Page 83 of Wild Reverence

LXIII

You Do Not Want Men to Catch You

MATILDA

The moment before we hit the ground was eerie, peaceful.

Clouds spun above us, tasting like mist. Grimald’s camp sprawled below, the tents rippling from the wind gusts. I watched warriors cower on the ground. The mud and patches of grass and campfires were like a vast mosaic, each piece sharply defined.

I clung to the eithral, my legs trembling from the effort, and breathed in the last moment of peace. Woodsmoke and frost and cold earth.

I had seen Vincent on the bridge. Vincent and Bade, side by side. It had been unexpected, and I had been so overjoyed at the sight of them that I had not noticed the ballistas on the towers until it was too late. It had not once crossed my mind that we would be fired upon.

The wyvern glided lower, her breaths labored. We arced over the hill where Grimald’s tent sat and coasted down to the vale. We cleared the last portion of the camp, and I braced myself, my heart beating against my ribs, hard enough to crack them.

Down, down.

The bracken rustled beneath us. A bird flittered from the grass.

We tore into the earth as if we were an iron plough, furrowing the soil.

The collision was so rough that it flung me from her back.

I hit the ground with a jar and rolled over tussocks of grass and small stones.

The cloak was roughly torn from my neck, and the ice fractured across my spine.

I tumbled until I dug my fingers into the ground, and there I held myself, prostrate, my dress muddied and torn.

Sweet blood filled my mouth; I had bitten the inside of my lip, and I swallowed down the tang, watching as the eithral eventually came to a rest on her side, a trembling wing raised, iridescent in the twilight.

Shouts echoed over the vale.

It was Grimald’s warriors, running toward us from camp.

Dazed, I pushed myself up to my feet and darted to the eithral’s side.

Neither of us could afford to be caught by men, by the enemy.

My blood roared through me when I touched her cold scales.

She was breathing in short bursts, and I rounded to the front, where I could see the obsidian shaft protruding from her chest. It had not caught her heart but one of her lungs, and I shivered in relief.

She would live, if she could get herself to a haven.

“I will pull this free, and you must fly away from here,” I whispered to her. “Fly somewhere safe, where you can rest and heal yourself.”

Her dark red eyes flashed in recognition. She made a low sound, as if agreeing with me.

Another excited shout rent the air.

The men were drawing closer. When I glanced over my shoulder I could see a line of them coming, mud splattered over their armor, swords drawn.

Quickly, I thought, and then, Forgive me.

I took hold of the bolt, slick with the eithral’s glittering blood, and yanked it free.

She bellowed; the sound went through me like a thunderclap. The last of the fog melted, the clouds seemed to boil above us. My pulse skipped and I took a step back, watching as she struggled to rise.

“Fly!” I commanded, emotion welling in my throat. “ Fly! ”

Her wings flapped, one of them lower than the other. Her wounded side seemed to drag her downward but as she began to lift herself in the air, I followed in her shadow. I ran, my pace increasing with each stride.

The ice began to melt from my back. As it did, the numbness faded. I could feel my scars; they were tender but healed. I had nothing to conceal them; my cloak was left behind, trampled underfoot by Grimald’s men.

But I was gaining speed, and once the eithral had vanished up into the clouds, I set my eyes on the forest in the distance. A dark green shadow that could hide me.

I left Grimald’s men far behind, my legs devouring the meadow.

Soon, I could no longer hear their shouts, the clink of their armor as they chased me.

But I did not dare to rest until I had reached the shelter of the woods.

I wove deep within the stark trees, slowing my pace.

My chest heaved; I was shaking, I realized, from the crash, the desperation, the run.

Beneath it all, I felt a tug in my chest.

Vincent.

I still carried a letter for him. I was on an assignment, and the sudden distance between us made me stagger.

Slowly, I came to a stop.

I reached out to touch one of the trees, steadying myself. I did not have much time; soon Grimald’s men would reach the forest, but the eithral had escaped, and that had been the most important. They would have killed her for her scales.

“You seem to have caused quite a stir.”

I glanced up, startled to see I was not alone.

She had entered the woods so quietly I had not heard her. Or perhaps she had been here all along, watching the disaster unfold with her shrewd blue eyes.

“Alva,” I said, but my voice was hoarse.

“I told you to come visit me and my brother. And yet you have let mortal days pass since then.” She paused, noting my dirt-stained dress, the stray grass in my hair, the eithral blood on my hands. “He would be displeased to know you have also been riding one of his pets.”

I waited for the fear to grip me like a claw, but it never did.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Alva inclined her head, blond fringe spilling over one eye. “We cannot discuss it here. Come with me now, and I will not tell Dacre of you and the eithral.”

I hesitated. But in the distance, I could hear the men shouting again.

“And,” she added, “you do not want men to catch you, do you?”

Before I could reply, Alva opened a door hidden in a tree, a threshold I had never used or seen before. I continued to debate until I acknowledged this conversation was inevitable. I would not be able to avoid it for much longer.

I followed her down to the under realm.