Chapter 28
Twenty-Eight
Icaught glimpses of Rhylan as I plunged down, flipping head over heels: Kalros with his claws dug into his back, tearing at Rhylan’s neck—an awful look at the burning ground below me—Rhylan turning on Kalros, slashing with a bellow of flame.
I burst through a plume of smoke, flailing wildly, a panicked rush of disconnected thoughts running through my head as the ground rushed at me.
We failed—
How can I die here—
I wish I’d done more—
I wish he’d been mine—
I’d gambled and lost everything. Another failure, another miscalculation, and this time there wasn’t a chance to do it all over, all the things I wished I could go back and change—
I was close enough to see the embers burning below me, the fire waiting to consume my crushed body…and in another blink, with tears drawn out of my eyes by the smoke, something brilliantly violet shot over me, the rustle of wingbeats drowning out every other sound.
A stabbing rush of pain. Something latched onto my arm, my back, grabbing me without a care for where the claws penetrated—and in the next few seconds, the force of a sharp upward jerk against the downward momentum of my body sent my head snapping forward, my legs screaming as everything came to a sudden halt.
But I wasn’t falling.
I was mercifully, blessedly alive, and the wyvern carrying me shrieked in my ear, deafening me on one side as it soared away from the burning grounds.
It screeched and trilled, nearly crashing into a tower as it carried me away…and flapped wildly over the courtyard of an inn that was yet-untouched by flame.
The wyvern dropped me to the flagstones with a chirrup, and I heard a girl swearing overhead, but I didn’t look up. Not at once.
I just took a moment to hug the ground, the air knocked out of me by the wyvern’s release. Pinpricks of pain scored my back and arms where it had grabbed me, but I couldn’t complain. I would rather kiss the wyvern’s claws with gratitude.
“I didn’t die today,” I whispered to the mossy, cracked flagstones under my cheek. “I didn’t die.”
Distant roars reached my ears, drowning out the sound of the wyvern’s rider spitting invective.
Elinor had sliced the green dragon. He was down, injured, vulnerable…and I still had my sword.
I thanked Larivor I hadn’t unsheathed it while on Rhylan’s back as I jumped to my feet, stomach muscles protesting. I raced from the courtyard into a street strewn with blackened cobblestones and bricks, the wyvern hopping over fences and fluttering over my head, following the sounds of pain and rage.
The green dragon had crashed into a building, knocking timber and stone into a rockfall that filled the street, and now with every thrash his tail and wings shattered glass windows, ripped up trees by the roots, caved in walls.
But he had no dragonfire, or he would have saved himself against Elinor.
I drew Aela’s sword, and the dragon’s head whipped in my direction, eyes narrowing. His torn wings mantled, and he stalked towards me, each footstep sending a small quake through the earth under my feet, mouth open wide in a hiss.
Above me, I caught flashes of ebony and scarlet—Rhylan was still alive, still fighting.
I could do no less.
I gripped the sword with sweating hands, and zig-zagged through the street, drawing closer to the green dragon.
Without dragonfire, I stood a chance. A small one, but still a chance.
But his teeth and claws would do plenty of damage—I just needed to get close enough to shove my sword in his throat or gut, and another dragon would be able to finish him off.
The green dragon’s head swayed on his neck, a cobra waiting to strike as I ran closer, nearly turning my ankle on a quick dash to the right as I kept an eye on the softer, more vulnerable scales at his throat.
But even injured, he moved like lightning, darting his head forward to strike. I jumped aside with an adrenaline-fueled burst, almost tripping over scattered bricks as his jaws slammed shut with a cracking sound only inches away.
Whirling, I brought up the sword and scored a slash across his tender throat-scales.
“Gods damn it,” I snarled, seeing his hide part—but it wasn’t deep enough. The dragon barked out a rough chuckle, prowling forward and spreading his wings to entrap me.
That violet flash sparkled in the corner of my eye and the wyvern plunged from the sky like a hawk, latching onto the crown of the dragon’s neck, claws scrabbling for his eyes.
The dragon shrieked, shaking his head to remove the wyvern, and I saw my opening.
Panting for breath, dripping sweat and blood, I lunged in, thrusting my sword upwards.
It pierced the soft underthroat, driven with the full force of my bodyweight into his skull. The dragon exhaled, low and guttural, his eyes flickering. The wyvern released him, flapping to the nearest rooftop.
