Flight did not belong in reality. Whenever Raya had dreamed of it, she'd woken dizzy and disoriented, snatching at fragments of a soaring sensation in her stomach and wind lifting the thick waves of hair from her shoulders, always disappointed when they darted out of reach and left her crashing back into the real world. Her body had felt heavier on those mornings, her calves strained and less willing to carry her. As a very young girl, she'd twisted her back to the mirror and teased at her dress, checking the grooves of her spine for the wings she'd sworn should sprout from hidden pockets in her skin.

Her mother had scolded her for that and dismissed the dreams as silly. Even young Hariq's laugh had an edge, and it hadn't taken her much more maturing to figure why. Wings were a beast trait. They were disgusting and evil. If a mage wanted to fly, she should do it of her own power. She should not wish for anything more or less.

Now, rising into the air with only the grip of her thighs fastening her to Meag's back, she delved inward for her childhood self, the small, excitable girl twirling in the mirror who had not yet lived long enough to fear. Her dream-like version of flying had been easy. The sky had been an open, empty canvas, but here it tore at her, cutting with the same ferocity as a swarm of blunt knives. Her stomach flipped and plummeted, ice trickling to her dangling toes. Her legs ached, and she slid. Panic screamed in her ears. Her gaze yanked to the increasing drop below, sand stiffening to smooth, stony slopes with distance, utterly unforgiving. She struggled to catch her breath.

She was grateful for the spark of determination still thrumming within her, not quite yet winked out. It kept the fingers of one arm latched into Meag's thick mane, limbs hardly visible amid a sea of frayed ash-grey fur, while the other hugged the waist of an unconscious Amina. The apprentice girl lay slumped over Meag's neck, her brown curls spilled in a haphazard puddle around her head and chin tucked into the pleated collar of her dress. Despite the dust-induced sleep cast over her, a wrinkle remained in her brow. Raya wouldn't have been all that surprised if her closed eyelids hid a glare, intent on fighting even her dreams.

Again, Raya ran through her reasoning for bringing Amina with her, ignoring the guilty squirm in her gut. Though there was no way of knowing whose ears the rumour would reach, Amina was the only one who'd truly seen Raya demonstrate her loyalty to Corvin. In removing that voice, there was a slight chance she could preserve her reputation—more than slight, she told herself. It wouldn't be a simple thing to believe. History didn't tell of traitorous mages. Like thievery, the crime was a myth. It didn't happen.

With Meag's noisy heart beating beneath her, grounding amid the sky's chaos, Raya couldn't help but wonder just how much of what she knew for certain was a lie.

The thought ran the line of a bigger idea, one that hung like smoke over her mind with wisps that gradually solidified, eked from that deep-rendered spark. She swept it into one corner, out of the way. She would have time for big plans once she was out of view of the city, when she'd found Corvin and somewhere to land. They could work something out together. Now, she needed to focus on not plummeting to her death.

As if Meag had decided to renew the urgency of that need, she bucked, her spine arching as her body rippled and jerked. Her mane slipped an inch through Raya's fingers, and her heels scrabbled roughly at the beast's flank, battling to keep her from sliding, her arm riddled with complaints as she curled it tighter around Amina. All the logic in the world couldn't keep the girl's weight from pressing on her chest, doubling the threat of the air's maw waiting beneath her kicking feet. She gasped and dug them in, trembling, heart stampeding.

Meag's cry pecked at her ears, and she winced. "Sorry," she pushed out. "Meag. I'm going to..." Every breath was like paper on her tongue, crinkling in her throat, no weight at all in her lungs. "Please fly steady."

The effort of speaking was lost on the beast. She jerked again, shifting shoulders jostling Raya's grip, and she tasted blood from biting down on her scream. She clawed at Meag's mane with every available limb. "I said steady!"

It was pointless. No beast would care what she said. It struck her how unfair it was that Corvin had spoken her language so well, and yet she didn't know a word of his. Wouldn't it be fitting if that was what killed her?

She swallowed the dark bubble of a laugh. Maybe Amina was right; maybe she was insane. Her gaze raked sideways and latched onto Meag's beating wing, and the bottom dropped out of her stomach, whisking any remnant of humour along with it.

