Page 34 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

brITT

Britt’s astonishment at Pedr’s vanishing ship paled in comparison to ten minutes later, when she tipped her head back and stared above her shoulders.

Wings.

Arcane, gossamer wings.

The massive flanges stuck out of Britt’s spine like giant bones, folded over by a thick, textured membrane. They shimmered with each flutter in the sunlight. For how large they spanned, she expected them to feel heavy. She hardly noticed them.

“Pedr.” The whisper barely left her lips. “What. Are. These.”

“Wings.”

“I know that !”

He clucked, scrutinizing them with a tilted head. “They seem fine. The arcane worked better than expected. I’ve never actually tried this before.”

Carefully, he set a folded paper crane into his pocket. Her name filled the interior. The act of folding it had somehow created the wings. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if it unfolded.

“Can you make them move?” he asked.

At her conscious command, the wings opened and closed with a gentle vibration along her back. Muscles rippled, oddly able to bear the non-existent weight. She squealed, a hand over her mouth.

“You put wings on my back!”

He held up a finger. “ Temporary wings. They’ll dispel after an hour, they’ll disintegrate if you go too far from the ship, and they’ll disappear if I unfold the crane.

” He tilted his head toward the distant ship of the line.

“Get going. There’s a wicked storm to the west I want to avoid, and the ship of the line will gladly shoot a cannon at me if I venture any closer.

Don’t dawdle. You only have an hour.” He reached for the wheel, then paused.

“Oh, and Rosenvatten will be invisible so I’ll have to find you. ”

Denerfen curled up on Pedr’s shoulder, his leathery wings fanning. He glared at her with unbridled dragul ferocity.

“I’m sorry, Den,” she whispered. “It’s too dangerous for both of us when you can stay with Pedr.”

His head cocked as he studied the wings. Even her dragul didn’t know what to make of them. She couldn’t blame him.

Pedr slapped a hand on her shoulder. She screeched when something sharp stabbed her skin, like a bite. Glancing back, a mahogany circle clung to her, as tall as her pinky finger.

“Stop putting things on my body without approval!” Britt snapped, then twisted to see it better. The wings drifted awkwardly, flowing to the side. “What is it?”

“Calm down. It’s a piece of wood.”

“What?”

He rolled his eyes. “A tracker. So I can find you later.”

“Wood?”

“Don’t—“

“Ask, I know.”

“I use it to keep track of the rowboats, but this works, too.” Pedr nodded to the water. “Don’t let the wyvern see you, or smell you. There’s an hour limit, so better hurry.”

“You’ve mentioned the limit three times now, thanks. What do you mean, don’t let them see me? They’re all going to see me, Pedr!”

“Right. Forgot.” He extracted the flute.

“Both will work at the same time?”

“I think so.”

“You better know so!” she growled.

A gust of wind almost toppled her, preventing his sarcastic reply. When the gust grabbed her wings, she skidded sideways, cutting the argument short. Thinking fast, she shot a hand out and grabbed the wheel, preventing a plummet to the ocean.

When the wind died, she braced her stomach and her legs, shuffling toward the gunwale, propelled by a sense of urgency. With each step, the wings pitched her to one side or the other. Britt grunted with her pitiful attempts to control the gigantic appendages.

“It’ll be easier in the air,” Pedr called when a gust shoved her into the gunwale, taking her airborne.

Her toes dragged higher. She stopped herself from doubling over the side by throwing her arms out.

Panting, she paused, halfway out of the ship.

The wings quivered. They longed to fly, she felt it.

Britt shook her head.

Wings .

“Watch the updrafts.” Pedr stood with hands on his hips and a frown to the west. “They’re blowing from west to east. It’ll be a bastid to struggle against them on the way there, but they’ll help you return when your energy is low.

I’ll try to stay on this side of their ship.

Whatever you do, fly. I’ll find you anywhere. ”

Recalling Malcolm’s swimming lessons as a child when he shoved her off a rowboat and made her swim home, she drew in a deep breath. Her lungs expanded her shoulders, causing a shudder down her spine. Though cumbersome, the wings weren’t terrible. Just strange.

Like everything to do with Pedr.

“Don’t forget!” he called over a roll of thunder. “You’re trying to find out where they’re headed!”

“The things I do for draguls,” she muttered.

Denerfen squawked. Pedr pressed the flute to his lip. As she hurtled off the side, invisibility stole across her body. She vanished, then squeaked. So. Strange.

