For the first time in his life, Aytin was utterly alone.

He'd been sent away by his family to travel with strangers. Strangers who actually seemed like they gave a damn about him. Now every single one of them was dead.

Killed by the one who had never cared to begin with.

He gritted his teeth against the sobs so hard that he tasted blood, and tried not to think of Xantha. Anything but her. Only, it turned out that the alternative was worse.

His mother had sent him away. The family didn't have a place for him at home. They didn't want him. And if they didn't want him, why would they pay a small fortune to get him back?

It wasn't like they could, even if they wanted to.

Would he even be able to go back? To live in shame? His mere presence would be a stain on the Luffin name. A stain on his father's name. The Son of Bloodhorn, captured and ransomed. He never fought back, never even so much as scratched his captors.

What would his dad have done? Probably spotted the ambush and killed half the bandits single handedly, and then rammed a lance through their dragon's heart. He would have recognized Xantha for the traitor she was, too.

He'd never have been taken in by her lies.

'But he was, wasn't he?' an insidious voice whispered in Aytin's mind. 'She spoke to him, maybe more than just spoke to him. And he never saw through her.'

He growled and strained with all his might at his bonds. Pain burned along his forearms and wings as the rope scraped flesh raw, and his joints burned with effort. He collapsed back against the wall, gasping. None of the knots had so much as budged.

The gasps turned to whimpers. They turned into snarls once more, anger at his own weakness driving him to try again. And again.

All the bursts of rage and frustration fueled effort got him were bruises and rope burns.

'Lin will miss me,' Aytin muzzily thought to himself.

The cold was beginning to seep into him and sap his strength, but the warm stone at his back reminded him of the afternoons the pair had spent atop the keep.

One would throw things. Sticks, shiny pebbles, fruit. Stonar's guard belt on one particularly eventful day. The other would dive to catch them.

It was a race against gravity. They'd pretend that they were Tonselra players, sometimes doing tricks or acrobatics before pulling up at the last moment. It was a miracle that neither ended up with more than the odd bruise.

When they were exhausted, they would lay against the sun-baked stones, basking in the warmth. Eventually, someone always found them and sent them back to their lessons or their chores. But until then, they could just relax.

Thinking back, Aytin suspected that their minders knew exactly what was going on. They thought they were so tricky, sneaking through the corridors, only flying on the far side of the tower, and extracting oaths of secrecy from any guard that happened across them. But despite their flights on full display for the world to see, somehow the top of the keep was always the last place searchers looked.

Twilight had long since faded by the time Aytin's eyes dried. A small smile was on his face as he remembered better days, the memory of the keep's warm walls so vivid that he could actually feel it.

The bandits had turned in for the night, save for a pair of guards close to the fire. They mostly kept their eyes on the ground level entrance and the holes in the roof and wall, but every once in a while they would glance back towards their prisoner.

The odd thing was, Aytin wasn't feeling the effects of the cold so strongly anymore. He was tired. More than tired. Absolutely exhausted. But all things considered, he wasn't nearly as lethargic as he ought to be.

Fatigue and the lingering effects of the poison made it take longer than it should have for him to realize the answer. It came to him in the end. He wasn't just imagining the feeling of warmth against his wings! The stone wall he was propped up against was somehow warming him.

Playing a hunch, he made sure the guards weren't paying him any attention and then scooted a wingspan to his left. The wall cooled noticeably and he quickly shifted back.

There was nothing at all to explain the pocket of heat. 'Could there be an artifact hidden in the walls?' His hopes soared at the thought. Some enchanted weapon of legend was hidden here, and all he needed to do was find the loose stone that hid it!

He shifted, trying to get a hand past his wings to touch the wall beyond. With the way both sets of limbs were bound, that was impossible. He tried anyway, but stopped when he realized that the struggles were sure to draw the guards' attention.

