“Left!”
Salt Wind seemed to sense it.
At the very last moment, it twisted its body sharply to the left, its right wing heaving upward with all its might.
The iron spear grazed just beneath the wing membrane.
“Screech!”
A teeth-gritting tearing sound.
The barb ripped away three palm-sized scales, plowing a deep, bloody groove into the wing membrane.
Blood surged out instantly, scattering a trail of scarlet spots across the sea surface.
Salt Wind let out a heart-wrenching roar, the sound a mix of pain, anger, and…
a touch of resolve.
It hadn’t been hit in a vital spot.
The wound burned with stinging pain, but the wing’s bones and major tendons remained intact.
More importantly, the shockwave from the passing iron spear actually provided it with an upward thrust.
Salt Wind seized this singular opportunity.
No longer attempting a smooth takeoff, it used every ounce of its strength, slamming its wings against the sea surface like two giant door panels.
“Boom!”
The seawater was slapped into a massive wave several zhang high.
Leveraging this recoil, Salt Wind’s heavy body finally left the water, beginning to climb upward in a stagger.
Each wingbeat was accompanied by the excruciating pain of the tearing wound; blood dripped continuously, but it did not stop.
One zhang, two zhang, five zhang…
It was flying.
Aeron lay flat against the dragon’s back, the gale whipping against his face like a lash.
He looked back—the three fast ships were frantically turning around, sailors busy re-stringing the whaling ballistae.
Aboard the Sea Snake, Daeron was kicking the ballista base in a rage, screaming for the gunners to reload.
But reloading took time.
At least two minutes.
And those two minutes were the distance between life and death.
Salt Wind flew to a height of twenty zhang and finally stabilized its form.
It adjusted its direction, accelerating toward the northeast—the direction Aeron had pointed to repeatedly in the cave.
The flapping of its wings still carried a painful sluggishness, but each stroke was firmer and more powerful than the last.
The wind whistled in his ears.
Below was the rapidly receding ink-blue sea, and above was the brightening sky.
Aeron watched Ghost-Tooth Rock shrink beneath him, watched the ships turn into toy-sized specks, and a feeling of unreality washed over him.
He had done it.
They had escaped.
But this thought lasted less than three heartbeats.
A new sound came from the southeast.
Not a ballista, not a human voice.
It was another sound—deeper, more majestic, like muffled thunder rolling from the clouds, or the churning of lava from deep within the earth.
That was…
a dragon’s roar.
Aeron turned his head sharply.
On the southeastern horizon, a red dot was expanding at an astonishing speed.
It wasn’t a bird, nor was it a cloud—it was a dragon.
A giant dragon, larger and sturdier than Salt Wind, its scales reflecting a flame-like luster in the rising sun, its slender neck and broad wings outlining an elegant yet deadly silhouette.
Meleys.
The Red Queen.
Aeron’s heart nearly stopped beating.
Did Corlys have a second dragon?
No, that was impossible.
That was— The source of this chapter is g.com.
There was someone on the dragon’s back.
It was too far to see their face clearly, but that flowing silver-gold hair, and that dark attire…
Mother.
Rhaenys Targaryen was riding on Meleys’s back, flying rapidly toward Ghost-Tooth Rock.
She was too fast—much faster than Salt Wind—and would enter the battlefield in half a minute at most.
Aeron’s mind went blank.
Was she here to help, or…
to intercept?
He didn’t know.
He could only desperately urge Salt Wind: “Faster!
Faster!”
Salt Wind seemed to sense the pressure coming from behind, belonging to another giant dragon.
It let out a defiant low roar, enduring the stabbing pain in its right wing, and increased the amplitude of its wingbeats once again.
The speed increased another notch.
The wind made it impossible for Aeron to open his eyes.
On the sea surface below, on the deck of the Sea Snake.
Daeron also saw the red shadow in the sky.
He was stunned for a moment, then his face turned deathly pale.
“Lady Rhaenys…” he muttered, the monocular in his hand dropping onto the deck, “She…
she has come riding a dragon…”
The craftsman beside him was confused: “Young Master, is that our dragon?
Can we ask her to stop—”
“Shut up!” Daeron turned abruptly and slapped the craftsman across the face.
He panted heavily, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at the approaching Red Queen, then looked at the muddy-brown figure nearly turning into a black dot in the northeast.
Pursue, or not pursue?
