I run after him, but my pace is slow; the forest is dense, and I find it hard to gauge the distances between the trees. Still, I press on, feeling my way through, guided further by the occasional sound of footsteps or a flash of Reave's dark coat.
When I finally catch up to him, he has a battered, unconscious Arlo in his arms, wrapped up in that coat.
The sight shouldn't stun me, after everything I've just been told. But for a moment, I freeze in place, quietly horrified—because now I can't deny that something awful is happening.
Reave doesn't say a word to me, just hurries back toward the palace.
I follow, staying close to his side, while Sesca soars silently overhead.
Back in the shadows of the palace, a crowd has gathered around the dragon Arlo killed—or what's left of it, anyway. The poison has eaten most of it away, leaving a blackened, half-dissolved pile of bones and flesh that I make a point of not looking at directly.
We sweep wider, avoiding this crowd as best we can. I want to stay stealthy, to slip further into the shadows and find a way to sneak inside, but Reave suddenly draws to a stop. He's looking not just at the people gathered around the dragon corpse, but at another small group of finely dressed figures who are clustered near the closest palace entrance, speaking in low, urgent voices and scanning the grounds.
“Some of our visitors,” he informs me, quietly. “I missedseveral of our agreed-upon meetings after I was distracted…They're wondering where I've gone, I'm sure. Especially after all the commotion.”
I frown as I realize the predicament he's in. “They're going to pounce on you the moment they spot you.”
He looks to the door behind the finely-dressed group, like he's thinking about barreling through and simply ignoring any questions or demands they might make; I can tell he cares far more about taking care of his brother than he does about his political obligations right now.
But I think we both know that ignoring those obligations is only going to make things more difficult in the long run.
“Let me take him,” I hear myself say.
He stares at me, lips parting but no words coming out.
“You don't want them asking questions about Arlo, right?” I continue in a rush. “So I'll take him to his room and hail the doctor while you deal with the things you need to deal with. Make something up about the dead dragon, and about where you've been and how you ended up covered in muck and blood. Tell them you did something heroic. And if anyone asks me about it later, I'll just agree with whatever you told them.”
He says nothing, jaw tight, eyes moving between me and his brother.
“Let me,” I say again, more gently, as I step closer and open my arms to him.
The silence stretches long enough that I think he's going to refuse. But then it happens like a knot worked loose by patient hands; a bit of tension giving way, one string after another slipping free until it finally comes undone all at once.
He relinquishes his hold, transferring Arlo carefully intomy arms, looking slightly dazed afterward—like he's not sure what to do without the weight of his brother anchoring him in place.
“Go on,” I say, nodding him toward the waiting dignitaries.
After a deep breath, his usual confident, stoic mask slides into place. I turn and start to hurry away before he can change his mind.
“Arowyn.”
I pause, glancing over my shoulder.
“Thank you.”
I just nod.
Chapter Thirty-Five
We continue on our separate ways. Sesca takes up a place on one of the palace towers, her gaze on the dead dragon, her tail twitching and her thoughts and emotions guarded. I circle around to a more discrete entrance, slipping in after only a brief conversation with the singular guard posted there.
It’s quiet inside, safe from the wind and rain and gossipy whispers. Arlo is breathing steadily, his expression almost peaceful. But my heart won’t stop racing. It feels like I’m back in the Ashlands, dragons circling overhead, doing all I can to just survive until my next assignment.
One step after the other.
I’ve made it through a lot of jobs by repeating this phrase to myself, and I make it up to Arlo’s room in the same manner. Once there, I continue to focus only on the steps I need to take: summoning servants, making sure the doctor is on the way, and starting to clean Arlo up and make him as comfortable as I can in the meantime.
I’m clinical. Detached. I have to be; I’m afraid that if Iopen my heart even the slightest bit, everything I’ve learned today is going to crash in and drop me to my knees.
