Ser Kincade started grabbing bags and handed Aurelia her cloak with a command to put it on. She offered no protest and swept the thick grey cotton over her shoulders, stabbing herself more than once with shaking hands as she tried to fasten the pin over her collarbone. The smoke was growing thick and Aurelia pulled her hood around, pressing the fabric over her nose and mouth in an effort to get in a clean breath. Meanwhile, Asher was making quick work of the window. 

"We're going to fly. Please hold on tight, my Lady. I'm afraid you're going to have to trust me." The half-dragon moved behind her, guiding her back and arranging his arms over hers around her torso. Even with his bulky armour his arms enveloped her easily, and somewhere in the far reaches of her mind Aurelia remarked just how [i]large[/i] a creature he was. She'd never really given it much thought, having only but once come close enough to him to even notice. 

At the moment, though, she wasn't concerned. [i]We're going to fly?![/i]

There was no time to consider it further as the knight lifted Aurelia with ease, pausing only a second for two laboured breaths before rushing toward the window. 

Aurelia squeezed her eyes shut and stifled a scream as Asher leapt; her gut quivered and spasmed as they fell, and she clenched every muscle she could muster to stop her stomach jumping up her throat. She braced herself for the shock of cold seawater she was expecting, but it never came. 

Instead, she felt her legs grow heavy as they slowed and grasped desperately for anything she could hold onto - with her arms crossed as they were, she settled for the shoulders of her own cloak - as they climbed. The heavy rush of wingbeats filled her mind like the pounding winds of an autumn gale, and she all but curled around the knight's stalwart arms, entirely expecting to fall out of the sky at any moment. 

After a long moment Aurelia dared open her eyes, peeking out at the town below. She saw the ship, aflame on the water, saw the masts of other vessels, the wooden structures of Wickport, and the churning ocean around it - all from above. It was thoroughly bizarre, and the queer tilting of each tall structure as they passed, the disorienting angle and the sheer, terrifying height made her head spin. A wave of nausea bowled over her, and she squeezed her watering eyes shut once more, the only thought in her mind aside from [i]please don't drop me[/i] being how to keep her stomach where it was supposed to be. 

For a time there was only the rush of cool air the buffeting of Asher's wings as the din of the burning ship and the battle upon it faded below them. After what felt like an eternity of her heart pumping in her throat, Aurelia could feel them descending, and soon Asher pitched backward and flapped harder before finally - [i]finally[/i] - planting them safely on the ground. 

The knight's grip on her loosened, and he seemed content to stand still and support her against his body as he heaved for breath behind her; Aurelia had other ideas. She weakly but urgently wormed her way out of his grip, stumbling to a nearby cluster of sparse bushes and falling to her knees, lurching forward and heaving violently until all the nausea from the flight had been purged from her system. 

Somehow she managed to preserve her hair and clothes, and by the grace of the gods there was a handkerchief in the pocket of her cloak. When she had recovered and composed herself, she threw it angrily down in the bushes and rose shakily to her feet, whipping around to her half-dragon Champion. 

Emerald eyes swirled near-black in the gathering darkness and her posture was murderous, head forward like an animal as her face drew into a scowl that would strike fear into the hearts of lesser men. Except this time, the daggers of her glare were aimed not at the half-breed, but at the faint orange glow in the distance. 

"Am I [i]alright?[/i]" she growled, each word like the crack of a barbed whip, "Gods grant those men shelter, for [i]when[/i] I find them I will put the arrows in them [i]by hand![/i]"

She marched past Asher, barely noticing he was there, eyes trained on that cursed glow on the horizon, fists clenched at her sides. "I will have each of their heads on a [i]spike![/i]" Her voice was growing shrill, slicing through the relative silence. "And the [i]second[/i] I am Queen I will have that cunt of an Ambassador's heart on a spit!"

Her barrage had to end when the itching in her lungs overcame her and she fell into a series of coughs, bucking over until the fit had passed. Looking back over at Asher, she saw something protruding between his wings. 

She drew a long breath. "Ser Kincade, you have a crossbow bolt in your back," she stated, her former outrage having burned away to exasperation. She returned to him, coming up from behind to examine it; she wasn't very educated on these things, but surely it couldn't just stay there. 

She had to admire Asher's resolve; he'd flown - [i]flown![/i] - all this way, clad in armour and carrying her, all with an arrow in his back? She wasn't stupid. She knew full well she may not have escaped that ship with any other man. Her desire to live was stronger than her distaste for the half-breed and in that moment she couldn't help but be grateful - be it for his wings, his dedication, or both - that it was him and not another of her father's knights who attended her. 

"What are you waiting for?" she snapped, noting how the bolt glistened in the moonlight with what must have been blood, "Tell me how to remove it."