Chapter Twenty-Four #2
Ozias is wearing the ravaged down, his careful movements reserving his energy while the ravaged expends all of theirs.
A part of me wishes he would just put an end to the creature, but I know he can’t.
Not when it will mean one of our own will die.
I wish I knew what his plan was for the ravaged.
The fight serves to remind me of what I learned last night.
I want to reach out Ozias and tell him that if he can subdue the creature, maybe we can somehow bring it to the Realm with us and we can figure out a way to save him – to save them all.
I try to speak to him, mind to mind, but there’s only silence.
They’ve moved to the swell of the surf. The ravaged’s chest puffs in and out, its roar like a tormented prey seeking an end to its misery.
As Ozias twists to slam his tail against the ravaged, the beast twists back towards me, coming fast. I press myself deep into the rock, but before the ravaged can make it past where the surf crashes against the sand an enormous white figure slams down onto the beach from out of the sky.
In an instant almost too fast to track, Zhoric snatches the ravaged’s neck into his great maw.
A spray of red arcs into the air, the ocean waves reaching to catch the drops of blood and pull them into its fold.
My chest heaves. Zhoric looms over the body of the ravaged, its blood-soaked head tumbling down the shoreline. He pulls back a clawed hand and dives it into the beast, yanking out a black mass before tossing it into the water—the ravaged’s heart.
Zhoric lumbers over to me, crimson staining the white of his mane, speckling his shining scales. His breath comes in pants as he pins me with his gaze.
In a billow of clouds, he shifts. The red of the ravaged’s blood stains his mouth and crimson flecks mar his otherwise pristine white attire that I was once most accustomed to seeing him wear. He stands before me, too close and yet too far, watching me, saying nothing.
I’m thrumming with the need to stand and go to him, but instead I keep myself rooted between the rocks, blood trickling down my arm.
Ozias hurtles towards us. He transforms a hair’s breadth from Zhoric and uses the momentum from his speed to swerve to my side, kicking up a cloud of sand in his wake.
Ozias’s gaze is hard as he holds Zhoric in his sights, but the king’s eyes are fixed on me.
None of Ozias’s casual grace from when he was with Zhoric in Dyēus is here now.
I buzz in anticipation, waiting for someone to strike, with words or blows.
When Ozias seems satisfied Zhoric won’t move, he half turns to me, placing a palm on the side of my face.
The anchor of his hand feels like a restraint.
One I fear I’m in desperate need of. “Are you okay?”
I don’t take my eyes off of Zhoric. “Bleeding, but fine.”
Zhoric tracks the path the pad of Ozias’s thumb makes down my cheek towards my mouth. The muscles around his eyes tighten.
Ozias looks between the two of us, but his discerning eyes land on me.
“You’re not usually in the habit of traveling beyond Dyēus’s islands or its provinces,” Ozias comments before finally giving the Sar Dyēus his attention. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”
Zhoric continues to look at me for a long moment, then turns his head to the side, his profile awash in the golden evening light. “I wished to see the view.”
Ozias hums.
“Sunsets are quite beautiful from the ground,” Zhoric adds.
“Ozias,” I gasp, my hand seizing his forearm as I realize just how low sun has travelled.
Zhoric follows the movement, but his expression remains neutral.
“We’ll make it,” Ozias reassures. “Enjoy the view, then, your majesty.”
“Ozias?” Zhoric says, casual as a lizard bathing in the sun.
“Yes?”
“If you let another drop of blood fall from her veins again, I will ensure yours runs dry.” Then he shifts, pushes off the ground in a spray of sand, and joins the clouds.
Ozias watches him go, a frown pulling at his lips.
My heart is a riot in my chest. I swallow hard, but my mouth is dry and sand coats my tongue. “I might need to speak with Atlanta about the nuances of mind walking after all.”
Ozias softens then sinks down in front of me to lay his forehead against mine. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fly too far.”
The last of the air in my lungs seeps out of me. His gaze flicks back towards the horizon, a curse parting his lips, but he says nothing more as he shifts and lowers down for me to climb on. I scramble onto his neck, wincing as my shoulder protests, my head dizzy, my vision dotted.
As we fly, our shadow stretches across the white sand, dark and dangerous in its length.
The trip here was long, Ozias is exhausted, and I fear for my ability to remain conscious enough to hold on.
It was a mistake for me to leave the Realm, but Ozias wanted me to come and I didn’t have the self-restraint to say no.
I wanted to do whatever else I could to free my people.
My people. The missives. I gasp, checking behind us.
The basket is long gone; all the work he poured into those notices lost to the tide. I only hope there’s time to warn Nevoba still—after today, I’m not sure how much longer I can hold back the aching need to bond myself to Zhoric.