Wings of Nestor (28 page)

“Any questions about what we are doing?” Kiora asked, trying to prepare everyone for what they were about to walk in to.

“Yes. If I am helping prisoners escape, how are the rest of you getting out once you have the Light?” Drustan asked.

I will stay as close as I can,
Arturo thought.

Kiora looked toward the castle. “Arturo will stay as close as he can, but carrying three will be difficult.” She glanced back at the Pegasus. “And we don’t know how long it will take him to get back. I think it would be best if you planned on returning for us, Drustan. I can sheath the talisman once we have the Light. If we time it right, it should work.”

“Planning battles on timing is always tricky, Kiora,” Drustan said.

She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “I’m doing the best I can. Do you have a better suggestion?”

Drustan thought for a second before giving a small nod of acknowledgement. “I do not. I apologize. I am a little on edge.”

“We can’t do this without you, Drustan.”

“I said I would support you despite my disagreement. I have not been true to my word.” He bowed at the waist. “Again, my apologies.”

“Please,” she said, feeling like she was in Meros again. “No bowing.”

Drustan grinned. “Of course.” He bowed again.

She rolled her eyes.

“I have a question,” Emane said. “This staff of yours—does it work for you no matter what, or is there some magical rule that states you need to get rid of your uncle first?”

“No, the staff is mine,” Alcander said, his voice low. “But that does not mean I will not kill him either way.”

“So as soon as you get your hands on that staff, we can send Lomay and Drustan through the door and down to the dungeons?”

“Yes.”

“That should be our first goal. We need to give Lomay all the time we can,” Emane said.

Kiora nodded her agreement. “Are we ready?”

“Who is bubbling me?” Emane asked, his eyes fixed on Kiora.

She gave a soft smile. “My Protector should stay with me, don’t you think?”

“I do. I was just making sure you did.”

Drustan began shifting without warning, leaving Kiora to hurriedly expand the bubble and Lomay stumbling backwards.

“Sorry.” Drustan grinned, flashing dragon teeth.

Kiora was heading toward Drustan when Arturo’s thoughts came.
If you leave me here, I will alert them all to your presence.

Kiora stopped, frozen in her tracks while Emane and Alcander climbed up Drustan’s tail. She hadn’t even started the mission yet and already she was forgetting completely obvious problems. She had been so flustered by losing the locations of the Lights in the Wings of Nestor, she hadn’t taken time to ensure they had hammered out every last detail.

“What?” Alcander asked.

“When we leave, Arturo’s thread will be out in the open.”

“How high do you need to be before your thread vanishes?” Lomay asked.

High enough that your lungs will burn.

“But we would live?” Lomay pushed.

You would.

“I would defer to the Solus, but we are running out of time,” Lomay said. “We need Kiora to bubble Arturo until he is high enough for his thread to vanish, and then we can make the exchange and send Arturo on his way.” Kiora felt the prick of not having the answer, and also the relief that someone else did.

***

KIORA’S LUNGS WERE BURNING, her head was spinning, and the chill in the air cut through her like a knife. Shivering, she laid herself flat against Arturo, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“H-h-h-how can you s-s-stand this?” she stammered.

It doesn’t bother me. Without the ability to bubble, my kind have grown accustomed to flying high.

Kiora couldn’t even appreciate the beauty of the clouds floating below them. All she could think about were her cramping muscles. “M-m-my head feels…” She trailed off.

It’s the lack of oxygen. We are high enough—drop the bubble.

Following Kiora’s lead, Lomay dropped his bubble and Drustan appeared next to them. He tilted his body to the side, maneuvering closer so Kiora could get on. Just as she was preparing to slide over to Drustan’s back, his body jerked, swerving, the tip of the wing slicing across Arturo’s side.

Arturo whinnied in pain.

Kiora cried out, “Arturo!” The gash was deep, and blood poured down his white sides.

There is not enough oxygen—Drustan can’t think!
Arturo’s strained thoughts came.
Those dragon lungs are using too much air.

“Drustan!” Kiora tried to yell, but collapsed into a fit of coughing. “Hold still!”

