Union (14 page)

Nykin finished fastening the last buckle, his hands still resting on the side of Fimor’s long neck, and closed his eyes. He tried clearing his mind, but he had too many thoughts swirling around for him to be very successful, and he felt Fimor’s body vibrate as he grumbled in frustration.

“Concentrate, Nykin. Think of the sky, the unending stretch of blue, clear as far as the eye can see.”

Nykin did as he was told and imagined he was looking out of the cave mouth, the air crisp and clear and stretching before him in all directions.

“Good, now search inside yourself. Let your body show you.”

Nykin wasn’t sure how to do that exactly, but he tried to relax further, letting his body slump into Fimor’s side. He was about to give up, verging on feeling foolish, when it happened. The barest of sensations, like a soft humming deep under his skin. The feeling intensified along his left side—which made sense, as that was where he’d been injured—but featherlike tendrils spread out across his belly and his back. He couldn’t hold on to it, though, and soon enough, it slipped away, and Nykin opened his eyes with a start.
“That was just… wow.”

Nykin didn’t quite know how to verbalize what he was feeling, but Fimor sent a pulse of warm comfort through their bond, and Nykin knew that he understood.

“They’re ready for us now, Nykin. It’s time to go.”

A shiver of anticipation raced up Nykin’s spine as he pulled himself up onto Fimor’s back. The prospect of seeing the elves again was even more exciting after that, but Nykin couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to be in close proximity to them, both for him and Fimor.

Fimor launched them into the air and flew up to join the riders and dragons hovering above them. Nykin pushed all other thoughts aside for now. They had a job to do.

“A
RE
YOU
sure about this?” Cerylea paused at the foot of the ramp and glanced over at Ryneq. They’d made good time, reaching the sea just past midday, and most of their belongings were already loaded onto the ships. “I don’t see why we have to travel separately. It’s not exactly a long journey.”

“It’s too risky for us to travel together. Anything could happen, Cerylea.”

He nodded at one of his guards, who came up behind Cerylea and gently urged her to start moving again. If anything happened to the ships on this journey—which, Ryneq admitted, was highly unlikely—then it made sense for them to be on different vessels. At least that way they stood a better chance of one of them making it out alive.

She rolled her eyes but allowed the guard to help her up onto the ship. “I’ll see you in Alel, Brother.”

Ryneq watched her until she was safely aboard and then turned back to supervise the final loading of supplies. All the luggage was secured below, and the men only carried food and water for the journey up onto the ships now. The elves had insisted on a traditional elven ceremony, and as such they would provide everything necessary. All Cerylea had to do was to show up.

They’d pretty much agreed to everything the elves had requested regarding the actual wedding itself—in part because it needed to be carried out properly for the magic to work—but Cerylea had refused to be swayed on one thing—her dress.

She wanted to get married in their mother’s wedding dress—a slim-fitting, floor-length gown, cut low in the back, and with a small train out behind. The ivory material was soft to the touch and overlain with embroidered flowers. Ryneq had no doubt Cerylea would look beautiful in it, but he felt the familiar pang of sadness at the thought that their parents weren’t around to see it.

“That’s the last of it, Sire.” Peros, one of Ryneq’s personal guard, saluted him as he spoke and waited for further instruction.

“Is everyone else on board?” Ryneq looked along the virtually deserted jetty where the ships moored. Their horses had already been led away to be stabled at the barracks until their return. The only people left were the members of Ryneq’s naval guard, waiting to cast them off.

“Yes, Sire.” Peros adjusted his uniform slightly.

Ryneq knew his soldiers were a little uneasy at the thought of travelling by sea. They were used to riding on horseback, and a lot of them had never even been on a boat before, let alone one of the king’s big sailing ships.

“I guess we’d better get on board, then.” Ryneq gestured for Peros to go first and then followed after.

The ships, the
Dragon’s Breath
and the
Wildfire,
were identical in build, and Ryneq ran his hand along the smooth wooden rail as he made his way over to talk to the captain, whose name was Vahkil. He was old enough to be Ryneq’s father, and had a lifetime’s experience of sailing the Nalvaq Sea.

