The Inquisition (Summoner, #2)(37)

Even as Fletcher tried to wrap his head around their bizarre behaviour, Sylva finally spoke.

‘So be it.’





17


‘I’m not doing it,’ Fletcher said, as Captain Lovett leaned out of her saddle and pulled him up behind her.

‘Too late,’ she laughed, grasping Fletcher’s hands and putting them around her waist.

It was the next morning, and they were on a wide tree branch, with Lysander pawing at the bark beneath his claws, ready to take off. Before, Fletcher hadn’t minded heights much, but now he knew he would be flying above it, the ground seemed a long distance away.

The other riders were down below, Arcturus included, ready for the long flight to Vocans so that they could watch the Tournament. He could see Sylva among them, the only elf in a sea of humans and elderly dwarves. He felt anxious about what had happened between them at the council meeting, but had not spoken with her since, instead being ushered back to his room by an impatient elf servant and, after a night of uneasy sleep, had been woken by Lovett that morning.

Sylva would always put her people before their friendship, and the memory of her attempted alliance with the Forsyth twins at Vocans came, unbidden, to his mind. He could hardly blame her for feeling that way, but the reminder of her priorities at the council meeting made his chest tighten.

‘Are you sure you’re OK taking me back to Pelt first?’ Fletcher asked, trying not to look down.

‘Of course. Between you and me, I don’t like spending time with the Celestial Corps, though I am still a member,’ Lovett said over her shoulder. ‘That’s why I volunteered to teach at Vocans. Ophelia Faversham is as unpleasant as any corporal I have served under – though she prefers to go by the title of Lady, thinks the rank sounds too masculine. I’ll stick with Captain Lovett though, so don’t go getting any ideas!’

‘I’m a captain too, you know,’ Fletcher grumbled, trying to focus on the square of Lovett’s back. ‘I won the Tournament after all.’

‘I forgot about that!’ Lovett laughed. Fletcher smiled, for he had never seen her laugh before. Her voice, usually so steely and resolved, had become warm and inviting.

‘I think—’

But Fletcher never got to tell her what he thought, because Lysander had launched himself from the branch, and the world had turned a blur of brown and green. The Griffin swooped and jinked between branches, and Fletcher felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, then somersault. Lovett whooped with unbridled joy, urging Lysander on to greater speeds.

With a few last thrusts of his great wings, the Griffin burst through the foliage at the top, the thick, waxy leaves slapping against their faces. Then they were out in the dawn air, the morning sunlight pale but warm against Fletcher’s skin.

In the distance, the Beartooth Mountains loomed, their jagged peaks stretching into the sky like the fangs they were named after. Despite their heady ascent, Fletcher felt a sudden calm wash over him. A sea of green stretched out beneath them; the treetops waved in the breeze, accompanied by the gentle creak of moving boughs. It was breathtaking.

‘I never tire of flying,’ Lovett exclaimed, rubbing Lysander’s neck. ‘How are you doing back there?’

Fletcher gazed at the vista around him. Even when he had peered out of his bedroom window at Vocans, he had never been this high, nor seen more of the world he lived in.

‘I would never tire of it either,’ Fletcher said, leaning back in his saddle. His fear had dissipated, replaced by a sudden desire to move, jump, feel something, anything. He was alive and free and his own man at last.

He wanted to summon Ignatius, so he could share the moment with him. But it was risky, there was barely any more room on the saddle. Yet, there was another who could join him for his first flight, and he pointed his hand into the air. His palm flashed with a brief pain as the pentacle burned violet, then Athena burst into existence with a purr of exhilaration, zooming around Lovett and Fletcher in a flash of white and brown. As Lysander turned his head to look at the new arrival, she regained her composure, settling on her master’s shoulder and gazing serenely back at him. He reached out to stroke her and felt a twinge of jealousy from Ignatius. The emotion was hidden as swiftly as it had appeared, but Fletcher lowered his hand.

‘I remember Athena well,’ Lovett said, her tone suddenly sombre. ‘I was at Vocans with your parents, Fletcher. Of course, they were much older than me. You should know that they were good people. Edmund and Alice were always kind to me, making sure I was looked after, since I was the youngest at the academy. And Arcturus did that too, of course.’

‘Arcturus knew my parents?’ Fletcher asked.

‘Yes. He was the first commoner to come to Vocans. Edmund, Alice and I were the only ones who truly accepted him.’

‘He might be disappointed, now that he knows I’m not his half-brother,’ Fletcher said, his mood taking a turn for the worse. He had always known he could rely on Arcturus to come through for him, as any older brother would. Would Arcturus still care about him, now that he knew the truth?

‘I think he would love you all the more for it,’ Lovett said reassuringly, looking at Fletcher over her shoulder. ‘Your parents died only two years after they graduated, and it hit Arcturus hard. He got that scar searching for the orcs that did it.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ Fletcher said, looking down at his hands. He felt an affectionate nip on his ear, as Athena tried to cheer him up. Feathers brushed against the back of his neck as she rubbed up against him. It comforted him to think that she would have done the same thing to his father, long ago. She was the only connection he had to his past life.