Arturo flew above Drustan, dripping blood onto his scaly hide. Drustan was trying to hold his position, but he was slowly losing altitude. His eyelids looked heavy and half closed, and then his eyes began to roll back in his head.

You are almost out of time.

Emane stood on Drustan, Alcander firmly gripping the back of his jacket.

“Bring Arturo—” Emane nearly lost his balance. Alcander reached up to steady him.

He is trying to heal me. Tell him I understand.

Emane, Arturo understands. Just hold still—we are coming.

Arturo positioned himself within arms’ reach of Emane, who quickly healed his side. Arturo’s sigh of relief whispered through Kiora’s mind as his pain vanished. She smiled gratefully down at Emane.

Bracing against Arturo’s back, she began lowering herself to Drustan’s back under Alcander’s anxious gaze. She couldn’t relax until her toes made contact and she was able to drop all her weight onto her legs. Her heart returned to its normal speed and she let go of Arturo. She took one step forward, getting ready to sit behind Alcander, when Drustan tipped again, jerking sloppily to one side.

Time seemed to stand still. She felt herself sliding off his back, felt the scream lodge in her throat as clouds and open air came into view, but was unable to do anything about it.

Something grabbed her ankle, jerking her to a stop and slamming her against dragon hide. Heart racing, she looked up. Alcander was hanging above her, gripping her ankle. Emane clung to Alcander’s leg and the back of his shirt, keeping them both from falling as Drustan righted himself.

He has to get to a lower altitude—now!
Arturo shouted to her. Alcander struggled to pull Kiora up.

Arturo must have shouted it to Lomay as well because Lomay threw a bubble, yelling, “Drustan, get lower!”

He nodded an acknowledgement before dropping into an easy dive. Alcander finally wrenched Kiora up. Gasping, she locked her arms around him. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her shaking.

As they broke through the cloud cover, Kiora felt her lungs expanding with the air her body had so desperately needed, the fog in her mind clearing.

Emane swore under his breath. He purposely averted his eyes from the couple. “If I never do that again, it will be too soon.”

Kiora released Alcander. “Drustan, are you all right?”

“Fine,” Drustan wheezed. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t think—everything was going black around the edges. Is Arturo all right?” He shook his head as if trying to clear it. “I don’t know what happened, but I heard him scream.”

“You cut his side half open,” Alcander said. “Lucky for us, Emane healed him.”

“He is fine now.” Kiora wanted to change the topic before Alcander informed Drustan that he had nearly killed her as well. “Which balcony are we going in through?”

Alcander looked down as the glittering towers of Tavea came into view.

“We will need to feel for threads,” Alcander said. “I don’t know which rooms are occupied.”

Drustan dropped within range, circling the castle at a distance as they tried to gauge threads. The castle sparkled in the high sun, throwing off bits of crystal light and colored reflections. Up close, she could see that the patterns she noticed from the air were a mixture of trees and vines with flowers. The crystal inlays of buds and blooms gloriously wrapped themselves around the castle.

“We have a problem,” Lomay said as Drustan circled the castle for the second time. “Look at the corner of the balconies near the wall.”

Kiora looked, squinting. There, to the side, was a small, glowing green ball. It was so tiny that with all the reflections from the castle, she would have never noticed it. She quickly scanned the other balconies, finding the same thing. “What are they?”

“If I am not mistaken, they will pop the bubble of anything that tries to cross them.”

Alcander scowled. “But that takes continual magic. How could they maintain that on every balcony?”

“I would say it was courtesy of their fellow countrymen in the dungeons.”

The snarl that erupted from Alcander was primal.

As they circled around again, a group of Taveans was gathering by the main door.

“We are too late,” Emane said. “They are already coming.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Alcander said.

“Alcander—” Lomay began.

“They have chosen their master, Lomay,” he snapped. “They aren’t my people anymore—I have known that for a long time. Not one of them would hesitate to kill me—or any other of the rebels—on sight.”

