A Perverted Path to Victory

Sara

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Fanlah reached the army long before Sara and Mayaran were in position to greet her. She spiraled out of the sky with shocking speed, the purple membrane of her wings visibly straining as she swept into tighter and tighter circles, aiming for a small patch of road that had been left clear for her arrival. Barely slowing before hitting the ground, the impact of her taloned claws was significant enough that Sara could feel it reverberating through the ground, even from hundreds of meters away.

“She sure knows how to make an entrance,” Sara passively noted, glancing at Mayaran.

“One does not become the Herald of Imperequs without taking pride in their work,” Mayaran replied, equally passive. Without any other socialites to put on an act for, their mutual distaste was palpable.

“Was getting flown in on her back as fun as it seems like?” Sara asked. “Getting a ride from a wyvern like her had to be quite the honor, yeah?”

“It was.”

There was something there that Sara could barely sniff out. A touch too much emphasis on the was. The past tense. It had been an honor. Not anymore.

Ah, Sara thought, a light smile dusting her cheeks, that’s why she’s so pissy. She thought she was hot shit for getting a ride from Fanlah, only to end up having to watch me get a VIP flight straight to the Imperial Capital. She’s pissed that I stole her thunder.

Sara glanced down at herself, briefly reconsidering her choice of attire. A cotton shirt that had been so shredded there was more exposed skin than covered was fine enough when her only objective was to rankle Mayaran’s prim and proper sensibilities, but it might not be the best choice for impressing a high-society wyvern. And if Mayaran was angry that Sara was getting close to Fanlah, Sara intended to get as close as she could.

Too late to back out now, though, she decided. She briefly considered tossing an illusion of more proper clothes over herself, but discarded it. That veered too close to admitting Mayaran was right for suggesting Sara go change into something proper, and she’d be damned if she’d give the bitch a single inch of ground.

Sara had to hold back a sneer as they passed a group of newer recruits working through musket drills. The mere presence of a Chosen and Honored Elven disrupted the entire crowd, men and women scrambling over themselves to bow, kneel, or otherwise supplicate themselves. Even their squad leader’s bellowed demands didn’t shake their dedication to the ritualistic display of piety. No matter how much Sara tried, she’d never quite managed to convince the Imperial rank and file to not obsess over religious formalities.

Say what you will about her, Sara thought, glancing at the sharp angles of Mayaran’s profile, at least she’s got enough of a spine to be an asshole. I might have gone crazy if every person in this damn army ended up kissing my ass like that.

By the time they’d arrived, Fanlah had already collected a gaggle of admirers. Officers, soldiers, and civilians alike were crowding around her, held at bay by a few grim-faced squads of bayonet-brandishing troops. A good chunk of the army’s upper command echelon was inside the circle, listening raptly to Fanlah’s refined, upper-crust Kemari dialect.

“Yes, the upcoming meeting has been quite the topic of discussion in the capital,” Fanlah said, primly adjusting her massive limbs. Just as she had on her first visit, she’d brought herself low to the ground, legs and wings folded up like a cat. Her serpentine neck twisted this way and that, always at eye level with whoever she was addressing. A posture chosen for courteousness, not comfort, Sara decided. The personal messenger of Imperequs had no need to tower ominously over the crowd.

“It has been a number of years since the Adjutants last met in person,” General Borek said, stroking his chin. “I worry that the Emperor has begun to take a true interest in the war. Have you heard anything of the sort?”

“I am afraid I cannot say, General,” Fanlah replied. Massive reptilian eyes blinked slowly as she snaked her thick head toward Borek, addressing him directly. “Though I may carry messages for Imperequs, his ancient self has precious little reason to carry word of the Emperor’s desires beyond the capital with any regularity. Even if I had delivered such a message before, I would not break the trust of others by revealing what I knew.”

“Of course, of course,” General Borek said, nodding. He turned his attention down and to the left, looking at someone who hadn’t yet spoken. “Perhaps you have heard something of relevance in the capital, Honored Rider?”

“I am afraid I have not,” they replied. It was a woman with a coarse, raspy voice, one that Sara’s Blessings clocked as being aged beyond their years. “Half-ears don’t run in the same circles as the full bloods. And even if they did, I spend most of my time in the Wyvern Courts. In fact, I haven’t- ah!” The woman turned away from Borek, eyes alight with a smile. “I believe we have a guest.”

Sara raised her hand in greeting as Mayaran’s guards broke through the perimeter, jogging lightly to get ahead of them as she tossed a blinding smile at the gathered crowd.

“My apologies for not being here for your arrival,” she said to Fanlah, dipping her head in a polite greeting that was, very deliberately, not a bow. “I knew you were swift, but even I couldn’t have expected you to arrive so early. It is an honor to meet you, Fanlah. Sara Brown, at your service.”

