Blood of the Sea, Chapter Fourty-Two

Chapter 42: Anguish

Gwilym

Flykra demanded that they follow the deserters from the humble ruins on the hilltop where the five had just begun to build. It took little thought, and less effort to guess where these stragglers would go. There was, as far as they knew, only one place to truly go. Seyune.

The rain clouds masked Flykra from searching eyes below, but as time passed along with the weather, it became apparent that the islanders had no sky-born threats; no reason to look up. Eventually, Flykra’s gilded white wings flew lower, rustling the tops of trees when she grew bored of the pace they kept, before circling higher, upon reaching the outskirts of Seyune. The blood mage kept up a guard around the perimeter, but even that wasn’t truly what was stopping the Thralkin. As she told Gwil, they came to see if these people kneeled.

Gwilym leans out into open air, peering around Flykra’s shoulder as she growls, the low throaty warning all the reassurance he needs, even as he spots the specks of people by the north gate.

The white Thralkin banks her wings steeply, mock diving toward the city as Gwilym clings to the spikes behind her shoulders. He catches a brief flash - an image: that of the castle coated in ice. Gwilym reaches out to their bond. [ This is not the way we do things. What’s to say she isn’t the worst one down there? ]

Flykra scoffs, pulling out of the dive and steeply climbing back into the sky. She pulls her wings in tight, rolling through the air as her thoughts vibrate along their bond. [ She is the worst we’ve known. It could be a mercy… ]

Gwilym grits his teeth. [ The islanders have made their peace with us. The mages may gain some of their number, but it’s not likely they will turn to war. ]

[ They are cowards, ] Flykra grumbles. Relenting, she turns away from the city. One beat of her wings carries them toward the fields and forests ahead. She suddenly stiffens under Gwilym’s touch, her neck craning below. [ Gwil. They mentioned Kildangan. ]

[ What of it? ] Gwilym presses a palm to her neck, prickles trailing along his arms as Flykra turns again, agitated.

[ They said Kildangan harbored their people. ]

Gwilym shakes his head, [ I suppose they also spoke of the home being built on the cliffs? ]

[ That doesn’t matter. Kildangan does. ] Flykra’s tail lashes, rocking Gwilym in his seat.

The Rider frowns. [ You know a confrontation won’t stop them. ]

[ We haven’t tried. ]

[ We are the Kahu… ]

[ And as Kahu, ] she cuts him off, diving toward the castle and the red mage, no more than a speck on the ground in the plaza, [ it is our duty to protect. ]

Their momentum swoops upon Seyune like an angry white cloud. Flykra’s wings snap open, her claws scrabbling across the castle’s roof as she stops, perching upon the monument like an oversized bird on a ledge. The Red Queen startles as chunks of roofing and wall cascade down to the ground, drawing her gaze to the snarling creature atop her home.

“Rider,” the blood mage calls, her hands folding placidly before her even as her magic whips itself into a frenzy at her back.

Flykra’s head snakes toward the mage, pent up energy coiled in her muscles and creeping through Gwilyn’s shoulders. His knuckles whiten as he keeps his grip on Flykra’s spikes. [ Mage. ] Flykra spits out the word as though it were rotten food.

“Perhaps you and your beast have become acquainted with our mutual friends. Those from beyond the sea.”

[ They are no more to you than another indicator that your rule falls short. ]

The Red Mage’s hands fall to her sides, her fingers curling like talons as her magic pulses. “Say what you will, creature. I’m not the one making threats…”

[ But you already have. ] Flykra’s jaws snap shut with an audible click of teeth, rasping open again as Gwilym’s fingertips grow cold and he finds the corners of his eyes are creasing more and more. Flykra continues, her voice booming through the square even as Gwilym knows it remains contained in the three minds present. [ Kildangan is ours. Our people. Our city. Not something for you to spoil with magic and your lust for control. ]

Disgust drips from Flykra’s words like saliva from her teeth and Gwilym recognizes the light growing around him. The bone-deep chill that cradles his and her heart. She’s calling upon her ice. In his mind’s eye, he sees the castle covered in ice once more. The edges sharp, crystalline, with smears of blood underneath.

