The impending storm is coming in with bared, frozen teeth to scrape the air with malice, its sharp frigidity beating at my face as it roars.
In my head, I’m counting the seconds. It took sixty for my timberwing to get to me, called from the whistle bursting between clenched teeth. Another forty to get on Argo’s back, for Lu to strap me in as I held Auren in my arms.
Another sixty seconds has taken us here, into the clutches of the clouds that are closing in. The night’s weather has decided to turn on me, the signs of an impending storm clogging the horizon like tufts of cotton in a drain.
Ice scrapes against my cheeks like jagged fingernails as my timberwing rushes on. I hold Auren closer, keeping my cloak over her, angling her face against my chest as my arms tuck her tightly to my body.
She’s too cold, too exposed, too still.
Her heart doesn’t beat, her chest doesn’t rise, her skin has gone sallow. All because of me. Because of what I did.
With a quick glance over my shoulder, I see Ranhold Castle below, lit up with torches. The face of it has now been marred with a splash of angry, solidified gold, erupting through the mouth of the doors and staining the gray stonework like insipid gilt magma that went inert before it could do any further damage.
It looks like the gold was trying to eat its way through the whole damn castle. To inhale it from an unforgiving mouth and devour it with wrath. Like a dam giving way, this is what happens when power is suppressed for too long, left to collect, to rise, to beat against its containment until the cracks form and it can finally break free.
I turn back around and hold Auren a little bit tighter.
I’ve got to get away from the castle—from the gold—but how much further is the question. Because every second I wait puts her in even more danger.
There’s a double-edged sword, and Auren’s life is balancing at the tip of it.
I have to get her as far away as I can, but I can’t risk leaving her in this rotted stasis for too long. Without knowing how far her power can reach, it’s a guessing game as to how far we need to go.
All I want to do is get the rot out of her. Her body can’t take more depletion. I need to have her on land too, settled and secure, because when I remove my power, there’s a chance she can still call on hers, and I can’t have that happen in the air.
Her aura is nothing but a pale wisp, like dying mist in the light. If I wait too long, my power that’s infested her will do more damage than I can reverse, and I can’t let that happen either. I can’t let either of those things happen. So this will be down to the very last second.
Time and distance are my enemy and my ally.
With anxious worry, my heels come up to nudge my timberwing. He lets out a call, either to show his displeasure or to signal to the rest of the flock. I know the others are following.
“Faster, Argo,” I urge the feathered beast, though my voice gets ripped away like hands snatching stolen trinkets.
Although the wind beats at us, Argo pushes on in a burst of speed, and I keep the reins loose to give him his head as his giant wings stretch out and cut through the night sky, lit up only by a veiled moon. I get jerked back, and if it weren’t for the leather strap from the saddle hooked to the buckled belt around my waist, there’s a good chance I would’ve fallen right off.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Yet right now, I’m not riding for sport or for scouting. This is life and death.
Her life.
We fly as fast as possible away from Ranhold, and Fifth Kingdom’s skies seem to punish us for it. Perhaps the deceased King Fulke and Prince Niven want someone to blame for their demise.
Some of Auren’s hair slips out from beneath the hood of my cloak, its golden strands whipping around in the wind. With one hand, I pull the cloak tighter around her ear, trying to keep the cold from touching her even though I know she can’t feel it.
Thirty more seconds have passed.
Dread is stacking up in my gut like the heavy bricks of an insurmountable wall. It feels as if I’m counting the increments of Auren’s soul slipping away bit by bit.
I’ve seen what happens when I wait too long to reverse the rot, and I know just how damaging it is. I know how much danger I put her in.
Guilt ravages me for what I’ve done, for the magic holding her hostage, but my resolve to keep her safe hardens. I spare another glance behind me, but Ranhold is now out of view, the clouds blocking the kingdom completely.
From the corner of my eye, I see a dark shadow cut through the clouds, and I’m not at all surprised at the timberwing and rider that swoops in. The beast’s size somehow makes even Osrik look small in comparison. He watches me wordlessly, hands tight on the reins, and I give a nod.
I hope I’ve gone far enough, because I don’t dare wait a second longer. With a tug on the reins, I make Argo dive. My timberwing lets out a call, and I curl over Auren, bracing for our descent.
When Osrik sees I’m making to land, he lets out a sharp whistle and follows suit. In the distance, I can hear the call of more timberwings answering back.
Where I go, my Wrath follows.
My eyes burn with the force of the wind that rushes up at me as we continue to drop, cutting through heavy clouds saturated with the impending storm.
The lines of power along my jaw writhe and snap as I monitor the link of my magic now swirling inside of Auren. Rot. Corrosion. Death. It doesn’t belong anywhere near her, and yet, I put it there.
I fucking hate it.
My knees lock in as I lean forward and grip the hold of my timberwing’s strap. “Come on...” I murmur.
Maybe Argo can feel my rushing panic, because he somehow manages to dive even faster. Water freezes at the corners of my squinting eyes, and my heart pounds against my chest loud enough to compete with the rushing wind.
“Almost,” I say against her hair. “Just hold on a few seconds more.”
Finally, we cut through the last of the mist and clouds, only to be greeted by the frozen ground below, brandishing the world like a sheet of gray. When it looks like we’re going to crash right into it, Argo lifts up at the last moment and swoops in a circle right alongside Osrik’s timberwing before both land on their taloned feet, kicking up a spray of snow like the sea crashing into the hull of a ship.
My frozen fingers are already unhooking the buckle holding me in place. I slip down, taking the impact of the jump with my knees so as not to jar Auren too much. Before I can take a single step forward, Os is there, ripping off his cloak and laying it on the ground just as I see more timberwings landing like shadowed spectators.
“Stay back,” I call over my shoulder.
I lay Auren down on the cloak, the faintest traces of rotten lines stretching up the veins in her neck. Her hair is spilled in a halo around her, somehow gleaming even in the darkness. She looks so small with my cloak tucked around her, so lifeless.
I kneel over her, immediately focusing as I snap my eyes closed. My magic is there, clinging to her prone form like a poison. Unnatural decay is slogging through her veins and withering the heart in her chest. It’s slinking up her deteriorating throat, barred by her unmoving lips.
Tension rolls through me. Instinctually, I want to yank the magic out of her as quickly as possible, but I’ve found pulling it out too fast is like ripping a blade from a wound. I don’t want to do any more damage than I’ve already done.
Carefully, I call the power back inch by inch so as not to shock her system. Behind me, I can hear the murmured words of the rest of my Wrath, uncertain footsteps shifting in the snow, timberwings chuffing at one another, and thunder from the clouds we just departed signaling a cold front blowing in.