Chapter 44
Roiven’s eyes are closed, one hand pressed to the wound, his chest rising and falling shallowly. I drop to my knees at his side as relief and terror buckle through me in equal measure: he’s alive. But he doesn’t look good.
“We have to go. The ship’s on fire.”
He opens his eyes slowly and stares up at me.
His eyes don’t burn. They aren’t gold and fire-licked. They’re just brown, with no spark of inner light. My throat clenches tight.
“Did she live?” Roiven rasps.
“Savasaeirn will be fine. The kraken took her—”
He breaks into a weak smile.
“You said her whole name,” Roiven says. I huff and try to drag him up with one arm. But there’s no way I can lift him single-handedly. He’s too heavy. When I lift his shoulders an inch off the wood he grimaces at the pain it causes.
“We have to move.” The flames are getting closer, racing toward us. “I know you’re hurt, but the kraken will be here soon. We just have to… come on, Roiven,” I beg.
“Leave me.”
“I can’t.”
“I’m sorry I tricked you. You deserved better than me. Live, Cai.”
His eyes fall shut again. Through the bond I can feel his strength waver, his consciousness barely hanging on through the pain and the blood loss.
I tear my eyes away from him for a moment to glare at the flame and try to push it away with my mind, and then to swallow the power back into me.
But the flames roar and keep eating the ship, unmoved by my desperate, uneducated attempts at controlling witchcraft.
I hear a horrific screech of pain, so loud it pierces through every inch of me. I look up to see the green dragon falling from the sky, his wings burning with blue light. My heart catches as he slams down on top of a Hellion, dragging it below the deep with him.
“Hafgúa?” I call. My voice shakes.
I am swimming as fast as I can. Jump overboard.
“But Roiven—”
Leave him. Jump.
That isn’t happening, no matter how badly my familiar wants me to save myself.
I can’t lift Roiven in my arms, but I could carry him on my back if I can just get him on there. I may be smaller than him, and one-armed, but I was an imperial knight. I’m used to pushing my body past its limits, to doing the impossible.
I lie down beside Roiven and drag his arms over my shoulders.
My left hand holds him tight in place. With a grunt I roll over to the side, trying to drag him with me.
A burst of pain from Roiven breaks through me like a blinding light, too sharp for him to shut out.
As I roll onto my stomach he comes halfway with me, slipping off but still positioned partially on top of me.
His breathing sounds thin and sharp in my ear, more a hiss than anything else.
“Hold on,” I grunt. I shuffle, popping my hips up until I can get purchase with my feet. With only one good hand, I can’t grab his legs to get them around my waist, or hold onto his arms to keep him from sliding.
I push myself up slowly with one arm and both legs, until my back is a table.
Blood drips onto the deck beneath me. I don’t know if it’s mine or his, or both.
Roiven starts to slide. I fall back down quickly before I can lose him entirely, heart pounding.
He believed in me; shared himself with me.
He saved me. I’m not going to give up now.
The fire is so close it hurts. Every nerve in my body is telling me to run, to get away from the heat before it’s too late. Even if I can survive it, Roiven can’t.
I rise up again, onto my knees and my elbow.
And then, core clenched screaming tight so I don’t topple over, I lift my arm up to grab onto Roiven’s wrist. I grip him so tight my fingers ache.
One knee moves. And then the other. With a grunt I take another wobbling, shuffling step on my knees, dragging him from the flames.
Another, and another. My knee slips, the trouser’s fabric sopping wet with blood.
The flames are getting closer to my heels.
I’m not moving fast enough. I plant one foot beneath me.
Taking a deep breath, I push up and get the other foot beneath me too, crouching and bent over with Roiven’s heavy weight on my back.
My whole body threatens to give out and the cut on my side screams in agony. But he doesn’t fall off.
I walk, doubled over, half carrying him and half dragging him, as the fire crackles at our feet. Rancor’s deck is long, and blown empty by Roiven’s storm. The ship grumbles beneath my feet, angry but empty of power, aware she’s burning but with no Enchanted to draw on to do anything about me.
Traitor, I hear Rancor whisper into my bones. This Hellion was my home for years before I was given Rampage and assigned to the transport runs. You abandon your Empire.
I am here, Hafgúa says, interrupting the Hellion ship’s fading curses. A tentacle shoots over the edge of the ship and hunts blindly toward us. He grips me and Roiven together in his hold and drags us up off Rancor, into the sky and down to the sea, to safety and to freedom.