More than a dozen soldiers close in around it. They go for its tail, initially—the only appendage it still seems to be able to control with precision and strength. Two men hold that tail down, keeping it from lashing out, while others tie its legs together and drape thick netting around its flailing wings.
I hear Briar shouting, and I catch a glimpse of them ripping her from her horse's saddle. Before I can truly turntoward her, someone grabs me from behind, locking an arm around my neck and jerking me off-balance. Two others converge to help, one of them wrenching my arms behind my back, the other swiftly binding them together with rough, thick rope.
There are too many surrounding me.
The pain in my knee is too much, every involuntary twist and stumble excruciating to the point of dizziness.
The dragon lets out a low, mournful sound. I feel it watching me, even with all the chaos between us. Like I’m all it can focus on, even as its own body is being beaten down and roughly bound, and despite the severity of its own wounds. The blood around it is pooling so deeply that some of the soldiers are having a difficult time keeping their footing in it.
Why are you concerned about me?I wonder, dully.Why don’t you save yourself?
Heat flares once more in my chest, followed by a sensation of falling, of sinking into warm darkness.
I close my eyes and think of nothing else for a very long time.
We ridewest for three hours, at least.
The wagon they've thrown Briar and me into feels like it has four uneven wheels, judging by the way it violently bumps and jostles us about; by the time we finally stop to set up camp for the night, I've probably gained several more impressive bruises to go along with the ones on my injured leg.
We're pushed and prodded out of the wagon like cattlebeing driven out to pasture. As my sight adjusts to the dark woods surrounding us, I spot Garnet being pulled toward a larger group of horses. It's taking two strong-looking soldiers to move her along, while a third warily observes.
She must have followed us, only to be wrangled by our enemies along with Briar's horse. Her eyes are terrified, nearly bulging from her skull. I hate that I can't rush to her side to soothe her. But at least she's alive. At least she's still here.
I keep repeating the Burn’s stubborn mantra to myself, over and over.
Still here, still here, still here.
It's the only way I manage to keep moving.
Briar and I are marched to a thick post that's been driven into the ground, close to one of the most elaborate tents being pitched—the dwelling of the commanding officer, I assume. Our backs are pressed against this post, hands tied behind us.
We're given no food. No water. A guard takes up a position between us and the commander's tent. His gaze darts toward us frequently, daring us to try and make a move. In his hand is a nasty looking weapon; a whip with three sharp prongs at its tip.
Our own weapons have been taken, of course. A sharp, poignant anguish stabs through me as I realize there’s a good chance they’ve carelessly tossed aside my mother’s sword—that I may never see it again.
Just another loss to add to the pile.
The dragon is bound nearby, heavy-looking chains weighing its head and neck down. Some sort of metal contraptions have been fastened over its claws, rendering them useless. Thick netting remains draped over its wings,cinched in at the bottom, pressing the two appendages together into a crumpled, bloody mess once more.
It keeps trying to catch my eye.
I keep looking away.
Briar is uncharacteristically quiet for a long time—nearly an hour—before she finally says, “We'll get out of this, don't worry.”
I can't find it in my heart to agree, so I don't speak.
“Marta will have sounded the alarm by now,” she insists, her voice hushed and urgent. “You know how she is, panicking the moment we don't show up when we said we would. She'll arrange help for us.”
“Who will come?” I fight to keep my voice steady. “I don'twantanyone to come; the Burn can't spare any extra bodies for a rescue mission of this magnitude. They'd just get themselves killed.”And we're running out of room in our memorial garden.
“…You have a point, I guess.” Briar blows out a breath, followed by a weak laugh. “And we clearly have everything under control here, so who needs 'em, eh?”
Silence falls over us, heavy as the chains holding the dragon's head against the dirt.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “You're right. We'll figure something out. We always do.”
She nods, but her frown doesn't budge.