She was airborne.

After plummeting twice, nearly plunging below the waves, and thrice almost hitting a mast, Britt managed to right herself in the air. She pumped away from the ship, promising violence on her brother as her wings struggled above the sea.

Her toes skirted white-capped waves that splashed her calves and knees. She fought to maneuver the gusty drafts swirling from the west, driving her farther to the east. Out of the corner of her eye, she made out an occasional, glittery blur.

“Up!” she shouted.

The wings obeyed, streaking her instantly higher.

“Less up!”

The speed softened, but she still rocketed toward the sky.

“To the . . . west?”

To her shock, the wings obeyed, moving immediately sideways.

“Move up and to the west.”

Her position changed, driven diagonally.

So her commands had to be explicit. She tried the same in her head, relieved to find it worked.

Intentional thoughts, with clear directions, led to greater stability.

When the wind didn’t thrust her to the side, each wing pump carried her higher.

With careful concentration and effort, she avoided the ocean and raced the storm.

The great, inky bulwark closed in from the west with thunderous blasts and forceful gusts.

When she crossed three-quarters of the distance to the ship, she gave the silent command to hover .

The wings obeyed, providing a chance to survey the changing scenery.

Wind torrents tossed a gale at the ship of the line.

Gentle slopes became peaked, wicked waves as the wyvern descended from the clouds again.

The wyvern’s broad, mighty wings commanded the challenges with expertise.

Britt, flailing awkwardly, flew in erratic patterns.

She barely managed to pause and watch the wyvern when the wind kicked up again, wheeling her backward.

She tumbled head-over-feet in powerful wind sheets.

By sheer force of will, she managed to even.

Up, the wings bore her, to a different wind shelf that didn’t scuttle over the lower ocean.

“Got it,” she muttered. No more hovering. Movement was her friend.

Thanks to the arcane, none of the sailors noted her approach. They scuttled around, racing across ropes, down masts, from side to side. A sense of organization belied the chaos.

The wyvern descended, expertly navigating torrents of ropes and sails to land on the wide deck. The hull groaned as the wyvern hit the wood, pushing them farther into a trough. Sea spilled over the stern, nearly swiping two sailors into the tempestuous waters.

Sailors swarmed the wyvern. They tossed ropes, shouted commands. Metal chains clinked as sailors attached them to manacles on the wyvern’s rear legs. The creature fought, but without heart. Bright red flashed from the wyverns left leg.

What was that?

Risking a closer approach, Britt swooped lower. The wyvern’s wing elongated as it struggled against the wobbly ocean. Occasional harrumphs and grunts issued from it. As she closed in, the crimson glimmer reappeared.

A rope.

Sort of.

It had an incandescence that reminded her of fire.

It looped the back leg, near the manacle, and self-coiled into a bundle beneath the creature.

An attachment bound the strange rope to the top of the ship.

So, the wyvern hadn’t been free, but on a sort of .

. . tether. They weren’t that far from the mainland.

Why not let it fly back in advance of the storm?

Because, despite the storm, the ship clearly barreled west.

The fools.

It had to be significant.

Thunder split the air as clouds spilled their frothy forms forward.

Her hair danced across her face, loose and wild.

The wind shifted. Britt gasped when a blast knocked her sideways.

Rolling to the left, her wings struggled to re-balance.

Remembering again not to stall, she commanded them to take her closer to the helm, where the Captain shouted orders to his first mate.

She didn’t hear what they said, because the ocean itself paused.

The tempestuous, confused sea stalled. Giant swells and peaks shredded apart.

A clearly westward current became a whirlpool.

The ship of the line began to turn east with increasing confidence.

Within moments, the ship nearly listed all the way on its side as the ocean swapped from west to east. No, not the whole ocean.

A lone current forming beneath the ship of the line. The waves themselves battled for this ship.

East.

West.

Neither.

Sailors tripped over themselves. As a giant wave crashed over the top, a sailor fell overboard. His scream cut short as he plunged into a wall of water. The ship tilted on top of the lost soul, dooming him to the locker.

Panic thickened the air as the sailors struggled to lower the sails. They flung their bodies into the hatches, ignoring the wyvern. The Captain released the wheel and abandoned his post, leaving the behemoth to its ill-fated luck.

Cowards.

From the mid-mast space, the wyvern clung to the wooden deck. Its claws gouged the wood, digging deeper. Britt surged over the ship, the wind in her eyes.