After Empire of Storms

Chapter 28

Dorian would never tire of flying. The freedom and lawlessness of the air. The balance between peace and chaos. 

And of course Manon's barked commands if he leaned too far to the side of Abraxos. 

And the twelve pairs of eyes permanently focused between his shoulder blades. Dorian had turned around often to find dark eyes glaring at him, not bothering to shield their stare. 

The same pricking between his shoulder blades remained as the witches landed upon an open plateau in the Moutains of Morla to camp for the nights. Just north, over the hills, a tower, twin to the once standing clock tower in Rifthold, stood in Amaroth. Ash coated the ground as if it were snow, darkening the sky throughout the day. They would continue to move south, to Briarcliff in their search. 

There had been no sign of the Crochans in the open plains of Terrassen. Only broken villages with their cracked and broken inhabitants moving ghost-like throughout the towns. 

It hurt to know his father-- the monster inside his father-- was the cause of such suffering. Dorian would stand to inherit a broken kingdom, a broken crown--if they managed to win the war. 

A snapping noise startled Dorian back to the present, the deadly clacking of iron nails in front of his face. The prince looked down to see that the witch had already dismounted. 

"Yes, witchling?" Dorian purred at Manon as he slid off of the saddles, his legs steady thanks to days of riding upon Abraxos. 

Manon scowled as she sheathed those beautiful, deadly nails. "We are setting camp here, Princeling. We could not fine a feather bed for," She paused and mocked a bow with her hand, "Your Highness." 

Dorian felt the magic within him open an eye as the witches behind Manon stifled grins. He could knock them all off of the side, without a thought--

"Dorian." He blinked and the thought vanished, as well as the hunger that had gnawed at him since midday. He glanced at the dark cave guarding their backs in the side of the mountain. Two scouts with torches were already looking inside, quickly being swallowed in the shadows within the mouth of the cave.

"I need to talk to Ghislaine, I'll be right back." Manon raised a brow but did not question him as Dorian strode away from Abraxos, towards the witch who had become something of a companion on the trip. 

Her knowledge of magic and its wielders had induced several talks between the two, and Dorian found himself liking the witch despite himself. She seemed more...human than the others. 

The witch turned before Dorian had reached her mount, a dark brown wyvern with eyes as intelligent as its rider. She nodded in welcome before reaching into a saddlebag strung across the animal and pulling out a dark green tome. 

"Sit." Dorian followed the command, brushing off a small boulder before resting himself upon it. 

The witch had told him of what she knew in the ways of magic, helping Dorian control the teeming vault inside. Raw magic--he was still learning what it was, what it meant. 

Sheer, undiluted power ran through his veins. Maybe not Aelin's gift of fire or Rowan's tireless strength, but he could shape the magic as he wished. 

Ghislaine turned to him, a thoughtful expression on her face. It was as much a learning experience for her as it was for Dorian. 

The witch traded the book for knives and launched herself at Dorian without a second thought. And so their training begun. 

* * * * *

It was a deadly dance that almost always ended with one of them on their ass. But Dorian had lost the vanity of his appearance and taken each blow as a lesson. Soon, his magic had outpaced the witch who created new obstacles for Dorian's magic to focus on as they fought.