Chapter Twenty-Six
BENEDICT
The sun was just deciding to peek through the holes in the heavy tree canopy, though the humidity lingered. It would take ages for everything to dry out.
I stood behind Wren, keeping one eye on Veskor, and the other I tried to stare Ronan down. Clearly, he wanted to show this new draken mercy.
Mercy used to feel like weakness. Yet Wren was granting it to Veskor, and I found that I didn’t mind it.
Veskor’s eyes rolled back before he collapsed in front of Wren, right into the mud.
The crowd erupted in titters, murmuring and pressing forward.
Ronan, a new, bold Ronan whom I barely recognized, caught him easily. I stepped forward to help. Veskor’s body was on fire, his scales dry and flaking, alarming me. I hadn’t seen it in a long time, but I remembered what it meant.
Perri gasped, scrambling down from her parents’ arms. “Veskor!”
“He’s alive,” I said quickly, though I tightened my grip instinctively. “Just sick and exhausted.”
Enya stepped in immediately, taking Veskor from me and checking his pulse and breathing. As if summoned by magick, Yazmine appeared, giving him a deep sniff.
“Scale rot, infection, parasites,” she quipped, frowning. “Dirty.”
“He pushed too far,” Nasi said. “Shouldn’t have been fighting like that.”
“Stubborn,” Canavar muttered.
Enya snapped her fingers at me and Kieran. “You, healthy, rested males. Pick him up.”
My nose twitched, but Kieran grinned. “That’s all right, I’ve got him.”
Veskor must have been light; Kieran hefted him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing more than a drakling.
“Get more blankets from the caves; we will make a smaller place here, next to Wren,” Enya ordered.
Wren beamed, following the procession back into our hut.
I stewed, conflicted. I didn’t want this strange draken in my treehouse near my pregnant mate, but it clearly made that same pregnant mate happy. Wren led him away, practically dancing to get him settled. Nothing restored my queen more than a new project for her to focus on.
I turned, only to find myself face-to-face with Ronan.
“You seem changed,” I grunted at him.
He met my gaze, unflinching. His chin raised.
Huh.
He snorted. “Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true.” I tilted my head to the side. “You have matured. You made decisions and stuck to them.”
Ronan flashed his fangs. “If you’re going to fight me, let’s get it over with.”
I snorted. “The Benedict from two years ago probably would have loved the opportunity,” I admitted. “But that Benedict would also have thrown Veskor into the sea and let Meruse drown him.”
The tension bled out of Ronan slightly. “And the Benedict of now?”
“Is trying,” I said honestly.
There was a moment of strained silence.
“Does Benedict now trust me?” Ronan finally asked quietly, voice small.
This was normally the part where the guilt would consume me. I realized now how badly I’d shaken our mateship up with my anger and the damage it could have caused.
Nasi gave me an appraising look over the back of Ronan’s shoulder, nodding respectfully. Whatever had happened on the continent, Ronan had earned Nasi’s respect—the respect of a rough, warrior draken who’d never known books or kindness or empathy.
“Yes. You did well,” I told him. “And you stepped up and demanded respect from our people as well, instead of leaving it to me and someone else. Please forgive my anger.”
He choked. “Forgive my foolishness.”
I seized him in a bone-crushing hug before he could protest further, his wings twitching in surprise.
“You are a good mate, Ronan. I am glad you are part of the mateship,” I whispered into his ear. He clutched onto me tighter, nodding.
Wren had changed us irrevocably, but nothing would ever be greater than the changes we’d made ourselves.
When we stepped back, Ronan cleared his throat.
“He’s not young,” he said. “Veskor.”
“No,” I agreed. “He’s … not yet an Elder, but almost, I think.”
“Too old to have grown up alone. Too old to have been born after the fall.” He tapped his claw against the railing, brows knitting.
“Which means someone loved him once. Someone raised him. Or should have. Perhaps the trauma of the fighting pits sucked his previous life out of him. Nasi remembers Lyoness as it was. I do not remember Nasi or Veskor.”
The thought carved something uncomfortable in my chest.
“No. I didn’t know everyone. It sounds ludicrous now because there are so few of us, but we used to be so many. Veskor might not have even been his name, then.”
I sighed. Another lost child of Lyoness—how many were there? Would they ever all be found?
“We’ll find the truth,” I said eventually.
The ground rumbled under us.
He shot me a look. “Have the wards–”
“We were waiting for the weather to clear,” I shot back.