The usual mutterings and whispers went around the crowd at Sara’s arrival. She ignored most of them, focusing instead on the conversation’s main players.

The raspy-voiced woman was Fanlah’s lone rider, obviously. Though her voice sounded like it could have belonged to a hundred year old woman, she looked no more than fifty years old— a misleading appearance, Sara realized, judging by the waifish features that marked her as being of elven blood. Flaring her Blessings for a moment to truly inspect her, Sara determined that the rider was, indeed, a half-blood, born to elvish and human parents. Perhaps a hundred and fifty years old, her body wore the marks of a working woman’s life. The natural reediness of her elven build had been filled out by slim cables of muscle, wrapped in places by thin streaks of fading scars, her narrowed eyes scanning the crowd with the same casual alertness that was so common to veteran soldiers.

By comparison, Fanlah seemed to have weathered her years far better. Foreign information flowed into Sara’s head, Blessings pulling it from no source that could be identified. Just as she could inexplicably guess the age of Fanlah’s rider, Sara took in the thickness of the wyvern’s scales, the coloration of her wing membranes, and the gradient shades of her dark talons, using their appearance to piece together a picture of the wyvern’s life. Hatched about half a millennia ago, she’d grown to her full size in less than a year, giving her more time than most to adjust to her adult size. With a narrow chest, long neck, and wings that were oversized on her slim frame, she had been born with a gifted racer’s body. Despite that early advantage, she’d clearly been raised right, never letting her natural talent fester into undue arrogance. Hard work had sculpted her frame into a svelte machine, decades and centuries passing with hardly a lapse in her efforts.

A genetic freak with good work ethic, Sara summarized. Like Usain Bolt in the prime of his life, but her prime is probably going to last a few more centuries.

Fanlah dipped her head in a far more respectful bow than Sara had bothered with, eyes on the ground as her startlingly feminine voice filled the air.

“I am Fanlah, hatched of Matriarch Bessilin and the White Line’s finest joining, Sixth Cousin to Noble Imperequs himself, and his mighty self’s chosen messenger.” She lifted her head, green eyes glittering with a smile. “But I know you care little for such elaborate titles, Sara Brown. Uttered from the lips of one such as you, the name Fanlah is more than honor enough.”

Sara blinked.

This dragon wants to bang my brains out so bad it hurts.

The thought swept through her mind in an instant, Blessings lighting up like a Christmas tree in the back of her head. If there was any single supernatural ability she had the most experience with, it was the one that told her who was interested in having sex with her. Though there was nothing overtly flirtatious in Fanlah’s bearing, her instincts were certain beyond any doubt. Fanlah had heard there was a beautiful Chosen out and about in the Empire, and, though she didn’t seem to have consciously acknowledged the impulse, she’d become enraptured. Now that she was seeing Sara in person— with her tattered shirt barely clinging on to the last shreds of her dignity— she’d become even more enchanted with the idea of taking Sara to her bed.

Or… nest? Paddock? Do wyverns even live under a roof? They’d have to be fucking massive buildings, wouldn’t they?

Recovering from the flashbang of distracting revelations, Sara treated Fanlah to a smile that was a touch more genuine than most of her dazzling grins.

“I’m glad to learn you don’t put undue emphasis on ceremony, Fanlah. Ever since I’ve come to this world, I’ve found honesty and forthrightness to be a rare commodity amongst high society.”

“A problem I’ve never lived without, I’m afraid,” Fanlah sighed sympathetically, adjusting her wings slightly. They made a rasping sound like hundreds of leather straps being drawn through belt loops. She brightened a touch. “Though I still value politeness in my own manner, and so must introduce my most stalwart companion: Devi Tang, Captain and Commander.”

The aged half-elf stepped out of Fanlah’s shadow, holding her hand out to offer a commoner’s handshake.

“An honor to meet a Chosen,” she rasped as they shook hands, “and a greater honor still to meet Sara Brown. The details of your battles against the Sporatons have been making their way through the Empire, you know. If the tale hasn’t gotten too mangled, you’re one fine commander.”

“Evie taught me everything I know,” Sara said, the deflection coming to her lips as a matter of habit. “She’ll deny it, but she’s the real genius behind my victories.”

Devi’s eyebrows rose. “Truly? An interesting twist to the story, then.”

While the amicable chat and introductions were ongoing, a small part of Sara’s mind had been keeping its attention on Mayaran. The elven woman had what most would consider to be a nearly flawless poker face, but Sara could see straight through it. Her muscles had been steadily winding tighter and tighter beneath her robes, accompanied by the steadily increasing patter of her heartbeat. Irritated from the get-go, her frustration had only been building as the minutes ticked by.