Then the dragon’s head sank to the ground, his wings drooping, eyes already glazing over.
I had to brace my boot on his jaw to rip the sword free. Only a thin trickle of blood emerged from the wound, but he was gone. No healer could save him now.
Dragging in deep gulps of air, lungs burning from the thick smoke, I wiped sweat out of my eyes. Looked up.
And saw Rhylan closer than ever, tearing at Kalros with tooth and claw. He sent a blast of eerie onyx fire into the crimson dragon’s face, burning away the scales that remained there.
Kalros shrieked, plummeting to the ground out of sight. Rhylan followed, wreathed in dark flame.
I had to get to them, and half the town was still in my way. A shout reached me from the roof.
“Want another ride?”
I squinted up, seeing the small figure waving down, and nodded. I kept my sword firmly in my grasp as the wyvern swooped down, picking me up none too carefully, and the rider let out an excited whoop as we launched upwards over the townscape that remained.
Rhylan and Kalros had crashed into a field, killing half the livestock in it instantly. Heaps of bloodied corpses were strewn under them, being trampled into the slurry of mud and blood.
Rhylan was screaming fire at Kalros, whose face had begun to resemble charred bone.
We were so close… and then the wyvern jerked, banking to the left and carrying us back to town.
“What are you doing?” I shouted, straining against the claws digging into my shoulders.
“Bloodless soldiers!” the rider shouted in that high voice. “Look!”
The wyvern carried us over the town’s ruined square…and there below us were Bloodless men I recognized from Farpost, all the way back on Mistward Isle.
So Kalros hadn’t taken only dragons. He had managed to find criminal Bloodless to do his dirty work, as well. They were invading a barricaded shop, smashing out the windows, dragging out the Bloodless people under Orisien’s aegis.
The wyvern deposited me in the square, and I tripped and fell from the rough landing, my knee smacking into a rock. With a curse I rose, and found a Bloodless man ten feet in front of me, still wearing the rags of Mistward, twin axes clutched in his hands.
His lips spread slowly into a grin, revealing cracked and blackened teeth.
“Draga bitch,” he grated out, and I raised my sword.
The Bloodless rushed at me, swinging his axes wide to chop me in half, and the violet wyvern reared up behind me with a shriek. The man hesitated, just long enough for me to bring the sword up, cutting him open from cock to chin.
A slew of glistening, reddish-purple guts spilled out, and he dropped his axes, hands trembling as he reached for the mass.
“You’ve killed me,” he whispered, and I slashed hard across his throat, opening a red smile.
“Now I’ve killed you.”
I stepped over his corpse as the other Bloodless dragged a woman from the shop and over the stones. She shrieked, battering at them with fists and feet, but they simply laughed.
The wyvern swooped over them, plucking one man up by his head. The rider brought the wyvern skyward, and dropped him.
Even from a hundred feet away, I heard the sickening wet-splash crunch of his body hitting the ground. My guts twisted, imagining how close I’d come to making such a sound only a short time ago.
The other Bloodless sneered at me, pushing a dagger to the woman’s throat. “She’ll die before you can get me in the air.”
I stared him down, flicking blood off my sword. The wyvern landed heavily next to me, neck swaying as it hissed at the man.
The rider looked down at me, and I blinked with shock. She was a girl—hardly more than fourteen, with still-round cheeks and big dark eyes.
“Where is your dragon?” she demanded breathlessly. “Why isn’t he coming for you?”
Because he can’t hear me, I thought bitterly, and said, “If he kills Kalros, these bastards will scatter. Kalros is the only one holding them together.”
As though my name had summoned him, a tower on the other side of the square exploded, the top half teetering for several interminable seconds before it groaned, and fell to the ground with an earth-shaking crash.
We all flinched as bits of stone came flying, pelting us and stinging exposed skin.
The Bloodless man flinched as well, his blade never leaving the woman’s throat…but he wasn’t looking at me.
He was watching as Kalros slithered over the ruins over the tower, a skull-faced dragon hoarsely screaming defiance, skin bubbling where Rhylan had burned him…and Rhylan came after him, slashing with clawed forefeet at Kalros’s belly.
I stepped to the left, quickly and silently, and again, until I was on the man’s blind side.
