"Rafe?" Her voice made him flinch. "You need to get out of this room."
He threw her a sidelong glance, trying to cover the unease raising the hairs along the back of his neck. "Do you ever tire of being right?"
"Not around you. Now, come on."
Brighty took him by the arm and pulled him above deck. He shielded his gaze the moment they stepped through the door, the silver mist vivid enough to sting after so many hours in the dark. Though there might have been another reason too. He didn’t want to feel their stares, their appraisal, their gawking eyes. None came. He lowered his arm and glanced around the ship, surprised to find everyone busily at work. They paid him no mind—Captain's doing, he was sure.
Of course, that all changed when Brighty cupped her palms around her lips and shouted, "Hey! Listen up! Rafe's got something he wants to say."
She turned to him with a grin.
Rafe's nostrils flared as a dozen eyes focused on him. There were few things he loathed more than being the center of attention. Blame a lifetime spent keeping to the shadows.
"Thanks for that." He ground the words through his teeth. Then louder, he said, "Brighty informed me of the risks you're all taking on my behalf, and I just wanted to say thank you. There's no need for you to put yourself in danger. I'm feeling much stronger now and I can take my leave as soon as—ow!"
Brighty dug the heel of her boot into his toe, just as Archer called out, "Do I need to fashion the man a muzzle?"
Before Rafe could respond, Squirrel dropped into view, dangling upside down from the sails with a bored expression across his youthful face. "Is that it?"
"You want more?" he asked.
"Well…" the boy drawled, too young to have so much attitude. "Aren't you going to do anything?"
"Do anything?"
"I believe the boy wants a demonstration," Brighty murmured as she leaned close, unable to hide her amusement. Squirrel’s light brown eyes widened with excitement. Inwardly, Rafe groaned.
"Ignore him." Jolt glared at Squirrel. She had a motherly way about her that included the elusive skill of silencing a rebellious child with a single glance. Her nearly black eyes could cut into a person's soul—Rafe almost envied it. The boy promptly scrambled back up to where he'd been hiding in the sails, though no one missed his dramatic sigh.
"I don't know," Pyro chimed in from the other side of the deck. In the breeze, her auburn hair flared around her face like flames, accenting the wild delight in her seafoam eyes. Red glittered around her fingers as she lifted her hand. An ember peeled off Rafe’s wings and sailed across the deck, igniting into a full blaze by the time it landed in her waiting palm. "I wouldn't mind a demonstration."
"I wouldn't mind a sample," Leech murmured behind him.
Rafe jumped and spun, backing away from the agro'kine. The man was short but stocky, and he could probably hold Rafe down just long enough to nick him if he wanted to. "Don't come anywhere near me with your needles. I mean it."
The older man's face fell as though Rafe had murdered his pet. "It would only take a minute."
"Leech."
"But—"
"Leech."
"Achoo!"
Rafe flinched again, this time turning to find Spout with her hands over her face, her chest already filling with more air. Framed by the dark, ruddy tone of her skin, her honey eyes shone with apology before clamping shut as another sneeze racked through her. He'd forgotten she was allergic to dragon scales. The sea exploded, showering them with salt water. The droplets sizzled as they landed on his skin. He didn’t need to look to know the flames around his wings burned brighter. He could feel the livening blaze inside his chest, mirroring his mood as the crew closed in around him. Their magic simmered across the air along with their intrigue. He might have dealt with their scorn better. Disdain, at least, he was used to. Heat tickled the back of his throat. Just as he feared he might explode, a voice cut through the madness.
"Enough," Captain Rokaro shouted.
At once, everyone froze. He could almost hear their collective groan as she stepped out from behind the wheel and made her way across the deck. Patch sidled into her place, the first mate's large frame dwarfing the wheel in a way hers hadn’t. But her presence commanded more respect than any other’s on the ship, and the crew parted before her. Rafe didn’t move as she approached. Those blue eyes pinned him to the spot, somehow both cold and warm against the backdrop of her tawny wrinkled cheeks.
