Page 6 of The Never Queen

It feels damn good to be flying again. For too many fucking years, I convinced myself I was okay with losing my wings, that it was a sacrifice I had to make for the karmic debt I had accumulated.

But fuck that.

Now that I have them back, I realize just how incomplete I was without them.

Kas glances at me over his shoulder, some of his hair already loose and fluttering against his neck. “Took you long enough!” he shouts.

Several seagulls caw at us as we barrel past. In the air, we are the apex creatures now, and they seem endlessly annoyed by it.

Up ahead, Marooner’s Rock takes shape against the bright pink sky of the aging day.

First one to land wins, and I don’t plan on letting my brother get there before me.

“Oh shit, what’s that?” I shout and point to our right, farther out to sea.

Kas slows and follows my gesture…where there is nothing but water.

“Ha!” I yell and dive, knowing there will be an updraft just a handful of yards from Marooner’s Rock.

“That’s cheating!” Kas yells.

But I can barely hear him over my shouting.

“Wooooohoooo!”

Finding the sweet spot about ten feet off the ocean’s surface, I settle my wings and glide across until the wind cuts around the Rock, the air swirling around its jagged edges. It’s there I catch the updraft, slanting my wings so I’m shot up and up in a column of air.

The wind breaks once the cliff flattens, and it sails me over the edge, where I land with a soft footfall in the moss.

I won.

Except my joy is quickly snatched from me.

Doren is on Marooner’s Rock with three of his fae behind him.

Kas lands to my left with a snap of air.

“What, have you been here waiting for us?” I ask, light and airy, like I’m joking. “You could have called. Written a letter.”

“Sent an owl,” Kas adds.

Doren smiles, but I know this type of smile, cold, sharp, meant to cut. Like sleet. You can mistake sleet for rain, only until it’s driving against your skin.

“We were actually headed toward the treehouse when we heard you carrying on, on the wind.” He takes a step forward. On the slope of the Rock, he’s at a tactical disadvantage and it puts him a head below us. We measure up evenly in height on flat ground, but in brawn, Kas and I outdo him by twenty pounds.

If it came to fists, we’d win. If it came to flight, the victor would be less clear. We are fast and agile, yes, but weight does factor into speed. Doren might best us then.

I’m not entirely sure his age, though I remember him as a child, when I stood half his height, so he must be a decade or two older than us.

He has the same lavender threaded hair as the rest of the men and women from his familiar line. In the right light, it almost glows against the black like gossamer spiderwebs. His wings are large and strong, the same lavender color thathighlights his hair, but his eyes are darkest black so that it’s impossible to define the lines between pupil and iris.

“What do you want then?” Kas asks, never one for beating around the bush.

“I came to apologize.”

“About?” Kas adds.

“Your Darling and my rather hasty response to her ruling by your side on the throne.”