Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
T he door bangs against the wall as Draven throws it open and runs inside. Isera, Alistair, and I hurry after him into the Black Dragon Clan’s barracks. Torches are burning along the wall, their flickering light dancing across the stone walls, and the soft murmur of voices comes from several rooms along the corridor.
“Everyone into the gathering hall!” Draven bellows, his voice cutting through the calm atmosphere like an explosion. “Now!”
Clattering and rustling and creaking sound from the rooms as everyone leaps to their feet and scrambles out the doors. They cast surprised glances at us when they make it into the corridor, but they don’t stop. Instead, they just hurry into the massive gathering hall like Draven ordered.
Draven turns to Alistair. “You, watch the skies.” His gaze shifts to Isera. “And you, watch the road. If there’s even a hint of anyone coming this way, you run back in here and tell me.”
To my surprise, they don’t argue. Or even look offended that Draven is giving them orders. They just jerk their chins down in a nod and dart back out the door. They have probably realized that Draven is their only ticket out of here.
The final few soldiers scramble out of their rooms, putting on their armor while they run. Draven stalks after them towards the gathering hall. I follow him.
“We don’t have much time, so I’m only going to say this once,” Draven declares as he strides inside and positions himself at the front of the room.
I take up position by a medical cabinet on the wall next to the door. Everyone else, all the soldiers in Draven’s clan, have already formed orderly ranks throughout the entire room. They watch him with a mix of confusion and suspicion on their faces.
“You’re all leaving,” Draven says, his voice echoing between the stone walls. “Right now. You have two minutes to grab what you can’t bear to leave behind. Then all of you are flying back to our islands.”
Shock crackles like lightning through the room of dragon shifters.
Galen draws back in confusion and blinks at his commander. “What?”
“Don’t stop for anything or anyone,” Draven continues as if he hadn’t spoken. “Don’t obey any orders from outsiders. And if anyone, and I mean anyone , comes and tries to get you to return here or to force you back into the Icehearts’ service, you fight like hell. Understood?”
“What?” Galen replies, that shock and utter confusion still pulsing across his face. “No. What the hell are you talking about?”
“You no longer serve the Iceheart Dynasty. Go home.”
“What does?—”
“Draven is the Red Hand,” I cut in, my voice slicing through the confusion in the room like a blade.
Everyone stops talking. Galen and Lyra and all the others turn to stare at me. Draven shoots me an exasperated look. I just shoot one right back at him. His people deserve to know that. He deserves to not be hated by his people for something that he hasn’t even done.
I shift my gaze back to the stunned soldiers. “And the Icehearts have just figured that out. Which is why we all need to leave. Right now.”
“You heard her,” Draven says, also turning his attention back to his clan. “So grab your shit and get ready to leave. You fly out in force.”
No one moves.
“That’s an order,” Draven growls in frustration.
But they all just keep staring at him in shock.
“ You are the Red Hand?” Galen says. It’s something between a question and a stunned statement. “You’ve been secretly working against the Icehearts?” A flash of anger pulses across his face and bleeds into his tone as he demands, “Why the hell haven’t you said anything?”
“Because I couldn’t endanger you like that,” Draven snaps back. “Now get a move on!”
“Endanger us? If we had known that you?—”
“Do you know why I never used the half-shift during those first six years?” Draven cuts him off, frustration lacing his every word.
Galen frowns and shakes his head in confusion. “Because you were being submissive and letting them show dominance?”
“Because they whipped my wings. Every day. For six fucking years.”
The entire room sucks in a sharp breath. Lyra’s orange eyes are wide with horror. Next to her, Galen staggers a step back as if Draven had physically hit him.
“That’s what they did to me , and I’m someone they need,” Draven continues. “To them, you are all expendable. So what do you think they would have done to you if you had gotten caught helping the human rebels?”
Everyone just stares at him, their eyes wide.
“But now it doesn’t matter anyway,” Draven continues. “Because they have figured out that I’m the Red Hand. And they will punish you in order to teach me a lesson.” A hint of panic bleeds into his voice as he shoots a glance at the clock on the wall. “So you need to go. Now!”
Clothes rustle as everyone begins to move. But then they all stop again when Lyra speaks up.
Her eyes are intense as she holds Draven’s gaze. “You keep saying you .”
Dread crackles through my veins like ice, and I snap my gaze to Draven. Because Lyra is right. I hadn’t even noticed it until now. Draven isn’t saying ‘ we need to leave’. He always says ‘ you need to leave’.
