Chapter 37
RAINIER
“Ryo,” Em gasped, pointing toward the dragon who lay far too still in front of us. “Oh, gods, hurry! Heal him.”
I wasn’t sure I could do it. On the other end of the bond, I sensed how little of Em’s divinity was accessible. Our divinity combined would have been enough for smaller wounds, but with her weak and pained as she was, there wasn’t enough of her left to give. There was that strange undercurrent of power, Hanwen’s gift, that I couldn’t reach, and I wasn’t sure she could either. Though my own power could make up some of the difference, Aonara’s gift of healing came from Em.
I swallowed before rising to my feet. Em’s brow wrinkled as she tried to do the same, pain overwhelming her tired frame. Despite my own sore body, I scooped her into my arms, the armor making her far heavier than usual, and brought her the short distance to our dragon. She groaned, collapsing against me. She’d held it at bay for so long, the agony had come crashing down around her with force.
Ryo looked so small compared to Irses and Lux who still flew over the city. I wasn’t sure he was breathing, the rise and fall of his body nearly imperceptible. With the daggers sticking out of his back, I wasn’t sure where to start.
“Tell me what to do,” I said, deferring to Em. I’d had some training in combat healing, but usually it was someone else’s divinity doing the work. Em had been healing others since she was a child. My brilliant, brave, competent wife would know exactly what to do. “Should I take out the blades?”
“One at a time,” she said, as I settled her on the ground near Ryo. She leaned forward, stifling a grunt of pain as she pressed her forehead to his. Though he was the smallest of the dragons, he was still large beside her as she wrapped an arm across his neck. His eyes fluttered open, a pretty blue the shade of a sunny, spring sky, and a faint whine escaped from him. Em’s voice broke as she gave me direction. “Heal as you pull it out.”
Near the daggers, his dark green scales were splattered with black liquid, and shadows rose from his blood like steam. Gripping the hilt, emotion was heavy in my throat as both my wife and the dragon froze at the touch. “Easy,” I murmured, slowly pulling the blade free with one hand and pouring my divinity into him. There was resistance, as if my divinity couldn’t sense a wound to heal. That clearly wasn’t the case, so I persisted.
“Why isn’t it working?” Em panted. “I can’t...it’s not making a difference.” Dark blood trickled from the hole in his back, showing no signs of slowing.
Em adjusted, laying on the ground beside Ryo. He was twitching, though faintly, almost as if he were resigned to the hurt, and my heart ached. Emma reached out, gently caressing his face, and his body calmed. He continued to whine—ever so softly—and tears tracked down Em’s cheeks.
Despite the muddied jumble of emotion coming from Em, guilt overwhelmed our bond. I said nothing. If I told her it wasn’t her fault, she’d only grow more upset. She wouldn’t believe me. Especially considering I’d been fearful of this exact situation, and I’d been proven right. The enemy had her blood, and both she and a dragon had been hurt.
But despite that, I couldn’t regret my wife’s choices.
Em had saved me. She’d saved my soldiers who now clambered out of the pit, finishing off those Lux had left alive along her path of vengeance. If I only would have listened to my twin flame, trusted her and had faith in us to figure something out, so many would still be alive. If anyone should feel guilty, it was me. Despite that, a small pang of worry burrowed into my gut, knowing this might have endangered the Three Kingdoms further. Were we one step closer to that fearful future Cyran had spoken of?
“Should I keep going?” I asked, hesitant since the first wound still hadn’t knitted shut beneath my divine touch.
“I don’t know,” she said, breathless. She worried her bottom lip before dragging herself toward me.
“Let me help,” I said, but she was determined, crawling closer despite the immense pain she was feeling. I hated to see her suffer.
“Poor baby,” she whispered, placing her own hand atop Ryo’s wound. I adjusted, pulling her into my lap, hoping to share the load of her divinity. Despite knowing about this specific benefit of bonded conduits, we’d never had to use it. With Hanwen’s gift and our own extreme amounts of power, neither of us had needed to rely upon one another like this. A whimper tore up Em’s throat, and her body shook against mine. “I think we’re too weak to heal him. Can you—” She started, voice wobbly as she fought her tears. “Do you see any other healers?”
I spotted Maurice near the pit, stumbling toward some of our soldiers who had been pushed atop us. They were injured—with broken limbs and bloody faces. I couldn’t stop him from what he was doing. Em knew that too, but pragmatism wouldn’t come naturally to her in such a state.
“Em,” I murmured, whispering into her hair. Pulling her tightly against me, I fought the urge to heal her. It would be wasteful if Ryo was still connected to her.
“I know,” she said, and then she began to weep. “We can’t ask. Right? It would be selfish, wouldn’t it?”
She sounded so young, so fragile, that I wished I could tell her no. I wished we could redirect any of our conduits to heal the dying dragon in front of us. But there were people who needed healing. And, as much as I hated to think it, if Em was desperate enough for another dragon, she could make more.
