Page 302 of Vasmora

“Zevander!” I screamed, just as Raivox rolled upright again.

I squeezed my thighs. “Catch him, Raivox!”

Ignoring my command, the Corvugon glided through the air, dodging the lanterns as if the damned bird didn’t have a care in the world.

“Catch him now!” I screamed aloud that time.

Raivox jerked forward and dove vertically at a velocity that rattled my teeth. The force against my face was so unbearably strong, it was a wonder my skin didn’t peel away. I opened my mouth to scream, and the air burned inside my throat like hot blades. Only a few meters above the crowd, Raivox leveled, my stomach smashing into my throat.

The crowd gasped in unison as we blazed over top of them, their dresses flying up and the sheer fabrics of the archway fluttering wildly about.

A shadow zipped through my periphery, and I twisted around to see Zevander slam against the Corvugon’s plumed spine, rolling to the side as he slipped over the scales.

I threw out my hand too late, his body tumbling toward the wings. “Zevander!”

A hand appeared, grasping at thick quills, Zevander pulling himself up onto the Corvugon’s spine. He crawled his way back to me, seating himself behind me again, breaths sawing in and out of him. “Well played, Shitbag,” he managed to say.

Tension gripped my throat, and through a ragged exhale, I chuckled.

* * *

The evening wore on, guests dancing to a festive rhythm, as the quartet thrummed with fervor. Wine flowed like a freshly severed vein, everyone growing merrier by the second.

Except for one.

I found Rykaia sitting alone at a table toward the back, swirling a half-empty glass. When I pulled up a chair beside her, she offered no more than a somber glance.

“I promise I’m not pouting.” She jerked her head toward the crowd. “Go. Have fun.”

I tipped my head in an effort to snag her attention. “But you’re not having fun.”

“I am. I’m just thinking,” she said, staring off.

“About what?”

“My pet rabbit.”

I frowned in confusion. “You have a pet rabbit?”

“Used to. When I was younger, I told my mother that I was tired of playing with dolls. I wanted a real baby. So, she gave me a rabbit and said that if I could care for a rabbit, then I could care for a baby.”

I glimpsed the glass of wine in front of her, wondering how much she’d had to drink. “Exactly how young were you?”

She shrugged and swiped up her glass, polishing off what remained. “Eight? Ten? I don’t remember. What I do remember, distinctly, was the day the rabbit got loose in the castle. I searched for days for it.” Tapping her finger against the table, she shook her head. “My father found it after one of Branimir’s spiders had gotten to it. Ate everything but its fur.”

While I likely hadn’t had anywhere near as much to drink as she had, my head still couldn’t make the connection. “And so, why are you thinking about this now?”

Turning away from the crowd, she exhaled a weary breath. “Because I think I knew, even as early as eight years old, that I wasn’t fit to be a mother. It felt prophetic in a way. I can’t even keep a plant alive, let alone a child.”

Still confused, I shook my head. “I don’t understand. Where is this coming from? Aleysia?”

A look of remorse flashed over her face. “No. And I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude to your sister.”

“But you were troubled.”

She blinked, clearly trying to ward off tears. “Do you remember me telling you how, on the way to Calyxar, we were thrown into the sea and encountered the Syrenians?”

“Yes.”