Naturally, Sara chose to ignore that entirely. As General Borek called for servants to bring up chairs and a pavilion tent, Sara began building a polite rapport with Fanlah and Devi. In a peculiar turn of events, it seemed that Fanlah, despite spending her time amongst the most important individuals in Imperial society, was downright starstruck by Sara. She’d been alive when the last Champion had graced the continent, but had been forbidden from undertaking a cross-continental journey to meet them. Though she tried to play it cool, Sara got the impression the wyvern had spent the intervening centuries bemoaning her missed opportunity to meet a Divine Chosen, an old grievance that she was utterly elated to finally rectify.

The slow, fawning pace of conversation, which rarely ventured anywhere near practical matters, continued to wear on Mayaran. Sara kept one metaphorical eye tuned to the elf, grinning inwardly at her frustration. She’d really thought that getting a ride back to the army on Fanlah had been quite the coup for her. Riding with the renowned wyvern was a great honor, and she’d been more smug about it than Sara had initially realized. But, as it became increasingly clear that Fanlah had mostly made the trip in hopes to see Sara, Mayaran’s mood grew fouler and fouler. Eventually she was outright scowling, no longer bothering to hide her frustration, and those few who tried to strike up a conversation with her were tersely dismissed.

Is this all you see our little spat as? Sara wondered. A popularity contest? What the hell is wrong with you, woman? And why can’t I figure it out?

By the time Borek’s servants returned with a mobile pavilion and all its creature comforts, Sara was becoming convinced that she was missing something obvious. Mayaran’s motivation for being such a bitch couldn’t have been so well disguised that a Champion of Amarat couldn’t figure it out. Sara had all the pieces, she felt sure. She just wasn’t putting them together in the right way.

Maybe she’s just an asshole? Sara guessed. She could hate me for no good reason. But that doesn’t quite feel right, does it?

Whatever the answer was, it would have to wait. The army’s commanders had finished gathering, taking seats in the shade of a richly dyed tent, and Fanlah was reluctantly moving the conversation toward more practical topics.

“...such a large number of wyverns is difficult to imagine,” she said, her curious hum reverberating in Sara’s chest. “It is difficult to find any wyverns willing to take sides in the human’s war. The rest of their forces must be stretched remarkably thin.”

“Yeah. And that’s the problem for us,” Sara said. “They’ve opened up the main southern frontline to one hell of a counterattack. It’s going to be a hell of a time convincing the Adjutant that we need wyverns here, to counter their push to Tulian, instead of having their forces take advantage of the temporary numerical superiority down south.”

“And why shouldn’t they?” Devi asked. She’d discarded her heavy gambeson, standing in a sweat soaked undershirt beneath the blazing sun. “The hardest fighting is in the Imperial core. While I respect your status as a Chosen, Sara Brown, it is difficult to argue that your city is worth forgoing such an opportunity.”

Sara’s senses swept outward, finding General Borek sitting nearby. Currently unoccupied, he was paying a small amount of attention to Sara’s conversation while he waited for the others to be ready. A perfect opportunity to argue her point outside the formality of the meeting.

“Because Tulian can help fight,” Sara said. “Wyverns willing to fight in the civil war are rare. They’re protected, deployed en masse, and quick to retreat when their life is in danger. If they send wyverns down south, they’ll make some advances, turn the tide of a few battles, but they’ll end up facing the same thing they did before once the enemy’s done mopping up Tulian. Minor victories at best.”

Sara smiled predatorily, even as her mind raced to figure out the best way to phrase the strategy Evie had explained to her the day before. “Up here, though, with the enemy wyverns hitched to an army? If they don’t want to abandon tens of thousands of veteran troops to a slow death, they’ll be stuck. If the Adjutant sends wyverns to fly alongside the Tulian Air Force, his forces will have an opportunity to do the kind of damage that’s been eluding them for decades. Tulian planes will tip the balance in our favor, giving us the first decisive aerial battle this war has ever seen.”

“Hmm,” Fanlah hummed with interest, a broad tongue flicking out to lick contemplatively across her narrow snout. “A compelling argument. I do not know if it will convince your Adjutant, but it is an interesting perspective. I worry, however, that-”

“That you are turning our forces to your own selfish ends,” Mayaran interrupted, her foul mood finally boiling over. Her mage’s robes rippled as she swept into the conversation, sneering at Sara. “No matter how elaborately you wrap your justifications, it is clear that you are motivated by selfish desires. That a Chosen of the Gods would turn our Holy Empire into their tool puts a bitter taste in my mouth.”

Sara turned to face Mayaran slowly, blinking as if surprised by the interruption. “Oh? Selfish, you say? How so?”