The ground shook again, this time for longer.
Panicked, I shot a glance at the volcano but it sat, still empty and cold.
Nerissa put a hand to the ground, closing her eyes. Her bloodmagick flared, dancing in
red and gold lines along her body as if cracking like clay. “I don’t think–”
BOOM.
The ground rattled beneath us, a loud roaring sound filling the air like the volcano was going to crash down on us. Drakens screamed and witches ran for cover.
Panic rooted me to the spot.
It couldn’t happen again. No.
Nonononononononono—
“BENEDICT! MOVE!” Ronan grabbed me and shoved me into the treehouse where Kieran and the others were already sheltering Wren, Veskor, and Enya.
“What is happening?” Wren cried out.
My mouth went dry, my voice dying in my throat. I couldn’t say it. I could only hold her. Was this the same terror my mother had felt? My sister, my—
“Get out of the tree, down on the ground!” Ronan shouted, and without waiting Kieran picked up Wren and flew out.
“Benedict, help me with Veskor!”
I threw the sick draken over my shoulder and Enya dove out the window with us, Kaida at our rear. The trees bent and moved in my vision like rubber, making me wonder what was real and what wasn’t.
“Get on the ground! Out in the open! Away from the trees and structures!” Ronan ordered everyone.
A massive wave of us glided down and sprinted for the open cliffs of the eastern shore.
Veskor groaned from my back, head bouncing up and down as I ran.
I turned back to see Nerissa and a few bloodwitches sprawled with their palms in the ground, working in tandem with earth witches and chanting non-stop under their breath.
Most of the island made it safely to the high cliffs, where the land was flat and free of trees or anything that could fall.
As quick as it began, the rumbling faded away.
“What do we do?” someone asked.
“Is it the volcano?”
“It’s the new draken’s fault!”
“No, the wards are failing. We–”
“It was an earthquake!” Ronan roared over everyone, forcing them into silence. “Let the witches report back. We have no reason to believe the volcano is active. If it happens again, now we all know where to go.”
No one had anything to say to that, as Nerissa and the other witches picked their way against the crowd, heading toward us.
“It’s the wards. I think they’re tied to everyone living here. They’re unstable with the upcoming birth and all the newcomers. We need to start the ritual soon. Now, if possible. Wren, are you ready?”
Wren opened her mouth, but Kieran was already frowning.
“No,” Ronan and I said at the same time. I shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. He grinned sheepishly at me.
“It’s just standing there–” Wren argued.
“No,” I said again.
All eyes shifted to Veskor’s unconscious form.
“Don’t even think–” Wren began, her face already turning red.
“We can ask,” Nerissa said, “but he is in no condition to help right now.”
“Do we have time for him to recover?” Ronan asks.
Nerissa eyed Nuva, who blinked.
“I do not know him. He has three days to recover. I do not wish to wait any longer than that,” Nerissa said.
I shifted the sick draken’s weight on my shoulder.
“What are we waiting for? Let’s get him back in prime working condition.”
Three days later, Veskor was up and about, trying to convince us all that he was fine, despite Enya’s orders to take it easy.
I don’t think Veskor knew how.
Seeing Wren settled in her cushions and taking an afternoon nap, I flew down to the beach where Ronan was supervising our new draken’s work labor.
“Mm. Hello.” Ronan tilted his head toward the beach and Veskor. “He works very hard. He does not stop for rest until Canavar makes him.”
Veskor was hauling driftwood and stone up the slope with Canavar beside him, the two of them moving like some mismatched, half-feral construction crew from the underworld.
Veskor carried twice his size without complaint.
Sweat dripped down his temples. Every time a drakling wandered too close, curious about the new, strange draken, he froze, eyes wide and hands trembling, but he backed away quickly and intentionally.
Canavar grunted orders. Veskor obeyed all of them, silently.
“He won’t be useful to us if he pushes too hard. He’s meant to be recovering,” I grumbled.
Ronan shot me a look. “That is not his only purpose. And I remember a certain draken who refused to stay in bed when he had dragon pox that one time.”
I flushed. “You said you’d never mention–”
“Just as well. He is recovering fast. Just look at him.”
It was true. With regular meals and all the food he could eat, Veskor was filling out and looking less scrawny.
Him and Canavar were rebuilding the meeting hall, strengthening the beams, and widening the foundation.
Veskor worked until his hands bled and still didn’t stop.
Whatever he lacked in social skills—gods, he lacked almost all of them—he made up for in sheer tenacity.
