Read Online Gates of Thread and Stone by Lori M. Lee - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lori M. Lee
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shifting under skin.
I stepped back as it trotted out of the shed and came to a stop in front of me. I glanced at Avan uncertainly.
After locking the shed, he gripped the saddle and pulled himself onto the Gray. He held out his hand to me.
“I’ve never ridden one before,” I said. Reev didn’t think they were safe. Before my job with the DMC, he never let me go too far from the Labyrinth on my own.
“You don’t have to do anything except hold on,” Avan said.
This didn’t reassure me in the least. With a deep breath, I put my bag alongside his and took his hand. My other hand grabbed the saddle as he pulled me up, and I swung my leg over the creature. The angle of the seat forced me flush against Avan. My pulse fluttered wildly beneath my skin. Good thing the darkness hid my blushing. Avan leaned over to position my feet on notches built into the Gray’s flanks. I could feel the strength in his fingers even through my flimsy boots.
Stop it. Telling my body to shut up worked until Avan reached back to snag my hands and wrap them around his waist. He was so warm, his stomach firm against my palms. I tried to remember to breathe.
He flicked something else along the creature’s head, and the energy stone lit up. The Gray’s chest glowed red, the light escaping through the vents to illuminate the ground in front of us. I clutched Avan as he gripped the handles on either side of the Gray’s neck and leaned forward.
Every muscle in my body clenched tight as the Gray took off. Avan laughed. We were so close that I could feel the vibrations in his chest.
We weren’t going very fast, really. A slow gallop at most. Scouts—military Grays reserved only for sentinels—were the fastest because they were built specifically to outrun a gargoyle. I wished we could steal one of those, but scouts were stored in the White Court.
Traffic was light in the North District because Grays were expensive to maintain. The few blacksmiths in the Alley with the expertise to repair them had fallen under city control and charged more than the average person could afford. As far as I knew, most of the riders went the illegal route and bought services from the street smithies.
On the Gray, it took us less than five minutes to reach Avan’s place. He cut the power, and the energy stone went dark. The sky was almost pitch-black without the city’s lampposts.
“Stay here,” he said, hopping off the saddle. “I’ll be right back.”
I shivered in the cool night. Without Avan in front of me, I felt unsteady. I leaned forward, resting my hands on the seat. It was warm. I drew away, flustered.
Sometimes, with the shop counter between us, it was easy to look at Avan and admire him from the safe standpoint of a friend, to see him as just a boy from the Alley.
And sometimes, like now, with his body heat still clinging to the front of my shirt, the sight of his silhouette through the mottled windows left me unbalanced, and I didn’t know if reaching out would steady me or knock me off my feet. And because it was Avan, I wasn’t sure I would mind either way.
Beyond the freight containers, I could make out the lumpy mounds of the junkyard. My school friends and I used to explore its precarious hills on quiet mornings after Reev went to work. It was always exciting when we found pieces of things that hinted at the city’s past.
The city’s original name—illegible in the maps from the records hall—had been discarded and forgotten, but some of the city’s history and traditions remained archived. This had once been a bustling fishing town filled with seafaring people. They had worshiped mahjo who could manipulate wind and water. The cliffs hadn’t existed before Rebirth, and the sea had risen right up to what was now the White Court.
You wouldn’t think it, seeing the city as it was now, but we’d found evidence of its past there in the junkyard: the skeletal remnants of boats, rotted masts, stray anchors, and rusty hooks.
I stepped back as it trotted out of the shed and came to a stop in front of me. I glanced at Avan uncertainly.
After locking the shed, he gripped the saddle and pulled himself onto the Gray. He held out his hand to me.
“I’ve never ridden one before,” I said. Reev didn’t think they were safe. Before my job with the DMC, he never let me go too far from the Labyrinth on my own.
“You don’t have to do anything except hold on,” Avan said.
This didn’t reassure me in the least. With a deep breath, I put my bag alongside his and took his hand. My other hand grabbed the saddle as he pulled me up, and I swung my leg over the creature. The angle of the seat forced me flush against Avan. My pulse fluttered wildly beneath my skin. Good thing the darkness hid my blushing. Avan leaned over to position my feet on notches built into the Gray’s flanks. I could feel the strength in his fingers even through my flimsy boots.
Stop it. Telling my body to shut up worked until Avan reached back to snag my hands and wrap them around his waist. He was so warm, his stomach firm against my palms. I tried to remember to breathe.
He flicked something else along the creature’s head, and the energy stone lit up. The Gray’s chest glowed red, the light escaping through the vents to illuminate the ground in front of us. I clutched Avan as he gripped the handles on either side of the Gray’s neck and leaned forward.
Every muscle in my body clenched tight as the Gray took off. Avan laughed. We were so close that I could feel the vibrations in his chest.
We weren’t going very fast, really. A slow gallop at most. Scouts—military Grays reserved only for sentinels—were the fastest because they were built specifically to outrun a gargoyle. I wished we could steal one of those, but scouts were stored in the White Court.
Traffic was light in the North District because Grays were expensive to maintain. The few blacksmiths in the Alley with the expertise to repair them had fallen under city control and charged more than the average person could afford. As far as I knew, most of the riders went the illegal route and bought services from the street smithies.
On the Gray, it took us less than five minutes to reach Avan’s place. He cut the power, and the energy stone went dark. The sky was almost pitch-black without the city’s lampposts.
“Stay here,” he said, hopping off the saddle. “I’ll be right back.”
I shivered in the cool night. Without Avan in front of me, I felt unsteady. I leaned forward, resting my hands on the seat. It was warm. I drew away, flustered.
Sometimes, with the shop counter between us, it was easy to look at Avan and admire him from the safe standpoint of a friend, to see him as just a boy from the Alley.
And sometimes, like now, with his body heat still clinging to the front of my shirt, the sight of his silhouette through the mottled windows left me unbalanced, and I didn’t know if reaching out would steady me or knock me off my feet. And because it was Avan, I wasn’t sure I would mind either way.
Beyond the freight containers, I could make out the lumpy mounds of the junkyard. My school friends and I used to explore its precarious hills on quiet mornings after Reev went to work. It was always exciting when we found pieces of things that hinted at the city’s past.
The city’s original name—illegible in the maps from the records hall—had been discarded and forgotten, but some of the city’s history and traditions remained archived. This had once been a bustling fishing town filled with seafaring people. They had worshiped mahjo who could manipulate wind and water. The cliffs hadn’t existed before Rebirth, and the sea had risen right up to what was now the White Court.
You wouldn’t think it, seeing the city as it was now, but we’d found evidence of its past there in the junkyard: the skeletal remnants of boats, rotted masts, stray anchors, and rusty hooks.
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