"I do remember you making us one promise," she said over the slapping of waves against the hull. As she came to a stop before him, he swore he was looking not at the captain, but at the hawk who shared her spirit. Over her left shoulder, her copper feathers rippled in an invisible breeze. "You promised that when you got your wings, you'd come back to the ship so we could see a man fly."
Rafe closed his eyes in relief, his mind already going to the open air and freedom. Somehow, she knew exactly what he needed, and she was right. For all the horror of his new body, there was one benefit he couldn't deny. While the rest of the crew was bound to the sea, he was once more a creature of the sky.
Captain leaned in close, so only he could hear, and whispered, "Fly."
One pump of his leathery wings, and he was airborne. Wind ruffled the loose fabric of his untucked shirt and swirled unnaturally around his body as he took to the sky. When he opened his eyes, the mist glittered with yellow sparks of aero'kine magic. The captain was following him the only way she now could—with her magic and her soul. The thought propelled him onward.
I have to celebrate this one thing.
No matter the consequences, I have wings again.
Unlike so many others, I can still fly.
Rafe grinned, forgetting the ship as the breeze pressed against his cheeks and swept through his hair. These new wings were more aerodynamic, with bones he wasn't used to and a flexibility he didn’t quite understand, but the dragon sharing his spirit did. Together they dove, one learning and one teaching as the leathery folds bent in and out to catch the wind. At a soar, this new body was slower, but in other ways it was as though a whole new range of the sky had been opened, allowing him to flip and spin and roll, to move with an agility he had never dreamed possible. In the solace of the impenetrable fog, no one else around to see, he quietly admitted he was enjoying himself. Part man, part dragon, entirely alone in the world, and yet he was having fun for the first time in—well, it'd been so long, he couldn’t even remember.
So he didn't try.
He turned off his mind, locking away the doubts and the fears, so he could simply experience this glorious return to the sky. There was no telling how much time passed before he came to, realizing he'd lost sight of the ship and the crew entirely. Rafe widened his wings to catch the air and hovered for a beat. Glancing around, he had no sense of up or down or left or right. He was adrift in a sea of endless gray, completely and totally lost.
Gods alive! he silently cursed. Idiot.
A gentle current in the air made his skin tingle, lulling him closer. His stomach felt hollow. Yearning filled the vacant spaces—yearning and a hunger unlike any he'd felt before.
A brilliant blast of light suddenly sliced through the fog.
His craving flared.
Magic. Rafe sucked in a sharp breath. I feel their magic.
Now that he knew what it was, he closed his eyes and gave in to that newfound need. A sixth sense entirely new to him reached invisibly through the air, drawn in by their power. Captain's aero'kine magic searched the winds for the subtle disturbance of wings. Brighty's photo'kine magic cut tunnels through the mist. Pyro's pyro'kine magic grasped for the heat alive beneath his skin. They were looking for him. They were following him. And—
Wait.
Rafe spun in midair, his brows pushing together as another whisper of magic pulled at him from the opposite direction. It was being used with more force, creating a stronger current. The power called out, but it was something else that lured him in, another new
instinct he didn’t quite understand. This one formed deep in his mind rather than his stomach, unfurling like a flower in spring, drawing up thoughts of ash and fire.
It was a…dragon.
He didn’t know how he knew, but he did. A dragon was close by, and judging by the powerful flares of magic pulsing across the sky, there was a ship in dire need of help.
Not thinking, he raced toward the site. The smell of smoke hit first, then the gradual darkening of the fog, until he carved through charcoal soot. Bright orange flames licked the sky, cutting through the mist, and heat struck his cheeks. By the time he reached the ship, it was already engulfed in flames. Magic lit the skies, peppering the billowing smog with bright sparks of color. Hidden within the fog, the dragon roared. The sound didn't reverberate through Rafe’s soul the way it once had, filling him with fear. Instead, purpose sharpened his movements.
