Page 81 of Wild Reverence

LXI

Wings

MATILDA

I stared at her, afraid to move.

I was cold, and yet I burned.

I was iron, and yet I was crumbling like clay.

She watched me, her full attention hooked to mine. Her sides heaved as she breathed, her nostrils flared red. She could smell my ichor, how it seeped into my cloak and stained my back. Perhaps she could even smell my wounds, how one more twist would tear me open to glistening bones again.

I knew to avoid movement within an eithral’s sight and yet I could no longer hold up my shield. I eased it down to my side, and when it slipped from my arm entirely, landing on the frosted ground, I let it be.

The eithral stood. She had been resting here, her wings outstretched.

They glinted in the overcast light as she brought them in, close to her sides.

The air that spun around us was crisp as an apple and winter storm clouds.

Like ice that grows on stony mountains. I was tempted to step back until I realized the stench was gone.

For as long as I could remember, rotten air always preceded an eithral’s approach and intensified with their nearness.

It was why I had not suspected one when the forest had turned cold.

She is no longer under Dacre’s control.

The thought pierced me like a spear.

She is of her own mind, her own will.

And perhaps that is why I was brave enough to approach her.

I had broken Dacre’s hold on her. We had shared each other’s mind once.

I had nearly lost myself within her vastness, and perhaps she had also lost herself within mine.

We had forged our powers as one, and I would never forget it.

Nor would I regret such a choice, even as my wounds ached.

I stepped closer to her.

Soon I could see every single scale that clothed her, resplendent. The ones that were missing, leaving behind patches of smooth gray skin, and the ones that still protected her, tight as chainmail.

I dropped to my knees.

Tears stung my eyes. When I blinked, they fell, and I did not wipe them away. I unknotted my cloak. I lay down before her, my back bare.

Here is my weakness. Here are my wounds.

They ran much deeper than what could be seen, but I closed my eyes, listening as the eithral shifted.

The air crackled between us like a storm gathering strength over the ocean; the hair rose on my arms as she brought her muzzle to my spine, sniffing.

She could finish this, I thought. She could tear me open, and I half expected it.

I waited, poised. I waited to be broken again, my world winnowing down to a single point.

She only breathed upon my wounds, each chilled breath its own lash.

I winced at the pain. I dug my nails into the cold earth.

She huffed again, and my wounds burst open, one by one.

This time I cried out, my voice a strangled sound that echoed off the trees.

But now that the scabs had fallen away, the fire that was devouring me began to ease.

It was her icy essence, extinguishing the flames.

I groaned, feeling fragile as parchment burning down to ash.

I drifted inward, deep into my own inner darkness, but the eithral’s movement brought me back to the forest. She was shifting away from me, and I remained sprawled, boneless. But when I dared to move, I felt the ice that now coated my back, packing my wounds.

I lay there for a long moment, my cheek pressed to the hard-packed ground. But then came a tug in my side, sharp enough to prompt me to open my eyes. I could feel Vincent’s words. The letter I needed to deliver.

Rise.

The voice in my mind was not my own. It was darker, smokier. A voice that seemed to span across the wasteland. I wondered if it belonged to the eithral.

Rise, Matilda.

Time had spilled through my fingers like sand, and I had rested as long as I could.

Gently, I pushed up to stand on legs that felt as feeble as a fawn’s.

The ice on my back was like a vise, holding me together.

It had driven out the worst of my pain, the heat that had seemed trapped beneath my skin.

I gathered my fallen shield, my discarded cloak.

The eithral continued to watch me, a hint of curiosity in her lambent eyes.

When I reached out to touch her scales, she let me.

They were smooth as polished river stones.

I could nearly see myself reflected within them.

And when I dared to imagine what it would be like to ride upon her back, she lowered herself so I could climb upon her.

Our minds, then, were still crossing paths.

I shivered as I settled on the space between her wings, but it was not from the cold. I could feel her power thrum through me. I could feel her heart beating—a slower cadence than my own, but her blood was just as hungry for flight and speed.

Wyndrift, I thought, envisioning the river, the bridge, the towers, the fortress. Vincent.

The eithral’s wings began to beat the air in heavy, thunderous strokes. Pressure mounted in my chest; my heart became erratic as the ground melted away beneath us. She rose, and I rose with her.

This time, we flew as allies, and I took in the world with my own eyes.