Page 53 of The Queens and the Kings (The Isles #2)

Yet again, their plan failed on launch. She’d made it into the ship, and immediately locked herself into a hold with a ferocious Wyvern King.

Lovely.

There must be other ways out—how else would they get the wyvern in here?—but she had little chance of discovering those paths. The sailors would be hard on her heels in minutes. If she could find another exit, she’d scamper above the deck and be on her way.

Except . . . Wyvern Kings.

Tempests.

And a gut-deep feeling that all wasn’t as it seemed. No one spoke kindly about the Wyvern Kings, but maybe . . .

. . . maybe they weren’t that bad. An unexpected opportunity presented itself. Pedr wouldn’t take it. Maybe not Henrik, either.

She was neither of them.

“Change of plans, Den,” she whispered. “We’re setting the Wyvern King free.”

Air brushed her cheeks as Denerfen chirruped gaily, swirling loops around her head. “Did you hear that, Wyvern King? We’re going to set you free.”

A breathy sound, like something sweeping toward her, answered.

Air rushed over her cheeks. She lifted a hand and let it fall to her side.

No audible response from the wyvern. An insistent and steady thud thud thud became more apparent with every passing second.

Whatever barrier muffled sounds, it would soon fail.

Britt approached, however slowly.

“You have three options. Do nothing and stay captive; claw me to death, which I really don’t prefer; or escape with me and prevent all of us from dying in this horrific storm. The Siren Queens are going to bash you to death with the incoming storm, no matter how powerful your current.”

The boat lurched at that moment, sending her flying forward. She flailed, caught herself, and skidded several steps before righting.

“See? We don’t have time for hesitation!” she snapped. She paused, considering. “Why are you in here, anyway?”

The faraway thuds became a distinct crackle, like wood giving way. Settled silence turned to the patter of many feet descending stairs. The closer they approached, the louder she heard them. She clutched the wall as the ship violently tilted.

“Fine! Wallow and die for all I care! Come, Denerfen.”

The swooshing sound, gentle as a wingbeat, came again. This time, it was closer. She sensed it near her in the dark. The lightest touch caressed the back of her knee with a slough of sinew and skin. A tail wrapped around her waist, far too big to be Denerfen.

“Wyvern!”

At the same moment, a door burst open to reveal dozens of faces.

Bodies spilled out. Lantern light flashed and indignant shouts carried into the cavernous room.

The wyvern issued an ear-splitting scream, his tail tightening around her torso and elevating her.

Britt suppressed a shout, managing only a breathy, “Denerfen!” before the wyvern curled her onto its back and left her there.

Wings spread, the wyvern straightened, filling the interior. He hid her.

Sailors at the front stalled, mouths open. Incoming sailors didn’t notice the wyvern. They attempted to clamber over their frozen comrades until a horrified shout stopped all of them. Every eye turned to face the growing beast.

Britt clung to his cold, leathery back, ducking below the shoulders. Denerfen had launched into the air, vanishing. The preternatural silence, broken by panting breaths and sailors muttering, revealed no tiny wings.

“Den?” she hissed. “Where are you?”

A sailor called. “Easy there, wyvern. We aren’t your enemy. We’re just checking on a stowaway.”

“Stop talking to it,” snapped another. “It’ll eat you.”

He’s not an it , she longed to snap.

“Can’t,” said a third. “It’s strapped. Boss said to leave it strapped. You know the special ones we got?”

“Thought we were supposed to unstrap it in the hold?”

“Ahh . . . well . . . we’re not abiding by .

. . exactly . . . what the mainland requested.

Wants us to take it to the Westlands, don’t they?

But there might be a better market for the wyvern in the southern colonies.

” He cleared his throat. “Once we get out of the storm, boss’ll cut south.

Tell the Ladylord he lost the ship and the wyvern in the sea, then take his profits from the sale.

The citadels’ll want the beast, if the colonies don’t. ”

A chorus of guffaws broke through the air. The wyvern shifted, perceptible only because she rode his back. Tension rippled across the wings in visible, minute muscle shifts. He knew . The wyvern understood every word they said.

A clink caught Britt’s attention.

Another.

The sound of iron on iron.

She slammed the heel of her hand into her forehead. No wonder the wyvern did nothing. She’d wasted time scolding him for not busting through these walls when she could have been setting him free.

“Easy does it, wyvern,” cooed a man with throaty undertones. “Easy, now. Take your time, wyvern. We’re just checking for the stowaway.”

