Skyfire (21 page)

By the time dawn brushes the sky, we're high above the plains of Víndurn. The air is frigid, sharp with the promise of frost despite the slice of rising sun. Our sólfoxes soar westwards, towards the Valley.

I glance down behind the wings and almost swallow my tongue. It was one thing to fly at night, when the world was a blur of dark around me. But now, in the light of dawn? I can see
everything
. My stomach jolts as the world rushes by below me. It brings back the memory of Tindra's body, tumbling down, soon to be crushed beneath the weight of her sólfox.

I close my eyes and force myself to calm down. I'm being ridiculous. If I can cope with catacombs and geysers, I can sure as hell cope with a bird's eye view of Víndurn.

We soar higher, then higher still: our sólfox blasts into the clouds, until the world itself is a whirl of grey. Cold liquid sprays around my face, shocking my skin. My cloak streams behind me.

And suddenly, I'm not afraid. I'm flying.

I feel the smile spread across my face: one of those uncontrollable smiles that unfurls like a banner. My eyes are wide open and my hands are secure on Lukas's shoulders. I lean upwards, gazing into this whirl of white.

I'm alive. I'm truly alive. I let out a little whoop, unable to hold it back, and Lukas laughs. I feel it bubble up through his torso before it spills from his lips. We fly together, bodies pressed tight, the rush of wind and feathers and claws beneath us.

And for the first time, I understand Lukas's words.
‘It feels like ages since I've flown! Isn't it amazing?'
This was what he missed: the sheer, giddy joy of life against the sky.

An orange glow spills across Víndurn: syrup on a slice of bread. I feel as if I can see half the country. Vast fields of rock. The scraggly forests. Lakes of shining blue, frozen in the winter light. Bubbling geysers shoot steam and sulphur into the sky.

And in the distance … the Boundary Range. The border between Víndurn and Taladia. Too high and impenetrable to cross, even in a biplane. The Magnetic Valley is the only chink in its armour.

‘Are you scared?' I ask Lukas. ‘About seeing your father, I mean?'

‘No. It has to be done.'

But a little spasm runs through his voice, and I know that he's not being entirely truthful. I don't blame him. If I were about to confront a father who wanted me dead – a father who bombed innocent cities and sent thousands of conscripts to their slaughter – I'd be pretty damn nervous too.

Of course, I
am
nervous. The king wants me dead as well. In Víndurn, it was easy to forget who I really am: Danika Glynn, the most wanted fugitive in Taladia. Yet here I am, about to throw myself into the clutches of the man who signed my death warrant.

We land at the edge of the Valley. Despite the sunlight, the air is bitterly cold. Unfortunately, we can't fly the sólfoxes any further. As soon as we pass over a magnetic seam, the alchemy in their bones will cease to keep them airborne and we'll fall like broken biplanes from the sky.

‘Reckon Farran knows we've gone yet?' Teddy says.

‘Probably,' I say. ‘He doesn't strike me as the sort to sleep in.'

‘Oh, I dunno. I bet he's sitting back in his big lordly bed in the spires, waiting for servants to bring him cups of tea and caviar cakes and that.'

‘On a day like today?' I shake my head. ‘No. He'll be up and busy by now. I'm sure he's checked on our prison cell.'

‘Good,' Clementine huffs. ‘It serves him right. I only wish I could have seen his face when he realised we were gone.'

‘I don't,' Teddy says fervently. ‘That'd mean I was in his firing range.'

Down at the waterline, we take a few minutes to scrub our arms and faces. To present our argument to King Morrigan, we must first present ourselves. The grime of the geyser slides away – filth and sweat and the stink of sulphur. We dry ourselves quickly and stuff our limbs back into the warmth of our Víndurnic cloaks, before clambering back atop the sólfoxes.

Luckily, the creatures don't need magic to gallop on the ground. They tuck their wings against their sides – which shields our legs from the cold beautifully – and charge towards the western end of the Valley.

The water ripples softly in the morning light. It's strange to think we were here so recently in a rowboat. Those hours of floating through the Valley feel like a story. Something that was never real, and could never have been.

The sólfoxes charge on, their claws churning through grass and mud. I wrap my legs tighter around the furry torso. The beasts are fast – as fast as foxaries – and they show no sign of tiring. At this rate, we'll traverse the Valley in less than a day.

Teddy gives a wild whoop. ‘Faster than rowing, I reckon!'

Minutes turn to hours. The water ripples. The sun arcs across the sky, melting morning into noon. My body jolts. My legs ache. But I cling to the galloping sólfox with every skerrick of strength I can muster.

Finally, we bring the beasts to a halt.

‘Better walk from here,' Teddy says. ‘Don't fancy rocking up on these things.'

We can just make out the Taladian army camp: a distant smear by the Valley's western mouth. It scars the slope, a shadow above the waterline. All it would take is for a single soldier to look up – to see us charging forth on these monstrous beasts – and we'd die in a spray of panicked arrows.

I slide off the sólfox with a grunt. My legs are wobbly, addled by hours upon the creature's back. ‘What'll we do with them?'

No one answers. Lukas strokes the closest fox across the neck. It leans into his touch, its eyes closed. The moment is quiet and tender, and I wait a moment before I speak again.

‘Maybe you could call them if we need help?' I say.

Lukas shakes his head. ‘Not in the Valley. They're still obeying me now because they recognise me – they remember the touch of my magic. But it won't take long for them to forget.'

