Chapter 45
Savasaeirn rests on a long, low, flat stone isle.
When the kraken deposits us gently on the shore, the dragon grunts and reaches a paw toward us.
Her claws close around Roiven, then drag his limp body to her, leaving behind a trail of saltwater and blood.
I stumble after him. Hafgúa tried to carry us above water but the cuts still got wet.
The wound on my own stomach is on fire, but I don’t care right now.
As far as I can tell, the Hellion only hit Savasaeirn’s left wing. It’s stretched out over the ground, a wide bloody rent torn into the leathery skin. The wound doesn’t look pleasant, but at least it isn’t a vital organ.
“Will he be okay?” I ask. Nobody answers me.
“Witches heal fast, don’t we? Roiven said that.
” My voice trembles. Hafgúa’s head rises slowly from the water, the sea rocking around the shore as he studies us from a distance, unable to get too close with how the shore of this landmass slopes away.
Unless he crawled up it, but he seems to think that would be undignified.
There is healing, and there is… healing, the kraken says. He will need help.
“Aria. His sister.” But I still don’t know where the other two dragons are. If the Hellions killed them before we arrived, what will I do? I can’t watch Roiven die.
I stumble closer to Savasaeirn and fall to my knees besides Roiven. The rise and fall of his chest is shallow and strained. Blood soaks through his shirt.
Fuck, what am I thinking? I’m not great with field medicine, but I know too much to be standing here like an idiot and watching my husband die.
“We need to stop the bleeding,” I snap, yanking the sling over my head. Savasaeirn turns to look at me as I tug the knot open with my teeth and one hand.
The dragon huffs.
You must tell her what to do, Hafgúa says. It is hard for an ancient to understand this part of you.
“Lift him, just a little. Carefully.” I lay the sling out beneath him as Sava’s claws delicately lift Roiven a foot off the rock, his head lolling back like he’s already gone.
The dragon sets him back down. I pull the cloth over his chest and tie it at his side, as tight as I can with one hand, teeth, and the help of my knee.
“Can you talk to the other dragons?” I ask Hafgúa.
No.
“What about Savasaeirn? Could you talk to her, and…”
They are of the sky, not the sea, little knight. I am aware of them. But we cannot speak.
I sit back on my heels, breath shaking. Roiven needs Aria if he’s going to live.
And unless Savasaeirn’s already summoned Aria’s dragon, I’m going to have to figure this out myself.
Could Hafgúa take me to find them? But I don’t know which way to go, where to look, or if the others are even still alive.
And I need to be there with him, if Roiven fades away.
Not that I’m going to let him do that.
When Lusern fell. And Roiven was hoping he’d find survivors. What did he say? That Nor couldn’t farspeak with witches they hadn’t met. Well, they’ve met me. I have no idea how farspeaking works, but if Nor can speak across distances surely the farspeaker can hear across them, too.
“Nor?” I call, taking Roiven’s still hand in my own. There’s no answer. Mentally I grab Hafgúa’s power and fling it out across the sea. “Nor? Please?” Nothing. I pull harder on Hafgúa and shriek.
…who is that? The blonde witch’s voice whispers into my mind, muffled and strange, not at all like how I hear Hafgúa’s voice or how I heard Roiven’s. My muscles go weak with relief.
“Cai. Roiven’s hurt badly. We need Aria.”
There’s a silence long enough that I think they’re gone. I bend over Roiven and press my forehead to his broad shoulder. My chest aches.
Stay there, Nor whispers. We’re coming.
“Stupid not to learn any spells,” I mumble to Roiven’s unconscious body.
“I could have asked how to heal you. Gods be damned, you bastard, you weren’t supposed to die like this.
” If he goes out skewered on anybody’s sword, it’ll be mine.
Because if I don’t kill him, he’s going to live to be however many hundreds of years a witch can live to, and then some.
He’s mine. I refuse to accept this. I press my hand to his clammy neck and feel for a pulse. It beats sluggishly. Every second feels like a lifetime. I don’t know how long we lay there like that.