“Why aren’t you saying ‘ we need to leave’?” Lyra demands.
The other soldiers, now frozen mid-step, also turn to Draven.
He forces out a frustrated breath and flexes his hand as he growls, “Because I can’t leave.”
“What?” I snap. Pushing off from the wall, I stalk towards him while panic rips at my chest. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I’ve already told you,” he replies, his voice tight, as he turns to meet my gaze. “I can’t leave.”
“Why the hell not?”
He opens his mouth to reply but then just closes it again and forces out yet another frustrated breath. “I can’t say.”
“That’s not good enough!”
“I literally cannot say!” Desperation flashes in his eyes as he stares down at me. “So you either have to figure it out in the next thirty seconds, or you leave without me.”
I jerk back, stunned by the pure desperation on his face.
Panic and dread rip at my chest at every second that ticks by, bringing the Icehearts closer to finding us. But I’m not leaving without Draven.
My mind churns.
He can’t leave, but he can’t say why. What the hell does that even mean?
Something he said weeks ago, the day that I had a panic attack, resurfaces in my mind. Something that I thought was about something else.
I need you to start questioning things that don’t make sense. Please.
That’s what he said to me.
So what is it that doesn’t make sense?
Everything. Nothing makes sense.
Draven is one of the most powerful dragon shifters in the world. The leader of the Black Dragon Clan. Storm powers. Capable of a half-shift. Why would he be unable to leave?
In fact, why would he even serve the Icehearts in the first place? And why would he just bow to them without a fight when they came to his islands? Everything I know about Draven tells me that he would never do that. He’s proud and arrogant and domineering. He would never willingly bow down without even putting up a fight. So why did he?
His words clang through my skull again.
I can’t say. I literally cannot say.
Memories flood my brain. Memories of all those times when I asked him a question and he opened his mouth as if to reply, but then only closed it again. He has been doing that a lot. As if he wanted to reply but… physically can’t.
And then the biggest question of all.
Why would someone like Draven Ryat be obeying the Icehearts like a loyal little dog?
I gasp, and my mouth drops open as I stagger a step back when a sudden realization hits me like a blow to the chest. My heart pounds as I stare back at Draven.
“Fucking hell,” I blurt out, my pulse pounding in my ears. “They’re using dragon steel, aren’t they?”
Draven opens his mouth but then closes it again. But relief washes over his features.
I drag in an unsteady breath. “Oh by all the gods, I’m right, aren’t I?”
“What?” Galen presses out, sounding both confused and suddenly terrified. Staring at Draven, he shakes his head as if in disbelief. “No. That can’t… They… It’s not possible. They destroyed all the dragon steel after the Liberation War. And even if they had any, they wouldn’t be able to use it.” His eyes are desperate. Panicked. “They can’t even touch it. We can’t even touch it. No dragon shifter can.”
And then the final piece clicks into place.
I gasp as all those loose ends and strange behaviors and shocking secrets finally stop spinning in my mind, and a clear image emerges. Understanding floods my veins.
“Lavendera,” I breathe. “Oh Mabona’s tits. They’re using Lavendera, aren’t they?”
A shockwave pulses through the whole Black Dragon Clan.
But I pay them no mind. My eyes are solely focused on Draven. He doesn’t reply, but I know that I’m right.
Goddess above, the Icehearts have somehow convinced Lavendera to put the dragon steel on Draven. And as fae, she can channel her magic through the metal to control Draven. She can force him to do whatever she says.
“Where?” I demand, panic rising inside me again, as I stare back at Draven. “Where is it? I’ve seen you naked multiple times, and you’re not wearing a necklace or a collar or a bracelet or anything at all. So where is it?”
Once again, he opens his mouth but then just closes it again. Forcing out a frustrated sigh, he fixes me with a pointed look and then flexes his hand. I snap my gaze down to it.
“Your right hand?” I ask.
He just stares back at me.
“Your forearm?” I press.
He lets out a soft breath.
“It’s in your right forearm?”
Relief washes over his features.
“Oh fucking hell.” Panic now pulses inside me like a thrashing storm. We’re losing time. Fast. “How are we supposed to get it out?”
“You have to cut it out,” Galen declares as he suddenly runs up to us with Lyra on his heels.