If he pursued, it meant passing under Lady Rhaenys’s nose.
The temper of “The Queen Who Never Was” was known throughout The Seven Kingdoms; if she truly stood in his way…
If he didn’t pursue, and just let that wild dragon and that bastard get away, what would Lord Corlys think of him?
Cold sweat seeped onto Daeron’s forehead.
He stared at the sky, watching Meleys fly over Ghost-Tooth Rock, and then…
it did not turn to pursue, nor did it land.
The Red Queen began to circle at an altitude of three hundred yards above Ghost-Tooth Rock.
Her massive wings flapped slowly, the resulting airflow creating ripples on the sea surface.
Rhaenys rode on the dragon’s back, looking down from above at the Sea Snake and the entire fleet.
She did not speak.
But that posture said everything—
This far and no further.
Daeron read the signal.
He gritted his teeth, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into his flesh.
A few seconds later, he squeezed the command through his teeth:
“…Stop the pursuit.
All ships, maintain formation, stand by.”
“Young Master?” a captain hesitated, “The Lord’s order was—”
“I said stop!” Daeron roared, spitting in the man’s face, “Do you want to defy Lady Rhaenys?
Do you want to taste The Red Queen’s Dragonfire?!”
The captain dared not speak further, bowed his head, and retreated.
The order was passed down.
The three fast ships that had already chased some distance away turned back unwillingly.
The sailors aboard the Sea Snake silently released the ballista bowstrings and put away their weapons.
Everyone looked up at the sky.
Rhaenys’s gaze passed over the fleet and toward the northeastern horizon—there, the little muddy-brown dot was about to vanish into the morning mist and halo, no longer visible.
She watched for a long time.
Then, she gently patted Meleys on the side of the neck.
The Red Queen let out a long cry, turned, and flew back toward High Tide.
As her massive figure swept over the fleet, the resulting air currents caused the ships to rock violently.
Daeron stood on the swaying deck, watching The Red Queen’s receding back, his face ashen.
He had lost.
Completely lost.
The wild dragon was gone, the bastard was gone, and he had offended Lady Rhaenys.
When he returned to High Tide, how would Lord Corlys deal with him?
He didn’t know.
He only knew one thing—from this day on, Driftmark had one less “bastard” that could be bullied at will, and on the chessboard of The Seven Kingdoms, a new, unpredictable piece had been added.
In the northeast, twenty li above the sea.
Salt Wind was still flying hard.
The bleeding from the wound had slowed, but every wingbeat still brought a stinging pain.
It flew very low, almost skimming the wave crests, using the updrafts from the sea to conserve energy.
Aeron lay on the dragon’s back, looking back.
Behind him, he could no longer see Ghost-Tooth Rock, the fleet, or the figure of The Red Queen.
There was only the vast, boundless sea and the brightening sky.
Safe.
Temporarily safe.
He let out a long, trembling breath, his whole body nearly collapsed.
Once his tense nerves relaxed, all the exhaustion, fear, and lingering terror flooded in.
His arms were shaking, his legs felt like jelly, and his heart was still pounding wildly.
But he was alive.
He and Salt Wind were both alive.
He lowered his head, touched the scales on Salt Wind’s neck, feeling the warm body temperature and powerful pulse beneath his hand.
“Thank you,” he said in a hoarse voice, using the Common Tongue, “Thank you, Salt Wind.”
A low rumble came from the dragon’s throat, as if in response.
Aeron smiled.
The smile was weary, but real.
He lifted his head and looked toward the northeast.
At the end of the horizon, the outline of an archipelago could be vaguely seen—was that The Three Sisters?
Or somewhere else?
He didn’t know.
But he knew the direction.
The note Mother gave him read: “Thirty nautical miles north of Driftmark, in an underwater cave on ‘Seagulls Nest’ island, there are supplies.”
Thirty nautical miles…
At Salt Wind’s current speed, it would probably take another hour to fly.
Provided the wound didn’t worsen, provided there were no storms, provided…
There were many provisions.
But at least, they had a goal.
Aeron lay back down, hugging the dragon’s neck.
The wind whistled in his ears, and the sunlight gradually became warm.
Below was the endless blue sea, and above was the vast, boundless firmament.
This was the first leg of his flight.
And the first leg of his new life.
Salt Wind carried him, flying firmly toward the unknown northeast, in the direction of the rising sun.