Letting instinct guide him, he soared closer. The people onboard probably thought he was mad or a monster as he dropped onto the ship, ignoring the flames burning his clothes. They didn’t touch his skin—not anymore. And he was beyond feeling, too distracted by the new awareness burgeoning to life inside his body. Power prickled along his exposed arms. The flavor of magic saturated the air. As he breathed, he drew it in like one might consume a meal. Just out of sight, another dragon did the same, feeding on the feast that both killed and sustained it. Rafe could feel the beast. They were connected somehow. Their minds grazed.
He knew when it decided to fly closer.
He felt when it sucked in a long, full breath of air.
He sensed the heat gathering at the back of its throat.
Just as the dragon appeared through the haze and reared back its head for a killing blast, Rafe held up his hands, spread his wings to brace himself, and silently screamed, No!
The beast stopped.
No, Rafe thought again. Go. Leave. Fly.
For a moment, it did nothing. Two bulbous red eyes found his across the distance as those expansive leathery wings pumped once. The silence stretched, nothing but the crackling of flames and the smoldering of wood, as though the rest of the world held its breath. Rafe was too afraid to move, to breathe. The dragon stared and he stared right back.
Leave.
The beast dropped its head, jaws widening as they neared Rafe. Its teeth were the size of his torso, and they gleamed with the reflection of flames. Closer and closer they crawled, until the flat expanse at the front of the dragon's snout pressed gently into his open palms. Rafe sucked in a sharp breath as visions flickered behind his eyes, of barren, rocky landscapes and tangerine skies, of flames and heat and a soul-crushing absence he couldn’t explain.
Fly.
The dragon retreated into the mist, its ebony wings gradually fading as it fled. Rafe lowered his hands and stared at his perfectly unblemished palms, still feeling the heat of those smoldering scales on his skin.
What in Taetanos's name was that?
5
Captain Rokaro
They arrived just in time to see Rafe stand before the dragon, surrounded by a maelstrom of billowing flames. The beast lowered its head toward the burning deck, its jaws wide. Captain Audezia’d’Rokaro leaned forward, fear gripping her throat. Beside her, Brighty gasped. No one on the ship moved. The crew’s magic winked out. Even the sea seemed to still as they glided soundlessly forward, drawn in by the impossible sight. A breeze swept through, clearing the smoke to reveal Rafe unharmed, with his palms pressed against the dragon's snout. Time slowed as Zia’s vision tunneled on the spot.
It wasn't possible.
It couldn't be.
He wasn't really—
"Do you believe me now?"
She snapped her face to the side, meeting Brighty's haughty gaze.
Do I?
She turned back to Rafe, but the dragon was already gone, its massive body swallowed by the mist. A cheer erupted from the distance, the sound jolting her crew back into action. Their magic cut across the sky, moving faster than the ship. Flames dampened as Pyro drew them into her skin. Steam erupted as Spout splashed water over the burning hull. Brighty didn't move. Neither did Zia, except to tighten her grip on the wheel.
"He's the King Born in Fire," the photo'kine whispered. "He has to be."
Zia closed her eyes, the implications of those few simple words sending a shock wave through her—reminding her of all she'd sacrificed in the name of her king, all she'd given, all she'd bled. Every fiber of her being believed Malek was the man who would save them. If not for that, she never would have done half the things she'd done. And yet, when Brighty had arrived in the middle of the night telling crazy tales of Rafe and the king and prophecy, she'd wondered. And now, she wondered even more…
"Captain—"
"Enough.” The command came out harsher than Zia intended, as though Malek were there with his fist around her heart, forcing the words. "One moment does not a king of prophecy make."
Brighty snorted. "It bloody well convinced me."
"We need time," she chided. "And so does he. Look at him. He doesn't even know what happened."
"Don't mind him," the younger woman commented, as their gazes were drawn to the spot where Rafe stood staring at his hands in open amazement. "Idiotic bewilderment is his natural expression."
