Chapter 26
Ashadow passes by the window, massive and slow against the gray curtain of rain, and I wipe the foggy glass to see better. A purple head. Scales that bleed from violet to black along the body.
My dragon.
A tingling warmth moves through me, a soothing balm that starts in my chest where his tongue once dragged a slow, warm line. I press my hand flat against the cool glass and feel my whole body uncoil, free from the inner chains that had been tight around my heart.
Unless… Could it be that my hunger-addled mind is conjuring images? I blink hard, then look back at the window, half-expecting the shape to be gone, dissolved back into the rain and my own desperation.
The dragon is gone. My ribs feel tight, caging me in.
I’m still staring at the empty sky when the windows on the other side of the room explode inward, a shower of glass and splintered wood pelting the floor.
A rider jumps in. The rider. The one who almost killed me. The one who left the staff for me. My heart beats fast, a frantic drumbeat of terror and hope all at once. Carrying no magical artifact, he’s wearing a sleeveless robe, his long, black hair drenched with the rain.
He looks like a strange illusion, impossibly majestic in this room, and yet when he strides toward me, powerful and menacing like a dragon, my body recoils, the memory of his mortal blast still vivid in my flesh.
Despite my tremor, another feeling, much greater than fear, washes through me: relief. The little dragons. If anyone can get them out, it’s him.
“I tried,” I mutter. “To save the hatchlings. I don’t know where they are now.”
My stomach lurches as I realize I can’t help him, can’t even give him a single clue on how to save little Ava and Vos, and can’t tell him where the staff is. By Vigorlu, I’m so useless.
He crouches in front of me, close enough that I can see the rain still beaded on his lashes, his gaze like two sharp knives holding me in place. “You’re going to have to try harder.”
His voice is a quiet, comforting rumble, moving inside me like waves in the ocean, much unlike the cutting tone he had last time—when I stopped him from saving the little dragons.
I push away the sudden burst of shame and focus. He wouldn’t be here if there was no solution. “What do you need from me?”
“Get the staff.” His tone is curt, matter-of-fact, as if he had issued a perfectly reasonable request.
I shake my shackled hands, as it’s clear he hasn’t noticed them. “How exactly?”
His stare makes me feel like a clueless child.
“Call the staff,” he says slowly, as if his speaking speed somehow made his words any more plausible.
“How?” I insist, a short huff leaving my lips.
He gets up all at once, his fists clenched, and shoots me a dark glare. “You have no idea?”
What did he expect? It’s not like he left the staff with any instructions—but I don’t want to confront him. “Maybe you could explain?” My mouth’s so dry it hurts to speak. “And get me some water? Please?” I point at the jug on the counter.
He moves swiftly, smells the water and shakes his head, then, after looking at the room, he crouches again in front of me.
With his fingers around his long, wet hair, he squeezes it near my face—water dripping into my lips.
The tips of his strands are blue, and the water falling from them feels fresh and delicious like rain.
I close my eyes as I drink it, relieved to have some liquid in my throat. I move my hand to squeeze his hair some more, but he holds it in place.
“Slower,” he says. “Or you’ll get sick.”
I catch the drops of water falling from his long strands, stopping when I feel that I’m able to talk again.
Thunder rumbles outside, and I say, “Tell me how to call the staff.”
“Imagine it in your hand.”
That doesn’t make any sense. “Can’t you do it?”
He shakes his head. “I gave it to you.”
“Well, I can’t—”
“Summon it.” Desperation coats his voice. “If you want to protect the little ones, you’ll need to call the staff. I’ll help you.” He holds my wrists, beyond the shackles, his thumb pressing against my pulse. “Close your eyes. Feel it.”
His touch is gentle but ignites a current inside me as his voice reaches my ears like a balsam healing my wounds.
Something in me shifts. An odd surge of power.
A crackling electricity, as if a storm was about to form inside me.
It’s the mysterious magic I used when I pushed Felien, the same magic I used to block this rider’s magic, and it’s running through my veins now.
With eyes closed, I imagine the staff in the rider’s hands, imagine him using it to free Ava and Vos. I see the wings molded on its edge, the crystal on its bottom, and even feel its warmth, its hum.
I open my eyes. No staff. That part doesn’t surprise me. What does is the rider’s expression, the certainty in it, a certainty that makes me believe I can do it. This time, I appeal to my strongest sense, the one that has been numbed in the castle.