Each ship took a crew of eighteen, and had ample sleeping room for nineteen more, with a large cabin that Ryneq or Cerylea would use. They weren’t taking that many people though—Cerylea had her maid, Sarenne, and ten palace guards with her, while Ryneq took twelve members of his personal guard. He looked up into the sky, squinting at the glare of the sun as he tried to pick out Nykin from the dark shapes swirling above them.

Ryneq couldn’t tell them apart from this distance, but he smiled anyway at the thought of Nykin and Fimor watching over them.

“Ready when you are, Sire.” Vahkil nodded in greeting as Ryneq approached him. “Shall I give the order to cast off?”

“Yes, Vahkil. She’s all yours.” Ryneq watched in rapt fascination as Vahkil shouted out commands to his sailors to row clear from the dock. Once they were out in deeper waters, Vahkil barked more orders, and his men scurried about the deck, unfurling sails. They began to move slowly. Ryneq cast a glance back in the direction of the Stone Palace and hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he was back there again.

The
Wildfire
wasn’t far behind, and it didn’t take long before they were side by side, cutting through the sea and on their way to Alel.

Ryneq stayed up on deck looking out over the sea, and enjoyed the feel of the fresh air and salt spray on his face. The sun was warm, unhindered by clouds, and Ryneq would probably stay outside for most of the journey if the weather allowed. The thought of being cooped up below held little appeal. His men were bunked together, and even though Ryneq was thankful for the privacy of his own cabin, he didn’t relish spending a lot of time down there.

If the weather stayed clear, Vahkil had estimated they’d arrive in Alel just before dusk the day after tomorrow. They’d need to arrive while still daylight in order to navigate the entrance to the bay. The elves went to great lengths to ensure the safety of their people, and although in theory Alel was accessible from the sea, the elves still heavily warded it. Only elven ships were granted safe passage through the narrow channel that separated Alel from the Nalvaq Sea.

Prince Morkryn had assured them that two of the elders would meet them and escort both ships safely inside. With an elder on board, the Torserian ships would automatically be perceived as elven and allowed to pass through the magical barrier. It made Ryneq extremely uncomfortable to have no control over the situation. He’d never enjoyed having to rely on others where the lives of his family and his people were concerned. But in this instance he had no choice.

He knew rationally that if he didn’t trust the elves to escort them safely to Alel, then he shouldn’t even be going there in the first place.

Ryneq tightened his fingers on the rail, knuckles going white under the strain. He wished Nykin were here, standing next to him. He wanted to bury his head in the crook of Nykin’s neck and breathe in the scent of his warm skin mixed with leather, sweat, and the unmistakable smell of dragon.

Ryneq loved all of it. When Nykin came back from the Eyrie, he smelled like fire, like the air after one of those storms that lit up the sky. His skin was always alive with it, and Ryneq would bury himself in the comforting scent for hours if he had the chance. But he very rarely had the opportunity to do as he liked, and as his gaze drifted up to the sky above, he felt the ache deep in his chest.

“Sire?” Peros came up to join him at the bow of the ship, looking out at the vast expanse of sea ahead of them. “Is everything all right?”

Ryneq wondered what he must look like for one his guards to ask him that. He drew himself up and buried his personal anxiety deep below the surface. “Yes, just taking a moment to calm my stomach.” He adjusted his jacket, smoothing his hand down over the front as if soothing his upset belly. He wore light armor and leather similar to his guards, easier to ride in, and only when they reached Alel would he change into something more befitting a king.

Peros smiled ruefully and gestured back behind them. “Not everyone is faring as well as you, Sire.”

When Ryneq turned to see where he was pointing, he winced in sympathy. At least four of his men hunched over the rail, their faces pale and drawn as they retched over the side. “Get them some ginger to chew on,” he said, facing the water in front of them again. “There should be some down below in the supplies we brought with us.”

“Yes, Sire.” Peros saluted and then bowed his head as he left.

