His words are dust in my boots, but his actions are fucking stones.
Again, my gaze drops to those bloody gouges in his Moonplume’s hide …
“As his Imperial Highness commands,” Rekk says, then throws his leg over and scales the short length of rope, black whip coiled at his hip, his stare caught on my hovering beast as he leaps down and charges toward me. In an impressive surge of strength, the Moonplume spears her head forward, snapping just shy of Rekk’s heels.
With a hiss of sharp words, he leaps out of the way, reaching for his whip—
“Lash that dragon and I’ll tie you to a stake and whip you to ribbons,” I scold.
His hand pauses around the handle. “That’s two threats and not a single formal greeting. I’m toting a white flag, Sire.”
I’m tempted to shove it up his ass, then deliver him to Raeve. But kingdom.
Rules.
“Well aware. But we don’t condone animal cruelty in this kingdom. You’ve severed your bond with the beast. That’s on you.”
“I’ll just have to lash it back into her later,” he seethes beneath his breath, cutting another glance over his shoulder at the bundled creature.
Like he thinks I’ll let that happen.
“Order your handlers back out here to move Líri into the hutch so she can drink and feast,” Rekk commands, an imperial lilt to his tone that makes my brows lift. “I’ll also require the services of your Fleshthread to patch up her wings.”
My stare drifts to the luminous beast—bubbled and blistered, head tucked beneath her frayed wing. Looking moments away from solidifying right here on the landing patch.
Rygun continues to leer at Rekk, smoke still pluming from his flared nostrils, an immense, pulsating plea pounding from his chest to mine.
One word and he’ll lunge forward and snatch the male. Crunch him into a bloody mulch.
My self-restraint has never had such excruciating exercise.
“I’ll have refreshments wheeled to her until I can have a blue bead brought up who’s strong enough to shift a cloud,” I grit out as he unrolls a leather pouch, revealing a line of smoke sticks. “I’ll also call for the Fleshthread. Unfortunately, she attended celebrations for The Great Flurrt in a neighboring village. It’ll take her some time to get here.”
Not true. Bhea’s away, but Agni’s here. I’ll be sending someone to wake her the moment I leave this landing patch, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“By the way that Moonplume’s curling into herself, I doubt she has time to wait. But we’ll do what we can for her. Make her comfortable.”
Rekk sniffs, passing me a glance from beneath pale brows as he plucks a smoke stick from his crammed collection and tucks it between his lips. “Well, that’s fucking useless to me, isn’t it?” he murmurs, keeping his lips pinched on the tight-packed roll of parchment.
I don’t answer.
“So what am I supposed to do?” he asks, throwing his hands wide, as if it’s my fault he’s in this predicament.
“When it’s time to leave, I can organize you a carter back to The Fade,” I grind out. “You can try your luck in Bhoggith for a beast more suitable to your … needs.”
“Fine,” he sneers, cutting a glance over his shoulder at the poor trembling creature—who goes eerily still, lifts a leathery lip, and growls at him. “She’s your burden now. She’s a stupid, feral bitch who’s more trouble than she’s worth. My advice? She’d be better off chunked up and dumped in your feeding troughs.”
“Your advice is worth less to me than a smear of colk shit on my boot,” I say, voice monotone.
Huffing out a laugh, Rekk cocks his head to the side, his long, sharp features severe against the burnt terrain.
Looking at me from beneath an arched brow, he tucks the leather satchel back into his pocket and retrieves a weald, using a bulb of flame to singe the end of his stick. He pulls a deep puff before blowing a plume of smoke that tangles around his face. “You gonna call off your beast, or will I go down in history as the male who stoked the war between The Shade and The Burn?”
Tyroth is his patron, then …
Interesting.
“Hach te nei, Rygun.”
My dragon shakes his head, displeasure rippling through our bond like a flow of lava. He snaps at the air before he roars—thrashing his wings with such force a burst of wind barrels into the landing patch, tilling dirt and smoke.
He cuts off in a wide, arcing path, leering at Rekk as he powers through the sky, releases another screeching roar, then tucks his wings and plummets out of sight.