Aytin shot a furtive glance back towards the rest of the camp. The pair on watch were both looking out the hole in the wall, quietly talking to one another. They hadn't heard a thing.

The sight of the hole triggered a realization. It was the opening that had let the last rays of the sun into the ruins of the keep. Rays that, judging by the size of the gap, would have left a wide stretch of the dark stone comfortably warm for hours.

Hopes dashed, Aytin slumped once more. He wasn't saved. He hadn't found some magical escape.

But those hopes didn't die completely.

It was obvious that Xantha and her crew expected the cold to do most of their work for them. He should have been comatose not long after his soaking. Little more than a piece of furniture. But that wasn't the case.

There was plenty of rubble on the floor. It wasn't hard to find an appropriately sized chunk by feel. Getting it positioned was painful, and Aytin had to freeze as a guard glanced his way. They turned away after a cursory look, and he grasped his prize.

A chunk of broken masonry was hardly a knife. It didn't help that the angle was awkward and leverage was nonexistent. Nonetheless, the rope was only woven plant fibers. Every motion of the stone frayed a few strands of the bindings.

Aytin tried to keep track of time by counting his heartbeats. At four hundred and twenty his right hand cramped so hard that he nearly dropped his improvised knife.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Only by pushing back and painfully trapping the rock between his back and wings did he manage to keep it from clattering to the ground. It made a soft scraping of stone against stone and he shot a terrified glance at the guards.

Neither had noticed. After a moment to be sure he was safe, Aytin switched hands and continued his task.

At seven hundred and fifty-three beats, he lost count. He started over. And again when he hit a thousand beats.

Was the wall starting to cool? It didn't matter. Aytin kept working.

The stone slipped and scraped painfully across his back. He clamped his mouth shut against the instinctive cry. His count had been four hundred and twenty-two. He started over.

Another six hundred and fifty-five heartbeats passed before it finally happened. The final strand parted and his arm came free.

The abused dragonette almost didn't notice his newfound freedom. Only the pain of the rock scratching against raw rope burns snapped him out of his fugue state.

Neither guard was paying attention, so he carefully freed his wings from their bindings. They weren't nearly as tight as the ones that had held his arms together, just simple loops of rope around arms and wings that prevented him from extending his wings more than halfway.

It was the matter of moments to slip his arms out and untie the loops. With all the practice he had gotten on the trip, he could identify the knots by touch alone.

Fantasies passed through Aytin's mind as the last bonds fell away. He saw himself picking up the rock once more and using it to bash in the skulls of the guards. Then he'd take their weapons and slit the throat of every one of the brigands. And then he would wake up Xantha just before he pinned her to the ground with a spear through her black, traitorous heart.

But he couldn't do it.

Every fiber of his being screamed to be like his father. His brother Stonar would have fought every step of the way. Zara would have had a plan to bury the murderers in the keep as she brought it down on their heads. Suuie would have snapped the ropes binding her and torn Xantha in half with her bare hands.

Aytin wasn't like any of them.

He wasn't even like Lin. She was a huntress. Strong, fast, skilled, confident... brave.

'I'm not a coward!' The thought rang so loud through his mind that he was suddenly terrified that a guard had managed to hear. But, no, they were both completely unaware that their prisoner was free.

The doubts redoubled. A coward flinched at every noise. A coward ran at the first opportunity. In the face of impossible odds, the brave stood and fought and won.

And Aytin?

He knew, deep down, that he couldn't win. He probably couldn't even force them to kill him. They would just beat him senseless. Maybe cut off his horns like Xantha had threatened, and then tie him up so tight that he wouldn't have another chance at freedom.

'I'll bring back help. A wing of the Royal Guard!' That was it! He would find soldiers. They patrolled the region, going between keeps and settlements to secure trade routes. That must have been why Xantha had lied about the storm, to get them far away from any potential rescue.

He would find his way back. He knew enough about the sun and stars to find north. Then he would fly west to Lazon's Rest. Someone there would know how to get in touch with the guard, and then he could lead them back to this island. He'd insist on being part of the expedition.