The boat lurched, sending Britt sprawling. The wyvern had risen higher so the men couldn’t see her. She cursed herself anew. The wyvern was more intelligent than she gave it credit.

Because it was a King . The Teller’s story hadn’t felt truly real until this moment. Now, it overwhelmed her. Sliding down his back, she landed gently on the ground. The same cursed blackness that hid the wyvern hid her, and she felt immensely grateful for it.

The men held their lanterns a little higher and crept to one side or the other. The wyvern lowered his neck and wings, shielding Britt as she stole to the left. A bitty movement, so fast it might have been a hallucination, drew her gaze.

Denerfen.

Her dragul alighted on her arm when she crouched on the floor, feeling with her hands. The sailors spoke to the wyvern as they sidestepped, lanterns held high. Several sprinted up the stairs again. The wyvern, shifting around to keep her hidden, growled low if any men skirted too close.

Britt’s fingertips collided with something chilly and metallic on the ground.

Her fingers flew around the edge, feeling every portion.

An anchor. It was square, with four bolts, one on each corner.

A chain sprouted from the middle. She dropped to her knees, following the chain winding to the wyvern’s back leg.

Something sticky and thick came away on her hand. Wyvern blood.

No clasp. No easy way to remove it. Which, considering their skeevy ship Captain, made sense. Britt paused when a voice slipped into her mind. Crisp, with commanding notes, and a sense of business about it.

Water.

“What?” she whispered.

The wyvern peered at her, head lowering. The succinct, masculine voice returned.

Splash water on the metal.

Blessed mermaids. The wyvern spoke to her. Shock rendered her momentarily speechless. A not-so-gentle nudge with his tail smacked her out of it.

Immediately, if you please, the voice hissed, any pleasantness absorbed by sheer command. Britt spun on the spot. Denerfen alighted on her outstretched palm, answering her silent summons. “Water,” she pleaded to him in utter disbelief. “He wants water.”

He zipped away.

More sailors sidled their way to either side of the wyvern. They flanked the front on the left and right, with several congregating in the middle. Most of them stayed put, talking to each other. Weapons flashed in their hands.

The wyvern inched backward until he hit a wall, forcing Britt into a corner that protected her from view.

The general glow of a lantern revealed an elaborate and familiar tattoo on his chest and neck.

He was the same wyvern from Kapurnick and the first ship.

Hadn’t she seen him at the arena, as well?

Britt hid behind the back leg, following Denerfen’s subtle signs of life as he soared to a corner of the room. The wyvern edged its leg forward, allowing her to grope blindly along the wall, following Denerfen’s path.

“No one in here!” a sailor cried. “Wherever she went, it’s not this room.”

“Where else would it be?” another growled. “She locked us out of the staircase. This is the only exit!”

“Keep looking! She can’t be anywhere else.”

The wyvern spun, snapping at a sailor. All eyes drew to the beast, allowing her to sidle along until her toes hit a water bucket.

Suppressing a swear word at the pain shooting through her foot, she scrambled for the bucket edge before it toppled.

Her fingers sloshed into a knee-high water barrel, a little over halfway full. She bit her bottom lip.

Would it be enough?

“Little stowaway,” sang one of the sailors. “Come out, little stowaway, and we shall not be so hard on you.”

One chortled.

Another silenced him. Britt pulled the bucket off the ground and began to sidestep her way back.

“We know you’re here!” a gruff sailor called as he looked the wrong direction. “You come with us or the wyvern kills you. Boss’s words.”

Idiot.

Like they controlled a Wyvern King.

Only a few steps away from Britt, one of the sailors tripped into a wall. The smell of beer washed with him. She’d have to move fast. Nose wrinkled at the foul smell wafting from the inebriated man, she scuttled around him.

As she moved, her left elbow collided with the wyvern leg. Water sloshed, trickling down its leg and causing the metal to sizzle and froth. She tipped her head.

What was this?

The wyvern lowered his wings, crouching. It blocked her body from the retreating men, who didn’t dare move closer. He blocked most of the stray lantern light, but she managed to squint through the shadows.

Using cupped hands, Britt dribbled water on the fire-red skin around the manacle, which bubbled as well. Flecks of embedded metal reacted by flaring from the water. She winced. That had to hurt.

Yet, the metal degraded.

All of it, the wyvern insisted. I’ll distract them.

She had no time to protest. His head lowered, hissing. The men, stirred up by fear, shouted and shrieked to move out of his way.