Thirty Eight
Alara
Rohan still hasn’t returned to the clan, and it’s been two days now.
“It’s been too long,” I say to Tofa as we sit inside my tent, sewing up some torn tunics.
I’m good at it too, having had Effy teach me to repair our own.
It wasn’t like Emerish would replace them.
“It has been a while,” Beau agrees. “What could be keeping him?”
My stomach rolls, thinking about the dungeon. “What if he’s hurt?”
“He’ll be okay, Alara, this always happens,” Tofa mutters, avoiding my eyes, dropping her gaze to the sleeve she’s working on.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask, and she jumps like she’s been caught out.
“Nothing.” I stare at her.
“Oh, that’s actually… kind of scary how you just looked.”
My hands still. “Tell me, please?”
Her shoulders slump, and after a moment, she sighs.
“The king always drags him away, sometimes for days. He… he comes back hurt, but he never says anything to anyone except maybe Kaldar and Calian.”
I bite my lip and then nod.
“Is it really bad?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen it. It’s only bits and pieces I’ve heard from Calian, and even then, I was eavesdropping.”
I look down at the stitching I’ve done, running a finger over it.
“Okay,” I say, standing.
“Alara, it will do no good,” Tofa warns me.
“I don’t care.”
I leave the tent, hearing Beau comfort Tofa after she whispers that she shouldn’t have told me.
But she should have.
Because the rose needs her thorns, and I need him.
I walk around the campsite in search of them.
The clan members, usually lively, are all looking more solemn and tired as The Games have gone on. Death hangs over us all like a dark cloud.
The Games have taken so much from them, and will continue to until it ends.
“Hi,” I say to Nora, Melle in her lap, fast asleep. “You okay?”
She nods, but there’s dark circles under her eyes, exhaustion on her face.
“We’re holding up,” she says, stroking a hand over Melle’s blonde hair. “She doesn’t really understand and wants to go home.”
I nod, looking down at her.
“It’s probably best she doesn’t know,” Agnis says, across from her. “Keep that innocence alive as much as possible.”
“I know,” Nora says. “Is there anything I can help with?” she asks.
“No,” I reply. “I’m just looking for Kaldar.”
“I haven’t seen him yet.”
I nod. “Give her a hug from me when she wakes up?”
Nora smiles down at Melle and nods.
I continue through our section, helping some of the older members with some chores until I reach Bellamy’s tent.
“Have you seen Kaldar?”
He looks up from where he’s sharpening a dagger on his knee, shaking his head. “I haven’t this morning. How are the daggers holding up?” he nods at the one on my hip, the one Rohan makes me keep on me at all times.
“It’s great, lightweight and fits perfectly in my hand.”
“If it gets dull, come to me, yeah?”
I don’t ever intend to use it unless I have to, but I say “Of course,” before moving on.
I make my way around the edges of camp until I finally spot them huddled together.
His council.
I stop short, wondering if I should interrupt, but this is about Rohan.
“When will he be back?” I ask, and they all turn to look at me, startled.
“Damn quiet elf feet,” Calian mutters, running a hand down his face.
Dorkin pushes his glasses up his nose, eyeing me warily. We haven’t spoken as much as everyone else, but he has eyes everywhere, he has to know.
“What’s going on?” I demand, standing as tall as I can.
They all look at each other, Kaldar, Adora, Calian, Dorkin.
“She should know,” Adora says.
“It will do no good,” Calian replies, just like Tofa did.
My anger flares.
“Will someone tell me, now!” I snap, heart hammering.
They all look at me, eyes wide and I take a deep breath.
“Please?”
Kaldar sighs. “The king likes to play other types of games with Rohan, I imagine this is one of those times.”
My heart hammers. “Like what?”
“Torture, mental more than physical, usually.”
I swallow, nausea rising. “He… he tortures him?” I croak. “Every year at The Games?”
“He loves to have power over him,” Kaldar says sadly.
“And no one stops it?”
“How can we?” Calian frowns. “We’re all fucked here, Short Stack, do you think we like that it happens?”
“Of course not,” I say softly, my anger deflating.
“We would stop it in a heartbeat if we could,” Adora says, folding her arms, and I nod.
“Of course, I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”
“We all are,” Calian says. “We’ve been through this more times than we care to remember.” He runs a hand down his face. “Just be here when he returns.”
“It’s the best thing we can all do for him, and don’t take it personally if he snaps at you.” Kaldar hedges.
“He goes through a lot,” Dorkin mutters, scratching his cheek.
“Okay,” I say, scared and unsure. “I’ll wait for him.”
I leave them, walking down to see the dragons in need of comfort. My mind cycles through everything on the way.