Ryneq hoped the ginger would help—otherwise the journey would be a long, uncomfortable one for those affected.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there watching the waves roll and swell, and only his empty stomach prompted him to move. He took one last look up at the sky. Dragons could fly much faster than the ships could sail and would have easily made Alel in under a day if they didn’t have to accompany them. The riders would take it in turns to stop later. A few rock-covered islands dotted along the coastline, high enough to be inaccessible by boat, and the riders would stop in groups to rest and eat before rejoining the royal escort.

For now, the dragons had fanned out in a V formation and they were lower than before. Ryneq shielded his eyes with his hand and strained to make out the large shapes into recognizable forms.

There, at the back left, Ryneq could just about make out the dark red of Fimor’s scales. He was the only red dragon in the group escorting the ships, so Ryneq recognized him. He imagined Nykin’s face—flushed from the wind and excitement of the ride—and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then Ryneq finally turned away and headed below in search of food.

R
YNEQ
WOKE
to the sounds of frantic shouting and a pounding on his cabin door. “All hands on deck!”

He bolted upright, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he hurriedly dragged on his pants and boots. He’d slept in his shirt, only planning on catching a couple of hours’ sleep, and he was quickly out the door and climbing up the steps onto the deck.

Peros rushed past him, and Ryneq grabbed hold of his arm, just as the ship lurched violently to one side. “What’s going on?” he yelled, the wind whipping into his face and making it almost impossible to be heard.

Peros steadied himself against the rail at the top of the steps and tried in vain to wipe some of the rain out of his eyes. “Storm!” he shouted back. “Came out of nowhere.”

He slipped and lost his footing as the boat lurched again. Ryneq pulled him backward into his body to stop him from falling.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Ryneq clutched Peros tight until the deck was level again and helped him stand.

Peros shook his head. “Neither has the crew. Vahkil’s making us lash everything to the deck.”

Ryneq looked around them. The crew was busy with the sails and the rest of Ryneq’s men were scrambling between the crates on the deck, tying them down with lengths of rope. “Go,” Ryneq said, and Peros weaved his way between the other guards to help secure a crate at the back.

Ryneq struggled against the wind and the roll of the boat, clinging to anything he could get his hands on as he fought his way over to where Vahkil stood.

The captain was clutching the wheel tight and barking orders at his crew. “Reef that mainsail, and furl the jib before that wind has us over!” They rushed to do his bidding but clearly not quickly enough. “Move it!”

Ryneq hung onto the deck rail behind him, feet sliding about as more seawater sloshed over the side. “Where the hell has this come from?” he yelled, unable to believe what he was seeing. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the turbulent sea, and Ryneq’s heart faltered. The dark water looked alive, huge swells and troughs all around them, and Ryneq couldn’t believe that the relative calm of earlier had turned into this. The Nalvaq Sea was generally known for its calm waters, he’d never heard of ships being wrecked in it. The only place Ryneq had heard there being troubled waters was around Alel, but that was hopefully more to do with magic than anything natural. This should not be happening. A loud crack of thunder followed moments later, sounding right over their heads.

Vahkil turned and shouted close to Ryneq’s ear, as though he’d heard his thoughts. “It’s not natural.” He let the words sink in, and Ryneq shook his head a little in confusion. “The storm,” Vahkil continued. “The waves are all wrong. Look.” He pointed over the starboard side of the ship, and then to port, and although it took Ryneq several flashes of lightning, he finally saw it. “Gods have mercy.”

“Aye, Sire.”

The waves were crashing into them from all around, as though the water was targeting them specifically. It shouldn’t be possible. Vahkil was right—the storm wasn’t natural. Ryneq had very little experience with magic, other than the elves’, and he had no idea if the weather and the elements could be manipulated like this. But what other explanation could there be?

“Where’s the
Wildfire
?” He strained to see out into the darkness, but he couldn’t make out anything through the driving rain. The next flash that lit up the sky showed no sign of Cerylea and the others.

Vahkil cursed loudly, as a huge wall of water crashed over them from behind, but he didn’t once loosen his grip on the wheel. “Lost sight of them as soon as the storm arrived,” he yelled.