None would be Ryo, though.
“Please don’t let me forget,” she cried. “I don’t want to forget.”
Her body shook with each sob, and her anguish threatened to overwhelm us both.
“I won’t, dear heart. I won’t let you forget,” I said, but we both knew it was a lie.
Em would lose a cherished memory when Ryo died, just as she had when Hy?e drowned. Despite her choking on dry land, there had been no lasting impact on Em—besides grief. It made me consider something I knew she wouldn’t want to think about.
When she’d created this sweet beast, she had combined a joyful moment from our past with Ciarden’s shadows to form him. We had been children, playful and merry in the meadow. Truthfully, I thought that moment had allowed for everything that came after. I swallowed, chest tight over the idea of losing the memory. Smiling through my own grief, I thought of the time I’d first met the dragon before me. He’d knocked me to the ground and licked me, all coltish innocence. Just like the past version of ourselves.
“I will remember for the two of us,” I said. “I will remind you every day.”
She sniffled, turning and burrowing her head into my chest.
But even if Em were to lose that memory, we’d made so many more with the creature. My favorite had been when I’d taken Elora to ride upon Ryo, with plans of him being her own dragon one day. I’d held onto my daughter, breathed in her summer scent, and heard her screams of joy that might have verged a bit on terror. It had been one of the best days of my life, bonding with her.
Elora would be devastated.
I would mourn the dragon nearly as much as Em, but at least I’d be able to keep the memories as solace. While she could keep the new ones we’d formed with Ryo, she would also lose a special part of us. It was nothing for her to lose the memory of killing Keeva, though she’d grieved Hy?e just the same. But this would be two losses; she would not only lose Ryo, but also a sweet moment in our story—before we ever could have guessed we’d end up here.
“Do you think if I make him smaller, that maybe we could heal him?” she asked, sniffling, though she pulled herself upright with renewed purpose. Confidence and desperation roared within her, and though I doubted it would work, we had to attempt it.
“I don’t think it would hurt him to try. But we should take the daggers out first.”
Ryo’s wings were spread wide behind him, resting on the stone street. With precision, I maneuvered around him, doing my best not to disturb his sore body. As I pulled each blade out of his back, his whining only grew more severe. His heart started pounding fast, and I worked quicker, so Em could shrink him and I could hopefully heal his wounds. At least this way, the dagger wounds could grow smaller as he did.
As I removed the last one, Em whimpered. “He’s in so much pain,” she said.
I helped her sit up, mesmerized as she drew her shadows back from the creature. They twined up her arms, seeping into her skin—it was alarming to witness.
“Are you all right?” I asked, supporting her the best I could, as Ryo grew smaller and the shadows that had created him swirled across her torso.
“Yes,” she gasped. “I’m fine. Will you help me heal him?”
He was the size of a large dog, and I laced my hands over hers to help her funnel our divinity into his body.
And yet, nothing happened. I couldn’t feel Aonara’s gift sealing his injuries or fixing the organs which had been nicked by the sharp blades. For several minutes, we fought against his wounds, but nothing came of it.
And then he began to thrash. His heart raced, and he tried to stand. I knew we had to intervene. Hopelessness crept across our bond as Em realized it too. Ryo got to his feet for a brief moment, only for his legs to give out as he slammed back down to the ground. His whine turned into a high-pitched howl. It was clear what needed to be done.
“He’s suffering, Em,” I said, feather soft. I hated that it had come to this. But if we could not summon him from the brink of death, there was no need for both of them to be in pain for longer than was necessary.
“I know,” she said, and she slid from my grasp, carefully adjusting Ryo’s wings to curl her body around his. She cried openly, tears streaming as she buried her face against his neck. “But I can’t.”
I rubbed her back, not quite sure what she meant. If she needed me to be the one to stop his heart, to end his suffering, I would shoulder that burden. But since he was a part of her, connected to her, perhaps she wanted to be the one to do it.
“What if we wait? What if our divinity comes back and we can heal him?” she questioned, and I pondered it for a brief moment, wishing desperately that I could find a way to give her that time.
Gently, with a vast amount of hatred for my duty as king, I explained why we couldn’t. “Together, we should have been able to do something, Em. Anything. But it felt like there wasn’t...like we couldn’t heal him.” I glanced at my soldiers. “But there are others who we can heal.”
I inhaled, wishing her stubborn hope wasn’t still evident down the bond. But who would she be without that unstoppable optimism?
“It might be too late. Like with Sam,” I said, and at the mention of the boy we’d failed to save the night the tírrúil attacked our camp—before I’d confessed my enduring love for her, before Elora had been killed and brought back—she turned to stare at me. With a slightly parted mouth and heartbroken expression, I knew I’d obliterated her meager hope. I hated myself for it.
