22

TALON

My head aches. Most of my body is sore from the fight with Gavin Swiftblade, and I’ve barely slept since. That’s no good for traveling hard, but there’s nothing I can do about it. Caspian insists on pushing late tonight in order to arrive tomorrow midday at House Barghest. Their regent is dead, and the wake for him will be tomorrow night.

According to Finn the regent died in an accident. Not even a suspicious one, though Finn was extremely suspicious. That’s one of his best qualities. He told me about the man’s death in the early hours of this morning as we washed up in the tubs behind the Teeth’s temporary barracks. We both were covered in blood and smoke from the fast pyre we’d made for Gavin Swiftblade. Finn nearly had to prop me up by the end of it and pushed me into one of the back cots for a nap. I woke after a bare hour of shimmering Chaos nightmares to shovel some food into my mouth and find my brother. Caspian was focused on getting the entire party on the road. I didn’t have a chance to do more than confirm he was well enough before I was swept up into his urgency, too.

We’ve been descending toward the coast for hours now, and I’m ranging toward the front of the convoy with Finn at my side. The first time he heard me refer to my war drake as Kitty, he laughed loud and delighted. I did not tell him Darling gave her this name. I want to tell him. I want her riding at my side. I need to talk to her about the kiss. About Gavin Swiftblade. About anything.

Finn jokes that his war drake needs a name, too. His drake is an even larger beast than Kitty, vivid green and missing a chunk of his shoulder ridge, with fangs so large and old they’ve cut through the drake’s bottom lip and scarred over in a perfect sheath. He’s extremely ugly, but Kitty likes him, preening a little to show off. “Bluebird,” I suggest, trying for incongruous. Something even less dangerous than Kitty. Finn approves and starts whistling at his drake, wondering if he can teach it to respond to such birdsong commands.

At our very brief lunch break I asked Elias for something to make my head better, and they gave me a shot of a truly heinous tincture. It hasn’t drained away my headache yet.

Darling frowned at me when I drank the medicine, but did not say anything from across the temporary camp. She looked tired, too, moving slowly, her hair unbound. She was wearing one of the simplest of her dresses: a sheer overdress of linen and lace that whispered over the tight bodice and trousers beneath. The under layer—the bodice and trousers—was what she’d been wearing that night in the House Gryphon garden. Now she has a sword belt rigged across her back to hold the two swords. It ruins the lines of the dress, according to Caspian’s distracted wail when he saw her this morning.

When my mind drifts back to last night, or darts back with the urgency of the chase, it isn’t the smell of blood or Gavin Swiftblade’s final words that overwhelm me. It’s the kiss. Nothing could possibly eclipse such a memory. I wish I could ride with Darling, or find an excuse to walk at her side. I want to touch her wrist. Tell her what I did. Ask if she knew him. If she knew he was here. I won’t ask if she was part of his plot. I don’t need to: she was not. I trust that. Darling did not know Gavin would try to kill Caspian. No matter how suspicious Finn is, how many narrow looks he shoots at her, I don’t care.

I could only offer Darling a tense smile as she climbed back into her carriage.

Finn is regaling me and the nearest Teeth with a story I’ve heard before, escapades from our early years in the army. This one involves a lightning-scarred tree, old socks, and a goat. We were thirteen. It was a good summer. Maybe my only good summer.

Before I can put in a line about stuffing a sock in Finn’s mouth so he wouldn’t get us caught with his talking, a huge crack splits the air.

My falchion is out, and Finn moves with the Teeth to flank me as we wheel around.

There’s no attack. But our party is startled. Human exclamations mingle with the sharp barks of war drakes and the low annoyed moans of herd drakes. “Keep alert,” I say, unnecessarily, and push Kitty to jog toward the carriages. Caspian’s is only now stopping, and Caspian sticks his head out the door. But my focus is on Darling’s carriage, which jerked to a stop and lists awkwardly to the right. The driver hops off, tossing reins to the nearest soldier, and he and Marjorie bend to inspect something under the carriage.

“Darling,” I call when I’m in range. “Are you all right?”

“She’s fine,” Caspian snaps from his carriage.

Her door swings open. She grimaces as she looks at me but nods.

Relief is sharp. I glance back at Marjorie. “Is it broken?”

“Absolutely not,” Caspian cries. “We don’t have time for this.”

The driver stands with a grimace. “Axle.”

Marjorie nods.

“Of course,” comes Caspian’s scoff. “Darling!”

