“That’s a good question.” I look at Myles as half the guards shuffle past us to the ship’s boarding plank.
“If either of you are implying I had anything to do with it, you’re sorely mistaken. Or have you forgotten Draewulf’sss a wizard? A very smart one. If he wanted you to have them, he could’ve influenced any sort of circumstances to ensure that happened.”
“Circumstances involving you?” I say bitingly.
We’re next in front of the loading plank now. Rasha’s half looking around when she abruptly dips her voice. “Where are the other delegates?”
“Mossst likely being left behind.” Myles smooths his glossy hair down, as if anyone here cares what his hair looks like at four in the morning.
“Did the guards tell you that?”
“No, but it’s what I’d do if I were them. A few hostages left in the homeland are excellent security. In fact, I’m very much surprised he’sss even taking you, Your Highnessss.”
Rasha sniffs and watches her Cashlin guards ascend into the airship with an expression that says she fears Myles’s repulsiveness will rub off on her.
I look at the large Bron soldier standing in front of us. Gowon’s son. “Will they be killed?” I ask him.
His features stay stiff as he waves first Myles, then Princess Rasha onto the plank. “It is my understanding they’ll be left unharmed.”
I scoff. “By your Assembly perhaps, but what about the wraiths? Or will you just let them take care of that for you?”
“I’ve been assured they’ll be fine.” He beckons me to follow Myles and Rasha. “Except for . . .” His eyes flick up almost imperceptibly to the front of the silver airship, which is glowing from lantern light like the rest.
I track his gaze.
Squint through the dim.
What in—?
There’s an object tied to the forward-most staff—like a fish tied to a skewer—and it looks very much like Lord Wellimton.
“We’ll be taking him along,” the guard says. “By King Eogan’s request.”
“Is he—?”
“He’s alive.” The guard breaks into a smirk.
Very much alive in fact, if my ears are correct in tuning in to Wellimton’s yelled choice of Faelen swear words. My mouth goes dry. I glance back at the guard. “Are King Eogan and Lady Isobel on this ship?”
Suddenly everything within me is frantic, panicky. Oh hulls, I need them to be on this ship. The sensation is short-lived thanks to the pursing of his mouth. His gaze shifting toward the room above the airship’s dining area is a clear indication, whether he intended it to be or not. I smile smug-like as he gives me a shove onto the plank. Then the other guards are closing in behind, herding us up.
The closer we get to the airship’s deck, the thicker my skin bristles and the more I can feel the hissing. Even without seeing the wraiths, their presence hangs like the cloak over my spine, clinging and clammy in the light wind. Their whispers grow louder. Just like the guards who, as soon as I’ve stepped on deck, are yelling to pull the plank up and telling the captain to take off before I’ve even had a chance to grab hold of something stable amid the bustling bodies.
I count to ten before the ship shudders and makes a groaning sound, and suddenly we’re floating up, up, upward into the air above the Castle and the city. It’s another ten, fifteen seconds before my stomach catches up with us, and by that time the glow of the morning sky is bubbling out on the horizon.
We’re rising faster now to meet two other ships in the air. The atmosphere surrounding them flutters and bursts into ribboned lines of periwinkle and gold as the metallic fleet reflects the morning sun stretching her rays out to greet us.
It’s beautiful. And breathtaking. And terrible all in one. Like these mirrors of glorious light hovering above the heavy shroud of land and city beneath us that is surrounded by half-emptied wraith encampments. The camps look like leeches spotting the area, like a plague on the skin of this kingdom.
“Looks like you should’ve done more damage with your Elemental powersss,” Myles mutters beside me. I follow his gaze to the forty or so airships hovering over an eighth as many warboats out in the ocean. If I thought the brackish army below was a pestilence on the earth, this, this is a pockmarked horror on the face of the Elisedd Sea.
They’re dangerous looking. And far too familiar.
“What do they need the warboats for if they have all these airships?” Rasha asks.
“I believe they carry fuel.”