Chapter Four
DALLIN WONDERED WHAT he’d do if Sol died.
He couldn’t avoid thinking about it.
By now, Carlyle had had Sol for a few weeks.
Nothing Dallin or any of the mages did was helping.
They couldn’t find Carlyle or Sol.
They had no way of knowing what Carlyle was doing, but there was a good chance that whatever it was, it would end up killing Sol, and Dallin wasn’t sure how he’d deal with that.
He’d have to find a new shield.
Mages didn’t need dragon shields to do their magic or to work, but it was better for them to be protected when they used magic.
It was easy for a mage to lose himself in a spell and forget everything that was happening around him.
Dallin had done it several times, but he’d always had Sol to watch his back.
The past few decades had been different, but Dallin had seldom left the castle, so he’d been safe.
He’d been waiting for Sol to come back, but it was starting to look like he never would, and Dallin wasn’t sure where that left him.
He’d help the others defeat Carlyle—for good this time.
They couldn’t afford for him to return in fifty or sixty years.
Once that was done, though, how was Dallin supposed to move on? How was he supposed to find another shield and trust someone else with his life and his love?
A shield and their mage weren’t always together, but they always shared a deep bond.
In Sol and Dallin’s case, it had been a bond of love.
Their bond had been strong, and it had never faded, not even over the many years they’d spent apart.
Even now, if Dallin focused, he could feel it.
Unfortunately, it wouldn’t help him find Sol.
It wouldn’t help him do anything.
It was just a reminder of what he’d lost and what he still stood to lose.
He glared at his desk.
He was supposed to work, but he was getting nothing done.
He told everyone he needed privacy because he was working on a spell, but he was pretty sure they’d seen right through him.
There was nothing he could do to help Sol, and obsessing over what was happening to him and over his lonely future wouldn’t change that.
Dallin needed to stop feeling sorry for himself.
He needed to stop mourning Sol.
He wasn’t sure he could.
He wasn’t sure of anything. He just knew that if the worst happened, he wouldn’t be able to stay at the castle. He loved the other mages, and for many years, they’d been each other’s support and family. Things were different now. They’d all found their dragons, and most were building new bonds and lives. The only one who was left out of that was Dallin, and there was a chance that he would never get to build a life with Sol.
If something happened to Sol, he’d have to leave. He couldn’t stay and watch the others be happy with their dragons after he lost Sol. He didn’t know where he’d go. Maybe he could go home for a bit. He knew that if he did, his mother would insist he start thinking about a new shield, and she might even set up a few meetings for him to choose one, but at least he’d be away from the castle. If he was lucky, his mother would understand he needed more time to get over everything, but his mother was nothing if not practical. A mage needed a dragon, and that was that.
A knock on the door made him frown. He didn’t want to talk to anyone, but the door opened before he could tell whoever it was that he was busy. To his surprise, Meyer peeked in.
“Has something happened?”
Dallin asked.
Dallin and Meyer had several conversations in the past, but Dallin wouldn’t say they were friends. It was his fault. He’d been pushing everyone away, and while the other mages already knew him like the back of their hands, the dragons were new to the castle. He wasn’t getting to know them, and he didn’t allow them to get to know him.
“No, everything’s fine. It’s just that everyone’s headed down for lunch. We were wondering if you wanted to come with us.”
Dallin smiled.
“That we wouldn’t happen to be one of my brothers, would it?”
Not Tyne because he wouldn’t tell Meyer how he felt about Dallin not eating with them, and probably not Jarvis because he’d come to Dallin himself, but it was something Penley would do. He’d been checking in on Dallin regularly, and he probably thought that Dallin had enough of him, so this time, he’d sent Meyer. No one could resist his puppy eyes.
Dallin didn’t know how to explain that he needed time on his own without hurting his brothers. Penley would tell him that he understood and to keep hope, and Dallin wanted to, but he wasn’t sure he could. It was a lot to ask, considering that Sol was in Carlyle’s hands.
Jarvis would promise they weren’t giving up, and Ansley would hate himself because he couldn’t do more, but Dallin didn’t need any of that.
“Penley and Keylon can be very convincing,”
Meyer said with an answering smile.
“Don’t I know that. I guess I could eat.”
Meyer’s smile widened.
