“What?” I ask, pulling up short. “What is it?”
“I’d planned to teach you about weather patterns today,” he murmurs. “So you might begin to use the atmosphere to your advantage. But I think I’ve just come up with a lesson that will be of far more interest to you. Assuming you’re up for a short trip outside the city walls, that is.” He leans closer, voice pitching to a low whisper. “I promise to return you in time for your night of debauchery.”
My brows are high on my forehead as I weigh his words. After a few seconds, I give a small nod of assent. His face lights upin a smile so bright, it takes my breath away. Before I can catch it again, Soren grabs my hand and starts striding down the path that leads to his bathhouse.
The portal spitsus out halfway up a mountain.
Soren drops my hand as I double over, winded from the disorienting passage. It was an easier venture than my last through the leylines but still took a toll on both mind and body, even with Soren there to guide me through. The wound on my palm—twin to the one he sliced into his own—is already stitching back together, leaving a crust of dried blood behind.
I look around, trying to get my bearings. The portal behind us dims, gradually disappearing back into the rock face. We are in the Cimmerians. I’m certain from the air alone—crisp and cold, carrying the scent of pine sap. This part of the range, east of the Avian Strait, is made up of peaks slightly lower than those I traversed with Pendefyre and his men, all those months ago. That diminutive difference in elevation has tremendous consequences, for the landscape around me is not ice capped but startlingly verdant. Evergreens soar up toward the bluest of skies, stubby grasses carpet the ground, fuzzy moss drapes over boulder formations that surround the glade.
“Where are we?”
“Not far from the Acrine Hold. There is a path, though few know of it, that leads down through the mountains to the strait.” Soren strides several steps forward, eyes scanning all around him. He is looking for something—or someone—but he speaks again before I can ask. “This part of the range has many names. The Faery Ring. The Giant’s Necklace. The Cimmerian Crown. See how these five peaks form almost a perfect circle around us?”
I pivot in a full rotation, eyes scanning the surroundingsummits. They do indeed appear to encircle this stretch of land where the five opposing slopes converge into a flat plane of sorts.
“What do you call it?”
“The Vale.” Soren’s voice grows fainter as he moves away from me, his tall form disappearing into the thick foliage. “It was apparently a site Emperor Belenus once considered for the imperial palace.”
I trail after him, pushing aside the branches in my path. “Perhaps if he had, it would still be standing. The palace did not fare so well at Lake Lumen during the Cull, if my childhood lessons were at all accurate.”
The emperor’s grand palace was one of the mortal kings’ first targets when they staged their bloody coup. If any of it remains, it has long since been swallowed by the glowing waters of Anwyvn’s most famous lake.
“Or perhaps this place would merely be a ruin as well,” Soren counters from somewhere out of sight. “Which would be most unfortunate, given our purposes here today.”
“Which are…what, exactly?”
He materializes before me without warning, stepping out from behind a tree with such stealth, I have to swallow a bleat of panic. He smirks, voice dropping low. “The emperor did not make his home here, for this place already had a king.”
My features are still scrunched in confusion when his hands hit my shoulders. He slowly spins me around to face the opposite direction. His chest brushes my back as he leans forward to speak directly into my ear, his words hushed so as not to startle the great winged stallion that is making landfall in the clearing we’ve just vacated, each pump of his feathers sending plumes of dust and pollen into the air.
“Zephyr,” Soren says. “Winged King of the Vale.”
Tears spring to my eyes as I take in the sight of him. Pureblack, from his heavy hooves to his long mane. Andgargantuan. His wingspan is easily double that of Umyr’s. His body would dwarf even Atyr’s impressive bulk. He trots neatly to a stop just behind the tree line, tucking his wings close to his sides. His ears twitch as though he is listening for us in the quiet.
I can think of no words in the common tongue to encapsulate his sheer resplendence. I am afraid to move a single muscle, afraid the slightest movement will alert him to my presence and send him soaring back into the skies. When Soren pushes me forward a few steps, I dig my bootheels into the ground, resisting.
“You won’t scare him off. Trust me, he would not have appeared at all if he did not want to meet you.”
With a sigh I relent, allowing him to propel me forward on jellied legs. My heart is in my throat as the distance between me and the immense Paexyri shrinks. As we near, I see I was wrong at first glance—he is not all black. The very tips of his wings are dusted with gold and there are several thick streaks of it threaded through his tail and mane.
“I don’t have a bribe,” I whisper haltingly.
“You don’t need one.” Soren sounds amused. “You are the Remnant of Air. You are forged of the very maegic from which he sprang more than a millennium ago. Every facet of your being, from your scent to your power signature, is as familiar to him as the wind beneath his wings.”
Despite his assurances, I still tremble with hesitation as I step into Zephyr’s shadow. His black eyes bore into me,throughme, seeming to reach my very soul. My hand shakes visibly as I lift it slowly from my side, palm facing upward. I don’t realize it’s the one caked with dried blood until I see the sudden flare of his nostrils. His wide muzzle drops down into my hand before I can pull it back. He inhales deeply, scenting me, then chuffs out a warm breath that makes me grin.
“See?” Soren’s voice holds a matching smile. “He knows you already.”
I spend the following few minutes studying the Paexyri king up close, marveling over his glossy coat and the graceful slope of his spine, running my fingers through his feathers, laughing as he nips at my braid and flicks his tail.
“Thank you,” I say when I am finally able to turn my attention back to Soren. “This was amazing.”
His eyes crinkle with mirth as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Did you think this was the only reason we came?”
“Well…Yes, I…” I blink in bewilderment. “Why else?”