"I won't rush this decision, Brighty. As you so kindly reminded me two nights ago, the entire world might depend on it. So we'll wait and watch, and most of all, we'll keep our mouths shut until I say otherwise. Understood?"
The photo'kine sighed but slinked away without another argument, which to be honest, Zia took as a win. The empty spot was soon filled by her first mate, his mere presence easing the tension in her weary bones. Though the others knew him as Patch, he’d always be Markos to her, especially after all they’d been through over the years. He'd been the one to fish her floundering body from the seas on that horrible night still branded into her soul. He'd been the one to teach her the beauty in her magic. He'd been the one to save her when the darker side of power had made itself abundantly clear. He'd been the one to hold her as her body seemingly split in two, delivering new life to the world. He'd been the one to help hide them, the one who consoled her in the lonely hours of the night after her daughter had been ripped away, the one who followed her to the seas in search of solace. But he was not the one who could make this decision, no matter how she wished it were so.
"Dark thoughts haunt your eyes, Zia," he whispered in that calm way of his, the deep rumble of his voice like a soothing tonic. She glanced up, running her gaze over his thick black beard and olive cheeks, the planes of his face even more familiar than those of her own blood. "You need rest. Let me take over for a little while."
Rest.
The word made her spine straighten and her fists clamp around the wheel. Sleep was the last thing she needed when it was the only way for the king to reach her. His spies would come demanding answers, and she didn’t know how to face them. Or worse, Kasiandra would come. Though her daughter would never deign to question it outright, her spirit built of the same steel as her mother's, her eyes would silently ask, Why for Rafe and not for me? Why for a stranger and not your own child? Why now and not then?
Because he's the King Born in Fire.
The explanation would be so easy to give, but until she knew who Rafe was for certain, she couldn't risk it. Kasiandra would go running to the queen, who would come running for Rafe, and if they were wrong… Zia shivered with the possibilities.
"I'm fine," she murmured. "This is my crew and my ship, and I'll go to sleep when I damn well please."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
6
Xander
"I need to get inside their sacred nest," Lyana said as she cut across the open skies. Xander fought to keep up.
"We need to take this slow," he urged, then glanced over his shoulder at the wave of ebony wings following them. Slow was a relative term. Some might say descending into a foreign house as a flock of a hundre
d verged on aggressive, but forcing their way into said house's sacred nest would definitely be pushing it. "We can't risk alienation. Our people need help. And it will take more than a day to get the other houses on our side."
"I told you what Cassi said," Lyana argued, stubborn to the end. Beneath them, the canopy of trees passed in a blur as her speed increased. "I need to touch the god stone. I need to know if these creatures are real."
"And we need time."
"We don't have any."
"Lyana—"
"Xander."
Up ahead, wooden spires broke through the carpet of green marking their destination. Xander sighed.
"Please," he tried again, his gaze boring into her cheek until she finally turned to meet it. "Please, Lyana. Let me take the lead. Let me try diplomacy first, and if it doesn't work, we'll do things your way."
A frown thinned her lips. Without responding, she free-fell into a death dive, leaving Xander no choice but to keep up.
Cytrene was commonly referred to as the City of Love, and as he first laid eyes on the sprawling metropolis through the breaks in the trees, Xander had no doubt as to why. The scene was a lover's paradise. The streets were lined with fountains powered by the river running through the center of the town. Endless trickles and shoots of water glistened beneath the sun. And where there weren't fountains, there were flowers, cascading over rooftops and running along the sidewalks, turning already lush forests into a bona fide oasis. Unlike his home of strong and sturdy stone, these houses were crafted of wood, intricately carved and ornately painted, creating an undeniably romantic atmosphere. Songbirds walked arm in arm over sculptural bridges and down winding floral roads. Laughter and music filled the air. They were a happy people, and he had come to ruin their good time.
The Dragon and the Queen (The Raven and the Dove Book 3) Page 4