With aching shoulder muscles, I drove the sword under his armpit, through his torso, angling for his heart.
He gasped and wheezed, arms going slack. The Bloodless woman tore herself free, snatching the dagger from his loosened grip.
With a snarl, her teeth bared and face splattered with blood, she plunged the dagger into his chest. Over and over again, the blade skidding off my own sword more than once.
I tugged it free of his convulsing form, reaching out for her. “Stop. He’s dead now.”
The woman buried it in his guts one more time, panting, and looked up at me. Took in my scales with wide, shocked eyes. She didn’t seem entirely aware of where she was, or what was going on…but she released the dagger, stumbling back towards the shop.
I looked over my shoulder and saw right through the shattered face of the building. Children, as fair-haired as the woman, huddled at the back, behind the shelves.
“Will you do a scouting run?” I asked the wyvern-rider, turning away from the children. They were safe…for now. As long as Rhylan kept Kalros occupied. “Are there any more Bloodless under Kalros’s command?”
The girl grinned at me, teeth bright white against her brown skin. “On it.”
She chirped to the violet wyvern, taking to the sky and leaving the square clear. Now she was out of harm’s way, more or less; Kalros crashed into a townhouse, screaming, and came rushing across the square to escape Rhylan.
My dragon was slowing, his sides heaving like bellows, scales slick and wet. There was no sign of my Rhylan in his burning gaze.
Kalros had been burned so badly there was no flesh left on his face. Even his eyes had been boiled from their sockets. I took in the charred ruin, bits of white bone peeking out of the destruction, and abruptly fell to my knees, vomiting up what little was in my stomach.
The blood on my hands was still warm and slick. I regretted nothing.
But I couldn’t stop the violent heaves that clamped around my middle, forcing me to spit over and over.
Kalros screamed, wings spreading wide, and flung himself into the sky. He wheeled, wavering in midair as though he’d crash…but he leveled out, racing blindly for the open mountains.
I forced myself up onto shaking knees, squinting as I drew my arm over my mouth. With the town’s buildings mostly so much rubble, I could see the mountains in the distance…and the iron-gray glint of a dragon wheeling, the tiniest glint of gold on his back.
Yura and Tidas, so close I could almost touch them…but my dragon wasn’t going anywhere.
Kalros met with them, other exiles running from the fight, all racing to escape the dragons of Lunar Tides and their allies.
My lip curled. “If you’d been braver, we could have settled this here and now.”
But Yura would never enter a fight on her own, not if others were willing to throw away their lives on her behalf.
Doric soared overhead, his shadow racing across the square. Several other shadows joined in, until all the light had been blocked out.
I looked up, seeing the pale white hide and knobby spines of Gaelin, the delicate frills and ruffled webbing of the Lunar Tides dragons. They roared their victory, even as they soared above ruins.
Across the square, Rhylan coughed. Blood poured from him in a flood, soaking the stones underfoot.
I sprinted across the square, almost slipping in a vast, nearly-black puddle. I dropped my sword without thinking, reaching up for him.
He closed his flaming eyes, head bowed with exhaustion. I pressed myself to his forehead, my body bent over his snout, holding him. The heat of dragonfire burned into me through my torn leathers.
“You have to shift back,” I said desperately, my voice breaking. “You’re going to bleed out. Shift back.”
He sighed, exhaling smoke. Deep gouges had been scored along his sides, the back of his neck was a red ruin…I swallowed the lump in my sour throat and tried to shake his head. He had to stay awake. “Shift back, Rhylan!”
Gods, if I’d just imposed my will on the bond…I could call him back from primal rage, from going too deep into the dragon’s mind and giving way to the fury of this form.
He couldn’t hear me like this.
“Please, Rhylan,” I whispered, laying my cheek on his burning scales, ignoring the scorch of pain. I stroked the ridges above his eyes, hands slick and blistered.
“He’s gone rather deep,” Maristela’s voice said behind me, thick with concern. I didn’t bother to look at her. I didn’t care.
I just wanted my dragon back.
“I’m here with you, just come back to me.” I kissed him, burning my lips and not caring. Tasting blood and not caring.
He gave another shuddering sigh, blinking blood out of his eyes…and the flames in them finally diminished. A low croak emerged from his throat and I knelt, forcing him to see me. “I’m here. Shift now, Rhylan, before you’re trapped in it.”