Savasaeirn raises her head up and calls, the sound low and rumbling but not unfriendly. A moment later a pearl-white dragon that I’ve never seen before emerges from the gray of the sky, headed towards us. I rise to my shaking feet, heart pounding.
The huge white dragon lands. Aria quickly scales down the ancient’s leg. Nor waits, then begins climbing down behind her.
“Roiven?” Aria screams as she reaches the ground.
“Badly hurt,” I call back. She races towards us. The white dragon folds his wings and reaches his muzzle down to Savasaeirn’s. She grunts in response.
Aria takes my space beside Roiven. I watch, my heart in my throat, as her hands press against her brother’s chest.
It’s going to be alright. It has to be.
“Did Imili fall?” Nor asks quietly as they approach.
“Yes,” I say quietly, not taking my eyes off Roiven. “And her dragon. Are the others…?”
It’s hard to care with Roiven this hurt, but I still want to know.
“The Hellions split up. Roiven and Imili followed a set while the others evacuated Aveinor. We’ve almost gotten everyone, but the Hellions are closing in.” Their voice sounds distant, like they’re paying attention to more than one conversation at once.
In the distance, a blinding column of blue light explodes. A sickening cloud billows overhead. My stomach drops out of my body.
Aveinor is gone. They’ve destroyed it just like they destroyed Lusern. Moments later, the whole sea shudders. The ocean rocks away, then surges up in twenty-foot waves. Savasaeirn bellows and yanks Roiven up off the ground, out of Aria’s hands, as the water swells over the rock.
Nor’s eyes squeeze shut.
“Hevrin?” I whisper.
“Safe. Most of our people are safe,” Nor whispers.
“Unless the Hellions find where they’re hiding,” Aria says softly.
“How far are the ships?” I ask.
“An hours’ flight,” Nor responds.
Aria’s hands are still pressed to Roiven’s chest. I crouch down beside him and press my fingers to his throat. His pulse is coming more steadily.
“Will he be alright?” I whisper.
“I’m not giving him an option,” she answers.
“The others will stay put. They won’t risk alerting the Hellions to their position,” Nor announces.
Chewing my lip, I glance at the kraken without asking my question outloud. He doesn’t need to answer or nod. The understanding passes between us all the same.
“I’ll go after the Hellions.” I straighten.
“Alone? Just you and your familiar?” Aria says, peering up at me.
“If you can promise to save Roiven.”
“I’ll try.”
“More than try,” I growl.
“Yes,” Aria whispers. “Let me heal you too.”
“There isn’t time.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Aria says. She stands and reaches for the hem of my shirt.
“Roiven—”
“Stop fighting and I’ll get back to him faster,” she says, and yanks the shirt up to reveal the ugly, oozing gash. Nor makes a retching sound, shudders, and turns away. “You can’t swim like this.”
“The Hellions…”
She makes a frustrated noise, something between a growl and a sigh, and presses a hand above the wound. Her palm is hot against my salty skin.
“I need to move fast, so it will hurt,” Aria warns. I don’t have time to answer before my side blazes in agony. My knees buckle and my eyes water. I grit my teeth.
Aria pulls her hand away and silently falls to her knees, returning to Roiven. She looks paler than she did a moment ago. The wound at my side is puckered and scabbed, throbbing with pain but no longer open to the air.
“Thank you,” I say. She nods but doesn’t answer.
I wish I could stay, and keep an eye on Roiven.
You could stay, Hafgúa says quietly. I can handle the death-god’s ships.
But Aria stepped away from Roiven’s healing to make sure I could do this.
And I’m not leaving my bonded to face a dozen Hellions alone, no matter how strong he is.
They can still hurt him. And while he can drag ships below the water or crush them in his tentacles, I don’t think he can fight in a way that won’t kill the Enchanted.
I have to do what I can.
“Let’s go,” I say, my mouth dry, and stride back toward the sea.