While we’re here, relatively safe, Rohan is at the castle being tortured.
Is it just like it was for me?
My stomach turns at the thought. My wounds are nearly fully healed, nothing more than a lingering ache in their place, but some things take longer.
I reach up and touch my hair. The braid I put in it this morning doesn’t compare to Rohan’s, and it makes me miss him even more.
If he’s being hurt, he doesn’t have elven blood running through his veins like I do, he doesn’t heal like I do.
I turn to look at the castle in the distance, and my heart yearns for him to be here. So I can look upon the mighty Dragonbond and know he’s okay.
I go to the already opened gate to the dragons, glancing at the guards tracking my every move from above.
I walk the path toward them, and I greet them as usual, not looking at Alter’s empty cage.
If I look at it, the grief will swallow me whole.
“Hi,” I say to Solia, stroking her warm scales.
She rumbles, looking behind me to see if Rohan is here.
“I know,” I say, humming. “I want him back, too.”
I continue my greeting, stroking each one. They’re exhausted, the muzzles digging into them even more.
“I hope we can get out of here soon,” I say, scratching under Hakkon’s ear.
A purr sounds, and I go to Escor, his eyes are sad.
“I know,” I say, stroking him as my gaze goes to Drogonah. He’s looking at the gate’s entrance, his eyes never straying, body tense. “He’s okay, isn’t he?” I ask him, and his purple eye flicks to me before looking away, growling. “Drogonah…”
He growls, lip peeling back.
“I’m worried too.”
He relaxes a little at that, but remains vigilant, still waiting for his Dragonbond.
Escor whines, laying down, head on his front feet.
I reach through the bars and rest my hand on him.
“You are doing so well,” I tell him, and he brings his tail forward.
He’s still so young to me, and he’s never been in The Games before.
“We’ll be home before we know it,” I begin, throat tightening.
“And we can all go back to the cave, collect stones and make new beds.” I look over at Drogonah, who’s now looking at me.
“And I can pester you to heat stones.” I smile at him, but it’s wobbly.
“And we can have our usual standoff until I have to ask someone else to heat them. Won’t we? ”
The words crack at the end, and Drogonah, strong and mighty, purrs softly to me for the first time ever.
I nod, turning back to Escor whose eyes are now closed.
I spend more time with them, needing their comfort. Then suddenly, a feeling of intense worry, more than normal, washes over me.
I frown. “I’ll be back,” I tell Drogonah, and he peels an eye open at me, watching me leave.
I follow the emotion through Highwing’s dragons, greeting Celeste gently before I eventually hit the threshold where Karag’s dragons are watching me warily.
I pause there, wondering if I should cross over into his territory.
Karag has disliked me since he first set eyes upon me in The Graveyard, and I remember Rohan’s warning to run when he’s near. But he may not even be here anyway and that feeling…
I take small steps, feeling like the trespasser that I am, and look at the dragons in the cages, mostly sleeping.
He has an array of them, like most clans, but there is an air to these ones that I’m not quite sure how to describe.
I round a cage, my heart thumping almost painfully when I come to a larger red one. It’s the same one that was at Karag’s back in The Graveyard. Vali.
And his yellow eyes are staring right at me.
I still like a rabbit within the range of a wolf.
I don’t say a word, trying to work out the emotions running through me.
It’s like sludge… all spilled into one and I can’t distinguish a single one.
I take a breath and begin to hum, hesitant and soft as I walk toward him.
His eyes track me, head on the cold floor of the cell, and for a moment, I wonder why he’s not using his tail to rest upon like I’ve seen Blackscale’s do.
I’m a single step away from the bars when Vali lifts his head, his warm breath blowing the loose strands of my hair away from my face.
I look at the muzzle, the bars of the cage, knowing he can’t breathe fire.
I keep my hum soft, and I hesitantly lift a hand to the bar.
He flinches, moving his head back, and I pause, frowning.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, confused by his reaction. “I won’t hurt you. I wouldn’t even know how.”
I hope he can feel the truth of that, the sadness it causes me even thinking about something that would harm him.
He seems to relax a little, smoke coming from his nostrils
“Tell me what’s wrong?” I ask, my other hand now on the bars.
I try to sift through the emotions, trying to pinpoint one.
Rumble.
“You’re scared… But it’s more than just being in this pen.” I shake my head. “Why?”
A purr comes from him, so sad, so desperate, so shocking that it steals my breath for a moment.
I begin to reach a hand through the bars, needing to comfort him, when a voice behind me makes my blood run cold.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” she sneers, and I still, my throat tightening.
I turn, putting my back to Vali.