Page 100 of Heartbreak Prince

The forest along the border road is too thick to fly or ride through—almost too thick to traverse on foot. We could veer off the road and soar over the trees, but then we wouldn’t have our escort of mounted archers beneath us to lend us support. We’d be alone against both the wyverns who prowl the skies and the bowmen stationed along the top of the wall.

The border guards have orders to shoot anything that attempts to cross the boundary at any point other than the designated gates. It’s a brutal agreement that applies to both walls, upheld by both kingdoms, dating back to a treaty signed before the discovery of magic. No matter how many times the leadership of either side has changed, that rule has remained the same.

Before we left Anyssir Castle, I asked for a pouch full of throwing stars from the armory. I thought of bringing along a bow, but I’m not the best shot. Besides, it’s likely the carpet will have to fly evasively at some point, and in that case, only an expert archer with their legs fastened to the carpet’s surface could manage to shoot without falling off. I’d either be hopelessly inaccurate, or I’d be tossed into the sky and tumble to my death.

Vawn took a couple of daggers and a few throwing stars as well. At the bounty hunter’s camp, he proved that he’s a decent knife-thrower at close range, though I’m not sure his skill will hold up at a distance while we’re flying. In addition to our weapons, both of us have a limited selection of glyphs at our disposal.

But I’m worried that it’s not enough.

I lean over the carpet’s edge, searching for ideas, for inspiration, for luck. Anything that might give us a better chance at making it through a belt of wyverns and warriors, some of whom may be on our side while others want us dead. We might not know which is which until it’s too late.

After a few minutes of flight, I spot a cluster of buildings ahead. A big barn stands near a smaller, windowless structure with smoke rising from its chimneys. Between the two buildings is a yard with a chopping block and a worktable, both freshly stained with blood. The barn appears to be a slaughterhouse, with a smokehouse nearby for the meat.

“Severin, can you land near those buildings?” I ask.

“Why?” Vawn’s voice betrays his mounting anxiety. His body has grown more rigid over the past several minutes, tense with the fear that we won’t survive the crossing.

“Trust me, I have an idea that may help. Severin, how much weight can you carry in addition to us?”

“It’s really more about living energy than weight, as I mentioned in my explanation of carpet mechanics.”

“So could you carry several pieces of dead things?”

“Several what?” Vawn stares at me blankly.

The carpet shudders. “Could I? Technically, yes. But would I want to? No.”

“The barn below,” I tell him. “Now, please.”

“I don’t like this. Not one bit,” mutters Severin, but he heads for the slaughterhouse anyway.

The barn door is locked, but thanks to my strength glyphs, I make quick work of the bolt. Within the chilly interior hang several sheep’s carcasses, already skinned, gutted, and drained, awaiting their turn to be fully processed and sent off to a butcher’s shop or a local market.

A bin nearby contains the heads of the animals. I suspect the owner of this place intended to sell the sheep heads to the wyvern riders at the border… so really, we’re fulfilling their intended purpose. Just a bit sooner than planned.

By the time we return to the roadside where the carpet is hovering, the castle guards have caught up to us. They seemed quite confused by the detour, but their leader doesn’t ask us what we were up to, and within minutes we’re on our way again.

“I smell raw meat,” Severin comments disapprovingly. “Are you going to drip blood all over me?”

“The sheep were already drained,” I assure him. “And the bag that I put the heads in has been coated with some kind of wax to keep any leftover blood from seeping through.”

“I don’t like this.”

“You don’t have to like it. But my plan might keep a wyvern from ripping right through you, so let’s give it a chance.”

“Far be it from me to question your perpetually perfect and always amazing plans,” drawls Vawn. “But what if the wyverns smell the meat and head straight for us?”

“They’re going to do that anyway, either to attack or defend us. At least this way, I might have a little more control over their attention, so I can direct it.”

“So… you’re going to feed them as we’re flying. Brilliant.” His tone drips with sarcasm.

“And what do you have to contribute? Other than riding along like a big dumb target? Once your stealth and shield glyphs run out, you’ll be a sitting dick.”

“I believe the phrase is, ‘a sitting duck,’” Severin offers helpfully.

“She knows that,” Vawn replies. “She meant exactly what she said.”

“We should have tried the disguise plan,” I mutter.