Chapter Thirteen
I slept cradled in Raventar’s arms, wrapped in heat and the steady thunder of his heart. For a few precious hours, I believed I was safe.
Then, a strange humming came. Sleep clinging to me, I opened my eyes to see the King's lava-glass sword vibrating in its sheath.
What did that mean? The answer came to me with the clang of steel; enemies near!
Lava-glass blades hummed when someone with ill-intent approached.
Shouts came. Before I could sit up on my own, Raventar surged up, dragging me with him.
Grabbing his sword with one hand, he shoved me back with the other.
“Eliel, stay back!”
The tent exploded inward.
An Okon tossed the canvas aside with a roaring cry. His veins glowed blue beneath gray flesh, pulsing like arctic rivers. A curved blade hissed through the air.
Raventar spun to intercept him.
Their weapons collided with a shriek. Raventar’s lava-glass sword burst into brilliance, the black blade veined with fire, shedding sparks as it swung around for another attack.
The razor-sharp edge bit into the Okon’s armor, slicing through it as if it were paper.
The impact sent a wave of heat through the tent, and I cried out, curling in on myself while embers and the remains of the tent rained over me.
Raventar drove the Okon back, slashing and stabbing in powerful movements that used his whole body.
The lava-glass sang and sparked as it carved the Okon apart, leaving molten rivulets to bleed out of the wounds.
The Okon screamed, not in pain, but in rage, and kept fighting.
Roaring back at him, the King forced the Okon warrior away from me.
Cringing away even as they moved toward the rest of the battle, I gaped at the Okon. How was he still standing? He bled from several major wounds but didn't seem to notice. He just kept swinging.
Beyond the King, chaos raged. Dragons clashed with dozens of Okon warriors.
The enemy moved like monsters—too fast and too strong, shrugging off wounds that should have killed them.
Pale scars circled their throats as if they'd been garroted, and faint blue light leaked from their eyes.
When they were struck, the surrounding air shimmered.
Dragons were the most powerful people on Serai, and these Dragons had been trained to fight.
They struck the Okon again and again with their lava-glass blades, each impact a burst of fire and song.
They were impossible to beat. Still, the Okon didn’t fall easily.
They fought like men who had nothing left to lose.
Or were nothing. And all of them had a single flight feather in their left wings painted red. Crimson Feathers.
Then I saw him.
Chief Nahel of the Crimson Feathers stood just beyond the standing stones, untouched, his sword in hand but lowered along his leg.
He watched the battle as if it were all a game he was playing, moving pieces about with a flick of his sword.
Red paint slashed over his eyes, giving him an even more barbaric look than that of his men.
Within that red mask, his eyes shifted and locked on me.
A smile curved his mouth. “Eliel.”
Even across the battle, the sound of him speaking my name carried to me, turning my bones to jelly. I scrambled back, but before I made it a foot, something slammed into me. Arms of iron locked around my chest, crushing my wings. I screamed.
The Okon holding me was icy cold, the chill seeping through his armor and into my skin.
His grip tightened until stars burst behind my eyes.
Breathing was impossible. I looked down at the gray hands holding me and saw those pulsing blue veins up close.
They leaked magic, sending it to shiver against me. What was wrong with them?
“I have him!” the Okon shouted. “Lord Nahel, I have Eliel!”
“Eliel!” Raventar roared.
The Dragon King barreled through two Okon in his path, lava-glass sword tearing apart armor, flesh, and bones. Blood streamed down his side from a deep gash in his ribs, but he didn’t slow. He launched himself at us, slamming into the Okon who held me and knocking us all to the ground.
I rolled free, gasping, while the Dragon King and the Okon grappled like beasts. Claws sprouted from Raventar’s fingers and ripped into the man’s throat. The Okon went limp, his huge wings flapping once before going still.
Raventar looked at me, his expression showing a strange shock, and then staggered. He dropped to one knee. Looming behind him was Nahel, his sword finishing its arc. The blade flashed, trailing pale light as it lowered.
Raven collapsed forward, his sword clattering from his limp fingers. Across his back was a deep wound gushing blood. That coward had struck the King in his back!
“No!” I crawled to him, dragging myself across the scattered pallets. “Raven!”
He tried to rise and failed. His legs wouldn’t work; they just twitched. “Eliel,” his whisper reeked of pain.
“Raven?” I brushed his hair away from the wound on his back and then wiped away the blood with my sleeve. The wound was already healing. I could see the flesh knitting. Still, Raven kept groaning. Something was wrong. I looked up at Nahel and shouted, “What have you done to him?”
