Chapter 36 #3
“Best kind of friend to have,” I said. “The kind who’ll patch you up after battle and mock you relentlessly while doing it.”
“I can hardly contain my excitement.”
The flight passed quicker than I’d expected, filled with easy conversation.
Every time Lincatheron started to go quiet for more than a few minutes, I’d poke at him with another question or observation.
Partly because I wanted to make sure he stayed conscious, but mostly because I genuinely enjoyed talking to him.
Without the weight of command or the formality of court between us, he was surprisingly good company.
Quick-witted, sarcastic when he forgot to be diplomatic, and possessed of a dry sense of humour that matched my own.
We argued about everything from military tactics to the stupidity of formal dining customs, his responses growing more animated as the miles passed beneath us.
“And that’s why,” he was saying, gesturing with his good arm. “Formal state dinners are just elaborate torture devices designed to—”
He cut off abruptly as the castle came into view ahead of us, its familiar towers rising from the mountainside like something out of legend. But it wasn’t the sight of home that made him curse under his breath.
It was the courtyard.
Even from this distance, I could see figures moving with urgent purpose below.
Servants scurried between the buildings, guards forming up in hasty formations, healers rushing toward what was clearly a hastily assembled triage area.
Someone had arrived before us, and clearly word had spread through the castle.
“Fuck,” Lincatheron muttered, his shoulders sagging with resignation. “This is going to be a complete shitshow.”
I followed his gaze down to the organised chaos below, watching as more people poured into the courtyard.
Among them, I spotted a familiar figure—Fenric, striding across the stones.
As we descended, I could see the way he held himself, the deliberate distance he maintained from the other courtiers gathering to witness our arrival.
He looked like a man caught between overwhelming relief and the desperate need to appear professionally concerned rather than personally devastated.
“He can’t exactly run over and kiss you better in front of the entire court,” I observed quietly.
Lincatheron’s jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. “No. He can’t.” The words came out flat, laced with a frustration that had nothing to do with his wounds. “He’ll have to stand there and watch the healers work and pretend his heart isn’t trying to beat out of his chest.”
Fenric paced the edge of the courtyard. “That must be hell,” I said softly. “For both of you.”
“We’ll manage,” Lincatheron admitted, his voice rough around the edges. “It’s the only way we can—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “This is going to be torture. Watching him pretend he doesn’t care while I pretend I don’t notice how badly he wants to touch me to make sure I’m really alive.”
The frustration bleeding through Lincatheron’s words made something twist in my chest. I wished there was anything I could do, some way to shield him from the performance he’d have to put on, some magic that would let Fenric be what he needed to be instead of what duty demanded.
But there wasn’t. All I could do was sit behind him and watch the rigid line of his shoulders as he prepared to play his part.
Kaelen hit the ground with enough force to rattle my teeth, his claws carving furrows in the stone as he skidded to a halt. The impact sent a jolt through Lincatheron that made his good hand go white-knuckled on the saddle grip.
I swung down from the saddle first, landing hard enough that my knees protested. Behind me, Linc started to dismount, and I grabbed his good arm before he could topple face-first into the courtyard stones.
“Easy,” I muttered, steadying him. “You’ve already bled all over Kaelen. Let’s not add concussion to the list.”
He grunted what might have been agreement or might have been an insult, hard to tell with the way his face had gone grey beneath all that blood.
The healers converged on us before we’d even fully stopped moving. A swarm of purposeful figures in white robes, their hands already glowing with the golden light of healing magic. Behind them, came Fenric.
For a heartbeat, he looked every inch the powerful third-in-command—composed, focused, present only to gather information about what had happened.
But his gaze devoured Lincatheron’s form, cataloguing every visible wound, every drop of blood on his leathers. Then it landed on the deep slice that carved through his cheekbone, bleeding crimson that dripped down his jaw and soaked into his collar.
Fenric’s breathing went shallow. Fast. A pattern of rapid inhale-exhale that preceded either panic or murder.
Still, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there with every muscle locked rigid.
