Within less than a minute, Fhord’s diversion echoes through the valley around us. The trainer whips his head up, his eyes alert and searching. Turning, he whispers a command of some kind to the dragon, then stalks to a bag strapped to the saddle and pulls out a thick metal pole. I feel a hint of power as he stabs it through a link in the chain and into the ground, pulling the beast’s chin down.
The dragon’s pain in this position drowns out every other sense. His wings are drawn tight, the contraption that holds them digging even more deeply into every pressure point. He can’t move. He can barely think. Which is exactly the intent. The dragon can’t do anything until the trainer returns and frees him.
The trainer strides off in search of whatever has dared enter this area, and I slip from behind the bush toward the dragon. Resting my hands on his snout, I whisper my apology for leaving him in such agony. I can’t free him yet. The trainer can’t know I’m here until he gets close enough to kill.
The dragon’s response soothes my guilt. He knows. And he’s patient. He’ll suffer what he must to escape this chain and the torture instrument at his back. My heart rate slows as an unexpected calm washes over me. My fingers are loose as they reach for the knives at my belt. I’m exactly where I should be, doing what I must.
I don’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes, the trainer is stomping back toward us, angry at the interruption he couldn’t identify. I back away to hide on the dragon’s side, waiting until the male is close enough to attack. Inhaling slowly and silently, I check the blanket I’ve erected around my psyche, making sure no hint of my presence will seep out.
He turns his back to me as he reaches for the rod holding the dragon’s chain. And I smile. My knife is around his throat before he knows I’m here, its edge drawing a trickle of blood.
But this male is not so easy to kill.
Throwing his head back directly into my nose—the pain echoing through me—he flings himself away, breaking free of my hold. I sense the initial push of his psyche as he calls for help, but before he can send out more than a word or two, my blade is at his throat.
He focuses again on the physical threat, reaching for my wrist to try to whip me around and into his back. Before he can, I spin away, wresting my arm free as I dance back a few feet.
“You dare to enter these grounds?” he demands in a harsh voice. “To interfere with my training? Your life is mine. Lay down your knife and your death will be quick.”
“I’m here to take your life,” I sneer at him. “This dragon has suffered too much. You’ll pay for all you’ve done to him.”
His eyes grow wide as he somehow senses the true me. “An elf,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “Now your death is certain. The Dróttning will reward me when I carry your lifeless body to her.”
I feel his power shift, as if he knows my weaknesses. If I don’t kill him now, he’ll win. And the dragon will be bound forever. Already, though, my energy is draining from me. My thoughts can’t reach him. My arms grow heavy, the knives I hold anchors weighing them down. I drop to my knees, defenseless against the unexpected power this man wields.
The trainer moves toward me, his lips tipping up in a grin full of malice and hate. When I see the medallion he holds, pinned to his coat—a design I recognize from the prisons—I understand. He’s prepared to meet and subdue an elf, unlikely as it seems. He carries one of the amulets imbued by the Dróttning with the magic she uses to control elves. I never found a defense against them. They can cause pain or this weakness he’s chosen to use on me. I steel myself for the agony that inevitably follows.
But then the dragon shifts, ever so slightly. I feel his torment as he breaks the trainer’s grip on the medallion, the damage he causes his wings by that little movement nearly dropping him to the ground. It’s what we both need to escape, though.
The trainer grasps for the amulet but it’s too late. Before his fingers reach it, my knife is flying through the air toward his heart. It rips through the leather on his chest like a blade through butter. A heavy moan echoes around us as he drops to the ground, dead before he reaches it.
I turn to find the dragon’s eyes full of anguish. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I moved too slowly. I should have taken his life the first time my knife touched his throat.”
Lurching to my feet, I reach out for the rod pinned through his chain. It takes three yanks to pull it from the ground but I finally manage to wrestle it free. Tossing it aside, I turn to the metal wrapped around his wings.
“Gods,” I whisper as his agony wraps around me. He’s trying to hold it back, to protect me from his pain, but it grips him too tightly. He can’t think past it. “I don’t know how to get this off of you.” My ribs constrict as a wave of helplessness washes over me.
But I can get the harness off, and that will help. Maybe he can relieve some of the pressure on his wings if he’s not weighed down by the chain. My fingers are reaching for the links along his cheek when I feel Fhord’s hands rest on mine.
“Let me help you with this,” he tells me. “I know how to remove it.”
“Thank the gods,” I respond with a groan that’s more a sob than anything else. “Because I have no idea what to do right now.”
And then I turn to look at Fhord, my heart breaking at what I see. His features are blank, not a hint of light in his eyes. He’s given up, resigned to the fact that this thing between us is even more impossible now.
I made myself an outcast, expanding the already insurmountable barrier between us.
But we both knew it would happen. This always was temporary.
That doesn’t make it any less tragic.
We spend nearly ten minutes removing all the metal from the dragon’s snout and wings. I can feel his torment with every tug, pull and push. He doesn’t let out a single sound, though, as he suffers through it. Instead, he watches us with quiet gratitude, his gaze finding mine every chance he gets. The spark of life in his eyes grows with each inch of him we free.
Finally, Fhord and I fling the final piece of metal as far away from the dragon as we can. Our eyes meet for a moment, but nothing’s changed. Resignation still wraps around every emotion. We’ll get someplace safe and then we’ll go our separate ways.
And so I shift my thoughts to the dragon and his relief. Bone-numbing, deep in his veins, dominating each sensation whispering or galloping through him. Overwhelming relief.
He’s also achingly tired, this episode of torture having lasted long days without any sleep or food. But he’ll follow us where he must before he collapses.
