Chapter 18
Her council had, of course, been in an uproar over Leita leaving again so soon. But Leita had left.
There had been cries of outrage, there had been promises extracted, but overall, the obstacles to her leaving numbered far fewer than she’d expected.
That was in large part because Charis smoothed her way.
The council was given some information, told to expect Leita’s imminent return with her azai.
His presence would remain the strictest secret.
The moment Thalia’s hooves hit the road east, Leita shed what few cares remained over the council and what they thought. They didn’t matter now. Nothing else did except getting back to that cave and to Attalus as quickly as possible.
As though it knew she raced closer to him with every heartbeat, every long gallop of Thalia’s swift legs, the bond inside her seemed to give her slack, allowing her to breathe. But Leita didn’t dare, too worried it meant he was slipping further away from her. Where she couldn’t follow.
Her need to get to him lodged between her ribs, spurring her on and blurring her morals. Although Thalia was strong and fit, after a day of galloping, even she began to tire. With the mare’s permission, Leita fed magic into her veins, boosting her stamina and dulling her fatigue.
She’d never done it before and hoped never to have to again, but they couldn’t wait. Attalus needed her, and she feared he couldn’t wait the eight days it would take to walk or six to trot.
And so Thalia ran, ran faster and longer than she ever had. Through the night they raced, guided by the moon and Leita’s blue will-o’-wisp. On the second day, they left behind the Lune River, plunging into the hinterland, where the roads were narrow and rutted.
Damn, another thing to fix.
Leita barely felt the splash of the streams they forded or the branches that grazed her face. She didn’t eat and hardly drank, her stomach clenched too tightly to accept anything but the sight of her dragon.
On the third day, near evening, it was finally too much for Thalia’s exhausted body. The mare went to bound across a shallow stream but didn’t land quite right.
The two of them went tumbling, rocks and dirt flung aside as they skidded across the road. Leita’s sleeve and cheek tore, but she didn’t care.
Coughing up dirt, she called for Thalia. “Are you all right?”
I’ll be fine, the unicorn assured her, although she didn’t get up.
Leita scrambled to her feet and hurried to pick up the mare’s head. I have you. Deep breaths, now.
I’ll be fine, Lala, Thalia grumbled. I just need to catch my breath. And my pride. You go.
I can’t leave you!
Yes, you can. I’ll slow you down. Go on ahead and tell the lizard I’m coming for him.
Leita hesitated, feeling how Thalia trembled beneath her hand. Her pearly coat was drenched in sweat, rendering her almost gray in the dimming light. The unicorn needed and had certainly earned her rest.
Thank you for bringing me all this way. Throwing her arms around Thalia, she hugged her neck tight and kissed her velvet muzzle.
You’re welcome. Now go.
Swallowing the scared tears, Leita nodded against the unicorn’s neck before turning, running, then launching herself into the air. She zipped above the treetops before orienting herself east. Leita waved at Thalia far below, then faced down the rising moon.
She flew faster and longer than she ever had, pumping her magic through her veins to suppress the fatigue when it came. The raptors escorted her in pairs, chasing off flocks of smaller birds up ahead. The wind pushed her along, filling her wings and speeding her flight.
Leita flew through the coming night and the later dawn and put on a burst of magic and speed when the Griegen Mountains began to spear the skyline.
Her heart beat an unnatural rhythm, and if she thought too much about how disconnected she was from her senses and body, she might fall right out of the sky. So she didn’t. She fixed her gaze on those growing mountains.
They beckoned her east, and she followed the crest of their foothills down into the virgin forest below. There, she rediscovered a cave.
Inside that cave slept a dragon.
“Attalus!”
Her cry echoed eerily down the length of the cave, shouting back at her.
At first, nothing moved. The cave stood silent, the air dank, stale, and foul. Then, a little head popped up from the mess of blankets and bedding, two black eyes blinking blearily at her.
“Slinky!” Casting aside her pack and cloak, Leita staggered across the cave floor—somehow the longest distance she had to brave. The marten squeaked and trilled, climbing up to stand on Attalus’s abdomen.
Leita couldn’t tell if the marten was happy to see her or defending Attalus. Whatever it was, Slinky didn’t bite her at least when Leita collapsed beside him, all the breath and panic and terror rushing out of her in a hissing groan.