“You were hired as a mercenary. An aid to our cause.” Her lip curled. “Now you seek to turn Imperial forces into your own private army. I am tired of pretending that you have the slightest inkling of interest in our success, and I can keep it to myself no longer.”

Sara bared her teeth in something that might be, if one were to see it in a very dark room, confused for a smile. “If you can point out a flaw in my proposed strategy, please, do it. I would be delighted to hear how best to serve your people’s cause. As it stands, however, I believe that our goals have become pleasantly well-aligned.”

“Yes, I’m sure you do.” Mayaran slipped her hands into her robe’s sleeves. “Because you are more fond of a handful of foreign peasants than you are the hundreds of thousands of Imperial citizens at risk on the true frontline, you will find any reason to justify your beliefs.”

Off to the side, General Borek blew a heavy groan through the hands that came up to cradle his face. Ignoring him, Sara turned to square her hips with Mayaran. A bile-filled formality entered her words as she spoke, as if it were the chemical byproduct of the exertion required to contain her anger.

“Accuse me of what you wish, mage, but know that you will have a terrible time trying to claim that I lack empathy for the common people. Of all the insults you’ve thrown in my face, that is the most laughably ignorant.”

“Why shouldn’t I speak the truth?” Mayaran could tell she was getting under Sara’s skin. She was reveling in it. “If it is your honor that you believe I am calling into question, do not worry yourself. The duty of a leader is always to put their own people’s needs first. That you are doing so is no shame— only a glaring betrayal of your promised duty to the Empire.”

General Borek finally had enough. “Mage Mayaran,” he snapped, hopping to his feet. “You need not concern yourself with the value of the Powdered Lead’s service, nor their adherence to contractual obligations. You may spare yourself the stress, as I alone possess that right in this army.”

“Of course,” she purred, eyes glittering hatefully as she stepped away from Sara. “I would not want to overstep my bounds, of course. Not when we are so near to visiting the capital itself.” She chuckled mirthlessly, a cruel anger building behind her pupils as she took her seat. “I cannot imagine how disastrous that would be. To show disrespect in the presence of the Ancient Elven. Perhaps even in front of the Emperor himself? I’ve never even heard of such a thing. I wonder what the punishment for such a crime would be?”

Sara’s mouth jerked open, something highly regrettable at the tip of her tongue, only for a small hand to slip around her waist.

“Has everyone arrived?” Evie asked, glancing about as if nothing were out of the ordinary. “I believe there is much to discuss, and I hoped to begin the process soon. Our deliberations are harming the army’s progress.”

“Everyone has, in fact,” Mage Mayaran said. “In fact, I believe our conversation can come to the table directly, considering its relevance to—”

“Publicly insulting my wife would be a dueling offense.”

Though Evie had the posture of a calm, relaxed woman, with her arm fondly wrapped around Sara, her slitted pupils were vibrating. Mayaran flinched the moment she looked at Evie’s eyes, recoiling as if she had been shoved physically back into her chair. The challenge hung openly for a few long moments, Mayaran locked onto Evie, all nearby holding their breath.

Eventually, with a shrug as nonchalant as any ever managed, Mayaran turned toward General Borek.

“Well? May we begin the meeting?”

“Yes,” he sighed, tension flooding out of the wisened General’s limbs. “Yes, we shall. Please, all present, take your seats.”

Sara dropped into a chair gracelessly, sweeping Evie up into her lap a moment later. Captain Devi took the seat one away from her, removing the chair between them, clearing a space for the bulky head of Fanlah to snake into place, joining the table at eye level. One green eye, large as Sara’s closed fist, turned toward her.

Wyverns, predictably, couldn’t really whisper. There wasn’t any way for Fanlah to speak in a way that the others wouldn’t hear. But Sara could understand the look in the creature’s eye well enough, and she leaned aside to whisper into the round hole that, Sara felt fairly certain, was the wyvern’s ear.

“We’re not particularly fond of Mage Mayaran, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Fanlah’s huffing chuckle blew across the gathering, sending a few papers scattering into the air. Her breath smelled like a week-old corpse, making several people cough, their eyes watering. Sara, of course, maintained her poker face.

“Now,” General Borek said, taking control of the meeting, “we do not have enough time to discuss all that we face, but try we must. In but a few short hours, I and several others will be traveling to the capital in order to plead our case to the Adjutant. In as orderly a fashion as possible, I ask for those gathered here to compile their arguments in our force’s favor.”

As the discussion began, Sara turned her attention to Fanlah, watching the wyvern watch her. The creature’s green eyes never left Sara, and they very, very rarely ventured up to her face. Near soundlessly, casting her voice directly into Evie’s ears, Sara asked a question.

Am I really going to end up fucking a dragon?

