Page 26 of Spar of Hearts

Blackbird squealed and pulled Anya toward the door. “What are we waiting for? The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back!”

Anya looked back at Marg and mouthed, “Sorry.”

Marg smiled and offered a playful wave. “I’ll see you two soon. Fair winds and calm seas.”

Chapter 12

Anya Delemond

Blackbird bounded along the cobblestone path, swinging her leather pack in her hands. “A wyvern? You mean it? Sweet Spirits, Anya, this expedition is already amazing!”

Anya was several paces behind her friend. Cherry blossoms swirled around them, a shocking pop of color amidst the still-sleeping sun drops and magnolias. She sighed through a weak smile. “Of course. I don’t enjoy jesting about my fears, Blackbird. Wyverns are basically the horses of the sky.” She shivered. There were no hooves, but who knew what a wyvern could do with horns and claws?

Probably far more damage. She gulped.

“Ha!” Blackbird barked a laugh. “Horses belong to the genus equus, and wyverns are draconi majora. Not even close!”

“You know what I mean.” Anya tried to match her friend’s energy, but her efforts were proven false by a yawn. Between stewing about the awkward dinner her parents concocted, Cyrus handling her royal duties, and the looming sky-high terror, sleep had eluded her. Why couldn’t they have had a normal strategy meeting with Lord Bryson? Why dinner?

A petal hit Anya smack in the face. She puffed it away in annoyance and hoisted her matching pack higher over one shoulder, her quiver and bow around the other. Her cutlass was holstered securely in her scabbard. They woke early to pack as light and effective as possible. They planned to buy the majority of their supplies in Little Wing. The last thing Anya wanted was Lord Bryson prodding her for packing like a princess. She wasn’t above doing some laundry on the ship. Her clothes would smell like salty sea air—the smell of freedom. Her chest felt lofty as the reality hit her. She would be away from the palace for weeks, months even.

The sensation quickly faded, then dropped like a stone into her gut. Her cousin would have every opportunity to usurp her duties and boost his reputation while she was gone. He was essentially the acting Prince. She couldn’t ask her parents not to have him help. She had countless duties, and their kingdom was growing while her parents grew older every day. She could only hope her success would outshine Cyrus’s political posturing.

The stable yard came into view, where Sir Oshfeldt was perched on the log fence picking his teeth. The dusty riding arena was taken up by a plum-colored wyvern. Lord Bryson stood in front of its snout, resting one hand on it, with a cigar in the other.

Is he talking to it?

“Lady Rowan!” Sir Oshfeldt waved and hopped down from the fence and ran to meet them. “It wasn’t goodbye after all, eh?” He blew a lock of silver hair out of his face. “Are you two ready to fly?”

“Yes!”

“No.”

Anya and Blackbird looked at each other and laughed. Hers was riddled with nerves; Blackbird’s was overflowing with glee.

It was time to fly.

Roderick Bryson

Roderick stiffened as Octavio called out to Lady Rowan and Anya. This was real. This was happening. His mind was suffocated by the smallest anxieties. Where would Anya sit? Would she have to hold onto him? Perhaps it was safest for her in front of him. He could reach Yomira’s horns around her. Even though he despised her, he needed to bring her back in one piece.

You don’t despise her. The purple wyvern lashed her tail back and forth.

“Yes I do,” he insisted. It was definitely an adjustment having a not-so-negative voice in his mind all the time. If he was near Yomira and she wanted to talk, she could hear his thoughts. Though the reverse was not true. He couldn’t get into the wyvern’s mind, and he had yet to figure out how to shield his mind from her.

Whatever you say, Rod.

“Don’t call me that.” He puffed on the peppermint cigar the wyvern had lit for him.

Fine. Rick. Yomira huffed through her nares.

“Or that.” His eyes flicked to Anya as she and Lady Rowan approached with Octavio. They packed surprisingly light, with only two packs and a small cinch bag between them. But perhaps it was a magic bag that could hold all the trappings a princess surely couldn’t live without. Maybe that was where all the mana stones went. He had once thought her cut from a different block than other nobles. She could wield a blade with passable skill and split her own arrow in two. But she turned out to be just another silver-gilded snob with no appreciation for his efforts during the evacuation. She’d surely be ten times as insufferable since he tried to keep her from the expedition so publicly. Admittedly, it was not one of his finest moments.

“Good morning, My Lord.” Lady Rowan curtsied. She wasn’t a lady of land and title, but a lady of the court. Regardless, she was far better mannered than Anya, who refused to look at him or Yomira. Did she think both of them monsters?

She will if you don’t introduce me. Yomira lowered her head next to his and stared at the newcomers.

“Lady Rowan, Anya, this is Yomira, first egg of Sorenti, heated and hatched by her father Romen.” The wyvern insisted this to be her full name. Quite a mouthful.