Lorelei led Rylan through her little vegetable garden, over the stone wall, and down to an alley. Her mind was racing about how they’d reach the eyrie, who might be there when they arrived, and how they were going to sneak Bothymus out unseen.
Rylan stared nervously at the windows of the homes on either side of the alley. “What are you planning to do, just traipse in and take Bothymus?”
“Maybe. I’ve done it a hundred times.”
“When you weren’t a wanted woman, maybe, but the eyrie might be on alert by the time we get there. They could be waiting for us.”
“Then I guess we’re going to have to be extra careful, aren’t we? It’ll take us an hour to get to the eyrie. That’s how long we have to make a plan.”
Rylan caught up to her. “It won’t take Damika long to realize we’re gone.”
“Yes, but she’ll think we’ve gone to Fiddlehead or Slade to hide.”
“They’ll blame her.”
“I know they will.” Lorelei felt queasy just thinking about it. “They’ll blame Creed as well. They might even blame my mother. But it can’t be helped. We have to do this.”
The streets were all but deserted in Old Town. Lorelei listened for alarm bells or the clatter of horses, but there were none. Soon enough they passed out of the city and entered the light forest of pine and spruce that blanketed Blackthorn’s western slopes.
“I need to get Bothymus’s crop,” Lorelei said as they climbed. “It’ll be in a cabinet near the front entrance.”
“It won’t be locked?”
“It often isn’t. I’ll deal with it if it is. The bigger problem is getting in without being seen. I need a diversion.”
They ascended a rocky ridge in the shadowed darkness. At the top, Rylan said, “Remember the old iron vixen behind the eyrie?”
“Yes.”
“Is she still there?”
“I think so. Why?”
Rylan smiled, his teeth purple in Nox’s light. “I can do more than calm dragons when I sing to them, Lorelei. I can make them angry.”
Lorelei ducked beneath the bough of a hemlock. “It could work, but we don’t want her angry enough to attack.”
“Of course. I’ll just ruffle her frills a bit.”
Lorelei took Rylan by the wrist and forced him to stop. “I mean it. I care about those dragons.”
He seemed surprised that she doubted him. “So do I,” he said, “I’ll be careful.”
They continued on, and Lorelei began worrying. Diversion or not, it would be tricky sneaking a dragon out of the eyrie unseen.
They pushed themselves after that. By the time they crested the shoulder the eyrie was on, Lorelei was panting and her legs were on fire. They skulked into a clutch of pine trees near a dirt road and hid beneath the tallest of them. On the road to their left was the barracks, five stone buildings where the dracorae slept, ate, and trained. Straight ahead was the paddock where dragons were trained for war. To their right was the eyrie, a colossus of stone and wood.
At the eyrie’s front entrance, barely visible from her vantage, the rolling doors were open. Stromm stood near them, talking with three dracorae. Lorelei couldn’t tell if they’d just flown in or were preparing to fly out.
“I should get moving,” Rylan said. “I need to measure the iron’s mood before I do this.”
“The dracorae’s dragons might be ready and waiting. They could chase us.” To wait would be to risk the eyrie being alerted, but to fly off with three dracorae nearby was just as dangerous, maybe even more so.
“You said yourself the eyrie likely wouldn’t be empty.”
“Yes, but I thought it would just be eyrie hands.”
“I understand, but Damika and Creed are no fools. It’ll occur to them you might make for the eyrie. If we’re going to—”
Rylan stopped as Stromm and the dracorae headed inside the eyrie.
“Stone and bloody scree,” Lorelei said. She knew how much Stromm liked to talk. There was no telling how long they’d be in there.
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” Rylan said. “You could go home, say you heard me leaving and chased after me.”
She peered through the branches toward the twinkling lights of Ancris, the faintly glittering dome above it. Rylan’s suggestion could work. She might escape punishment if not suspicion. But if she did that, Rylan would face even worse charges than he already was. And giving up felt like giving up on ever learning the Hissing Man’s greater purpose.
“No,” she said firmly, “we stick to the plan.”
Rylan paused. “You’re sure? I’ll be ok—”
“Yes. Go now, while they’re inside.”
He nodded and pushed through the pine branches and crossed the road, ducked through the paddock fence and ran silently across the gouged earth. Lorelei tried to calm her pounding heart. She eyed the landscape for signs that Rylan had been spotted. She listened for changes in the murmur of dragons coming from the eyrie. When Rylan reached the far side of the paddock, Lorelei parted the branches, crossed the dirt road, and ducked under the fence. Then she followed it toward the eyrie and hid behind a low bush.
Highreach loomed like an elder iron dragon surveying its territory. Skylar would be hurt when she learned that Lorelei had stolen Bothymus from the eyrie. She’d feel betrayed, justifiably so.
“I’m sorry,” Lorelei whispered.