We turned as Kaida landed behind us, trilling a hello.
“He is strong,” Kaida commented. “That will scare some.”
“It scares all,” I replied. “Even Canavar, though he won’t admit it. It is good for our purposes, though.”
Kaida snorted. “Nerissa admits it. Loudly. And I do hope you’ve told the poor boy what he’s gotten into. He looks untouched by bloodmagick.”
Before I could respond, Nerissa stomped down to the beach as if summoned, arms crossed, her bloodmagick already flaring on her skin.
“Of all the males on this island,” Nerissa growled, “why is mine glued to that one?” She pointed rudely at Veskor.
Kaida hid a smile behind her hand. I didn’t bother hiding mine.
“Because someone needs to make sure he doesn’t accidentally set himself on fire again,” I offered.
Nerissa hissed. “He coughed once. The ritual wasn’t supposed to work until—”
“He breathed a spark directly into his own wing.”
“It was dark!”
Kaida started laughing so hard she fell over. I couldn’t help it; I laughed too. Even Nerissa’s lips twitched, though she tried to hide it. She glanced toward the beach, watching Canavar snap something at Veskor who immediately snapped back.
“Stars help me,” Nerissa muttered. “They’re bonding.”
“That’s good,” Kaida said. “Veskor needs someone to attach to who isn’t Perri.”
“He can attach to a tree,” Nerissa shot back. “Not my mate.”
But she didn’t sound quite as angry. Just lost and sad, and likely still mourning Anar.
Then her eyes turned toward the horizon, narrowing. “Do you feel it?”
I exhaled slowly. “The wards.”
She nodded. “They are confused, and upset. I felt them buck like a wild animal an hour ago. And again just now.”
“Is it the volcano?” Kaida asked quietly.
Nerissa crossed her arms. “Yes, and no. The sacrificial wards carved there were tied to the original drakens, and the volcano was a deep part of the original group’s trauma and history.
The volcano hasn’t burned since the Overlord died.
No heat, no pressure. It’s gone dormant.
The wards aren’t protecting us; they’re trying to protect their old pattern. And it’s all wrong now.”
I rubbed my jaw. That was unexpected.
“You didn’t know they’d twist.” Nerissa reassured me. “The volcano going dormant is good, but it presents new challenges. Once we use witches in the new ritual, it will set everything right.
I grunted. “Hopefully.”
Heaviness settled in my chest.
Kaida placed a hand on my arm. “The old ways could not protect us forever. Perhaps they were never meant to.”
“You know,” Nerissa said, watching me carefully, “your child will grow up in a very different world than the one you were raised in.”
“So will all our children,” Kieran beamed.
The thought warmed me.
“It’s strange,” I said softly. “I spent so many years thinking protecting my people meant shutting everyone else out. The mountain men. The witches. Outsiders.”
“And now?” Kaida asked.
“Now I know better.” I shot Ronan a quick grin.
I looked toward Veskor again. He was dirty, scarred, building a home he wasn’t sure he deserved with a father who still grieved the son he lost.
“I don’t want to be a king who rules through fear again,” I said. “Lyoness deserves more. Wren deserves more. And they deserve”—I thought of my unborn child—“a world where strength and compassion aren’t opposites.”
Kaida leaned her shoulder against mine in quiet agreement.
The Benedict from years ago would have chosen fear and tradition, preferring safety in isolation. But now …
Wren’s laughter drifted from somewhere down the path, bright and unbreakable. Veskor and Canavar were arguing in the distance, sawdust flying. Children raced past us, splashing in the shallows.
Lyoness was alive. Lyoness was changing.
“We build something stronger. Something better,” I said.
Kaida nodded, pride in her expression.
“Yes.”
Nerissa’s breath shuddered out. And just like that, something in her anger loosened.
The sharp edge she kept around Veskor cracked, not broken, but softened.
I barked a quiet laugh.
Veskor, of all drakens, chose that moment to walk past with a beam so long it nearly took out Kaida’s head when he turned suddenly at seeing us.
He froze when he saw Nerissa and dropped the beam, ducking comically behind a tree.
Nerissa didn’t hiss or shout. She barely glared.
She simply frowned, sighed, and walked away.
Progress.
Yes. Things were changing.
And for once, it felt right.
Kaida sighed. “We may need to build another meeting hall after this one. Just to keep him busy.”
“Probably,” I grunted, but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel dread at the thought of the future. I felt hope.