“You were supposed to kill me, weren’t you?” He pauses. Glancing at me, he loses some of his scowl. “At the palace,” I continue, “and again when you found me aboard the Ship of Skye. They wanted me dead from the beginning and they told you to do it.”
His hand grips the wrought-iron balustrade tight. “I was to kill you if I couldn’t claim you for Alameeda. Your potential to rule frightens many, especially Excelsior.”
A disbelieving laugh trickles from me. “You’re not serious?” Kyon takes my hand in exasperation and continues climbing the stairs. I tug on it, trying to get him to stop again. “Wait! You are serious!”
“When have you ever known me not to be serious?” he growls.
“When you say rule, you mean rule Alameeda?”
“I mean rule Ethar.”
“Your ambition scares me, Kyon.”
“Your lack of it angers me, Kricket,” he retorts honestly.
“Why would I want to rule Ethar?”
“It’s not a matter of want. It’s a matter of need.”
“You think I need to rule Ethar?”
“You’d like to live, correct?”
“It’s sort of a priority for me,” I say with a nod.
“We only live if we rule. It’s as simple and as hard as that, Kricket. Kill Excelsior and the Brotherhood or eventually they kill us.”
“Those can’t be the only options,” I breathe. “Someone else can rule once they’re gone.”
His grip on my arm becomes painful as he pulls me along. At the top of the stairs, we exit the house onto the rooftop. Chandrum waits for us in his silver airship. Once inside, Kyon shows me to a large, comfortable seat by a long window in the back away from the cockpit. He takes the seat next to me. The airship lifts straight up into the sky. Several ships that resemble silver hawks fall in with ours. They form a V-shaped line, like geese in flight, when we rocket away from Kyon’s small island.
“Who are they?” I point to the other fowl-like airships.
“Armed escorts.”
“Protecting us or making sure we don’t leave?”
“They’re my people. They work for me. We’ll be safe until we get to Urbenoster.”
“What’s in Urbenoster?”
“It’s the capital of the House of Alameeda.”
“Are you worried about our reception?” I ask.
“I never worry. I handle whatever comes.” He’s not lying. He’s someone who doesn’t waste much time on an emotion like worry. I envy that in him.
When I spy Urbenoster ahead of us through a pass in the mountains, it takes my breath away. Rocky snow-capped peaks encircle the glimmering city like a stony tiara. Two mountain-sized griffins have been carved from the rock where a gap resides in the mountain range. The fierce sentinels stand on either side of the opening to the city. The carved griffins have eaglelike heads attached to the bodies of lions. Gray, stone wings flourish from the backs of the statues. As we approach, the sun is behind the stone images, casting shadows that give the eagle faces a more sinister mien.
If there were ever a city made of the tail end of a rainbow, it’s this one. Gone is the Viking enclave that I’ve been living in for the past few rotations. Everything here is shiny and new. There’s nothing misshapen or occurring by happenstance. Every line of every building has the appearance of being meticulously planned in advance, giving it the feeling of completeness in thought and form. The buildings soar above the mountaintops. Blue silken flags wave in the breeze on every eave and rooftop. Glittering, golden confetti pours out of windows to float on the wind as we fly at a sedate pace through channels of airspace between the skyscrapers.
“They’re celebrating,” Kyon murmurs to me.
“What are they celebrating?” I ask.
“The end of Rafe.”
My throat grows tight and I no longer find any of it beautiful.
Not long after entering Urbenoster, we’re met by vehicles that resemble silver wheel-less chariots, manned by men in blue uniforms with blue helmets with griffin wings on the sides. They escort us into an empty traffic channel. No other airship traffic is about on this route. We pass by streaming blue flags that each have a white emblem of a griffin in its center.
My head begins to hurt. My breathing slows and my hands turn to ice. Kyon glances over at me. His hand reaches out and covers my frigid fingers. He whispers, “Don’t fight it, Kricket. Let it come.”
“Let what come?’ I ask in misery, fighting desperately to maintain consciousness within my body.
“Let the future come to you. Let it show us of the danger that