Crimson soaked the wing's wider half, dark and sunken into crevices, dripping from the ends of mottled feathers and out into nothing. The muscles in it strained with each persistent beat. They were increasing in frequency, panic juddering each one that Raya felt in the shifting body she clung to. She ran her tongue through her dry mouth, debating whether to shout for Meag to land, when the beast let out another rumbling cry, mane tossed back. Raya scrabbled again to stay firmly attached, though the kicks slowed as she watched. The horror curdling in her veins turned her legs to lead.

Something in the wing snapped. Wind whistled, tension coiled, and then the world became streaks of murky colour.

Meag fought a valiant battle with the air. They were not blindly falling—Raya told herself that, over and over in tiny murmurs in some vain attempt to sew in reassurance—but the beast's wild spiral, every tip and flip and toss, made it feel that way. A raw scream ripped up her throat, twining briefly with Meag's screeches before her lungs emptied entirely and she lost her grip on it. She flattened herself in amongst the matted fur, arms wrapping Amina and Meag's neck as one, pressed her cheek to Amina's shoulder, and locked everything. She only had to hold on. Her fingers went numb, her skin stung like ice, and her heart scrabbled like something small held trapped in a fist. As Meag banked sharply to the side again, wrenching them from one nosedive to a haphazard turn that angled in some unknowable direction, she was half convinced the flaming organ would fly right out of her mouth and leave her as utterly empty as a sack in a breeze.

At some point, when Raya's head was too light to register anything but the chills and the damp warmth of Meag's flank, a knee thunked into her stomach. Something twisted in her arms—Amina, flailing, having broken from the spell at the worst possible moment. Raya opened her mouth to say something. To plead with her to... It hardly mattered. The words emerged garbled, quiet, popping sounds that were quick to die out.

A shouted curse shoved at her ear. Rough fingers patted at her side, wrenched at her cloak, and slid to her thigh, then pulled away. A song flitted at the edges of her awareness, too distant to catch, but enough to lift her head.

Amina's gold-flecked eyes hurt to look at, but they were fierce and narrow, and the longer Raya looked, the rest of the girl's face came into focus around them. She sucked in a billowing breath and realised their fall had slowed.

In the next second, it stopped entirely. Meag thudded into the ground, all four feet slamming into a dune and teetering under their combined weight, and the momentum travelled as a shockwave through Raya. She finally lost her grip and tumbled sideways, landing in an ungainly heap. Her cloak's clasp pulled painfully at her throat. The fabric was stretched too tight, crushed beneath her and wound too many times around her legs, though the pressure lessened when a body wrestled free of its oversized folds with an indignant yelp. Amina scrambled into a hasty sitting position and flung her head back, curls frizzed to wispy clouds and the slim gold ribbon of her headpiece dangling from a knotted clump, glittering like lightning. The glow of it made Raya's head ache.

She groaned, blinking hard. Amina split into two ghostly forms before each reattached. Raya was swaying, sure the air had hold of her still, but the ground beneath her was firm. She buried her hands in the sand, her relief limp.

The swaying hurt, though. Bile lurched sudden and sour up her throat. She rolled, detangling from her cloak in a frenzy, and vomited.

Amina grimaced in the corner of her eye. She averted her face and inched back, heels tucked close. Her honey-brown skin had an ashen tinge to it.

Between greedy gulps of air, Raya wiped her mouth and balanced shakily on her knees. A sigh sank through her. She hardly felt solid, reduced to a puddle of sticky sludge on the sand with senses smeared, but the gentle play of the sun's late rays over her back were a kind reminder that she was alive. She tilted her head back, watching red light boil the horizon through the mess of choppy black hair stuck to her forehead.

Nothing penetrated her view. The dunes rolled on, cresting and diving in plain waves. She was further than she'd ever been, further than Corvin had taken her. Silence gusted over the sand.

"Wait."

The crunch of Amina's shoes as she stood rang loud as a shout amid the stillness. In slow, curving paces, she turned a full circle, each one aimed backwards in vague retreat. Her fluffed curls rustled with the shake of her head. "We're not in Tehazihbith."

Pity tugged at Raya's heart, wrenching her guilt to the surface. It sat on her chest, a cold, heavy rock. She could not let herself relax. There were more consequences to face.

--◦༄ؘ◦--