One hard beat of wings, and Velmir was away. Only the ripple of heat over the rail to mark his passing. A shimmer, then sky, empty and blue as usual.
Rhaenys watched the place he had gone, her gaze remains, her face unreadable. When she turned, the mask was already in place- calm and composed, the way her late mother used to do.
Arry slept beneath a scrap of sailcloth, her thin arm bound close against her ribs. She looked small curled there, smaller still for the shadows of pain around her mouth, tears on her cheeks. Gerrin sat near, mending a torn net, keeping his eyes on his hands, not the girl.
Garrad worked the tiller a moment longer before coming to stand beside Rhaenys. He gave her space, as he always did.
She watched the wake thinning behind them.
"He slips away more," she said, not looking at him.
Garrad did not answer.
The sea went on breathing. Canvas whispered overhead.
Rhaenys turned her head slightly. "The wind?"
"Holds north." Garrad squinted up at the sail, judging how it filled. "If it keeps, White Harbor by tomorrow's dusk."
That was all he said.
Rhaenys nodded once and let her gaze drift back to the water.
For a time neither spoke.
Her eyes found Arry beneath the spare sail. Who are you, she wondered
Garrad scratched at his jaw. "Another thing he's brought aboard," he muttered, more to himself than her. "Not the first time." A pause. "Never a child before."
"I doubt it's trouble," Rhaenys said quietly.
She kept her eyes on Arry as she spoke. "If she were only that, he'd have left her where she lay. He wouldn't have brought her to us."
Garrad exhaled through his nose. "I hope I won't rue taking to the sea again."
Rhaenys heard him.
She lifted her eyes to the open sky, empty and blue.
Velmir…
What are you planning?
-------------------
Another night through trees. Cold air.
I slide the wind between branches, low and quiet. No scream. No show. Last night was fire and blood; this time it's clean-up.
There armor scuff, breath ragged. Ser Amory Lorch, staggering, sword gone, mail torn where a horse smashed through. He's terrified, terrified of what behind him, coming after him. He keeps glancing back like he would die if don't see it coming.
Good.
He mutters curses and half-formed prayers."Fire-spitting… thing. Seven save me. Seven…"His knee gives. He crashes into a trunk, pushes away, nearly falls again.
I keep him between myself and the moon, where the light works against him. His gaze keeps drifting upward, to the open strip of sky. I let him look. I have time.
I skim him once.The edge catches under the throat.He makes a sound that isn't a word and breaks into a stagger, blood soaking his collar.
He trips over a root and goes down hard. Tries to get up. Can't. His hands slide in the dark mess around him.
Now.
Drop hard. My talons clawing as my weight drives him into the ground. He bucks once, a harsh grunt forced from his chest, then lies still.
His hands grabs at my legs, strong hands and desperate. I take his head and turn it, bracing and pulling until resistance ends.
Then the chamber flashed in my eyes. Elia in the window light, stood straight, voice soft and gone. "May the desert wind carry you." The bells after. Fuck.
Die.
I twist and feel the last of him give way.
I step back and listen. Wind in the branches. Nothing else.
The dark warms around me.
I lift my head and try to give the thought a voice. The sound that leaves me is only a shrill cry, thin and wrong for any name.
So be it.
Mountain.