Because he was no coward!

Joints stiff from long immobility were beginning to loosen. Aytin shifted his wings experimentally. They ached, but not enough to keep him grounded.

Winning any races would be out of the question. The guards would undoubtedly give chase as soon as they noticed he was gone. But if he could make it to the forest he could disappear before they caught up to him. Below their canopy, he'd be impossible to find.

It was funny, the forest that had made him uncomfortable to fly over would be his salvation. He didn't know quite what to think of that.

A guard looked his way and he made certain his head was slumped and eyes lidded. Once he was certain no one was looking his way, Aytin moved.

His first stop was a trail bag some brigand had left laying nearby. He crept over as fast as he dared and slung it over one shoulder. It had some heft to it, which was reassuring.

Damp clothes and a rock alone wouldn't get him far. He'd need food and tools.

The brigands had made their latrine behind a pile of stones that had once been an interior wall. Aytin ignored the stench and the bucket it came from, instead focusing on the alcove's more attractive feature: the window.

When the keep was new, it was little more than a slit to let in light and air. But time and the elements had changed that. Now it resembled an oval hole more than anything.

The gap was still small - smaller than most dragonettes could hope to fit through - but for once Aytin's stature worked in his favor.

His feet slipped on a layer of foul smelling slime as he edged into the gap. It was obvious how the group had gone about emptying their makeshift chamberpot. He tried his best not to think about it. That was difficult when he could feel the grime sticking to his wings as he squeezed them through the window. It wasn't enough to slow him down for even a moment.

As soon as he was out, Aytin started sprinting. His wings were still stiff, and didn't quite want to catch the air properly.

The mesa ended in a short cliff. Just enough to make for a painful fall. Maybe break a bone on a bad landing.

For the first time, Aytin hesitated. Getting so far only to cripple himself would be the worst irony.

'Maybe I should go on foot.'

He glanced backward. The keep was silent. No one had noticed his absence. There might be time.

Movement caught his eye. His heart hammered, but a second glance showed nothing there. It was just shifting shadows from the fire.

Still jumpy from the scare, Aytin didn't hesitate any longer. He threw himself off the edge of the cliff and into open air.

The fall carried him to within a scale's breadth of the jagged ground below. The bag he had stolen and slung over one shoulder actually smacked into a protruding rock, but he ignored it. He also ignored the wing muscles screaming in pain. He just pushed on, towards the dark mass of the treeline in the distance.

Altitude was usually a dragonette's friend. Aytin skimmed just above the ground, only high enough to avoid the odd shrub in his path.

Going higher would cost speed. Speed that was precious, because safety was further than he had hoped.

Either the rise the keep was built on had never been heavily forested or its former owners had cleared it. Trees surrounded it a short flight away, but even a short flight was too long.

There hadn't been any shouts from the keep. Hopefully that meant no one had noticed his escape and not that the whistling wind was just drowning them out. 'It has to be too late, anyway. I'm halfway there. They couldn't hope to catch me now.'

The pain and stiffness were beginning to fade. Flying was easier with each wingbeat.

Aytin continued to push himself harder. His heart hammered and despite the cold wind and damp clothes, he felt like he was sitting right in front of a roaring fire.

Dragonettes could only keep up a sprint for so long before overheating, and Aytin had never had much in the way of stamina. But the trees were so close that he could almost reach out and touch them.

He would make it.

Once he reached the safety of the forest he could slow down. He supposed he would have to, if only to dodge the densely packed trunks. It wasn't like he was a Tonselra competitor or anything. But as long as no one was on his tail he could take his time weaving between the trees until he was well past the point where anyone could hope to find him.

Aytin craned his neck around to check for pursuers. The keep still sat silently in the distance.

Something pulled his gaze upwards, above him. He was just in time to see a massive talloned foot descending to pluck him out of the air.