Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

“I don’t understand.”

“Never mind. Wait here, and I’ll fetch you some pants. Then we’ll see about your disguise.”

Apparently the most esteemed wig-maker in the region is part of Meridian’s rebellion. The wig-maker, Galather, plies his trade in one of the upper caves, where light pours through a crack and provides ample illumination for his work. On pegs and hooks studding the rock wall, Galather has arranged a selection of false facial hair and wigs for the rebels to use when they perform their deeds of sabotage and sedition.

As Galather bundles my long locks into a tight knot in preparation for the placement of my blond wig and beard, he comments on the length and silkiness of my hair several times. He even asks if I’d be willing to cut it and gift some of it to him, but I decline. Serylla likes my hair. I’ll keep it, for her.

Hinarax’s locs prove too thick to conceal beneath a wig, so he wears something called a turban, in which a length of cloth is wound many times around the head, then pinned in place. With the addition of a false black beard, he looks so different I would never recognize him.

Clad in voluminous layers of coarse, thick, brown clothing, Hinarax and I follow Meridian and a handful of the other rebels along a narrow tunnel, a secondary exit from the cave system. Beyond the exit, a little way down the slope, lies a pen in which several donkeys and a few horses are grazing on the patchy grass.

Meridian opens the gate. The moment he steps inside, a tall dapple-gray mare trots over to greet him, nearly dislodging his hat with her slender nose. He’s wearing a glass eye instead of his usual patch, probably so his appearance will be less memorable to those we meet in the market.

“I’ll be riding Jester,” he says, patting the mare’s nose. “The rest of you will ride the donkeys. They’ll save us precious time getting to the city.” Using his walking stick for leverage, he bounds up and lands neatly on the horse’s back, then gestures to me and Hinarax. “Kyreagan, you take that one—Hinarax, the one over there. Quickly now. Get your asses on the asses.”

Aeris rolls her eyes. “He makes that joke every time.” She conceals her knives in the folds of her clothing, adjusts her black wig, and hops onto a donkey.

I’ve never been astride any living thing—except Serylla, in a very different context. My long human legs make mounting easy, but my feet drag until Aeris points out two triangles of leather and metal, called stirrups. Once I’ve tucked my boots into the stirrups, riding turns out to be less uncomfortable than I thought. It’s far preferable to walking in boots, and there’s a pleasant rocking rhythm to the donkey’s gait as we descend the sloping, forested path leading down from the mountain.

Serylla would enjoy this morning—the bright, fresh spring air. But thoughts of her lead my imagination into dark places, and my body heats with panicked fury. I can’t let myself envision what might be happening to her—what she might have suffered in the few days since I lost her. If I visualize it, I will go mad, transform, and dismantle the capital of Elekstan with claws and with fire until I find her, or until Rahzien’s forces kill me.

Despite their inaccuracy and frequent misfires, the Vohrainian guns are still formidable weapons. Each bullet is the size of a human eyeball, shot with a force capable of piercing armor or dragon scales. If Vohrain’s battle against Elekstan had been fought mostly in open fields, Vohrain would have won easily. But Elekstan had the defensive advantage. Many of its cities possess high, thick walls fortified with asthore, a strong, lightweight material against which human catapults and battering rams have little effect. And Elekstan had airships—slow, clumsy, and fragile compared to dragons, but still a technology Vohrain has yet to develop. Without my clan’s help, Rahzien would have had to lay siege to multiple cities for months, maybe years. Our alliance shortened the war dramatically.

An exasperated cry from Hinarax dispels my reverie. “This creature doesn’t like me,” he complains.

In truth, his donkey does seem unhappy. It keeps bucking as if it’s trying to throw him off.

“Normally I would think of this type of animal as lunch,” mutters Hinarax. “Walk straight, donkey, or I’ll dine on you before the day is out, I swear.”

“Perhaps refrain from threatening it,” I suggest.

“It can’t understand me.”

“But I think it senses your mood. Try breathing deeply and settling into the rhythm of the ride.”

Hinarax shoots me a glare. “You look quite at ease there. They gave you the nice donkey.”

“Actually Kyreagan’s donkey is usually quite restive,” Meridian says, grinning over his shoulder. “I gave you the docile one, Hinarax, out of the sheer goodness of my heart. I’m devastated that the two of you aren’t getting along.”

Hinarax grumbles under his breath.

I frown at Meridian. “You gave me a difficult donkey on purpose?”

Meridian laughs and faces forward again. “I knew you would either clash or cooperate. Two stubborn, grumpy asses.”

Aeris, who is riding a few paces behind me, erupts in a peal of laughter, which startles Hinarax’s mount. His donkey begins bucking wildly all over the path, and within moments Hinarax flies off and tumbles into the grass. The donkey bolts, springing across the mountainside like a goat. It vanishes within seconds.

Hinarax climbs to his feet, brushing dirt from his rear, while I cup my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. I hate myself for laughing while Serylla is in danger, but at the same time, I know if she were here, she’d be laughing too. She’d be grateful that I could enjoy a moment’s relief from my worries.

Meridian is doubled over with laughter. He laughs so hard that his big hat falls off into the dirt. “Grab my hat for me, would you?” he says to Hinarax. “You can ride with me. Jester is strong enough to carry both of us.”

Hinarax struggles to mount the horse, but he finally makes it into the saddle behind the rogue. I can’t help noticing how snugly he and Meridian fit together, and it makes me miss Serylla even more. After I save her, maybe she and I can share a horse sometime.

Or perhaps she’ll want nothing to do with me, since she was planning to leave anyway. She was all too ready to abandon me and our eggs.

Whatever happens between Serylla and I, at least I will have them. Our little ones, each carrying a part of her. Watching her birth those two eggs was the most beautiful and terrifying thing I’ve ever witnessed. Her courage, her strength, her beauty—fuck, I’m weeping. Not sobbing, but tears are rolling down my cheeks as we ride. At least most of the others are riding ahead; no one will notice—

“You alright, Prince Dragon?” It’s Aeris. She has moved up to ride alongside me.