Stromm’s laugh boomed from inside the eyrie, and the dracorae chuckled. Lorelei balled her hands into fists, willing her heart to slow down. A dragon rumbled in the nesting grounds. The rumble became a roar, and the conversation inside the eyrie ceased.
The Stromm hollered, “Oy! Play nice, now!”
Lorelei counted the seconds. If things went as she’d hoped, Stromm would go to the crops cabinet.
A dragon hissed loudly. Stromm bellowed, “No! Stop it, now! That’s enough!”
The iron was releasing its breath, which could turn human skin into stone, causing scaling and no small amount of pain. It was dangerous, but it was likely only a warning.
She heard footsteps pound over the dirt floor of the eyrie, then a high-pitched squeak. She hoped it was the door of the crop cabinet being opened. Stromm was likely headed toward the nesting grounds with the iron’s crop. If he wasn’t, she was in deep trouble.
She slipped through the fence rails, crept silently to the gap in the rolling doors, and waited. The iron’s grumbling became a high-pitched keening. Lorelei hoped that meant the dragon was fighting its fetter. She rolled the eyrie door to open a gap wide enough for Bothymus to pass through, then peeked around the edge of the door.
The rear doors of the eyrie were wide open. Stromm was standing in front of a roiling cloud of gray gas between the eyrie and the nesting grounds, holding the crop over his head. “Accumbo! Accumbo!” ordering the riled iron to lay still. The three dracorae were standing next to him, exchanging glances. Scores of golds, brasses, bronzes, and silvers were spread throughout the eyrie in stalls on the ground or nests in the rafters. Bothymus was in his nest near the far right corner, head turned toward Stromm. Thankfully, his saddle was still on. Lorelei recalled seeing Skylar flying Bothymus earlier that night—to acclimate him to his new fetter, Ash had said. The dracorae’s arrival had likely kept Stromm from removing the saddle.
Lorelei stepped inside and padded left along the interior wall. The crop cabinet doors were open; dozens of golden crops wrapped in leather hung from hooks inside it. Beyond was the door to Stromm’s office, such as it was. It was hardly more than a desk, a chair, and stacks of papers.
As she slunk toward the cabinet, two gold kits with garnet eyes stared down from a nest in the rafters and cooed like mourning doves. A vixen in the same nest drew her gaze from Stromm, lowered her head toward Lorelei, and made a long, warbling note. Lorelei glanced quickly at the dracorae and then lurched to the cabinet.
She’d no more than grabbed Bothymus’s crop than the gold kits leapt down from their nest and blocked her path. The iron roared so loud Lorelei felt it along her ribs. Stromm bellowed more orders, and the kits swung their sinuous necks around to look at him. Lorelei sidled along the wall, planning to slip past them, but stopped when the closest one snapped its gaze back to her, fanned its frills, and screeched a warning cry.
Feeling like all eyes in the eyrie were on her, Lorelei retreated to the cabinet, grabbed the crop of an excitable silver dragon named Ruko, and ducked into Stromm’s office. Through the gap in the door, she saw the kits approach the office. One of the dracorae was headed toward them along the main aisle with a worried look.
Lorelei gripped Ruko’s crop, focused on the expanse of wood chips beyond the office door, and whispered, “Protego, protego.”
The nearest kit craned its head to one side while peering into Stromm’s office. The dracorae was approaching the two kits. “What’s gotten into—”
He stopped and stared up, then dove away.
Both kits screeched and leapt into the air mere moments before Ruko’s gleaming silver form landed near the crop cabinet.
“Venatura,” Lorelei whispered, willing Ruko to chase, “venatura.”
Lorelei felt a thrill run through her, an echo of Ruko’s eagerness. The silver leapt to the rafters and bounded from beam to beam, chasing the gold kits.
“Faedryn’s teeth,” the dracora called while staring up, “will you settle down? It’s not like she hasn’t thrown tantrums before!” With a sigh, he ran toward the center aisle and the back of the eyrie.
Lorelei ducked out of Stromm’s office, tossed Ruko’s crop into the cabinet, and snuck out through the front doors. As the chill wind struck her hot cheeks, she wrapped the crop around her left hand and sprinted toward the cliff edge, where Rylan was supposed to meet her, she squeezed the stone and felt the link with Bothymus brighten.
Come, she willed him, we’ve more flying to do tonight. But move quietly, Bothymus. Quietly.
At the cliff edge, she didn’t see Rylan anywhere and called his name softly.
His head popped up from beyond a rocky ledge to her left, and he waved. She joined him, ducked low. Bothymus emerged the front doors and lumbered toward them, gurgling. Lorelei held her breath as the sounds in the eyrie began to settle, praying no one would follow. She let the breath out in a whoosh when no one did.
When Bothymus reached the cliff edge, he waited patiently for Lorelei and Rylan to climb up on his back. Then he plodded to the edge of the cliff and tipped over the edge. The cliff face blurred past them. Bothymus spread his wings, caught the air, and soared toward the Holt.