He lay there, still. His color wasn’t right. Although his chest rose and fell with breath, she could hear the reedy sound of it.
“Oh, Attalus.” Gathering his face in her hands, she felt the fever burning him inside, days of old sweat sticking to her palms.
He smelled and looked awful, his scales dull, his gums pale, and the blankets around him soiled with sweat and worse. But what mattered most was that he still drew breath, was still alive. Leita wasn’t too late. Late, yes, but not irrevocably so.
And this time, she’d come bearing a little more knowledge on dragons.
Namely, that their venom was indeed deadly and while there was an antidote, the mixture was a closely guarded Savrakae secret.
The only tried and true method of surviving it was to support a sufferer through the ordeal as the venom took its course.
Arranging herself at his side, Leita rested a palm on his chest, encouraged by the harmonious beats of his twin hearts, and another on the hard, swollen mound at his flank. She took a deep breath, bracing herself, as her magic unspooled around them.
Slinky puffed up at the feeling of magic creeping round her paws. Magic flowed from Leita, drawn from her deep well of reserves. She’d used plenty to get here so quickly, it was true, but she’d always have enough power and will for this. Always.
Her magic pushed up his nostrils and opened his lips to slip inside his mouth.
She made soothing noises when he grimaced, urging, “Don’t fight it.
It’s me, azore, I’m here. Let me help you.
” Whether her words reached him or he had little will left to fight, his body soon slumped back, allowing the magic in easily.
Leita’s plan was a risky one. In discussing it with Charis, they’d weighed the merits of binding Attalus’s life to Leita—not as just azai, but as a Queen and subject.
Creating a binding pact was something all royal children learned early.
A family secret held amongst them, guarded both jealously and fearfully.
The power of such pacts wasn’t to be abused or squandered.
It was spell, enchantment, and ancient rite all mixed into one terribly powerful act that couldn’t be undone.
It was a failsafe. Insurance. She meant to force the venom through a hurried lifecycle—already her magic sought it in his blood, chasing down every drop—but there was a chance he might not survive.
Left to the ravages on his own for days already, forcing him through the last and worst of the venom might send his body into shock and death.
But he might also be too far gone to support him in more basic ways, with water and food. He had to be at least minimally awake for that.
Leita had discussed all of this with Charis, finding some comfort in the back and forth with such a sharp mind.
Looking at it from every angle they could think of, Charis came to agree with her that a pact might be the only way to ensure Attalus lived through this.
Bound soul to soul, he’d have no choice but to stay with her—not just that he lived, but for his whole life.
She appreciated that Charis too saw past the moral quandary of it. “If it were my azai, I’d do anything, moral or not, logical or not,” her chancellor had said. Leita hadn’t needed Charis’s permission, but having her support offered valuable encouragement.
And so, as her magic wound its way inside Attalus, flowing with his blood through veins, seeping into his lungs, and boring down through the bone, Leita not only began to fight the venom, she tried to wake him, too.
She didn’t need express agreement for a pact, although it certainly strengthened one. She could force it.
But if she could give Attalus the choice, she would. Even if she only accepted one answer.
I won’t lose you.
Leita gasped to feel just how insidiously and widely the venom had spread. It attacked his joints and gnawed away at his tendons, breaking down the very cartilage that held him together. So voracious was it, so determined to fulfill its destructive purpose, that it even began to champ at her magic.
Wherever her magic met the venom, the putrid intruder gnashed and burned.
Leita could almost hear its wail of outrage—it didn’t want to be rushed, it wanted to savor its ruinous cycle.
It was meant for but one thing, and while Attalus had denied it thus far, it didn’t want to give in. It wanted his life.
But that was Leita’s. For better or for worse. The gods, the wind, maybe the fates themselves had brought him here, to the faelands, where Leita ruled. Everything within this domain was hers, and she wouldn’t be denied.
Let her be a despot. So long as she had her dragon beside her, so be it.
Attalus spasmed, his face a hard grimace of pain. His lips pulled back from his fangs, blood and saliva strung between his sharp teeth as he howled.
“I’m sorry,” she told him, “I’m so sorry, but I have to get rid of it.”
“Agae,” he groaned.