Chapter 50
I move through the burrow’s toothy mouth, past glistening stalactites clinging to the upper arch like the sabers of some ice beast readying to chomp down.
Frosted twigs crunch beneath my boots as I heave the bridle farther up my shoulder, making for Líri curled in a loose, luminous coil—wings swept around her body.
She crimps the wing half hiding her face, like closing a fan. Just enough for me to see her glittery eyes peeping at me over the rim.
A deep-throated whine emanates from her chest.
“I don’t like it, either,” I murmur, only a few long steps away when a stab of pain plows through my foot. I stumble as it gouges up my shin, like a metal wedge splitting the bone in agonizing increments.
Then it reaches my kneecap and digs.
My legs give way.
“Fuck … you … Sereme,” I drudge out as I fold against the ground, eyes wide, breath caught—all the muscles in my leg pulled so taut I’m sure they’re about to rip off the bone.
My vision blackens as the pain rages on.
Líri keens, and I’m doused by her frosty aura as she binds around me like a loose shield. Jolting me with a reminder of my Other’s poignant memory still heavy on my heart, too big to shove back beneath my lake.
Much like the moment she shared with Elluin, I don’t bother trying to hide my pain from Líri. There’s no point, given our bond is currently gaping. Forced to battle the agony beneath the shining spotlight of my beautiful, too-knowing Moonplume.
By the time Sereme’s torture session whittles, I’m bunched in a trembling knot, ready to hack off my leg.
A cold breath blasts my neck, followed by short snuffing inhales as Líri nudges me with welling intensity.
I reach up and blindly stroke the tendrils dangling from her jowls, wondering if Sereme’s planning to continue torturing me at such a rapid rate until I hand over the bloody package. If so, it’s going to be a rough few daes.
If the bitch gets me stabbed, I’m going to be so pissed.
I try to stand, stumble. Líri braces me with her wing while I work to catch my breath, waiting for the blood to return to my head.
Her snout presses against my sternum, and she peers at me through wide, unblinking eyes.
My chest fills with a cold swish of her concern, the emotion so rich and complex it’s impossible for me to fathom the full shape of it. Like the feeling is hewn from the space between stars. Frowning, I brush my hand across one of the scars mottling her cheek.
She’s afraid of losing me. Probably doesn’t help that she’s lost before—when Rekk slaughtered her previous rider, then forced her into a bond that took more than it gave.
She’s free of her shackle, but she senses mine is still clamped in place.
“I’ll figure it out,” I murmur, stroking the crest between her eyes. No idea how, exactly, but one crisis at a time.
I pick up the bridle, letting her have a sniff. She probes it with her snout, making a low rumbly sound as I show off all the straps and loops.
“Not a saddle.” I loosen one of the buckles. “It’s so I don’t have to pull your tendrils anymore, but it’s easy for you to tear off on your own.”
Should something ever happen to me.
A dragon without a saddle is hard to mount, let alone maintain a grip of. I have no doubt that Líri’s saddle was a contributing factor to her accepting Rekk in the first place. The fuck.
Never again.
Humming my calming song, I move closer to her chest. She flops her wings against the ground so I can thread the white leather straps around her neck and behind her wither, securing them.
I’m just reaching for the handles when a slit of pain carves down my spine so achingly
fucking
slow.
By the time it tapers at my tailbone, I’m dry heaving to the side, trembling all the way to my toes.
My hands ball into fists—
The mountain shudders in blasted increments, like Bulder’s trying to blunt the tips with heavy pounds of a Rygun-sized hammer.
I look to the burrow’s exit in time to see the mighty Sabersythe leap free of the ledge overhead, releasing a busty roar. Pyrok’s Moltenmaw follows like a streak of sunshine, Roan straddling the saddle behind his much bigger brother.
Time to go.
Líri helps me onto her back with gentle nudges until I’m fully seated between her wings. I pull steadying breaths as I twist the reins around my wrists. Precautions. If Sereme tortures me while we’re airborne, I don’t want to fall off and cause a scene.
Scenes lead to questions. None of us have time for those.
I brace myself and nudge Líri forward.
She gallops out into a shaft of powdery light, not even taking a moment to pause and scan our crisp, icy surroundings before leaping off the ledge.
She flicks out her wings, slicing into the open.
A small moment that feels suspended in time as I lean over to see the vibrant, sun-kissed village glistening like a treasure trove tucked between the mountains.
I look to the three large moons above, reminded of Korie’s slumbersuite. Of the Moltenmaws and moons hanging from the ceiling above her pallet. A dangling threat that could very well obliterate this beautiful place.
The thought makes something in my chest pang with such might it fills me with a surge of nausea.
I look away as Líri cuts into the airspace near Rygun’s left flank, sheltered from the boisterous gusts of his wings. Though I feel Kaan’s stare on my face, I refuse to meet it, certain he’ll see right through me. Or perhaps crack through my resolve to shoulder this on my own.
No.
The sky is falling in less than a dozen cycles. We’re running out of time to protect everything we know and love. It’s important that Kaan remains focused on finding this young fae, apparently able to etch most of our problems into oblivion. Rune this village and protect it. That’s the priority.
Not my trivial torture sessions.