Page 62 of Wild Reverence

XLIV

Flight

MATILDA

I flew over the bridge.

I watched the men tremble and cower beneath my shadow, the gust from my wings tearing through their hair, snuffing out their screams. Half of them seemed determined to continue fighting, pushing forward under the baron’s call of commands.

But the other half of his men were scrambling.

Some of them were running for the cover of Fury Tower, the battering ram forgotten, while others frantically began to shoot arrows up in the air, aiming for my belly.

They would be mere sticks, and I did not fear them.

I wheeled in the sky, coming back around to make another pass over the bridge. This time, hunger pulsed through me, and I dared to glide lower. My eyes fastened on one of the baron’s knights. He was disemboweling a Wyndrift archer, and I swooped down and took a hold of the knight in my talons.

His scream was nothing more than a mewl; he flailed in my grasp as I carried him higher. My delight shone like quicksilver, illuminating the endless dark depth of my own mind.

Drop him into the river .

The thought did not seem to be my own. It was a rumble, emerging from the fire of my bones, and I relented.

I glided over the water and relinquished the knight.

He would sink down to the riverbed with that armor of his; his bones would rest there eternal, picked clean by the fish, and I made another pass, choosing a second blood-splattered knight of the baron’s.

I hurled him into the water next, and then swooped to make a third dive, and then a fourth, a fifth, watching as the battle began to fracture. Their terror was sickly sweet, a fragrant smoke that I drew deep into my lungs, my wings gaining more power with every beat against the air.

I found the baron amidst the turmoil. He was like a silver coin in the light, drawing my eyes.

His horse was rearing; Grimald dropped his sword as he grappled with the reins.

His armor flashed scarlet, reflecting the tendril of fire that was burning nearby, and when I soared over him, so close that I could see the white-ringed terror in his eyes, he fell.

Laughter rumbled through me, warm as embers stoked in a fire.

Again, I circled overhead, carving the wind with my wings.

I studied the writhing glimmers of armor and chainmail on the bridge.

Grimald was somewhere amongst them, hiding like a coward, and I was determined to find him—I wanted to taste his blood, I wanted to crunch his bones between my teeth—when another upset horse caught my attention.

It was the god of spring. The god of rivers and iron.

I would know the reek of his magic anywhere. That haughty tilt of his chin.

Warin’s face was pale, coated in a feverish sheen. His horse was prancing through the melee, but when he pulled the reins, the mare halted, as if enchanted.

Cold fury trickled through me. It crept into my vision, tinging it red. I snapped my jaw, long teeth gnashing, and I locked my sight on Warin and his ashen hair. His sunset robes. I would tear him apart. I would carry his body to the mountains and devour him, bone by bone.

Matilda!

I thought I heard a name, a distant shout. I thought I felt someone take hold of my shoulder, shaking me as if I were in a dream. But no, I was in the sky. I was fire and darkness and wings, and I pulled farther away from that voice, even as it made something within me leap in recognition.

I descended, the air howling around me, the men scattering on the bridge beneath my shadow. All save for one. Warin, who held my gaze.

He was trembling, but he did not move. He did not yield, not until my talons were moments away from piercing his chest, ripping him from his horse.

Only then did he fall.

He scrambled from his horse and ran back to Fury Bridge on foot, to slip away in the sudden roar of the trade wind.

A scream bloomed in my chest. It rumbled through me like thunder, escaping me as a screech that tasted like rot, rending the air in two.

I heard that name again— Matilda! —and for a moment I felt like I was suspended in a web.

Emotion yanked through me, painful, knotted.

I was caught in something intricate; I had sunk into a bog I could not rise from.

I knew who my enemy was, but I did not know my name.

I did not know who I was.

My mind was fog and shadows. A deep dark pool. Cold wind pierced by a flute’s notes. And I realized I had flown too low for too long over the bridge. I had lost sight of the tower, which emerged through the smoke.

Another shriek tore through me as my wings beat the air, struggling to gain height. Arrows glanced off my scales, harmless, as I dipped sharply to the right.

It was too late.

I collided with the tower.