“We will figure something out,” he promises me.

After a soggy midday meal, the rain finally eases off. My clothing begins to dry and my fingers no longer resemble dried prunes. The sun comes out, and the temperature immediately changes from cool and pleasant (if wet) to steamy and overly warm.

Doesn’t matter. It’s clear and that’s all that matters. When I spot a large boulder by the roadside, I immediately head for it, climbing atop a few smaller rocks and then sitting down atop it with my damp skirts spread.

“Time for a rest?” Nemeth asks. “I can carry you if you’re too tired to keep going.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, because I’m tired as shite and want nothing more than to crawl back to that tumbledown shed, moldy hay and all. But I give Nemeth a bright smile and gesture at his pack. “You can take that off for now, since you’re going to try flying.”

“I am?” He arches a heavy brow at me.

“You are,” I say firmly. “You’ll never know unless you try.”

He doesn’t look eager, though. “I could spare myself the humiliation and ask your blade if I can fly.”

“Or…you can just do it anyhow. I promise not to laugh.” I clasp my hands tightly in my lap so he doesn’t see how anxious I am. It’s my fault that his wing is scarred, after all. He was wounded saving me, and on top of that, I’m the one that had to stitch it up. If it’s all wrong, it’s doubly my fault. But I keep my tone bright. “After all, I can’t fly a lick, so anything you do is far better than anything I could manage. Give it a try, love. There’s no one here to see but me.”

Nemeth scowls in my direction, but he takes the pack off and sets it down at the base of the boulder, out of the mud. I hold my breath as he takes a few steps out, rotating his arms as if he’s about to enter battle and needs his muscles loose. First one arm and then the other. He’s breathtaking, his shoulders as broad as the day I first saw him, and if he’s lost any muscle, I wouldn’t know it. Hasn’t he done his exercises faithfully every day? Hasn’t he stretched his wings constantly, trying to keep them in shape?

I hope it’s not for nothing. If I could make his wings work simply by worrying, he’d be airborne right now.

Nemeth spreads his wings with a ripple, and everything inside me clenches. Gods, his wings are enormous. I stare in fascination, wondering if this is the first time I’ve seen him spread them like this. He’s always been confined by the tower, and the ceilings and halls that weren’t nearly big enough for him. His wingspan is enormous, easily twice as wide as he is tall, and my heart aches at the sight of the dull pink stripe that slashes across the membrane of one. His scar. He’s right that it looks tight there, the membrane taut and unpleasant looking around it. As I watch, he strains one wing and then stretches the other out, trying to match. The scarred wing won’t go out as far as the other.

He turns to look at me, and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes. I won’t show him my distress. Instead, I beam as if my heart isn’t breaking inside and give him an encouraging gesture. “Go on! You’ll do wonderfully.”

Nemeth nods and closes his eyes. Then, his powerful legs seem to bunch up, his wings folding in and he flings himself upward, launching into the air.

I hold my breath, watching as he immediately flicks his wings out the moment he’s in the air, flapping to gain height. His movements are awkward, the one wing clearly crippling him. He flounders, listing to one side, and I press a fist to my lips so I don’t scream aloud. But then he rights himself, and, wobbling through the air, manages to keep flying. His wings beat with heavy, strong waves, and he stays in the air. I watch as he soars higher, and if it isn’t a pretty flight, or a fast one, it’s still flight and I’m so proud of him.

Hands clasped over my heart, I watch as he circles high in the skies, flying so far away he looks like a drunken bird. I’m not worried—I know he’ll come back for me. And when he disappears from sight, I adjust my skirts, trying to dry them in the sunlight, and make sure my head is covered with my hood so I don’t sunburn any further.

Nemeth isn’t gone for very long. When I look up again he’s returning, his flight obvious by the jerky movement of his wings. I watch him with pride, waving as he approaches. To a normal human, he might look fearsome, a dark gray demon with bat wings come to steal them away from their home, an evil Fellian monster. But I can see the pride on his face as he comes to a clumsy landing on the boulder beside me. I can also see the sheen of sweat on his skin and know that was harder for him than he’d ever let on. “You were magnificent,” I tell him proudly. “Utterly magnificent.”

“Dragon shite,” he says, crouching low and panting. But he grins, displaying his fangs. “It was terrible and I’m pretty sure I strained something in my back, but I could fly. That’s one worry handled.”

“How did your repaired wing do?”

“It’s weak,” he admits. “Weak and the damaged section pulls constantly when I beat my wings. But I’m hoping with time it’ll grow as strong as the other once more.” He scrubs a hand down his sweaty face, but then grins at me. “It still felt amazing.”

“I’m so glad.” I could burst with how happy I am for him. “I knew you could do it.”

“It doesn’t change anything,” he admits. “I’m not strong enough yet to carry you, and we have to be careful. If any humans see me, they might shoot first and ask questions later.” He straightens to his full height. “Speaking of humans, I saw a settlement to the north. We should head there.”

“What? Why?” Hot panic flares in my chest. “Didn’t you just say humans would attack you? If there’s a settlement, I’m thinking we should avoid it entirely.”

Nemeth shakes his head. “You need supplies for your potion. We need food. You need better shoes. We need a decent place to sleep. And if it’s a small settlement, perhaps we should test the waters anyhow. See how they react to my presence.”

“There’s a war,” I blurt out. “A war between Darkfell and Lios. Lionel started one the moment I left. You can’t go into a human settlement, Nemeth. You just can’t.” This entire plan suddenly seems the height of stupidity. What made me think I could just stroll back to Castle Lios with a Fellian at my side and assume it would all be fine? I’ve got an enemy husband…and a baby on the way. The thought of something happening to either of them is horrifying.

This is a nightmare. Why didn’t I think this through? Why am I taking him to a war zone where he’s the enemy?

I grab his hands, frantic. “We should go to your people instead. We can still go back. We’ll return to the tower and head to Darkfell⁠—”

“Love,” Nemeth says softly. “I know all about the war.”

My tongue glues to the roof of my mouth. “You…do?”

He nods. “Your king is not the most subtle of rulers. Of course we saw his fleet, and knew he was waiting for the right moment to sail after Darkfell. My people were ready for him. He will not win.”

“Oh.” I don’t know how I feel about that. Part of me hates Lionel—the same part of me that loves Nemeth—but Lios is my home. My sister is its queen. A small part of me still wants them to win, resents the idea that they might lose to Darkfell.

But then I remind myself that Erynne wanted Nemeth killed, and all of my hesitation falls away. “You’re not mad I didn’t say anything?”

He shakes his head, rubbing my hands. “I know what it is like. You and I come from very different peoples who have set expectations upon us.” His expression grows vague, sad. “I am certain there will be other things that arise that we have kept from one another.”

Is he referring to the baby? The fact that the knife says that I have Fellian blood in my veins?

“But come. Let us see who is in this settlement. If they try to attack, I will fly out of reach. You will be safe—they would not dare harm their princess.” He pulls me to my feet atop the rock. “And we need supplies.”