[ Flykra - ] Gwilym tries to reach for her, but it’s like crying out in the middle of a blizzard. He is deaf even to his own voice. Even so, he presses against the gale raging inside with a shred of worry which gets lashed about and disappears in the eye of the storm.

“You should have kept your city in line, beast.” The red mage growls, her teeth lengthening, her eyes dark in their sockets. “They have been a pest for too long, and for that, they will suffer. Mark. My. Wo-”

Flykra leaps from the castle, batting at the red queen with outstretched claws. The blood mage retaliates, red currents flying through the air towards Gwilym. He ducks against Flykra’s scales, squinting his eyes shut only to rip them open as Flykra shrieks with pain. The blood magic propelled toward him has lacerated the wing Flykra shielded him with, her blood splattering across his face as she bucks beneath him. He clutches at his arm, pain bleeding through him as he grits his teeth. His mouth falls open in the next moment as the blood lifts from Flykra’s white scales, swirling toward the mage who starts to shimmer ever so slightly - but he notices.

Her magic presses the advantage like a silent wave, wrapping bands of bloody liquid around Flykra’s forelegs like chains. Gwilym can feel her muscles fight against it, straining, and she hisses, her tail lashing in the mage’s direction.

“You should have kept to your own, Thralkin. Magic will always prevail.” The Blood Queen gloats, her voice ringing in Gwilym’s ears as his blood thunders and he shivers. The sensation rattles through him with a fierce burn and his back arches under the buildup.

Another lash of red magic lands across Flykra’s face, coiling around her muzzle.

“You’ll make a fine addition to the dungeon,” the mage chortles. “I only wonder who will last longer. Thralkin, or Rider?”

Gwilym shudders, only to realize it’s not him vibrating with disgust and unfiltered rage. In his mind’s eye, he sees Dyrros’ broken body in the waters outside Kildangan. His blood washed away by the sea. His steel hide glinting softly under the sunlight. He feels something inside Flykra snap, and the fear he feels is all his own.

Arching her back, muscles tensed but no longer straining, Gwilym can feel the glare she gives the mage before them. [ I will never bow before you. A Kahu protects, but a mate has no such compunction. ]

The mage’s brow furrows, her mouth opening with another confident retort, but the bands of magic wrapped around Flykra darken, turning black and brittle before they shatter and Flykra roars, shaking the stone under her feet. The Blood Queen stumbles back, calling her magic to her, but it’s sluggish and her red eyes flash toward Gwilym.

The world flashes white and frigid.

Before them, a bubble of thick permafrost encases the red mage where she stood. Her expression still frozen in shock. For good measure, Flykra sends a blast of ice to coat the front of the castle, closing off the door, before leaping upon the castle once more, and lunging toward the sky.

In lunging, she stumbles, sending Rider and Thralkin crashing into a nearby building. Her claws skid along the stone until they find purchase, and she lets out a pained cry. The kind of cry one makes when needing their mate. The kind of sound that breaks Gwilym’s heart. Flykra checks that her Rider is still upon her back and Gwilym has to catch himself from gasping as he stares into one large white-blue eye, and one which is sliced through and bleeding. A deep sadness passes between the both of them and he knows she sees herself through his eyes. He squints his eyes shut, apologizing without words. The bond. He knows the moment will haunt him for the rest of their lives.

[ What good is a Kahu who cannot protect herself? ] Flykra asks the question into the empty air. The city around them barren of answers. She climbs to her feet, limping through the streets before grunting, wings raised, and propelling them once more into the air.

They do not head for Kildangan, though Gwilym’s heart aches for the people there.

Instead, even despite the distance, and the way the wind rips against Flykra’s newly torn wing, they head toward the border of Rhoyenn.

[ It’s time we went home, Rider. ]

Gwilym simply presses his forehead to Flykra’s ice-white scales. There’s nothing he can say. No apology which would heal her. But their bond still sings in their chests like twin flames, and for that, he has to be grateful.