The healer’s glowing hands went straight for the makeshift bandage I’d wrapped around his shoulder, peeling away blood-soaked fabric. The moment the wound was exposed, Fenric made a sound.
Not a word. Not even really a sound a person should be capable of making. Something between a snarl and a broken sob, raw and animal and absolutely wrecked.
“What the fuck.” The words tore out of him like shrapnel. His composure fucking shattered, exploding into a thousand jagged pieces that left nothing but rage and terror in their wake.
He was moving before anyone could stop him, closing the distance between them with the sort of speed that spoke of centuries of training and absolutely none of the control that should come with it.
“Who.” His voice dropped to something lethal, something that made the air itself feel dangerous. “Who the fuck did this to you?”
Around us, the healers paused in their work, clearly sensing the dangerous shift in the air. Even the courtiers who’d been edging closer to get a better look at the spectacle took a collective step back.
“Fenric—” Linc started, but Fenric cut him off with a look that could have melted steel.
“I asked you a question.” Each word was precisely enunciated. “Who. Did. This.”
I cleared my throat, drawing Fenric’s attention before this could escalate into something the entire court would remember. “It was Xyliria.”
Every person in the courtyard went rigid. The healers’ hands stilled. Servants froze mid-step. Even the guards shifted uneasily, hands drifting toward weapons that would be utterly useless against what we’d faced.
“Did you—” The words cracked apart, and he forced a swallow. “Please tell me you didn’t engage her directly.”
Lincatheron nodded. “I did.”
“What?” Fenric’s face went white.
He took a step forward, hands reaching out before catching himself, remembering where they were.
I moved without thinking.
One step brought me to Fenric’s side, close enough that when I could slip my hand into his, our fingers interlacing. Like we’d done this a thousand times before. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
His attention snapped to me, expression torn between shock and gratitude.
“Sir, we need to get you to the healers,” one of the white-robed figures said, stepping forward with professional urgency. “That shoulder wound needs immediate attention.”
But as the healers moved to surround Lincatheron, as Fenric stepped back to maintain appropriate distance while his eyes tracked every movement with ill-concealed desperation, a new presence made itself known.
The temperature around us dropped ten degrees in an instant. The air itself seemed to thicken, flooding with power that made the hair on my arms stand on end. At the edge of the courtyard, a storm was forming in the shape of a man.
Varyth appeared like lightning given form, ashen hair whipping around his face, those silver eyes blazing with a fury so pure it was terrifying to witness. He moved across the stones with deadly purpose, his magic radiating from him in waves that made the very air shimmer with menace.
And his face—gods, his face was absolutely blazing with rage
“What. Happened?”
Lincatheron winced as he straightened, pressing his good hand more firmly against his wounded shoulder. “Nyxarian forces attacked the war camp we were visiting. Xyliria was there.”
“Xyliria?” Varyth spat the name like poison. “And you engaged her?”
“Didn’t have much choice,” Linc replied, steady despite the pain etched across his features.
Then Varyth’s focus shifted to me.
His gaze tracked down to my hand, still laced through Fenric’s fingers like we belonged that way.
Something cold and utterly lethal flashed across his face.
Fenric must have felt the shift in the air because he dropped my hand like I’d become molten metal, stepping back with enough force that he nearly stumbled. His face had gone ashen.
“Sir,” he said, his voice harsh even as it cracked around the edges. “Commander Lincatheron engaged Xyliria directly and sustained significant injuries. The healers—”
“I can see what the healers are doing,” Varyth cut him off. He remained entirely focused on me. “What the hell were you doing at a war camp?”
“Lincatheron invited me. I accepted.” I did my best to ignore whatever the fuck had just crossed his face. I made no mention of Linc’s secret dragon squad.
Gods, I hope they’d made it out alive.
“Most of them did,” Kaelen whispered through my mind, answering my unspoken prayer. “Not all. But most. I confirmed with their dragons after the battle.”
The relief that flooded through me was short-lived as Varyth’s fury blazed higher. “He dragged you to a war camp?” He rounded on Linc. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Linc’s jaw set, stubborn as stone. “I offered. She makes her own damn decisions.”
