-Forced Freedom-

Drew had never been so unwilling to ride Isle. But then again, he’d also never been commanded to do so. Strangely enough, that took the fun out of galavanting on the rowder.

He’d hoped Acelin had been joking when he’d made his announcement about sending Drew to Deporta as the temporary lineal.

His new haircut, however, had put those hopes to rest in a proper, six-foot grave. Drew felt naked without the protective layer of hair falling into his eyes. The new cut was no-nonsense, extremely short on the sides with just enough length on top to allow his hair a slight wave.

All the preparations had taken twenty-four hours, and Drew knew deep in his gut that Acelin and the mysterious ally had been preparing this ever since they’d caught wind that the lineal had vanished.

Drew tried not to hold that against them. He mostly failed, but it was the attempt that probably counted.

Nicolle had been ecstatic, going on about how this high-ranking position would make him a stronger leader in the upcoming conflict and how she wished she could go in his place. He wished for that too, but she hadn’t received the same unholy training he had. No one else had. And Drew wanted nothing more than to know why.

Besides Drew, Gracelin was taking the news hardest. It made sense—who else would give her glimpses of life beyond the mountain when he left? Acelin showered her with his own form of kindness and attention, but Drew and Gracelin understood each other in a way no one else could.

He’d almost left without saying goodbye to her. It would make an already bitter trip too hard to swallow. But when he’d trudged up to the Grounds to prepare Isle for their journey, a pack with his few possessions on his back, his shadow cloak catching in the early morning breeze, there she was, standing with her arms folded in front of her chest and a glare that could crack Mount Solis in two.

“I’m disgusted you even considered leaving without saying goodbye,” she huffed.

Drew blanched. “It’s not that I didn’t want to say goodbye, it’s that, well, if I said goodbye to you it would feel like I really was leaving and maybe not coming back.”

“You’re coming back.” Her tone left no room for disagreement or hesitation.

Drew opened his mouth to say something when she stood on her tip toes and pressed a finger to his mouth, closing it.

“You’ve already said enough. I’ll miss you too. And I’ll be just fine while you’re gone. Who knows, with the rebellion ramping up maybe I’ll finally get a chance to sneak away, take a rowder and see the things you’re always telling me about.”

She had a parcel in her free hand, the package wrapped with white twine. It was small, about the size of her hand, but she held onto it like it were a valuable gem.

“Take this with you.”

“But I didn’t get you any….”

“And I didn’t ask or expect you to. This isn’t for you to keep, it’s to remind you where home is. When you get back I’ll want it returned.”

He decided the wisest course of action was not to respond but instead to take the pack off his back and gently stow the parcel inside.

Gracelin wasn’t one to cry—in fact, he’d never seen her shed a tear over anything—which made their goodbye more bearable. After a quick hug, she retreated to the edge of the Grounds while Drew mounted Isle and took to the pre-dawn sky, the sand underfoot shifting as they said a momentary goodbye to Mount Solis.

***

Drew came to fully appreciate the massive scope of Ealias as the pair traveled. Isle could travel for many hours without rest if needed, so their journey remained simple—fly in to Deporta and report to the Octurn, the main tower within the city.

So much of their world was unpopulated, untouched by human hands. Expanses of trees, rivers, and grassy fields filled his view. And the Ruins. Supposedly the remnants of towns, now reclaimed by the land. Every now and then from his high vantage point he could pick out what remained of a building or home.

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He knew Truscesa lay to the southeast: one of the last proper towns in Ealias, and the only city populated by people who didn’t attend the Forlorn Academy or train with Orenda. His route wouldn’t take him that direction, however. Deporta lay in a straight line to the southwest from Mount Solis. As far as he knew, no other settlements existed between the hidden mountain base and the flamboyant city of the Forlorn.

At times he and Isle passed over woods so thick he wondered if the elusive Jadelin lived in them—beings of mystery and power whose origins were unknown and whose abilities were supposedly dangerous.

