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Ulpheas nodded shakily, then glanced past us at the Queen Regent who still sat frozen, her lips parted. “What about her?”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Draven swore, looking at Sephone with distaste. Evidently, he had forgotten about her. “Take her, too. Put her somewhere safe. I have no idea when whatever spell was put on her will wear off. Sephone, try not to kill anyone else on our side today, will you?” He shook his head bitterly as he looked at the prone bodies of the guards around us. “We could have used them.”
“Used them. Of course, that's what you'd say," I muttered sourly.
“They could have helped us defend the palace,” he snapped. “It's what they've been trained to do. Would you call that exploitative, Morgan?”
“All of the Siabra are exploitative. Your sister certainly thought so.”
Draven shook his head in frustration. “There's no time for this. We can argue later. Will you help me or not?”
“Help you how? What do you want from me?”
“Your exmoor.” He pointed at Nightclaw. “He's an old one, you know. It takes years for their wings to grow in.” He met my gaze. “They can do more, you know. Let him show you.”
“What do you have in mind?” I said, clenching my jaw.
“You ride, I'll fight. Get on.”
“Two fighters on one battlecat? Nightclaw's not trained for this.” Neither was I.
A smirk flickered over Draven's face. “You'll hold your own. You always do.”
“Fine.” I ran for Nightclaw just as a Valtain rider shot a black bolt towards us, then dove upwards again.
We reached the exmoor as below us one of the palace's glass domes crashed inwards. The air echoed with the sound of falling glass and the agonized cries of those caught in the onslaught.
I climbed into the saddle, Draven right behind me.
“You can sit there but don't fucking touch me,” I declared, stiffening immediately as he touched a hand to my waist briefly.
“I understand.” I felt him shifting, then his back pressed against mine. Suddenly, I understood what he’d had in mind.
“You're going to fall off if you sit like that,” I yelled, as Nightclaw raced forward then leaped into the air, his wings beating.
“Don't pretend you care, Morgan.” Draven’s voice whipped back at me over the sound of the roaring wind.
Below I saw Odessa directing soldiers, setting up archers at prime spots along the parapet. More and more soldiers and guards were appearing all over the walls, stitched there by Ulpheas and others.
For some reason, the sight of the soldiers running into position made my heart swell.
With what? Not pride. No, I could never be proud of these people. They were Draven’s people, not mine.
We soared through the air, over the palace.
The Valtain riders, if that's truly what they were, had spread out, covering the palace thinly. By my measure, there were less than fifty of them. But they were on flying raptors while the Siabra were pinned to the ground. They possessed the power to wield lightning bolts, while half the soldiers below were mortal and could shoot nothing more than wood and metal bolts and arrows.
“We'll cover them,” Draven yelled. “You shoot from the front, I'll shoot from the back.”
“Shoot? Do you see any bows? You talk as if I can control this,” I yelled back at him.
“You can. I saw you today.”
I scowled to myself. “You were watching? How? From your sickbed?”
“Something like that. Let's just say I had a good view. The gauntlets work. Trust them.”
I gripped the reins, feeling Nightclaw's powerful muscles beneath me, strong and reassuring. We soared higher, leaving the crumbling walls of the palace behind as we ascended. The roars and screams of the battle below filled my ears.