Kiora blinked. For the second time in an hour, everything was so reminiscent of Meros.
They have chosen their master
. Hadn’t she said nearly the same thing while moving the villagers out? But then, she hadn’t finished it, not really. She had let Dralazar go out of a personal need not to call herself a murder, not to be like
him
—and Emane had almost been killed because of it.

“Kiora!”

Kiora jerked back to reality. “I’m sorry. What?”

“We are going to have to go in through the front door,” Alcander said.

Kiora looked over her shoulder as Drustan flew past again. “There are too many Taveans—we will never get in while bubbled.”

“I don’t see any other choice. It is the only entrance that does not have—”

“There!” Kiora shouted as they flew past one of the upper balconies. She had to look twice to make sure, but it was missing the little green ball. “What about that one? Drustan, turn around.”

“She’s right,” Lomay said as they got closer. “That one is missing.”

“But why?” Drustan asked. “It’s like someone wants us to get in.”

Arturo’s previous observation nagged at her.
It’s too easy.
She silenced it immediately. “It doesn’t matter—we’re almost out of time. I think we should all stay in the same bubble, at least until we get to the throne room.”

Drustan hovered over the balcony, allowing them to slide off and slip inside. Once free of his passengers, Drustan shrank, dropping to the balcony as he shifted back into human form.

The room into which they stepped was magnificent. Jewels and silks and blooming flowers, clearly altered by magic, were everywhere. The opulence was breathtaking.

“This way,” Alcander said, striding out through the doors. “We need to hurry.”

The hall was no less impressive than the room itself. Stone was laid in intricate patterns running down the entire length of the floor. The walls glistened in gold-patterned paper, crystal sconces hung from the walls, and great, glittering crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings. Every door connected to the halls was carved and painted gold and white.

“How much time do we have left?” Kiora asked.

“Maybe twenty minutes,” Lomay said, “if we’re lucky.”

They were halfway down the hall when Alcander froze in front of a set of doors that were cracked open. The threads coming from within were some of the darkest she had felt. They seeped into her, making her feel dirty, wanting to scrape them off with her fingernails. She shuddered. “Alcander?”

Without a word, Alcander slid through the door.

“Alcander!” she whispered, waving to the others. “Alcander! We have to go. The throne room—the people!” He gave no indication that he had heard a word she said. They had no choice but to follow or lose him. The voices in her mind screamed at her to pull back.

Lomay followed, completely silent, his lack of input unnerving her further.

“Alcander!” She seethed inside, slipping through the door behind him. “We don’t have time for this…” She trailed off. Alcander’s eyes were fixed murderously on his uncle.

In the center of the room, ten Taveans sat at a round table. Aimon’s chair was higher than the rest, with thick wooden armrests.

Kiora’s breath caught in her throat as she got a better look at Alcander’s uncle. The family resemblance was uncanny. Although his uncle was taller and thinner than Alcander, his bone structure was very similar. While many of the Taveans’ eyes had changed to red upon the betrayal of all they knew to be right, Aimon’s eyes had remained crystal blue, but were ringed with thick rings of crimson. He leaned back in his chair, his hands dangling off the front of the armrests as he glowered at the maps laid out over the table.

Shaking her head, Kiora grabbed Alcander’s arm. “We have to go before they let the people into the throne room,” she said urgently. “We are running out of time.”

“Listen,” he said, his eyes not leaving the group.

“You can’t go after your uncle here, no matter what he might have…” She trailed off as he held up his hand.

“Listen,” he repeated.

Confused, she turned her attention to the table.

“We believe there is a rebel camp either on or near Lake Everleen,” one of the Taveans said, tapping his finger on the map. “If we flood the area with enough soldiers, we are bound to stumble upon it one way or the other.”

Aimon tented his fingers. “Good. But what about the rest? You have only mentioned the possible locations of three camps—there must be more. The Shadow wishes to take out all the rebels, and I am sure none of you wish to disappoint our master.”

“We are in the middle of placing spies who are skilled with thread masking. It is difficult, though, with so many of us having physically changed, and with the Shifters being so distrusted amongst the rebels. We had a Shifter in Lomay’s camp, but it appears the bracelets were too much to overcome.”