ready? My dragon is itching to come out,” Vazden asked as we stood on the ledge with our hair whipping around our faces in the biting wind. He rolled his shoulders, craning his neck from side to side as he kicked off his boots.
Anticipation had me feeling giddy, my body suddenly longing for the feel of the night air again. All those nights Zephyr and I had soared among the stars was ingrained into my very being, and I needed that feeling back.
Facing Vazden, I tied back my hair in a braid, but it wasn’t much use in this wind. “More ready than you know.” My smile stretched across my face, and I suddenly realized how long it had been since I felt genuine joy.
He hesitated for only a moment, a brief flash of worry clouding his eyes before he wiped it away and closed them, then Vazden’s body began to contort. It happened in the blink of an eye and a swift crack of bone, but suddenly, an enormous black dragon stood before me as I stumbled backwards, nearly losing my footing and sending myself toppling over the cliff.
He was magnificent, to put it mildly. Possibly the most beautiful creature I ever could have imagined. The dragon’s black-iridescent scales were like that of his armor—thick and heavy, but slick and shining so that it looked like natural glass that reflected the stars. He stood about five heads taller than his drach form and his black, bat-like wings were powerful and tipped with hooked claws that looked like shards of diamond.
Yellow eyes the size of my head stared back at me and glowed in the night like a cat. When he blinked, I noticed that he had a secondary eyelid—a transparent one that closed sideways beneath his top lid. I remembered seeing it when he’d been in his drach form the day we met, but I hadn’t realized that there was a function for it.
“Amazing…” I whispered, still awestruck as I approached him slowly. “Vazden, you’re beautiful.” If dragons could have facial expressions, I might have imagined his relief at the compliment, rather than the fear he probably expected from me.
He lowered his head toward the ground, his legs bending beneath his weight, and flattened his wings. It was clear that he wanted me to climb on his back, but a part of me hesitated. Something about this moment felt sacred, as if allowing me to ride him was a gesture of some kind, a show of solidarity.
Knowing he was eager to get in the sky, I wasted no time climbing onto his back, using his shoulders as leverage. Luckily, I was used to this part, having mastered the art of flying with Zephyr the year before. Once again, I was hit with a pang of longing, wondering where my friend was at this very moment and if he missed me as much as I missed him.
Once situated, I slid backwards and braced myself by locking my knees around the back of his shoulder blades. His scales were rougher than I’d anticipated, like the surface of a river rock, and they allowed my fingers to find purchase, hooking underneath. My arms locked tight, and I whispered under my breath that he'd better not drop me. A rumble of what I assume was laughter rolled through his body, which vibrated beneath me.
