Chapter 21
My throbbing wounds pale in comparison to the brisk air slicing through Bharon’s loose grip on me, freezing me from the outside in. My only reprieve is the numbing darkness that keeps taking sips of my consciousness, only to spit me back out in this frozen slumber-terror over and over again.
Nothing less than I deserve.
I watch the aurora dip in the west, out of sight.
Rise again over the nearby eastern peaks.
Keep expecting Bharon’s claws to tighten.
For him to crush me for the fun of it or tuck his head, push me into his mouth, and masticate me as a mid-flight snack.
Part of me—the part that’s festering from the horrible things I did—even hopes for it.
But every time I wake, we’re still flying toward the bright horizon, Bharon’s wings working in such a steady rhythm that I immediately notice when they begin to falter.
When his energy begins to wane.
He releases a deep groan that tremors through me.
My heart lurches as he misses another beat. As I realize it’s not just the cold air slicing through the gaps in his grip that’s chilling me to the bone.
It’s his claw, too.
It was warm at the start, tribute to the molten blood pumping through his veins. Now the calloused skin on his palm feels dead cold, like I’m bundled in a nest of snow.
I reach out—around—running my hand over the small scales that protect the other side of his claw. Whip my hand away from what feels like plates of ice, a deep sense of dread making the underside of my tongue tingle with the urge to vomit.
Our altitude drops so abruptly I choke on a scream, releasing a sob instead—not for myself …
For this poor bedraggled beast so desperately trying to make it home to the warmth. Breaking away from the shackles of a bond I believe he once loved, but perhaps too late to save himself.
It all feels too fucking heavy.
His motions smooth, and again the darkness sips at me. I pour myself into it with all my might, going away.
Somewhere warm and happy, the smell of spices thick in the air, sunshine hot on my face. I’m weightless, running across the Loff’s pebbled shore into wide-open arms. Wrapped in a sweet, creamy scent I think I’ve known all my life.
Her.
Mah.
She squeezes me so tight that it’s hard to breathe, but I welcome the feeling, knowing that I’m safe.
I dig my face into Mah’s soft chest, and I allow myself to break.
Another jolt rips me back to the cold, the pain. The icy claw holding me.
The brutal reality of all the awful shit I’ve done.
I open my eyes, look down through the thin gaps in Bharon’s grip …
My heart stills at the sight of jagged mountains to our right, the snow-covered plains almost close enough for Bharon to drag his tail through and carve a trench.
Creators …
He’s not going to make it to The Burn.
He’ll be lucky to make it to The Fade.
I squint through the buffeting wind, toward the bright horizon that looks so close, but so far away.
Bharon releases a pained lament that sounds a lot like a desperate cry for the sun’s warmth on his scales, beating against his wings. For the feel of hot stone beneath his claws, and—
Home.
He wobbles again, tilting too much to one side. My stomach squirms as gravity rips us down, snatching Bharon’s lax wings like flags snapping in a storm. His hold on me loosens with a pointed shove that pelts me through the air—
Bulder bellows, then groans in pain when Bharon hits the ground with such force it’s as though I’m in Gondragh again, listening to volcanoes blow their crowns.
Split moments later, the soft snow absorbs me like a pillow.
Despite it, pain lashes through my shoulder in pulsing heaves, each pump of my heart an agonized surge that makes me wonder if the organ’s giving out.
If I’m going to die right here, staring at the moon-riddled sky, trying to force my lungs to fill.
Breath finally comes, slow and wheezed, then faster, easier, until I’m heaving so hard I realize I’m about to vomit. I roll over just in time to retch through the snow, guts clamping, my jaw and tongue one big, swollen ache by the time my muscles finally relax.
Predators howl in the distance, but no fear comes.
All I want is to fall back into the snow again, close my eyes, and let the darkness take me. But then I recall the shove. Realize Bharon tossed me into the softness like he wanted to avoid crushing me.
Like he cared.
Battling breath, I lift my head and push to a kneel in slow, tender motions, not that it stops bolts of pain from shafting through my shoulder, knocking all the hard-earned air from my lungs.
I regather myself, use my good hand to swat the snow from my face. Gasp at the sight of Bharon lumped on the ground not too far away, like a heaving pile of shadow—wings askew, body tilted, his vulnerable underbelly exposed to the sky.
Something Sabersythes never do.
His chest moves too slow, no flame boiling between the scales that cover it. Like it all sputtered out.
Like he’s dying in the cold dark when all he wanted was the sun.
After everything he did for me, I refuse to let him pass without knowing I care. Unlike Tyroth, who traded him in for a stolen kingdom.
I sob, stumble to a shaky stand, hobble toward him through the thick snow … three steps closer when my body grows light.
Disconnected.
The darkness rushes in on me so hard and fast my knees give way—
Though I don’t feel myself hit the snow, I wake with my cheek pressed into it, lifting my head just in time to see Bharon staggering up onto all fours—wings limp at his sides, breaths jagged.
He swings his leaden head around and looks at me. A look I’ve seen before, right before Mah’s dragon leapt into the sky and—with everything she had left—took herself to her final resting spot amongst the other moons.
My face crumbles, chest jerking with a quiet sob, the horizon blazing behind him like a beautiful taunt. A pretty dream that’ll only ever be … that.
A dream.
Something moves between us. A quiet moment of understanding that feels both murky and crystal clear.
He cranes his neck, looks to the moons above. Releases an anguished groan that tells me he might not have what it takes to make it to the moons.
To put himself to rest beside the others.
He shifts his wobbly wings, his entire body trembling as he stretches the frayed membranes taut—
The wind picks up, bellowing against them. Like filling the sail on a ship. As though Clode just swept in to hail him into the sky. To assist his final flight.
Bharon seems to notice. Strengthens his stance before he pulls a mighty breath, lifts his wings, and leaps.
I sob, turning my head against the bluster of icy wind as he climbs in unsteady increments, the droopy beat of his ascent drumming through the air. A sad song I force myself to listen to, watching him all but disappear amidst the dark above.
I push to my knees, head tipped. Strain to keep track of his distant whereabouts, listening while constant tears ice against my cheeks.
Hear his groan of relief when he breaks free of gravity’s grip, like he pushed his final breath into the sound.
He eases into the luminous aura of a nearby Moonplume moon, soaring almost close enough to bump against its pearly hide, like he’s seeking its quiet comfort.
It’s light.
Something that makes it feel as though the ribs around my heart are snapping.
With one final thump, he tucks into a ball and sweeps a wing over his face, then goes chillingly still—creaking, crackling sounds echoing through the din as his body turns to stone.
The silence that follows is deafening.