“Abel,” I breathe, my chest rising and falling from the exertion of climbing up onto the roof in my pale blue chenille evening gown. I right the shawl around my shoulders—supposedly wyverns are diurnal, but it’s not a gamble I’ll volunteer to test.

  The rogue sits up from where he’s been lying on the Privetts’ roof. The city lights silhouette him, but the sharp angle of his chin reveals he isn’t wearing his mask. “Taron has returned, I hear.” It’s not a question, nor does it sound hostile.

  “Yes, just a short time ago. Do you know him?” That pull, that unrelenting draw towards Abel, tugs stronger than usual tonight. I shouldn’t have drank any of that damn champagne.

  “No more than I know any of the Founders.” He hops to his feet. “Well, it’s already late. We don’t have a tremendous amount of time before dawn, so we’ll have to move swiftly.”

  Excitement flickers in my breast, and I step forward. What could he have in store for me? The folded corners of the page I ripped from the Book prod my thigh from within my skirt pocket—a persistent, threatening reminder.

  He hoists a long board with a rope tied to one end. Planting one end of the board against his boot, he uses the rope to lower the other end across to the neighboring building’s roof. It essentially makes a long, narrow bridge over the alley behind the Privetts’ brownstone.

  A sinking feeling tugs at me. “What’s that for?”

  The half-moon lights a smile on Abel’s face. “We can’t hardly use the front door, now can we? I’d just leap across myself, but I figured this would be more… accommodating for you.”

  I blink. It’s hardly wider than my spread hand. “You mean for me to walk across that?”

  “Yes.”

  Curse that champagne.

  “Come, we’ll cross together.” He extends his hand. “I want to propose your ‘raid the pits’ idea to my council. They need to meet you, and you need to meet them. Unless you’d rather forget this whole thing?”

  Curse everything. I bite down on my lip. Taron and the High Guard had been very clear I’m not to go out unless I have the protection of someone with Wyvernmail. Abel certainly doesn’t have that.

  I square my shoulders. I want that meeting. I want Farnell rescued. Whatever the cost. Whatever the risk.

  Besides, it’s dark.

  I put my hand in his and let him lead me to the board. The roughly calloused warmth of his grip sends a little tingle up my arm, much like the champagne bubbles had on my tongue.

  “One foot after the other. You walk in those little heeled shoes all the time. This should be nothing for you.”

  A legitimate point. I’ve practiced walking in a perfect line a million times.

  Abel steps onto the board. It creaks as he crosses to about halfway, his arm extended as far as it can without letting go of my hand. “Now you, come on.”

  “Will it hold both of us?” I place one heeled shoe on the board.

  “Probably.”

  Reassuring.

  I lift my chin and fix my gaze on Abel. On the shadow of stubble across his jaw. On his stupid, cocky smirk. I step forward. Defiance rises like a contagious bloom of energy and numbs the can’t can’t can’t voice in my head.

  Oh yes I can.

  I will.

  The wind lifts my hair, tugs at my dress, and I glance down. The street below shrinks away. Instant death lays down there, between rubbish bins and the rough cobblestones. A ridiculous urge to laugh rises in my chest.

  Abel tugs my hand and I rip my gaze up to his. “You can do it.”

  I take another step. Then another.

  My foot strikes the solid, safe, flat roof of the opposite building. I let out a triumphant breath.

  Still holding my hand, he leads me over to the opposite side of the building. There a long ladder lies propped against the building’s side.

  “A ladder! Why didn’t we use that over there?” I point to the Privetts' brownstone.

  He laughs. “And what? Cause a clatter and have your stepmother poke her nose out at us? The old man who lives here is hard of hearing and mostly blind.”

  I purse my lips to hide the tug of a smile.

  Abel releases my hand and starts down the ladder. “Come on, I’ll be here to catch you this time. Nothing to worry about.”

  I peer over the edge and hesitate. My dress billows in the breeze—its own taunt.

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  Abel smirks up at me, as if he can read minds. “I’ve seen up my fair share of skirts. Nothing to be shy about.”

  I flush. Then burn hotter at the thought of Abel in another woman’s skirts.

  What’s the matter with me? The last thing I need is to be caring about who this man beds. Besides, in this darkness, he probably can’t make out so much as the color of my shoes.

  Refusing to dignify his comment with a response, and forcefully ignoring the wobble of my knees, I hike up my skirts and throw a leg over the ladder to climb down.

  My feet hit the solid cobblestones. Sweet victory.

  I spin around—directly into his chest.

  He smiles down at me, his grip on the ladder framing me within his arms. This close, I can see the glint of the moon reflected in his eyes and the tiny beads of sweat over the peaked bow of his upper lip.

  A pulse of heat shoots through me.

  “Good girl.” He draws back and offers me his elbow.

  I swallow against the fluttering that threatens to escape my chest, loop my arm in his, and follow him down the alley.

  It doesn’t take us long to reach the stables. Our horses wait, already tacked, in their stalls.

  “How…?” I begin.

  Abel shrugs and a mischievous smile plays across his face. “This city’s children like me. I also pay well—and extra, unfortunately, for that brute of yours.”

  A smile of my own tugs at my cheeks. “How do we leave? Don’t they lock the gates at night?”

  He winks and raises his hand. A long iron key dangles between his fingers. “I have my ways.”

  That key lets us out through an iron service door, into the storage warehouse on the other side of the wall where the carriages are kept, then out another door into the night.

  Abel reaches for Sebastian’s reins. “I’ll hold him for—”

  I swing up into the sidesaddle—half wishing he’d left Sebastian bareback—and raise my brows at him.