“I hadn’t been blessed then,” she said, weakly, turning to lie back down against Ryo.
“You’d been blessed by Aonara with your healing and Rhia with your harrowing when that happened, dear heart. But you saved so many others that night.” I couldn’t bring myself to draw the comparison any clearer. The more time we spent trying in vain to heal and restore Ryo, the less time we would have to heal our people who needed us.
I found that sometimes, when I had to make hard decisions like this, someone I loved needed to say it first. Someone I trusted needed to tell me I was doing the right thing. When I’d had to put dying soldiers out of their misery on the battlefield, Dewalt had always been there to provide me with the necessary reassurances. When Ven and my mother had forcefully guided my father to the eternal lands—if he’d even found a space waiting for him there—they’d had each other to hold accountable for their decision.
I could be that for Em.
Just as I was about to speak, Ryo whined, turning his head just enough to see her, his dimming eyes blinking at her slowly.
“Oh gods,” she cried, and her sobbing renewed. “I know,” she said, as she slid her arm beneath his neck. “I know.”
I tucked her hair behind her ear, not knowing exactly what had just passed between them, though I was certain their connection was far more complex than either of us knew.
When her tears slowed, and she reached her hand toward mine, her voice was surprisingly calm. “You’re right, but I don’t think I can be the one to do it.”
I lay down, folding my knees against the backs of hers and wrapping my arms around them both. Gently, I pressed my palm to the small dragon’s chest. As it was, his breaths had slowed even more, but his heart pounded frantically against his ribs. Em’s trembling hand slid over mine as I forced the dragon’s heart to slow.
I held them, wishing there was some other outcome. As Em’s soft cries shot an arrow straight to my heart, I did my best to stay strong for her.
“I’d come back to Crown Cottage that day. Late spring,” I said, wishing there was some way for me to recreate the memory and implant it in her mind.
“You knew we’d be at the meadow because it was warm,” she offered, sniffling, and she tightened her fingers around mine. I didn’t want to rush this, hoping to guide his heart gently still. I just wanted Ryo to drift off to sleep, knowing it would be easier on the two of them.
“Yes,” I said, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I wanted you to disarm me, you know.”
“Don’t start,” she said, giving a watery laugh.
“Really, Em. I wanted to lose. When we all rough-housed and acted like fools, it was the only time I could get close to you. How else was I supposed to flirt?”
“You managed just fine,” she said. “Besides, you had plenty of time?—”
“Once we started sneaking around.”
My smile was grim as Ryo’s heart slowed further. She would lose the memory any moment. And we’d both lose the painfully loyal, sweet dragon who’d only been trying to defend Irses.
“That cloak was rather ugly, anyway,” I said, defending my choice to tackle her. It had given me the opportunity to gift her something beautiful and personal—even if she didn’t know of it until recently. The sapphire cloak, complete with silver embroidery hand-chosen by her sister, had sat folded up in Lucia’s trunk for more than a decade. I wished we’d all been bold enough to speak freely back then. Things could have been different all those years ago.
Em laughed again, though she burrowed closer to Ryo. He’d begun to snore, and it was all I could wish for his final moments. I hoped he was dreaming about flying with Irses or chasing vultures as we’d once allowed him to do. Em breathed deep, distracting me from the pang of guilt and regret in my chest when I thought about how he’d been cooped up beneath the palace for his final weeks. Unable to fly freely, he’d been entombed—and now, he was dying.
I should have listened to her. Even if the dragons might have gotten hurt as I feared, it was wrong to keep them hidden away.
I couldn’t hold back my own grief any longer, and a tear slipped free. I had lifted my hand for just a moment to wipe it away, when Em let out the most heartrending whimper.
“He’s gone, Rain,” she whispered, squeezing him tightly. “He’s gone,” she sobbed.
It had taken so little. I’d only had to slow his heart a bit, just enough to help him fall asleep. Relaxed and calm, he was able to slip away to the eternal lands on his own.
She didn’t move, freely weeping against the poor creature. My own eyes continued to water, and I buried my head in her hair, against her neck, breathing her in. If there was any solace for something like this, we would find it together.
“I’m so sorry, Em.”
She said nothing, struggling to catch her breath as she wept.
The rustle of folding wings behind me was the only warning I had before Irses let out a keening lament, the sound so much more sorrowful than any roar I’d ever heard from him. He had landed so carefully, I hadn’t known he was there. Quietly, he drifted closer, standing over us. He was enormous in his new form, shading us from the morning sun.
Slowly, he lay down, curving his body around us. Somehow, I knew he was trying to defend us from any other enemies. My heart tore anew, recalling the way they preferred to sleep—the smaller dragon tucked safely under Irses’ wings. As the dragon settled, he spread his wings wide, folding Ryo beneath his protection one final time.