Evie covered her mouth as if hiding a yawn, speaking silently so that Sara’s Blessings could read her lips.

Don’t ask such absurd questions, dear, Evie replied impishly. Fanlah is a wyvern, not a dragon.

Oh, fuck off.

With one broad wing lowered to the ground, Fanlah waited patiently for her passengers to clamber onto her back. Sara and Evie stood back a ways, allowing Borek and Mayaran to absorb Devi’s lessons on the basics of securing oneself in a wyvern’s saddle. Hurlish had arrived to see them off, Tahn in her arms, Keo at her side, their guards standing patiently nearby. Sara had just finished donning her armor, her and Evie’s small travel bag of essentials already latched onto Fanlah’s harness.

“How long is this gonna take?” Hurlish asked. “Better not be long.”

“The official meeting of the Adjutants is to be a two-day affair,” Evie explained. “Between slipping our appearance between the many formalities, Sara doubtlessly being summoned to present herself to Emperor Aydrian, and the time it will take to argue our position successfully, I anticipate it will take no more than three days, arriving back to the army early on the fourth.”

“Alright. I can live with that. But you better be back before the fighting starts. I don’t want to have to knock my way through half an Imperial army because you weren’t here to win the battle for ‘em.”

“General Borek’s subordinate officers are more competent than that.”

“Ain’t as good as you.” Hurlish rubbed the top of Evie’s head like she was petting a dog, mussing her hair up terribly, then jutted her own chin toward General Borek. “I’m gonna go talk to him about something. With how bad crap’s getting, I’m gonna need some proper help in the forge to finish my projects.”

Sara bit her cheek. “You’re gonna use Imperial apprentices? For those projects? Aren’t you worried about what they’re going to learn off you?”

Hurlish shrugged, walking around Fanlah’s wide wing to where Borek and Mayaran were securing their bags with Devi’s help. “We’re outta time. It’s gotta get done. And no, I’m not gonna ask for apprentices.”

Before Sara could inquire further, Hurlish had stopped in front of Borek, finding herself in the rare instance of looking up at someone, seeing as he was sat upon Fanlah’s back.

“Master Smith,” Borek greeted, caution and curiosity in his tone. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You’re gonna give me smiths,” Hurlish declared. “The proper ones, the ones that prepare Warrior’s armors for enchantment and know how to work with ensorcelled blades. I’m going to get fifteen of them, and you’re going to tell them straight to their faces that I’m in charge of them, no way around it, no matter how important they are.”

“Ah,” Borek said, drawing the word out as he ran his tongue along his teeth. “I am, am I?”

“You are. Because I’ve got crap that needs to get done, I don’t have enough time to do it on my own, and they’re gonna learn more from watching me than they’d have figured out on their own over the next twenty years. And no, I’m not paying them a single coin for the work.”

Borek looked down at Hurlish, faintly bemused. “You know, when one attempts to strike a hard bargain, they usually mean a hard bargain. Not a ludicrous one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hurlish said, twirling her hand in a get-on-with-it motion. “They can meet me at the forge an hour before first light, work until the marching starts, then stay past sunset. Human, elf, whatever, I don’t care, just so long as they do what I say.” Hurlish glanced about. “You got a scribe or something to get that order sent off? Don’t want to hold you up too long.”

“You seem to be making a great deal of assumptions about what I am and am not willing to do.” Despite that, General Borek pointed to someone in the crowd, then waved them forward. A young catfolk girl appeared from the throng, a notebook and charcoal nub clutched in her hands. “Did you catch all that?” General Borek asked, to which the girl nodded. “Good. Have the Master of Arms informed, as well as the quartermasters. Hopefully their apprentices can handle their work in the interim.” General Borek turned back toward Hurlish. Sitting in glinting armor between the ivory spines of a wyvern, he cut quite the impressive figure. “You say that they’ll learn much from you. I expect that to be a great deal.”

Hurlish shrugged. “I’ll try to hide what I can from ‘em, but I’m not a spy, and your people are smart. I’m sure they’ll sneak off with more than I wanted ‘em to. If they don’t, that’s their fault, not mine.”

“I see.” General Borek looked to the catfolk girl, a moment of consideration on his face, and then he nodded. “Go. Deliver the orders.” The girl dashed away, notebook slipped into a pocket within her rain coat. General Borek sighed tiredly, glancing at Sara. “I have just subordinated over a dozen Imperial Master Smiths to a foreigner who’s a fraction their age. It won’t be the last I hear of that. You do understand how many difficulties you have introduced to my life in these last few months, don’t you?”

Sara raised her hands in mock surrender, laughing. “Hey, that one wasn’t me. She didn’t even explain to me what she was going over to you for. I’m as much in charge of Hurlish as those smiths are about to be.”