“I can't move,” Raven whispered.
I looked back down at the King. “But you're already healing.”
“I think it's poison. He must have coated his weapon with it.”
“Think again, Your Majesty,” Nahel drawled.
He lifted his strange weapon and grinned.
“I call it a bone-thread blade. It's a compulsion that you're feeling, not poison.
Dragons can't be poisoned, right? Don't worry, it will wear off.” He grabbed my upper arm and yanked me away from Raven and onto my feet. “Of course, we'll be far away by then.”
“No!” Raventar reached for me, his upper body lifting. “Eliel! Eliel, fight him!”
My instincts said something similar, but I wasn't a warrior. I didn't know how to kill a man. I did, however, know how to hurt one.
With a furious cry, I brought my fist down. Nahel didn't expect resistance from me and didn't try to block. My fist collided with his manhood, and he fell to his knees, his hands cupping himself.
“Run!” Raventar shouted. “Fly, my foundling!”
“I won't leave you!” I grabbed Nahel's strange weapon and lifted it. Immediately, I felt the magic in it. It was as if I were holding a slave ribbon. The same twisted, decayed aura leaked from the blade as it had from the ribbons. With a screech, I dropped it.
Nahel chuckled as he straightened. “Do you feel the power in it? It's made from the same silk that once bound you.” He drew a ribbon from his pocket. “And will bind you again. But don't fret. I will take better care of you than Bara did. I will treasure you, Eliel. You'll be my beloved consort.”
“You will fucking die before I let that happen!” Raventar flung himself at Nahel, grabbing the Okon's legs and bringing him down. “Go, Eliel! Fly away! Head to Ahanu. I will find you.”
I ran, smarter this time. As much as I wanted to help the King, I couldn't. I only hindered him. Darting among battling warriors, I headed for the cliff. My wing ached. It wasn't healed enough, but I had to try.
Someone hit me from behind, taking me down to the ground. My wing snapped, the bone breaking again. I screamed, writhing in pain.
“I've got him!” an Okon shouted as he hauled me up.
I couldn't stand. The pain was too great. My body went into spasm, and the Okon couldn't hold me. I was too unwieldy with my wings. We went down together.
“Someone help me bind him!” He shouted.
But his friends were flying away. I gasped through the pain even as I grinned, seeing the bastards retreat. Nahel shot into the sky after his warriors, his weapon in his hand. He glanced back at me, bared his teeth, and flew higher.
“Damn it all! I can't carry him alone!” the Okon called after them.
Then his shout became a gurgle.
Angling my head, I saw claws emerging from the Okon's throat.
He rose, lifted by that unseen hand, and then flew over me to plummet down the cliff.
King Raventar stood where the Okon had been—hands, chest, and face bloody.
One hand still bore dragon claws, but he shifted it before holding it out to me.
I didn't care about the blood. I took his hand and let him pull me up. But then I cried out, my wing dragging behind me.
“Eliel!” He scooped me up and carried me back to our demolished tent. The pallets were still there, and he laid me upon them, on my stomach. “Where are you hurt?”
“My wing,” I hissed. “He broke my wing.”
“I see it. It's a clean break. You'll be all right.” I felt his gentle touch on my broken wing bone. “Your brace came free, but it's still clinging to one side. I just need to adjust it.”
I moaned as he set my bone back into place and slipped the brace onto it. “That's better. Thank the Gods—” his words cut off as he fell to the pallet beside me.
“Your Majesty!” Sir Vanoak shouted.
Panting, Raven pushed up on an arm. “I'll be fine. Get the camp packed up. We need to move.”
“What do I do?” I sat up, hands fluttering over Raven. I didn't know what to do. His wounds were already closed—both the cut in his back and over his ribs.
“I just need some time, my foundling.” He tried to smile, but it looked pained.
Sir Vanoak knelt beside him. “May I see your wound, Your Majesty?”
Raventar nodded. I helped him lie across my lap and stroked his hair out of the way. Sir Vanoak leaned over and inspected the thin red line that was all that remained of the cut. Around us, the other knights and the humans—remarkably still alive—packed up the camp, sending us worried glances.
“It's healed,” Vanoak said. “Foxren is suffering the same sort of weakness.” He nodded over to where Sir Foxren was propped against a tree. “He was struck by the same man with the strange blade.”
“He said it was compulsion magic.” I continued to stroke the King's hair. “It's not poison. He should recover.”