I’m back on the island and see the rider approaching in the heavy-falling rain.
The ocean and the rainwater are the dominant smells, but now I can identify his hair, a subtle floral fragrance, his clothes—and the object he’s holding.
A metal tang hits my nose, and I realize the artifact is coated in silver, even if its interior remains mysterious.
Among all the overpowering scents, I focus on the staff, then imagine its smell here, in this room.
A clank beside me startles me. It’s the staff, falling on the wooden floor. I can barely believe what I’m seeing.
He glances at the artifact, not at all surprised to see it. “Can you give it to me? Unlike you, I know how to wield it.”
“Sure.” I blink, still confused. “But how?”
“Say it’s mine.”
“It’s yours. I didn’t ask for it.”
“I had no choice,” he gruffs.
He lets go of my arms, and yet I still feel that hum within me, that power, that connection. His hand clutches the staff, then he lifts it—and points it at me.
My heart stills, ready for the deadly strike.
His eyes narrow as if he was focusing, then one shackle shudders against my wrist and springs open. I stare at it, dumbfounded, while the rider does the same to the other hand, freeing me.
I stagger upright, grabbing the wall, my legs weak from the hours of lying or sitting on the wooden floor.
“Take me to them,” he says, using that calm tone again to ask me the impossible.
“I don’t know where they are. I think they were moved. Wherever they were taken, there will be tons of guards.”
His gaze sharpens. “You can feel where they are. Take me there. I can deal with a few guards.”
My first instinct is to doubt his words, but he was right that I could conjure the staff.
Can I truly sense the hatchlings? Maybe.
I found the room with their eggs. I close my eyes, thinking about Vos’ adorable grunts and Ava’s cute little face.
I see them in the same room as before, but I also sense the presence of dozens of guards.
“They haven’t been moved—but they’re heavily guarded.”
“Same place?” He raises an eyebrow, conveniently ignoring the second part of what I told him.
“Yes.”
“Come.”
He takes my hand, the touch of his palm soft against my skin, then pulls me to the window—and jumps.
I thought his dragon would catch us, but there’s nothing, just emptiness as we fall faster and faster.
When we’re close to the ground, he points the staff downward, somehow slowing our fall.
I still reach the cobblestones with a thud, finally letting go of his hand.
“Where’s your dragon?” I ask.
The rider doesn’t trip or stumble and gives me no answer as he points his artifact to the castle. I suppose this is not the best moment for a conversation.
A burst of brilliant energy strikes the wall, and the stone shatters inward, creating a passage.
He steps in, his strides large and confident, as if he had an army behind him.
We’re not in the dungeons, but on the ground floor, at the entrance of the academy—where a dozen guards now advance toward us.
I step back as the rider points his staff upward. A crack splits across the ceiling like a lightning bolt, and then the whole section gives way—stone and timber crashing down between us and the guards in a cloud of dust and debris.
“They’ll survive,” the rider mutters.
I’m more worried if I’m going to survive, but I appreciate his restraint.
He pulls me into a long hallway where a dozen guards charge from the far end.
Without hesitation, he brings the ceiling down again, forming a barrier, then he points his staff at the ground.
A hole opens and we fall into an empty room, the landing barely cushioned by a burst of magic.
He breaks the floor again, and we drop into a large chamber lit only by sunholes.
I think I know where we are. The dungeons. We’re almost near Ava and Vos! I can’t believe it.
The rider points the staff at the wall, but this time, he opens just a small hole, barely wide enough for one person to walk through. Still, from here I see a familiar, gloomy room with rocks and potted plants—where I slept many nights.
He steps in, and I follow. But we’re not alone.
Six archers draw their bows in unison, the creak of straining wood cutting through the air. The rider’s staff hums. A wave of energy slams into the arrows, shattering them mid-flight. With a sharp twist, he brings a slab of the ceiling down, walling the archers off.
Ava and Vos scramble from behind a rock, chirping and cooing in panicked recognition, and I drop to my knees, so relieved to see them.
They crash into me, their tiny frames shaking against my legs, and I pull them into my arms, feeling the rapid thrum of their heartbeats through their scales, their claws digging into my skin as they burrow against me.
“They’re scared,” I say, my voice unsteady.
“I know. And the worst is yet to come.”