18. Arthur
ARTHUR
The attackers were on me before I could fully assess the situation. What started as two suddenly became at least five.
I struck first, the way I had been trained to strike when ceilings were low and noncombatants were behind me. Short arc. Controlled force. No wasted motion. My body knew the pattern well enough that thought never entered it.
My first opponent was already moving.
His counter cut across my path before my weight had settled. I shortened the swing, shifted my hind leg, tried to bait a response.
The second assassin slid into position at the exact point I favored when shielding something behind me. Not where I stood, but where I was about to be.
Understanding arrived in fragments. They weren’t studying me as we fought.
They already knew me.
Someone had trained them how to fight me specifically.
That realization landed harder than the first strike. That knowledge could only have come from someone who had watched me long enough to map my instincts.
I forced distance with fire. The heat slammed into the far wall hard enough to shake sigils loose.
The wards that protected this chamber screamed as they destabilized.
One assassin took the impact and rolled through it.
The other closed the gap immediately. A weighted chain snapped around my side and bit deep where my scales thinned.
Pain registered, but I set it aside as the chamber started coming apart. Stone cracked. Dust poured from the ceiling. The space was too small for my wings, too unstable for my mass. My attackers stayed close on purpose, forcing me to fight, folded in on myself.
Behind me, Artemis made a startled sound. Every priority reordered itself in that instant. The fight ceased being about survival or secrecy. It became singular.
One assassin shifted his stance. His next movement would take him past my shoulder instead of into me.
Toward her.
I crossed the space without thought. Talons found purchase, and I ended it quickly. There was no room for restraint with her here. When it was done, I turned my head to confirm her position.
She was still behind me.
I reached for her mind, keeping the connection narrow and controlled. “Turn around. Stay where you are.”
She complied immediately and acted as if my voice was something she could safely rely on.
My wings scraped stone as I adjusted. The chamber had been built for humans, not for dragons my size. The remaining attackers knew it. They pressed inward, forcing compact movements, denying me leverage, denying me height.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted a smaller figure. It wasn’t one of the original two. The figure was faster and leaner.
I didn’t have time to track it.
The second assassin struck while my focus was split.
Claws slid between my scales along my ribs and found a seam I couldn’t guard in this space. Pain tore through muscle and deeper still. I absorbed it and twisted, angling my body so Artemis wouldn’t see the damage.
A support beam gave way overhead. Stone dropped near her position, shattering one of the crates. Artifacts spilled across the chamber, scattering underfoot.
She moved toward the journals.
She grabbed the one we’d been studying without pausing, shoved it into her bag, then kicked a fallen panel into place to shield what remained. No hesitation. No wasted motion. Competence under fire. Pattern recognition applied instantly.
Good girl.
The remaining assassin circled, his wings tucked, weight low. He watched my footwork, my tail, the timing of my turns. He waited for the step I always took when compensating for injury.
I altered it.
Fire gathered in his throat.
“Arthur!” Her voice cut clean through the noise. “Left. Now.”
Every instinct resisted. The floor there was fractured. The angle exposed my injured side. My wing would scrape stone.
I moved anyway.
The assassin lunged for the opening I had just abandoned. Another support beam gave way above him. The stone crashed down with brutal force, pinning him beneath it before he could react.
I used the momentum of the turn and drove my shoulder into him, crushing what remained of his guard as the pillar collapsed fully.
She had seen the stress lines. The failing load.
I hadn’t.
After that, I stopped questioning. When she spoke, I moved. When she pointed, I committed. My size stopped working against me and started working for us. The fight shifted, not because I gained strength, but because I was no longer trying to manage it alone.
Partnership was not something I had trained for. Apparently, it was something I had needed.
Then she cried out.
I turned just in time.
A smaller shape burst from the smoke. A drake. With its narrow frame and tight wings, it was built for speed in enclosed spaces.
It went for her.
I lunged. Pain flared along my ribs as I took the strike meant for her. Claws raked across my back. Scales tore. My hind leg faltered when I landed.
I drove the drake into the floor, hard enough that the stone cracked beneath us. The drake didn’t rise again.
The chamber groaned in warning. Walls fractured, and dust clouded the space. The last assassin disengaged and fled up the stairs as the room began to fall outright.