“Great. I was a little afraid of what they might do to me if I returned without you.”
“They’re both sweethearts. They’d probably hug you to death or something.”
Meyer nodded.
“That would be a good way to go. It also might be nice to feel like someone cares about me.”
From the way Meyer pressed his lips together, Dallin suspected he hadn’t meant to say that last part. Dallin wanted to tell him about his conversation with Tyne, but it wasn’t his place. He thought that Tyne keeping what had happened between them a secret was stupid, but he couldn’t break his confidence. Tyne would never forgive him if he did, and he wasn’t sure it would help, anyway.
“There are plenty of people who care about you,”
Dallin said gently, but he understood that wasn’t what Meyer had meant.
“I know,”
Meyer said, giving Dallin a stiff smile.
“Are you coming, then?”
Dallin didn’t want to, but he sighed and pushed his chair away from his desk.
“I’ll come downstairs with you.”
“Good. Jillian said she’d made your favorite.”
Dallin needed to remember that he was loved, too. Tyne might never allow Meyer back into his life, and Dallin might lose Sol, but they still had plenty of people in their lives who loved them and would die for them.
Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.
BLOOD STREAMED DOWN Sol’s face.
He wasn’t sure what had hit him, but he didn’t think it had been Carlyle’s fist.
It had been hard, but at the same time, it had felt ephemeral. It was an odd sensation, but Sol would rather focus on that than on the pain pulsing in his cheek.
“Why isn’t it working?”
Carlyle screamed as he grabbed the closest object—which unfortunately happened to be the table he’d been working on—and threw it at Sol.
Normally, Sol would have been able to avoid it, but Carlyle had frozen him again.
He couldn’t move a muscle, not even to avoid the table as it hit him.
He supposed he should feel lucky that he was already on the floor.
The bruises would be confined to his front since he’d caught the table in his chest.
Sol wasn’t sure how much time had passed while Carlyle continued throwing objects around and screeching.
Sol was tired.
It was clear that Carlyle was a powerful mage, but he was increasingly frustrated, and he sounded more and more like a toddler angry because his toy wasn’t doing what he wanted it to do.
Eventually, he’d break it.
He’d break Sol.
This time, when Carlyle left, he didn’t lift the spell off Sol.
For long minutes, Sol lay there, blood dripping on the floor, wondering if he would ever be free.
Then his body sagged, and he breathed easier.
He didn’t know if Carlyle had released him or if the distance had something to do with it, but he didn’t care.
Right then, he didn’t care about much but himself.
He gingerly touched his cheek where Carlyle had hit him, not one bit surprised to see blood on his fingertips.
His cheek was already swelling.
He’d be a sight once Carlyle was done with him. Carlyle had been becoming increasingly violent, and he seemed to love taking it out on Sol.
Sol wanted to sleep and forget about the messy situation he was in, but instead, he dragged himself closer to the bars and sat with his back against the wall.
He waited for Graham, knowing that the man would come around.
He always did after Carlyle beat up Sol.
Sol wasn’t sure if it was because Graham cared or because he felt guilty, but the reason behind his behavior didn’t matter. He was worried about Sol, so maybe he’d help him.
When Graham finally appeared, Sol was ready.
He wrapped his fingers around one of the bars and pressed as close as he could.
“I just need you to let me out of this cell,”
he begged.
“That’s it. You don’t have to help me in any other way if you don’t feel up for it. You just have to free me. I’ll find my way out of this place, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
Graham had started cleaning up the mess Carlyle had left, but he stopped moving. He was listening to Sol.
“I don’t know what you want,”
Sol quickly said.
“I mean, if you want to come with me, you can. If you’re too scared or if you want to stay here, I’ll understand. I won’t force you to do anything. I swear I won’t attack you.”
Graham didn’t say anything, but Sol could tell he was softening. He was still terrified—which Sol could understand, considering that Carlyle had just thrown a table at him—but maybe Sol was finally starting to get through to him. He just needed Graham to let him out of the cell. He’d take care of everything else himself.
“Please,”
he repeated.
“Whatever you want, I’ll help you with. You need to let me go before Carlyle kills me.”
Because Sol had no doubt that if he stayed, Carlyle would kill him. It wasn’t a question of if. It was a question of when.