She scowls at him.

“Come ride with me. We’ll push on.” Caspian waves at Darling’s driver. “Move the most necessary luggage onto the wagon, then stay with however many soldiers you need and fix it, before making your way after us to House Barghest.”

I choose five soldiers quickly and tell them to help.

“Darling,” Caspian snaps again. “Let’s go.”

Darling’s entire physicality shifts into hostility at his tone. “I don’t think so, Prince Regent.”

My brother narrows his eyes dangerously. “You can get in my carriage or run alongside like one of the beasts of burden if you’d rather.”

“With that sweet talk how could I refuse?” she says, coated in sarcasm.

I nudge Kitty in between them and offer my hand down to Darling.

Her mouth falls open, then she snaps it shut and her jaw clenches. But she shoots another look toward Caspian then nods once at me. Determined.

Caspian calls for everyone but those remaining to get going. His carriage door shuts with a sharp clap.

I wait, eyes all for Darling.

Slowly she takes my hand. I move Kitty two more steps until she’s flush against the carriage. “Put your left foot there on mine, and then step up and over.”

“In front?”

“Yes.”

Nodding, Darling mounts without even a second’s hesitation. Her sheer skirts bunch awkwardly, but she adjusts them as best she can to perch against the soft curving pommel of the saddle. I lean away from the swords strapped to her back and guide her right foot over against mine. It doesn’t quite reach; she’s too short, and the saddle’s not made for two. “All right?” Darling asks, and I say, “You should settle back a little.”

Throwing a look at me over her shoulder, she does so, and then her perfumed curls are in my face and nearly all her weight is in my lap. I’m very glad for the swords as a hard barrier between us. Regardless, my whole body tenses. I push it out with a shaky laugh. We were closer last night.

Darling laughs, too. “It’s so high.”

My war drake curves her neck to stare at Darling with a single bright green eye. She blinks, and the curling feather-lashes waver.

“Hello, Kitty,” Darling murmurs.

Her tone is so gentle it nearly guts me. She said she didn’t want to ride a brute like a war drake, but she’s not afraid. She’s easy on Kitty’s back. However, if I take too big a breath, Darling will feel it. I shake my head in chagrin at myself. The reins are still in one hand along with the drake spur in case Kitty gets too stubborn, my arm pressed to Darling’s ribs. With my other hand I gently push her hair to one side. It’s a loose cloud of curls with only a few small braids holding it off her temples. The rest falls around her neck and brushes my chin and cheek. It smells like everbloom. That’s the scent in the oil. “Ready to move?” I manage to sound only slightly hoarse.

She nods, and I look up to signal the front of the line to start. Darling waves at her driver, and I squeeze the war drake with my legs. The drake takes a few slow, long steps.

“You can hold on to the saddle here.” I show Darling. “Or this bony ridge over her shoulder. But don’t hold her feathers.”

Darling touches the drake’s ridge with both hands, then slides one up her neck along the sun-warm scales. “They’re so smooth.”

“If you scratch along her spines, she’ll love you forever.”

She does so, and Kitty arches her neck in real pleasure.

When I push Kitty into a jog, Darling sucks in a breath, and one of her hands finds my knee. Her fingers dig in. But she holds her seat well, leaning with natural balance.

We jog past everyone, and neither of us glances at Caspian’s carriage. Though Darling probably is just concentrating. At the front, I sit back, and the drake slows again.

“Isn’t this cozy,” Finn says.

I raise my eyebrows at him. Whatever else, I’m still his War Prince.

He drops his gaze contritely. But his lips remain pressed in a flat line. It makes his scar blanch.

Darling, staring at Finn, leaves her hand on my knee. It’s fine. Good.

Then she says, “Have you thought that these war drakes are rather more like cockatrices than dragons?”

“How dare you,” Finn starts with a snarling edge.

But Darling shrugs. “They walk on their rear legs like a chicken; they’ve all these feathers. And that eye . . . it’s like an emerald. A jewel like—”

“From the chapel,” I finish.

“My blade,” Finn says, disapproving of my taking her side.

I remain silent. I can see her point but know she’s also needling him.

Finn finally smiles. “I suppose you had ample opportunity to study it so late in the dark with the High Prince Regent.”

Surprise makes my body go rigid in a way Darling must feel. She tips up her chin, ignoring Finn.

My second-in-command’s smile turns into a wide, mean grin. He bows in his seat and pulls his war drake aside. “I’ll check the rear, shall I?” He goes.

