Black Crown (Darkest Drae, #3)(48)

“Nope,” Niemoj said. “Though I don’t want you to grow a pumpkin around me ever.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That was you?”

Nielub laughed. “He loves that story.”

I waited until we’d exited the forest and were in the rocky valley to shift.

I tilted my chin up, my hair tickling my lower back, and pushed my Phaetyn veil over my body. Then I let my Drae take over. My bones shifted and expanded, my skin stretching to form the membranes of my wings, and scales rippled across my body into my Drae armor.

Soon, I stretched my wings out, arching my long neck in bliss.

Being in my Drae form felt so right.

I tucked my wings close to my sides and cast my slitted-eyed gaze at my passengers. They stood a respectable distance back, near the tree line, and couldn’t currently see me under my invisibility cloak. I pushed my moss-green veil out until the two assassins were underneath it. Smiley was smiling, non-smiley wasn’t smiling, but both of their eyes widened as they looked upon my lapis Drae. Totally impressed.

I jerked my head to the spikes at my back and lowered my left shoulder to the ground, tucking my wing in tight.

Niemoj’s grin faltered.

Definitely impressed. I felt somewhat redeemed after the small pumpkin fiasco.

I held still as the twins boarded, and then I glanced back as a silent kind of hold-on-tight-or-you’ll-die warning. I took a deep breath and bounded forward into a run, pumping my wings.

Hard.

I launched into the air, dipping and swaying as I adjusted to the extra weight. What the heck were these guys made of? Seriously, I’d carried Lani, Dyter, and Tyrrik, but they were nothing compared to the density of the two rebels on my back. They probably killed people by sitting on them I realized, connecting the logical dots in the rebel-assassin training regime. That’s why they wore gold chain mail. Their clothing was probably made of ground-down rock to help, too, and they put bricks in the base of their boots.

I chuffed at my own joke, chortling harder as Nielub whispered. “I think she’s going to eat us.”

I quit laughing, wondering if I could actually snap rocks with my fangs. Tyrrik?

Yes, you can.

My lips stretched back into a smile, exposing all my fangs to the cool wind. How do you know that?

Because I was twelve years old once. Even under the blood oath.

I harrumphed and squinted at the sky ahead. Tyrrik was swooping in lazy circles over the Gemond army, the beating sunlight reflecting off his onyx scales and reminding me of the graphite interior of the cave where I first transformed.

I didn’t land immediately though I could hear the way one of the assassin’s breath was catching in short, shallow bursts. We were on Drae time now, not assassin time. I wanted to see my mate.

When’s the meeting? I asked, sweeping underneath him and up the other side.

One of the assassins gagged, and I quickly stabilized. The thought of him vomiting on my back or wings, and where the vomit would be when I transformed back to my Phaetyn form, made me do my best to hold steady.

We were waiting for you to catch up before we met, Tyrrik said. I’ll land with you.

I craned my neck to where he flew slightly above me. You could have woken me, you know? I wasn’t entirely happy the whole army managed to leave camp without me noticing.

You were exhausted; better for you to sleep while you can. We’ll have to take shifts remember?

I sighed, the sound coming out as a deep rumble in this form. I caught myself mid-sigh and forced a controlled exhale. I know. But what if this war goes on for years? We can’t rely on sleep shifts forever.

No, but we’ll work on that. Tyrrik banked slightly to meet my gaze. We’ll get there, Ryn, I promise. One thing at a time.

That’s a fine thing to say if we actually had time. I grumbled but kept my body as stable as possible. Draedyn could attack at any moment—or his Druman. My father could make me attack anyone unless I had my veil and shield up or was right next to Tyrrik and one of us was awake.

We’ll be okay, my love. I’ll make it okay. And there is some good news.

Yeah? You defeated the one-eyed squirrel as I slept? I quipped.

Tyrrik’s joy at my humor radiated through our bond. No, he said solemnly. He still runs rampant, leading a life of debauchery. Worse, he’s inspiring others to join his band of nefarious villainy.

Did I think that one day I’d be flying next to Lord Nightmare listening to his jokes about squirrels? Not for a second. Obviously, it was the little things for him. We’re heading the wrong way then. He’s the real enemy.

I agree, but in the meantime—Tyrrik swung his head forward and raised his chin—there is the first sign of Azule.

Really? I swiveled to see and grunted. I had to strain to make it out, but in the blurry limits of my vision, the mountain ranges stopped and the edges of a cobalt ocean shimmered on the horizon. Azule, as close to my father as we’d safely get. Though he’d shown physical distance wasn’t really a factor in controlling me, so maybe that didn’t matter as much as I thought.

I wonder what the plan is, I pondered through the mate bond.

No doubt they’ll fill us in.

I felt the stirring of determination and realized it wasn’t all coming from me and my ambition to fight this war the right way. You’re planning something?

Not so much planning, but with you involved and how far we’ve come . . . I’m not content to just go along with their plans.