There was no time to consider pursuit.
“Now,” I sent to her.
Artemis ran.
I dropped my shoulder and lowered my frame as debris rained down around us. She grabbed the ridge at the base of my neck and climbed with surprising speed, fingers finding the grooves between scales as if she had practiced this. Her weight settled against my back, arms locking in tight.
I drove upward.
Stone split as I tore through the weakened ceiling, wings punching through the shattered masonry. Cold night rushed over us as I cleared the roofline and beat once, hard, putting distance between us and the collapsing chamber.
Only when the structure vanished beneath us did I spare the focus.
“Are you hurt?” My controlled tone didn’t reflect the frantic, desperate need I felt to make sure she was okay.
“No,” she replied immediately. “I’m fine.”
I banked toward the dark stretch of fields beyond the city, staying at a low altitude. My body began its accounting whether I allowed it or not.
Broken ribs. Torn muscle. Damage along my back where scales had been compromised. A hind leg that protested with every third wingbeat. Nothing fatal, but I wouldn’t be able to make it far.
I could not make it far.
I landed in a fallow field a short distance from the city and folded my wings with deliberate care. The moment my weight settled fully, the strain caught up with me. I stayed still until it passed.
Artemis slid down my side and landed on unsteady feet. Before she could say anything, I shifted.
The shift cost more than usual. I managed it anyway and straightened through habit alone.
She was already moving toward me.
I caught her wrist gently and stopped her.
“Stay there,” I said. “Let me look.”
“I said I’m fine.”
“I heard you.”
That didn’t stop me.
Dust streaked her sleeves. Her coat was torn at the hem. I traced the line of it without touching her skin. No blood. No limping. Her hands weren’t shaking.
She held still, but her jaw was tight, her gaze fixed on my face like she was bracing for something.
When I was satisfied, I released her wrist.
Instead of stepping back, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me. The gentle contact had more of an impact than any of the blows I’d taken.
I froze for half a second, surprised by the pressure of her against my chest, and how it seemed like she belonged right there.
Then my arms came up around her without permission from my mind.
I pulled her in, closer than necessary, one hand pressing between her shoulders as if letting go was not an option.
She fit there too well.
Her fingers curled into the back of my shirt, and I felt the slight tremor she had hidden from me.
“You scared me,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes and held her tighter. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here.”
For a moment, nothing existed but the quiet field, her arms around me, and the certainty that I had come far closer to losing her than I was willing to accept.
After a while. I eased my grip, but I didn’t let go of her completely. I kept my hand on her back, needing the contact to convince myself we were both still standing.
I drew back just enough to look at her. “Did you quote Homer into my head?”
She froze, then her mouth tipped into something sheepish and very human. “Yes,” she said. “Sorry. I do that when I’m stressed.”
“You quote epic poetry,” I said carefully, “during combat?”
“My brain latches onto language when everything else is trying to panic. Old stuff works best. It’s already survived worse than me.”
I nodded. That made a strange sort of sense.
“Next time,” I said, “you may do so again.”
Her expression softened, relief showing through the exhaustion. “Good. Because it’s either Homer or swearing, and I was trying to be polite.”
A faint huff of amusement left me as I pressed the mark on my wrist.
Caliban appeared at my side without sound, coat unruffled, expression already assessing. “You’re injured,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You will rest.”
“Yes.”
His eyes shifted to Artemis for a moment, then back to me. “You have chosen a hazardous research method.”
“Unavoidable.”
His eyebrow rose, then he vanished.
Moments later he returned, a bag already slung over his shoulder. He set it at my feet and began removing items.
“Use these tonight,” he said. “Topical first. Then the tonic. No flying until morning.” He extended a small card toward Artemis. “Accommodation nearby.”
She took it, then looked back at me. “You’re really okay?”
“I will be once I’ve rested,” I said.
Caliban scoffed. “You’ll remain here tonight and heal. Tomorrow, you may resume your poor decision-making.”
I exhaled slowly, aware of the weight in my body and the warmth still lingering where she had held me.
I had not misjudged the enemy.
I had misjudged how much I would care if I lost her.
And that was far more dangerous.