  “Nevermind.” He grins and swings into his own saddle.

  Sebastian dances back and forth from hoof to hoof, feeding off my energy.

  Abel gives me a nod and urges his chestnut mare into a gallop. His hips roll in easy synchrony with his mare’s stride. All I have to do is give Sebastian some rein and he barrels after her, tossing his head and nickering his joy.

  The wind whips through my thin chenille gown and threatens to tear free my shawl. I revel in all of it. In the way the wind cuts through these layers I hide behind, filling me with the tantalizing illusion of freedom and weightlessness.

  Abel throws up a hand and reins his horse to an abrupt halt. I sit back on Sebastian and he, too, skids to a stop. Abel lifts his hand to his lips and points ahead and to the North.

  On a hilltop at least a fifteen minute gallop away, there’s a huge, hulking… something. I squint in the dark. It hunches over something dark on the ground and a ridge of long spikes running down its back glints in the faint moonlight peaking between clouds.

  Skies, it’s a wyvern.

  It tears at something and raises its head periodically to gulp bites down.

  Abel nods to our left, away from the beast, and together we amble down the sloping hill. If we can just make it to the bottom, we’ll be out of sight.

  I pull my shawl tighter around me and watch over my shoulder. Just as we descend enough that the hill has almost obstructed my view, the beast raises its head.

  Glowing golden eyes turn on us.

  It lets out a roar.

  “Go!” Abel shouts.

  The horses leap into a gallop, fast and desperate, as if they know a predator’s near.

  “We’ll make it to the forest before it reaches us,” Abel shouts over the wind. “I’ve done this before. It can’t fly into the trees.”

  The steady beat of wyvern wings grows louder, each stroke bringing the next closer, faster. Somewhere a Wyvern Bell tolls.

  The forest looms ahead.

  I glance over my shoulder and curse. The wyvern has already halved the distance between us with its massive shimmering wings.

  Sebastian puts on an extra burst of speed, clearly aware of the beast’s approach. I flatten myself against his neck. We’ll make it. We have to make it.

  The tree line grows to only a hundred paces away.

  Fifty.

  Heat licks at my back—not flames but the beast’s breath. The beat of its wings throws my hair forward into my face. Its hips tilt to reach its huge leg-claws forward.

  Ten.

  My skin crawls, itches, flames at the sensation of talons reaching for me.

  Humid darkness swallows us.

  The wyvern roars. Trees topple behind us, trunks shattering to pieces. The ground shakes so hard I can feel it through Sebastian.

  But it follows no further.

  A laugh bursts from my lips, wild and maniacal. We made it. Cheated death. I haven’t felt so alive in a long, long time.

  “She laughs! Of all times!” Abel shouts, shaking his head. “And I thought you were nuts when you stormed into Black’s and demanded we save your cousin.”

  We slow to a trot and I throw my head back, still laughing, and suck in the beautiful scents of cedar, musty moss, and dew hanging in the air. Oh, how I’ve missed this place.

  The wyvern’s roar reduces to an eerie, almost anguished keening.

  “Damnit, I’ve never seen one out this late. They rarely fly at all after dusk,” Abel says, as we slow our horses to a walk. Sweat drenches the horses. Even Abel’s skin holds a glistening sheen.

  Beads of sweat trickle down my brow and neck. Sebastian, though his ribcage heaves beneath me, prances like he’d eagerly have another go at racing a wyvern.

  Abel halts his horse and swings out of the saddle. Something dark and effervescent simmers in the depths of his eyes. “Wild woman, I’m afraid you’ll have to dismount so I can blindfold you.”

  “Blindfold me?” Sebastian tosses his head and sidesteps away.

  Abel stalks towards us, loosening the wrap at his neck that he uses as a mask. “Normal precautions. You’d do the same for me.”

  Reluctantly, I swing down onto the mossy forest floor.

  Eying Sebastian like he half expected a bite, Abel draws closer. So close I have to crane my neck to hold his gaze.

  Abel’s brows furrow. “Are you sure you want to do this? There’s no turning back after.”

  I don’t trust him, but I also can’t afford to not carry on. Farnell can’t afford it. I nod.

  “Turn around,” he says.

  I obey, my still-pounding heart ratcheting a little faster.

  He lowers the wrap over my eyes and warm, callused fingers brush my temples. It smells of him, of pine and sweat and a sweet muskiness unique to him. He draws the ends to the back of my head and ties them, stroking his fingers through my hair to remove any strands from the knot.

  Little flurries bloom in my chest.

  He leans in to my ear, and his warm breath sends shivers down my body. “Now you will meet the Apostate’s Disciples, Lady Aubrey Gallant, daughter of our founder.”

  A fresh wave of chills grip me, but for an entirely different reason.

  Abel guides me back into my saddle, his fingers deft and sending warmth seeping through the fabric with every touch.

  Leather creaks from Abel’s saddle and we are on our way.

  My first clue that the rebel camp grows near is a strange whistle. A long, single steady note, followed by the tone fluttering. Then silence, except for the faint sounds of music humming in the distance. The whistle sounds again, from another direction.

  A shrill return call trills right beside me, and I jump. It’s the same, one long note and a warble at the end. No… not the same. There’s a pattern to the warble. A signal. A passcode? Or perhaps his identity.

  “You may remove your blindfold now,” Abel says.

  I pull the wrap down from my face and let it hang around my neck. I cringe against the sudden brightness—a clearing lit by torches and a large campfire at the center.

  Skies, I’ve arrived at their camp.