“Those decisions don’t matter if she’s dead,” Varyth snarled, stepping closer. “You hardly protected her.”
“And you think you would’ve?” Lincatheron’s eyes sparked, just for a second, with something dangerous. “She’s not some precious relic to be shelved when things get messy. She’s stronger than half the warriors we lost today. She’s standing here, isn’t she?”
Varyth took another step closer. “She is not expendable. She’s not some soldier to be thrown into battle.”
I caught Fenric tensing in my peripheral vision, his professional mask slipping as he fought what was clearly a powerful urge to step between them. The distance he’d been maintaining wavered as both men bristled like wolves preparing to tear each other apart.
Varyth growled, mist beginning to bleed from his skin.
“She’s under my protection.”
“She doesn’t need your protection from me.”
“Watch yourself, Commander.” Varyth’s wings flared behind him, a motion that sent the healers scurrying backward and Fenric a step forward.
The air buzzed with the unique energy of two men who’d rather die than be the first to blink. But the weight in the air wasn’t strength. It was the gravitational pull of two egos orbiting the same point of stupidity.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” I stepped forward, placing myself between the pair. “I’m standing right here. Stop talking about me like I’m not.” I ignored the way Varyth bristled as I stood in front of Linc. “Lincatheron offered me an opportunity, and I took it. He’s not responsible for my decisions.”
They both turned to me, wearing twin expressions of stubbornness that would have been comical if I wasn’t so irritated.
“Varyth,” I said firmly, “I chose to go. Lincatheron invited me to meet some warriors. What happened wasn’t planned, and it wasn’t his fault.”
Varyth’s nostrils flared. “You could have been killed.”
“I’m aware of the risks. I’m not interested in hiding in this castle.”
“And throwing yourself into the middle of a war is how you survive?”
“You were content with that plan when you took me to the Veil.”
“That is different.”
“Oh? How?”
A snarl finally slipped free. “Because I was there. To protect you.”
I waved a hand at him—loose, dismissive, like he was fog I could walk through. “I don’t need protecting.”
Varyth snarled again, and I resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Lincatheron told me to run the second he saw Xyliria.” I held up my hand, sensing he was preparing to cut me off. “He didn’t put me in any danger.”
“Right,” Varyth drawled, every syllable slow, simmering. “And did you run? Or did you put yourself in danger?”
“I didn’t run,” I admitted, choosing my words with care. “I knew I was safer near Lincatheron, and I was.”
“What exactly happened?”
I knew better than to give him the full truth.
“She attacked,” I said, keeping my voice measured, almost bored, as if offering a battlefield report. “Injured Lincatheron. Mocked us. Gave us a message, then was gone.”
Varyth’s expression remained unreadable, but disbelief lurked beneath the surface. “She didn’t try to kill you?”
“She seemed to be under instructions not to kill anyone important.” I shrugged, ignoring the way the words made my stomach tighten. “If she’d wanted to, she could have. But she didn’t.”
The silence was thick, charged, dangerous. Varyth watched me, the weight of his stare pressing heavily against my skin. Behind me, Linc shifted, his movements stiff from the pain.
He hadn’t corrected me. Hadn’t said a word. And I knew, without looking, that he wouldn’t.
Varyth’s eyes flicked between Linc and me. “Very well,” he said finally, deceptively calm. “Fenric, ensure Lincatheron is treated by the healers. Now. We’ll discuss this... incident... in detail later.”
Linc gave a stiff nod, his jaw clenching. He glanced at me, unspoken words hanging between us. A silent question. A final chance to correct the lie. I didn’t. He gave me a tight smile. Then he was gone.
The moment Linc was out of sight, Varyth’s attention snapped back to me.
“And you,” he said, “will come with me.”
It wasn’t a request. I stiffened but said nothing, my body moving before I even processed the command. He turned on his heel, striding through the castle halls, his presence imposing in a way that sent servants scattering, soldiers stepping aside without hesitation.
I followed, my pulse steady, my mind racing.