“Hm. Perhaps I’ll be best served by having future discussions regarding your conduct with the true master of the home, then.” General Borek nodded his head to Hurlish. “Well, then. You’ve got what you wanted. I expect you’ll want to begin preparing your forge, yes?”

“Sure do. But gotta do a couple things first.” Shifting Tahn to one side, Hurlish stomped up to Sara, grabbing her in a one-armed bear hug that, despite all her armor, felt crushing. A quick kiss smothered Sara’s face before she was dropped, then the same treatment was promptly forced upon Evie, who squirmed far less in the bigger woman’s grip.

“There we go. All done. Love y’all.”

“And I you, dear.”

“Love you too.”

The goodbyes exchanged Hurlish reached a hand down, taking Keo’s hand. “C’mon, buddy. We got work to do.”

The small boy took her hand obediently, but didn’t turn around to follow her. When Hurlish noticed him hesitating, staring at Sara and Evie, she froze, meeting Sara’s gaze.

“Goodbye,” Keo said. His voice was quiet and timid. “You’ll… be back, right?”

“Obviously,” Sara said, throwing every ounce of Divinely-reinforced confidence she had into the word, as if the mere notion of worry was laughable. “Four days, probably. Not even a week.”

“Okay. Um, that’s good.” He glanced up at Hurlish, then back down at them, eyes darting between Evie and Sara. “But… if you don’t come back… Miss Hurlish is still going to take care of me, right?”

Sara’s gut clenched so hard it hurt. One parent going away on a mission, never to come back, a disaster that had turned the other parent into something very different than they’d once been.

“For as long as you need it, kid,” Sara assured him. “Till you’re both old and grey, if that’s what it takes.”

To her right, there was a thump. Sara glanced over to see, to her surprise, Evie stepping over her discarded breastplate, leaving her in only her thin protective gambeson. She stepped quickly up to Keo and knelt down, one arm resting on a knee as she met the boy’s eyes.

“My mother never hugged me,” she said softly, quiet enough that most others couldn’t hear. “I used to think that it did not bother me. It wasn’t until I met Sara that I understood what I had lacked, and found myself aching for something I’d never known.” Evie smiled lightly. “Did your mother hug you?”

“U-um. She did, Miss.”

“If you would like to hug me, you need only ask.”

Keo darted forward, throwing his arms around Evie’s midsection and burying his face in her chest. She gave him a proper hug, squeezing his back tightly, one hand patting his shoulder lightly.

“Be safe, Miss,” Keo mumbled into her clothes.

“I will. I swear it.”

Holy fuck, Sara thought, watching the hug. I think I just started ovulating from that. She looked up at Hurlish, meeting her wife’s eyes. The look that passed between them had a lot going on, but the gist was clear.

I’m gonna have to put a fucking tamper-proof lid on my infertility tea when I get back, huh?

In that moment, watching the soul-crushingly cute display, Sara couldn’t find it within herself to dread the idea. She only wondered which one of their trio would end up spending the next ten months knocked out of commission.

If we adopt another orphan somewhere, can I push it back by a little bit? Maybe buy Evie and I a few extra months?

She inspected Hurlish’s expression closer. Not with her Blessings, just with the good old intuition that came from spending so much time with someone she loved.

No, she decided. No, that’s not gonna save me at all.

Keo and Evie broke apart. The boy’s eyes were a touch wet, his nose starting to run, but he didn’t let himself cry. He looked up at Sara as well, frowning.

“Yeah, sorry,” Sara said, thumping herself on the chest. “This armor isn’t really any good for hugging.”

“Yeah… Why did you make it so ugly, Miss?”

Sara’s laugh threw her head back. “Oh, a lotta reasons, really, but they don’t matter much right now. How about this?” She stepped up to Keo, smiling down at him. “You gonna keep helping Miss Hurlish out while we’re gone?”

“’Course I am.”

“Good. Let’s shake on it.”

A tiny, dark hand placed itself in the leather palm of Sara’s gauntlet, making it look gargantuan in comparison. Her dented brass knuckles flashed in the sunlight as she gave Keo a businessman’s firm handshake.

“It’s a deal, then. And I’ll hold you to it, alright?” Sara leaned in for a stage whisper, as if confessing a great secret. “She doesn’t like to admit it, but Hurlish could really use help in the forge. You’ve got her back?”

“Um.” Keo blinked, definitely not buying the lie, but equally finding himself reluctant to call Sara on it. “Yeah. I’ll do my best, I guess.”

“Good. I’ll see you soon, alright?”

“See you soon, Miss.”

Sara stepped around Keo, pressing a kiss to Tahn’s head, right between his massive ears. He was a lot bigger than he’d been a few months ago, yet his ears hadn’t shrunk in proportion. They were starting to worry that the twin radar dishes were going to be a permanent lifetime feature of his.

