She straightened, glancing at him. “I take it you miss your wings.”
“It’s hard to get used to being grounded after twenty-two millennia of flight.”
She smiled. “The lords’ wives said you were worshipped as a god in the old days.”
“The lords’ wives have a lot to say about me.”
“And yet you’re still a total mystery.”
He eyed her cautiously. “What do you need to know?”
A chilly lunar wind toyed with her hair. “You said you were from Canaan. Where’s the rest of your family?”
“Dead,” he said flatly.
Shit. She shouldn’t have brought that up. She already knew his wife had died. She swallowed hard. “I meant your parents.”
“Dead. A long time ago.” He climbed back on to Vesperella’s back. “You should get inside. You’re going to freeze.”
Before she could respond, Bael leaned forward on Vesperalla’s shoulders and whispered in her ear. Vesperella’s wings stroked the air, and Bael surged upward into the black sky.
Chapter 31
Ursula sat on the sofa, rubbing a salve into her palms. She eyed the sun, edging dangerously close to its zenith, and her pulse sped up. Not long now.
She’d been practicing on Sotz for several days, building up her speed and control. And now, the day before the race, her muscles burned with a deep fatigue.
She pulled up her dress, wincing at the sight of her inner thighs, rubbed raw from spending hours each day winging around the crater with Sotz.
She dabbed the salve onto her thighs, working it into her skin until some of the red faded to a pale pink.
F.U. may not have ridden a bat before, but she seemed to understand the principles of controlling a beast, making it conform to her will with subtle shifts in muscle, little twitches of her hands. Feeling every movement of Sotz’s muscles and sinews. Directing him as though he were an extension of herself. She wasn’t as skilled as Bael, of course, but she was getting there.
At Cera’s insistence, she’d even dipped her toe into the art of clasping her arms around Sotz’s neck to ride upside down, her hair dangling toward the moon’s surface. That particular move still made her heart leap into her throat, but she’d attempted it, nonetheless.
She slid her hand into her pocket, glancing at the door. The one thing that had been conspicuously absent over the past few days was Bael. He’d completely disappeared after their conversation about his dead family. Nice one, Ursula.
Instead of training her, like he’d said he would, he’d just disappeared into his manor. She wasn’t even sure anymore if he still planned to help her in the race, or if he planned to knock her out of the sky. Apparently, stabbing someone with a corkscrew was a forgivable offense. But ask someone a personal question, and you’ve taken things too far.
She rose, crossing to the bar. Cera had left a neatly folded pile of riding clothes—her racing outfit for tomorrow. Cera had fashioned a leather outfit of a shimmering black—so she could blend into the sky. Ursula ran her fingers over the soft leather, frowning.
Why, in particular, was it important that she blend in to the sky? If they were only racing, she didn’t need to disguise herself.
Unless, of course, there was more to it.
A little knock sounded at her door—Cera’s knock, and she hurried across the room. Her stomach rumbled. All this riding had given her an uncontrollable appetite, and with any luck, Cera had brought her dinner.
But when she opened the door, she found Cera standing with a bag of clothing instead of a tray of food. Clear sunlight streamed through her hair, and she lifted the bag. “A new dress.”
Ursula pulled open the door, motioning for her to enter. “And why, exactly, do I need a new dress right now?”
“The lord has requested your presence at dinner.” She thrust the bag at Ursula. “I’ve made the dress distracting. I have a feeling the lord needs a bit of distraction.”
“Where has he been for the past several days?”
Cera shrugged. “How should I know? He doesn’t run his schedule by me.”
Ursula frowned. “Cera, can you give me more specifics about this race? Why, exactly, would I need to be camouflaged.”
Cera’s silver eyes widened. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”
Ursula’s stomach dropped. “Tell me, Cera.”
“I believe the lord is going to fill you in over dinner. Now get dressed, and go meet him in his quarters.”
* * *
Ursula stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d piled her hair on her head in a messy up-do, and she wore a silk-wrap dress—with an appropriately plunging neckline. She ran her hands over the smooth silk, the same pale gray as the clouds of moths. The skirts seemed to float around her legs.
A black-jeweled necklace completed the ensemble—the same color as her knickers. Not that Bael would ever know that.