After a tense moment Darling shakes her head, brushing her curls along my jaw. It’s almost soothing. “That drake of his is really horrid-looking,” she says.

I hear the rest of the sentence clearly: just like him.

But I ignore it, frowning at his accusation. “You went back to the chapel? And Caspian was there?” My inquiry sounds like a demand.

“So?”

So, indeed. I pause. She’s here in my arms, trapped unless she wants to do what Caspian said and run alongside the convoy. But I’m not angry with her. “I told Caspian to stay in his rooms. Under guard.”

“Because of—of the assassin.”

I see Gavin’s slack face, sprawled dead limbs. Blood. I taste it in the back of my throat. It isn’t like I haven’t killed before. Younger than Gavin and for less of a reason. “Yes,” I say softly.

Silence smothers us as we ride. Sunlight pierces through the trees. The road here is furrowed dirt, hard and caked. It makes for uneven steps, but Kitty has a smooth gait. I have no idea how to say what I want to say. I’d rather tighten my arms around Darling and try to press my thoughts and feelings from my body into hers without words. Press my lips to her temple. My nose in her hair. I want to but don’t.

She seems to sense I’m trying, and her hand on my knee moves: she pats me, then her fingers glance over the back of my hand where it rests on her hip. She settles both hands onto the pommel of the saddle. Our only contact is her thighs and backside barely in my lap, and the tickling sensation of her hair on my jaw.

“Talon,” she says very softly.

I wait.

“I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t think that you did,” I say immediately.

She nods.

“I am the one who should have been more prepared. He was following us for a long time.”

“How do you know that?” Darling flicks a glance back at me.

I take a quiet breath. This shouldn’t be difficult. It isn’t a secret. “My boon. It’s a tracking boon.”

“You’re a hunter.”

Inadvertently my arms tighten around her. I force them to relax.

“You didn’t need the lights,” she says, sounding strangely relieved. She leans back, truly settling against me.

After a moment I realize she means all those weeks ago when we met. When we fought in Lastrium and the Barbs cut the lights. She stabbed me with the table knife. I stole her goggles.

We ride for a few moments. There are more questions I should ask. But I don’t want to. I don’t want this ruined or tense. I just want to be with her. And I want to kiss her. Kiss her until that’s all I can think of, no blood, no assassins, no plotting or war. No wild Chaos-touched brother with impossible plans. I move her hair aside again—it will immediately drift back into my face. But I say quietly, at her ear, “I would like to kiss you again.”

Darling shivers. “In front of everyone,” she chides. “I don’t think your ugly boyfriend would like that.”

I huff softly and pull away. Of course, I can’t go far. “He’ll get used to it.”

“Presumptive of you to think I’ll let you,” she says, flirtation foremost in her tone.

The war drake dances a little to the side, wary of the change in our bearing. Darling clutches at me, then releases me like I’m on fire. She laughs and holds on to Kitty.

We ride in a more comfortable silence. The questions between us can hold for a while, I think. What we aren’t saying. This is enough.

Except there is one thing that hardly has to do with Darling and me. I ask, “Do you know why Caspian went back to the chapel?”

She sighs. “He stole the amethyst from the ceiling.”

“What? Why?”

“I have no idea, but he was desperate for it.”

“I’ll ask him.”

“Think he’ll tell you?” Darling needles.

I don’t. My face feels heavy with the weight of my frown.

Darling nudges my ribs gently with her elbow. “He does have a plan. The amethyst eye, the gryphon dagger. He’s after something.”

I think of the drawing Caspian gave me, the one of the two of us battling the wild drakes. I should show her. It’s in my jacket. I keep it on me because I don’t want it seen without my permission. It’s mine now. The madness of it, the promise in it. Darling and me together. That prophecy is mine. Like I want Darling to be mine. “I think so,” I whisper.

Darling nods. Her curls tickle my lips. “I just don’t know what it could possibly be. And if it’s something good or terrible.”

Before I can think of how to respond, she twists around to really look at me. I have to avoid the arc of her sword pommel. She says, “If you figure it out, tell me.”

I look into her goggles. In this light I can almost see the shape of her eyes through the smoky lenses. “If you figure it out,” I repeat more gently, “tell me.”

Darling promises. I do the same.

If this were a different world, I’d kiss her right now, soft and slow. That would mark the promises we made, bind them in front of my soldiers, my brother, the long road, and the open sky. But it is this world, and I don’t.