“Bye-bye, my little Tahny-wahny,” she cooed. “Not gonna be crying all night are you, hm? Nooo, not at all, you wouldn’t do that at all when Mama’s all on her own, would you? No, no way, ‘cause you’re just the bestest little baby in all the world, aren’t you—”

“Dear,” Evie interjected.

Sara shot her a glare, then leaned closer to Tahn, tickling one massive ear with her conspiratorial whisper. “She’s just like that ‘cause I told her to be, y’know? She’d definitely be doing all the cutesy talk if I hadn’t told her we weren’t supposed to. For sure.”

Tahn babbled back at her, one tiny hand managing to snag a loose strand of her hair. Laughing as she carefully extracted herself from the boy’s surprisingly strong grip, Sara gave her small family a wave and final round of goodbyes. Evie, of course, went to kiss Tahn goodbye, and then Sara went back again, until it became unavoidably obvious that Devi and Fanlah had finished with the other riders and were just waiting for them to finish up, so she gave them all a second round of final goodbyes, started on a third, and was eventually interrupted by the guards folding in, preparing to escort Hurlish away. Sara watched them go with a pout, only turning to Fanlah once Hurlish was well and truly out of sight.

“So!” She said, clapping her hands. “I’ve ridden horses before, but I’m getting the impression that this isn’t going to be quite the same, huh?”

Devi chuckled. “An impressive intuition, Chosen. Allow me to get you situated.”

As Sara prepared to clamber aboard Fanlah’s back, the slim wyvern stretched her wing even further out, until it was nearly trembling, giving her the easiest and smoothest possible ramp up to walk into position. Once more, Fanlah failed to hide the way her eyes locked onto Sara as she walked, those great green orbs following her every footstep with slavish attention. Fanlah, it seemed, had very little experience in the art of romantic subtlety.

Or maybe she’s just never been down this bad for someone, Sara considered. She snorted to herself. I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ve met a lot of people that wanted to fuck me, but Fanlah’s gotta take the grand prize for desperation at first sight. Usually it takes at least a couple hours of conversation to work someone up like this.

For a multi-ton high-speed killing machine, it was downright endearing. Cute, even. Fanlah was over five hundred years old, yet she was still blushing like a schoolgirl who got to sit next to their crush on the bus.

“Place your foot there,” Fanlah said, her long neck twisted about to watch Sara embark. “Yes, in the stirrup. You’ll see the quick release latch beside it; remember that. It will send a blade springing forth to cut the leathers, so that you might more rapidly disembark if I were to be forced to ground by injuries. Quite a genius device, yes? My previous rider and I had a hand in inventing it some two centuries ago, at the start of the civil war.”

She’s seeking validation like a damn toddler, Sara silently laughed.

“And you better damn well defend her with your life, if that happens,” Devi added gruffly. “That goes for all of you. Those latches aren’t for you to escape if something goes wrong. They’re for you to be ready to defend her, understand?”

Mayaran rankled. “You need not take such a tone with me, Captain. I am capable of following instructions without such brusqueness.”

“Take no offense by it, Mage Mayaran,” General Borek said soothingly. “The crews of wyverns are even more particular about their partner’s care than the griffon riders of our army are. I would heartily advise against correcting their practices. You’ll find no success in trying to temper their fervor.”

Fanlah’s the first person you’ve met in a long while that outranks you, Sara’s Blessings translated, and that means Devi does, too, so you better be damn careful about what you say.

An interesting tidbit, that. Devi herself, while a half-elf, showed no signs of other elf’s nearly royal upbringings. She was a commoner through and through, yet Borek was warning Mayaran, a full-blooded elven mage, to watch her tone. It seemed like those who rode wyverns occupied their own unique niche in the Imperial hierarchy.

“And how are you feeling, ma’am?” Devi asked Evie, moving away from Sara. “Nothing pinching you too badly, I hope?”

“I haven’t met a restraint too tight for me yet,” Evie replied, the barest hint of mischievousness hidden in the glint of her eye. “I am perfectly fine. And I assure you, should Fanlah suffer some misfortune on this flight, we will defend her with all our skill.”

“Good,” Devi replied simply. She walked along the side of Fanlah’s ribcage, holding onto the wyvern’s spines like a sailor marching along the ropes, until she dropped into the small dip at the base of the wyvern’s neck. Where, Sara noted, there wasn’t a single bit of leather or rope. The woman looked back, a smile cracking the skin of her leathery face.

“You ready to take off back there?”