‘Yeah, same here,' Teddy says. ‘Damn shame too, I reckon. I never say no to a getaway vehicle.' He sighs. ‘Better get rid of them, I reckon. Don't want 'em running down into the camp and giving us away.'

Lukas strokes the sólfoxes again, whispering something I can't quite make out. The creatures stiffen a little. Then he and Teddy each place a hand on their withers, preparing to lead them away. To my surprise, Clementine offers to help control the beasts.

‘I had a pet canary once,' she says primly. ‘I know how birds react to things.'

Teddy snorts, but doesn't argue.

And so I'm left to sit with Maisy atop a sheltered crop of boulders. For a long while, neither of us speaks. We just gaze across the rippling water, and at the army camp. I open my mouth then close it again.

Maisy stares down at the ripples. ‘That was our mother's proclivity.'

‘Water?'

Maisy nods. ‘She used to play with us in our manor's courtyard. We had an ornamental pond, you see, with a fountain. We'd give her requests, and
she'd carve sculptures out of water – trees, animals, flowers. They only lasted for a moment, of course, but I remember how they shone. She was an artist, you know. A designer. Until …'

I nod my understanding, my throat tight. The twins lost their mother to the same bombing that killed my own family.

‘Clementine was an artist too, until it happened.' Maisy smiles sadly. ‘You'd never guess it, would you? She used to paint. The most beautiful paintings …' She trails into silence.

‘My mother's proclivity was Daylight,' I say. ‘She woke us every morning by pulling strands of light onto our faces. Hated it at the time, mind you – I wanted to keep sleeping. But I'd give anything, I think, to wake like that again.'

A breeze blusters down the slope, coaxing the grass into ruffles.

‘Are we doing the right thing, Danika?'

I don't respond. In all honesty, I don't know. We're about to meet the man whose bombs killed both our mothers. The man who sent fire blasting from the sky across our city. And yet here we are, risking our lives to warn him of his enemy's plans.

‘Part of me … part of me wants to see him lose.' Maisy glances at me. ‘Does that make me a terrible person?'

‘No,' I say. ‘But we're not doing it for him, Maisy.
We're doing it for them.' I gesture down at the mass of tents. ‘That's what makes us different from him, isn't it? Him and Farran both, really.'

‘Yes,' Maisy says. ‘Of course.'

Even so, her eyes remain fixed on the blue below. By the time the others return, we've settled back into awkward silence. I flick my gaze back up from the lake, and offer what I hope is a confident smile.

‘All right,' I say. ‘So what's the plan?'

‘Well, we've got to slip through the soldiers,' Clementine says. ‘I doubt the king camps near the front of his army. He'll have a tent near the back, surely? Something lavish and safe.'

Lukas nods. ‘Sounds like my father.'

‘How are we gonna reach it, then?' Teddy says.

I glance at the sky. The sun has begun to inch downwards. Many of Lord Farran's troops will be riding sólfoxes, just like us. In another few hours, they could be upon us. And when he brings out his firestones, inoculated against the Valley's magnetic field …

‘No idea,' I say, ‘but we'd better hurry.'

‘Yeah,' Teddy says. ‘Gotta get in and out before the battle starts.'

No one mentions that getting ‘out' may be considerably more difficult than getting ‘in'.

‘Let's keep moving,' Lukas says. ‘We might think of something when we're close enough to see.'

My limbs are still shaky, and my feet don't want to cooperate now that I'm back on solid ground. I feel as though my calves are knitted from wool, not flesh and bone. But we have to walk, so walk we do. The water glints below, a mirror for the icy sky. It seems too peaceful for war.

My fingertips still sting from last night's climb, and my shoulder aches from the grope of Annalísa's fingers in my wound. I count off a rhythm, a step at a time, to distract myself.
One step, two
.

And sure enough, the rhythm soon provides a drumbeat for a tune. The smugglers' song runs through my head: a rhythmical beat of clues and secrets.

 

Oh mighty yo,

How the star-shine must go …

 

It seems so obvious, now, that the whole song – not just the third verse – is the story of the prisoner. Of Lord Farran. A man with a smattering of stars on his neck, who
chased those distant deserts of green …

Now here I am, also bearing the mark of star-shine. And I'm here in the Valley, about to throw my life away. So much for the hope we once found in those words.

 

Oh frozen night,

How the dark swallows light …

 

I think of the hulk of Midnight Crest. Blackened foundations, broken walls. Just the bones of stone, its wooden skin burned away centuries ago when its captives broke free.

Lord Farran was one of them. I think of his words to Lukas last night:
‘The first time they tried to kill me, your ancestors left me to freeze.'

And the song takes on another meaning.
Frozen night.
Those lines about Midnight Crest weren't a clue to help us find our way – they just described another feather in Lord Farran's cap. Another reference to his fight against the Morrigans.

I remember how Midnight Crest once inspired us: how it motivated us to fight back and destroy the airbase. My stomach sinks. The man who burned that fortress down was just another monster. And even now, three hundred years later, he and the Morrigans are still playing their little game. Like scruffers in a Rourton alley, betting their coins on a toss of marbles.

And never mind those who die in the crossfire.

As we approach the army camp, the sun hovers low in the sky. Our trek has taken longer than I'd hoped; it must be four o'clock, maybe five. We hide
behind a cluster of boulders, about fifty metres up the slope.