Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Never in her life had Lyla ever imagined that any of this…
She couldn’t even begin to describe everything she had seen.
This place. Its magic. The mythical yet not-so-mythical creatures.
But most of all, the overwhelming emotions that came with all the above.
How could any of this be possible? How could any of it be real?
She still couldn’t shake the lingering suspicion that she’d suffered some sort of traumatic injury back at Seven Cairns and was trapped in a psychedelic, medically induced coma.
That was the only plausible explanation.
With a heavy sigh, she cradled the cuddly trio of baby dragons even closer, trying not to think about all the troubling complications of whatever this was.
At least in this dream, the baby dragons had survived.
Never one to be all that wild about reptiles, she found these little cuties impossible not to love.
Their velvety scales made them as soft as a stuffed toy.
They were as warm as little hot water bottles and constantly purred like oversized kittens.
For lack of a better way to describe them, they were adorably perfect.
“Can they already breathe fire?” she asked their mother after one of them sneezed and produced a series of impressive smoke rings.
“Soon,” Frostborn replied, the leathery corners of her mouth curling upward in what could only be described as a mother dragon’s pride. “Their coals are still forming, simmering deep in their tiny gullets. That is why they feel so warm to ye.”
“I love them.” Lyla almost laughed at herself. She sounded like a child cooing over a new puppy. “I’m so glad I got to meet them.”
“They love ye as well, Divine One.” Frostborn gave a loud, purring sigh that echoed with contentment. “As we all do. As all in the Thirteenth Realm will.”
And that was what bothered Lyla most of all. What if there were a sickness her music couldn’t heal? She looked up at Magnus. He seemed so sad. Was he worried about the same thing? “I guess we should go and see if I can help any others?” she asked him, dreading the answer.
He gave her such a solemn nod that her heart twinged, making her swallow hard again. “Aye, my love,” he said. “There are many in need of yer music.”
As she rose to place the hatchlings back in the nest, they grumbled and hissed and hooked their little claws in her clothing, clinging to her and holding on tight. She couldn’t help but laugh as she gently pried them free and placed them back in their bed. “I’ll come back and visit. I promise.”
They fussed and stubbornly tried to climb back out until Frostborn nosed them back in place. “No, my children. The Divine One has more to save. We mustn’t be selfish.”
Proudly chuckling, Bastion stepped in to help with the insistent hatchlings. “My children possess such determination and unswerving spirit and focus, eh?”
“Aye, Bastion.” Magnus tenderly pulled Lyla’s arm through his and eased her toward the doorway. “What else would ye expect from the offspring of the Realm’s greatest warriors?”
“Bless ye, Divine One,” Frostborn said. Her enormous eyes shimmered with tears, making them gleam an even icier amethyst. “May the mighty powers of humankind and dragonkind both bless ye and keep ye all of yer days.”
Lyla didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled and nodded. She wasn’t anything special. Not like she’d once been when she could sing. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon. To visit the babies.”
“Ye are always welcome here,” Bastion said.
Magnus pressed close to her ear and whispered, “Come, my love. Let us go. We have much to discuss.”
Lyla nodded and hurried out beside him, unsure which troubled her the most: the endearment of my love or that they had much to discuss.
And it didn’t really trouble her. Well—it did, but it didn’t.
Her insides were such a churning mess of bewilderment, loneliness, longing, and fear that she couldn’t make heads or tails of anything.
As they emerged into the crowded courtyard, deafening cheers and roars shook the place.
She cowered against Magnus, taking shelter in the curve of his arm.
She’d never liked thunderous responses. Not even during her concerts at the pinnacle of her career.
The music deserved the adulation. She didn’t.
Hugging her close, Magnus pressed a reassuring kiss to the top of her head before lifting a hand for silence. Immediately, the courtyard went quiet. “Frostborn and Bastion are the proud parents of three healthy, thriving younglings”—he hugged Lyla tighter still—“thanks to our divine healer.”
The throng pressed closer with so many shouts that Lyla couldn’t understand them.
She pulled Magnus’s. head down to make him hear her. “What are they saying?”