He made another sound, unintelligible, and with another shudder he moved. His size diminished slowly, scales became flesh…slowly but surely, he released his dragon form, until he lay face down on the stones.
Gods…he’d been bad in dragon form, but his male body was a wreck. Not a single inch of flesh had been left unbruised or unbloodied.
I knelt beside him, afraid to touch him, yet unable to keep my hands away.
He turned his head just enough to breathe, looking up at me with one glazed eye. “Got him for you. I hated that fucker,” he whispered, with a tiny smile.
“Don’t start talking now.” I put a finger to those bloody lips. “Not while you’re bleeding to death. We need a healer. Gods, Rhylan, I thought…”
My throat closed on the words. I couldn’t say them out loud.
I simply couldn’t imagine a world without Rhylan in it.
I heard Gaelin and Doric snapping out orders, other dragonbloods milling around us as they carried the orders out; already the people of Lunar Tides were clearing the buildings that had survived, bringing out survivors and carrying them to safety.
There was a soft rustle in the air, and I heard the voice of the wyvern-riding girl. “All their Bloodless are gone. They took off on wyverns. I tried to chase them down but—”
“Don’t you dare,” Doric said sharply. “For gods’ sakes, I’m responsible for you right now.”
“I saved her life!” the girl protested. “Give me some credit, I’m not useless in a battle.”
“No, but you’re underage and a ward of my House. You were permitted to scout, not to throw yourself in the thick of things—”
I tuned them out, focusing on Rhylan. Daring to touch his hand, though a massive gash had been cut right through the center of his palm.
Elinor knelt next to me, careful to keep the knees of her white leathers out of the puddles of blood. “The healers are coming in now, Sera. Doric will help get him to the inn.”
“Why the inn?” I asked, feeling slow, my thoughts fogged. How much agony was he in right now? It seemed like it was all he could do to keep his eyes open. “Stay awake, Rhylan.”
“I’m here,” he whispered, blinking hard.
“That’s where we’re taking the worst wounded. They still have a functional well and medical supply,” Elinor responded. “Come on, Sera. Get up. Doric will help.”
But I couldn’t stay away. I got to my feet, hovering over Rhylan.
It took both Doric and Gaelin to peel him from the ground. His chest and arms were slashed and stabbed, burns peppering his skin.
He looked at me, one eye peering through bruised, puffy flesh, and I went to him, forcing Doric aside.
“I’ll get him there,” I rasped, finally realizing how thirsty I was. Smoke and blood and bile coated my throat. We stumbled inch by painful inch to the inn where the wyvern-rider had dropped me. Now the courtyard was packed with both dragonbloods and Bloodless, healers with flashing malachite bangles moving among them with purpose.
“Bring him here,” one of the healers demanded, thrusting open a door. “Worst cases come inside.”
I looked around, feeling like my brain was coated in syrup, slower than molasses. Most of the people in the courtyard had minor wounds; cuts, bruises, a broken bone here and there.
None had been shredded quite as thoroughly as Rhylan.
Gaelin and I helped him through the threshold and into the main dining hall, and the healer directed us to lay him on a mattress that had been dragged from a bedroom and set in front of a fireplace. I sank onto a stool next to Rhylan, still holding his hand.
“I have to leave you with him,” Gaelin said quietly. I couldn’t meet his dark, level eyes, couldn’t tear my gaze away from the pulp of my dragon’s flesh. “Doric is calling in a smaller House to run patrols. We’re needed elsewhere.”
I nodded, not noticing when Gaelin left.
The healer returned with a pot of hot water, still steaming from the massive cauldron boiling over the hearth. She had silvery-gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, her dress was stained with earth and herbs, and the bangle on her wrist was fully encircled with malachites.
“Good thing you stayed,” she said grimly. “You’re going to help me, and he’s going to need his mate to pull through this. It’s going to hurt, and the last thing I need is an uncontrollable dragon on my hands.”
She thrust a clean linen into my hands, instructed me to begin wiping the blood away, and I obeyed, feeling sick the whole time.
I wasn’t really his mate. I was just a fake. No matter how much I wished I could, I could really do nothing for him in any way that mattered.
The only reason he’d gone after Kalros alone was because of me—avenging me for what Kalros had tried to do.
I was no help to him at all…just the reason he’d nearly been killed.