When all four had confirmed they were happy, Fanlah’s wings rose. Sara, to her surprise, felt her heart begin to beat faster. She’d been on plenty of planes before. Jumbo jets that absolutely dwarfed Fanlah, that made a mockery of her size and speed, yet this was different. She’d never been exposed to the elements like this. Even flying with Tinvel and Chona had seen her more sheltered; the wooden walls and glass windshield had done a lot to keep the wind off her.

She shifted her legs in the harness, making sure they were well and truly secured. Too late to ask any questions, though. Fanlah was glancing back at them— at Sara, specifically— with that strange wyvern’s smile.

“The straps should keep you secure, Chosen, but I ask that you hold tightly to me all the same. It should make for a more comfortable experience.”

Oh, okay, so she’s at least ballsy enough to flirt a little-HOLYSHIT!

The wind screamed as Fanlah’s wings beat down, the world itself jerking out of place as they were thrown skyward. Sara’s chestplate slammed into the spine ahead as her neck struggled to stay rigid, the weight of her skull and all the armor around it threatening to drag her down prone. Darkness crept in at the edge of her vision for a brief moment, the leap taking her well before she could brace, but the dimness soon cleared, replaced by a wide, clear view of the world shooting away below.

“God-fuckin-damn!” Sara shouted, laughing madly. “How high was that in one go? We’re still going up!”

“Not done yet! Keep holding on!” Devi shouted back.

Sara instantly wrapped both hands around the spine in front of her, bracing herself properly this time.

Right at the apex of Fanlah’s leap, her wings… twisted. In a way that didn’t quite look right, a movement would have torn the muscles of any human arm, they rotated forward, so that the upper side of her wings were facing perfectly forward, even as her body stayed level. They folded as she brought them forward, so that the furthest part of her bent joints were well ahead of her own head, and then she snapped them out and back, making a great swimming motion.

The acceleration was brutal. Worse than any roller coaster launch Sara had ever known, and it made the jumbo jets she’d been comparing Fanlah to look pitiful. Only her grip on Fanlah’s spine prevented Sara from being thrown entirely onto her back, flapping in the wind like a sock puppet in a hurricane. As it was, she quickly tucked herself forward, into a jockey’s racing stance, trying to keep as much of herself out of the wind as possible. Fanlah brought her wings forward once more, turning herself into a bent, aerodynamic missile, and then shook the skies with her second wingbeat.

It wasn’t really “flying” like Sara knew it. Fanlah was throwing herself through the sky. This was nothing like the wyvern she’d seen over the skies of Tulian; every wingbeat was a stomach-lurching leap forward, and the periods between involved no gliding at all. Fanlah kept her wings folded all the way back after each swing, maintaining a missile’s aerodynamic profile for exactly as long as it took for her momentum to begin to fail, upon which she brought her wings forward once more, repeating the entire process with another harsh burst of speed.

What is she, a fucking sky octopus or something? Sara wondered, still clenching tightly to the wyvern’s spine. Probably don’t want to offer that comparison to her, but Christ! This is not what I was fuckin’ expecting! How fast are we going?

She tried to tip her head over the side to see the ground below, but the moment she exited the shadow of Fanlah’s raised head she was buffeted by a hideously powerful wind. Even though she had the strength to resist it, the assault was colder than ice, slipping through the tiny gaps in her armor like a thousand frozen needles. She hurriedly tucked herself back into the calmer section of air— and calmer was a very relative word— in order to get some semblance of shelter.

So fucking much for my plan to have a conversation on the flight out, Sara thought. Then she giggled. I wonder if Devi brought any peanuts in her bag. Could I be the first person in this world to make a joke about airline food?

Sara doubted it. Even if Sara decided to reveal her communication Blessings to the others present, allowing them to speak through the trip, there was no damn way any kind of food was going to get passed around. It would have been easier to eat a steak dinner on a galloping horse.

Forgoing any plans at socialization with Fanlah and Devi, Sara sent her voice straight into Evie’s ears.

How are you doing back there?

Evie tucked her mouth into the corner of her elbow, hiding her moving lips from any save Sara.

I know that Fanlah is an exceptional individual, unlike almost any other, yet I still find myself ever more concerned about the coming air battle. If this is what her kind is capable of, I am deeply concerned for our own forces.

Dad and Tinvel are working on it. So long as we get our own wyverns in the fight, we’ll have a chance.

Thankfully, I agree. Evie suddenly smiled. And I find myself even more glad that Fanlah has taken such an interest in you.

Sara groaned. You’re really going to want me to seduce her, aren’t you?

If I have my way, you’ll ensure your body is the only drug she ever craves again.

Sara groaned even louder. I’m not a fucking furry, Evie. Fucking a dragon is WEIRD, you know that, right?

If you find the idea so unappealing, what was the lump in your lap I felt rising and falling throughout the meeting?

Fuck. Off.

Evie laughed.

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