With a pained look, he slowly shook his head. “They shout the names of those bound to or already within the slumber tombs, begging ye to awaken them.”
“What if I can’t?” That was her greatest fear: failing these people, betraying their trust the way her voice had betrayed her. “What if I fail?”
He pulled her into a tender embrace and rested her head against the safety of his broad, muscular chest. She closed her eyes and tightened her arms around him.
Her heart told her that as long as he never let her go, she would be all right.
She had no idea where that deep knowing came from, but it was there, and it was real—more real than anything she had ever known.
She burrowed her face against him, closing her eyes and breathing in the strength she so badly needed.
“What if I fail?” whispered its way through her mind, over and over, like a taunting bully.
“Ye will not fail, my love.” His soothing voice washed across her, calming her racing thoughts. “And I will never leave yer side. I swear it.”
The sweet, solid ferocity of his oath poured into her, strengthened her, made her able to breathe again. She leaned back and looked up at him. “I will try.”
He smiled down at her. “That is all I ask, my love.”
The throng of dragons and humans around them had gone quiet again. Watchful.
Lyla eyed them all. She could feel their pain, their hopefulness, their desperation.
With no modern-day speakers or amplifying systems to pipe her music across the land, the task ahead seemed more than a little daunting.
And if she managed to heal some, would they stay healthy, or would the sickness strike them again?
“How can I possibly help them all? And how can I make sure the sickness doesn’t take them down a second time? ”
With a touch so tender it nearly made her gasp, Magnus brushed her hair back from her face and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “We must trust in the prophecy. It promised that with yer arrival, all would be made right.”
She almost groaned at all that implied. But a glance at the faces staring back at her made it impossible to give up before she’d even tried. “What place has the greatest number of those who are sick?”
“The slumber tombs,” someone shouted.
“Aye, the slumber tombs and all the mourners gathered there for prayers in the catacombs,” another called out.
“Catacombs?” Lyla shuddered at the thought of walking among the ossuary chambers, but then it occurred to her that if the tombs were carved of stone, the place would echo and help her music travel throughout the tunnels and reach more of those in need.
Stone reflected sound. Unfortunately, soft, porous bones absorbed it.
But if the dragons were sleeping, they wouldn’t be skeletons.
But what about their human brethren who had joined them?
She held her head, forcing herself to stop spiraling into dismal what-ifs.
“I’ll try my violin first. It should echo best out of the three we have with us. ”
Magnus raised his hand again. “Clear the way to the tombs. If any others in need of the music can be moved, bring them.”
“Wait.” Lyla turned, searching for Merriweather and Percival. She spotted them pressed back against the wall, probably trying to keep from getting crushed by the crowd. “I’ll play the violin as we walk. If any in the crowd aren’t feeling well, maybe that will keep the sickness from getting worse.”
“Let them pass,” Magnus ordered, waving the pair of Twanes forward. “Make room and let them pass.”
Hugging the black cases of instruments, the two proudly strutted along the path made by those gathered. “Which case, my lady?” Percival asked.
“This one. Thank you, Percival.” She drew out the violin, the bow, and sent up a silent thank you for the new block of rosin someone’s foresight had put inside the case.
After checking the tension of the bow, she rosined it well, then checked the tuning of the violin itself.
She couldn’t help but smile even though she still had a few harsh words reserved for Mairwen and Keeva.
One of the two, or maybe even both of them, had seen fit to send a violin that was perfectly tuned.
For that, she would grant them a little grace.
Positioning the instrument comfortably on her shoulder, she drew the bow across the strings to make sure she’d properly readied it. It sang out loud and clear, vibrating the note across the courtyard as if calling troops to battle. The crowd gasped as one and backed up a step.
Instinct bade her share the song of her soul.
The song that had soothed her all her life.
The one that had walked with her. Cried with her.
Lifted her during the worst of times and danced with her during the best. Yes.
Now was the time for the song without a name to meet the world—even if this world wasn’t hers.
“You’ll have to guide me,” she told Magnus. “I always play with my eyes closed.”
He responded with a formal bow. “It would be my honor, my love.” He rested his hand on the small of her back and nodded. “Whenever ye are ready.”