If they did live in the vast expanses of wilderness, no one Drew knew had been brave enough to seek them out.

As Isle flew them across Ealias, the sun seemed to keep them company. Thick layers of crisp clouds drifted above them, and at times Drew couldn’t help but urge Isle to break through the froth until all they could see were a hundred shades of white—ivory, bone, pearl and parchment.

The world below was silent, and Isle flew higher than Elisian birds., occasional dark smudges far below them. Although wild rowders clearly called some piece of Ealias home, Drew didn’t spot any of the magnificent creatures as they drew nearer to Deporta.

***

He spotted the city at dusk. Its Orenda-fabricated lights glistened unnaturally in the darkness of the surrounding wilderness. The sleek glass towers stood out like beacons, either inviting or intimidating potential visitors.

It was obvious to Drew—such flagrant use of Orenda was a show of strength, a threat to anyone foolish enough to oppose the Forlorn and their “unnatural abilities.”

Abilities Drew possessed.

The Octurn stood in the middle, like the crowning peak of a mountain. Its eight sides made it stand out from the surrounding, four-sided towers. They all shone like they were on fire, shades of emerald, ruby, pearl, topaz.

He couldn’t live here, trapped in a tower of glass, not only attending meetings and discussions with total strangers, but being expected to lead them!

“Maybe Acelin will believe me if I said I got lost,” he muttered under his breath.

It sounded good in his head, but voicing the thought out loud made the excuse sound weak even to his own ears.

Acelin had volunteered him, yes, but Drew had been willing to go.

Squaring his shoulders, he urged Isle to greater speeds. If he was being sentenced to the Forlorn towers, he would reach them in style, blazing in like a specter riding the very night.

As they got closer, the light pulsing off the buildings grew in intensity until Drew felt like he was flying into a miniature galaxy. Countless globes of Orenda hung throughout the city like a string of planets, dotting the cobblestone streets and hanging from various shops and homes fashioned from polished stone, wood, and glass. Isle could be silent when she wanted to be, and she flew so quietly that only someone looking up and searching for a rowder would notice her midnight form passing far above their head.

Acelin had instructed him to fly Isle to the top of the Octurn and have her seek refuge in the wilderness right outside Deporta. A special whistle hung around his neck, under his clothes. In an emergency he’d blow the whistle, which only Isle could hear, and she would come like night’s fury. At least he wouldn’t feel completely alone with her nearby.

The air felt thin up this high, and Isle had to readjust their heading and work her great wings with extra vigor to reach the top of the tower. There was almost nothing up there, just a slender railing running along the outer rim of the building and a door set into the floor which led into the interior of the structure. No one was there.

Isle landed with practiced ease, her claws barely clipping the smooth, metallic flooring of the Octurn’s roof. When Drew dismounted, she bowed her head to the floor in an unexpected show of respect.

“Come on, sweet Isle, I’m not actually the lineal.”

Isle lifted her head just enough to headbutt him in the ribs.

“I’ll miss you too, girl. But remember, if I need you I’ll call.”

Her blue eyes smiled with a human-like level of understanding before she spread her wings wide and flung herself off the roof and down into the city, just another cloud zipping toward the wilds outside Deporta.

“If only freedom were that simple,” he sighed, readjusting his pack and lifting his hand up to brush his hair into his eyes, only to remember the haircut.

The lineal should get more say in things.

“Drew Thorne?” a feminine voice asked from behind him.

“That’s me.” He turned to face the new addition to the roof. She’d come up from the square door set into the floor and stood in front of the opening, the light from within throwing her silhouette in sharp relief and completely blocking out her facial features. In the harsh light he caught a glint of long red hair, trailing down her back.

“This way,” she said, turning and descending down the same staircase she’d used to greet him. Drew hesitated for a moment, looking out at his new home with a shiver of fear, disgust, and—yes—excitement.

Straightening, he followed her down to his new life.