He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m staying with the golden girl so she won’t be alone. Now go away and rot some shit before you explode and destroy all of Deadwell.”
My fists ball together, the roots along my fingers writhing and snapping against my skin, trying to pierce through me like thorns. “I can’t.” Watching her, staying by her side, it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from losing my shit entirely. Because she’s still not awake. She’s still not okay.
Ryatt looks up at me, and for the first time since he strode in here, his expression sobers. “The sooner you take care of your magic, the sooner you can get back here by her side,” he tells me, his tone no longer biting. “So go. I’ll stay right here with her. I promise.”
I start to shake my head, but he cuts me off. “Slade. You’re about a second away from snapping. Sitting here watching her isn’t going to help, because even when she does wake up, you’ll have to leave immediately to take care of your magic. So go do it now before you fucking implode.”
I agonize in indecision, but now that Ryatt has very unapologetically pointed out how strained I am, I can no longer ignore it. My power is writhing beneath my skin, prickling over my back and chest, snapping at my arms, and making my fingers throb as it pushes against the underside of my fingernails.
“Fine,” I finally relent, realizing I can’t even let out a full breath. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Take your time. Make sure you expel enough so that I don’t have to shove you right back out into the storm again two hours later.”
“How cold is it?”
“Been dumping snow for four days with no end in sight and a wind chill that can chap your ass cheeks in a second.”
I groan. “Fucking perfect.” Heading into my closet, I grab the first coat and gloves I see, yanking them on before I pull on my boots. “Watch her,” I tell Ryatt. “And have someone signal me if she so much as twitches.”
He gives me a mock-bow without actually getting up from the chair. “Yes, Sire.”
“Shut up.”
With his chuckle sounding at my back, I stomp out of the bedroom for the first time in three days, just to find both Lu and Judd leaning against the walls in the corridor. I stop short for a second when I see them, but then roll my eyes and keep walking. “What was the order going to be?”
Lu follows behind me with light steps. “It was going to be Judd next if Ryatt couldn’t convince you with his brotherly love,” she tells me with a smartass smirk. “Judd can usually cheer you up enough to get you to stop being a prick and listen. But if that didn’t work either, I was going to go in last and just issue some good old-fashioned threats.”
Despite my bleak mood, I feel my lips twitching. “What kind of threats?”
“As if I’d spoil the surprise. I might need them down the road.”
I stop at the front door, turning back to look at the two of them where they’re still perched in the corridor. “Fancy a fly?”
“What, in that storm?” She lifts her foot, shaking her fluffy slipper. “These would get ruined.”
“Of course. Judd?”
He grimaces before hitching a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got some firewood I need to re-stack.”
“Such loyalty,” I say dryly.
Lu gives a wave before turning to walk into the living room. “Have a nice rot trip,” she calls.
A snort escapes me before I yank open the door and walk out, letting it shut behind me. My eyes quickly adjust to the darkness of the cave, the air so frigid that even the blue fluorescence seems to shudder.
The closer I walk to the mouth, the louder the storm becomes. I stop just inside, watching as it rages in front of me in a swirl of white and wind. At my feet, snow has blown in and piled up past my knees like frozen rubble warning me of the battle outside. It’s late afternoon, but you wouldn’t know it with how thickly the clouds are covering the sunlight.
“Of course I’d have to do it in this weather,” I grumble to myself before I snap up the hood on my coat and bury my hands in my pockets as I step outside.
Immediately, the wind shoves into me, and I tuck my head down, barreling through it, turning right to head up the curve of the mountain rather than left to go back toward the village center.
The flakes come down in constant streams, but luckily, someone has been keeping up on the pathway, scraping away the snow before it can build up too high. I keep my head down against the gale, my hood threatening to rip off every step of the way, all while I curse my magic’s temper tantrum.
The way to the Perch is all uphill, which isn’t ideal when it snows, which it does quite often. It takes me longer than usual to get there, but I finally reach the entrance of a smaller, jagged-mouthed cave. It looks like an open maw with fangs ready to clamp down as you enter, but the real biting beasts are the ones inside.
As soon as I breach the entrance, the weight of the wind is gone, but the weight of my power pushing against my skin seems to have doubled. I kick my boots against the stone before stepping onto the tufts of straw laid down on the ground. My shoes crunch over it, and I look around the domed cave, so high up that it’s a struggle to see the beasts who perch at the very top.
Rivulets of blue fluorescence glow deep and steady, while a dozen timberwings sleep in wooden roosts built like enclosed balconies along the walls of the cave, their heads tucked beneath bark-colored wings.
I walk across the cave, a few of the beasts chuffing at me with irritation as I pass them by. Argo likes to roost at a perch thirty feet up, and I stop just below, arms crossed in front of my chest, waiting for him to stir, but he doesn’t. “I know that you know I’m in here,” I call up to him. “We have to go for a ride.”
He doesn’t move.
Rot starts to seep from my feet, making a patch darken the straw. “Argo.”
If anything, he buries his head further beneath his wing.
“Look, you’ve been sleeping for days now. You’ve had more than enough treats and rest.”
He finally deigns to pop out his muzzle, iridescent eyes glancing down at me before he lets out a little clicking chirp through his razor-sharp teeth. “Yes, yes, you’ll get more treats after this flight. Now come on before I rot the whole damn Perch.”
Argo gets up with all the lazed enthusiasm of a cat who was interrupted during sunbathing. Finally, he leaps down, landing nimbly before he shakes out his wings with a giant stretch.
“Enjoy your nap?” I drawl.
He licks his chops in response.
With a snort, I walk over to where the saddles and reins are kept at the right hand side of the cave and get to work buckling him. When I’m done, I swing my leg over and strap myself in. I barely have the thing tightened in place before Argo takes off through the opening at a breakneck run. The minute we have the sky above us, he lets out his wings and launches into the air.
I grapple with the strap, holding on before my ass slips right off the back, while Argo streamlines straight up through the storm. My hood flies off and the snow pummels my face, the temperature so cold that it feels like all the warmth has leached from my skin and frozen through my clothes. All I can do is hold on, my eyes closed, teeth gritted as I’m soaked through and left freezing while the wind howls its complaints against me.
When we finally break through the clouds and Argo straightens out, I’m able to catch my breath enough to give him a glare at the back of his feathered head. “Proud of yourself, are you?”
He harrumphs in response, but I know there’s a damn gleam in his eye.
Now that the worst of the storm is below us, I pull the reins, directing him where to go, but my rot stabs against my fingers and hands, making me seethe at the pain and nearly lose my grip.