The other dragon shifters are still staring at Draven with a mix of horror, guilt, and panic in their eyes. Steel sings as Galen yanks out a knife from his belt and shoves it into my hand.
I gape at him. “Me?”
“You’re fae. You’re the only one of us who can touch it.” He casts a panicked glance at the clock. “Do it. Now!”
“And the rest of you, what are you still doing here?” Draven bellows, speaking for the first time since this shocking revelation. “Grab your shit and get ready to leave!”
They lurch into motion. Boots pound against the floor as they run to finally obey his commands.
Gripping the hilt of the knife hard, I grab Draven’s wrist and pull his forearm towards me. Galen deftly removes the armor so that I can reach Draven’s skin. My heart beats so loudly that I can barely hear myself think as I stare down at his forearm. The dragon steel can’t be on the inside of his arm. There are too many large veins there. And the skin is too thin. It has to be on the outside. But where?
“Just do it,” Draven says.
“Fuck,” I snap.
Placing the tip of the knife at the top of his forearm, right below the elbow, I press down and cut a deep gash.
Draven sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth.
I immediately summon my magic and slam it at the violet flame of pain in his chest. While decreasing it, I draw the blade down his forearm.
Nausea crawls up my throat as the skin splits open.
But then I see it.
Something hard, the color of steel, becomes visible right above the bone. It shimmers faintly, as if it’s glowing from within.
Next to me, Lyra gasps.
“How long?” Galen stammers. “How long have you had this inside you?”
But Draven still can’t answer. I flick my gaze up to his face. He just looks back at me, his gaze steady.
Handing the blade to the stunned Galen, I reach towards that shimmering metal at the bottom of the cut. Pain flares up inside Draven as my fingers dig into the wound, but I pour more magic down the connection to drown it out. Blood coats my fingers. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Then I finally get my fingers around the long piece of shimmering metal. It’s strangely warm to the touch. I look up at Draven. He gives me a nod.
Gripping it tightly, I yank upwards.
It comes free with a sickening snap , as if it was stuck to the bone.
The pain in Draven’s chest spikes again, but I immediately lower it with my magic once more.
And in my hand, I hold a long piece of shimmering dragon steel. The moment it loses contact with Draven’s body, that glowing shimmer disappears. And so does that strange warmth that was in the metal before.
Draven heaves a sigh of relief from the very depths of his soul.
Raw emotions swirl in his beautiful golden eyes as he meets my gaze again.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
My heart almost shatters, and all I manage is a nod.
He turns to Galen and Lyra, who stand there next to me, still staring at Draven in shock and desperation.
“Since before they even landed on our island,” Draven replies, finally answering Galen’s question. “An entire horde of them ambushed me when I was out training. They tied me up and used Lavendera to put the dragon steel in. Then they made her order me in advance to publicly surrender when they came back days later.”
Galen draws in an unsteady breath.
“They also made sure that I couldn’t tell anyone about the dragon steel. Or Lavendera.” His gaze flits to me. “That’s why I couldn’t warn you that she worked for them. In fact, that’s why I couldn’t do a lot of things. I tried to escape once, so they made Lavendera order me that if I leave, even if it’s on a sanctioned mission, I always have to return to the Icehearts within three days. And I tried to tell some of the fae during the last Atonement Trials that it was a sham. So they made Lavendera kill the fae I had told and then order me to never reveal the truth to another fae.” Pain flashes across his face. “And once a fae has channeled magic through the dragon steel and given an order, it remains active until the fae cancels it.”
My heart aches, and pain twists inside my chest. For him. For what he has had to endure. For all the anger I have directed against him. Anger over things that he had no control over.
That terrible hurt in his eyes deepens as he turns to Galen. “I thought you, of all people, would figure it out. Two fucking centuries ago. You were my best friend. You knew me better than anyone. How could you ever believe that I would just sell out our clan like that?”
Galen flinches. Pain and guilt pulse across his whole face as he stares helplessly at Draven. “I just… I don’t…”
Draven lets out a humorless huff of laughter. “Once I realized that all of you thought that I had simply become a… What was it you called me? A spineless coward? A worthless traitor? Well, regardless, after that, it was easier to just let you all hate me.”
Galen looks as if Draven has just ripped his heart out.
Next to him, Lyra opens her mouth. “Draven, I?—”
The door bangs open.
My heart jerks as Alistair sprints down the corridor with Isera on his heels. Panic is written all over his face.
“They’re coming!”