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11
We flew in formation through the night on our way back to the woodlands. There, we would reunite with Harper, Penelope, Elijah and Arlo, who had left with prisoners before the battle began. The land riders would also meet us there with provisions that included clothes, food, water, and healing remedies to treat any injuries among the rescued people.
Luckily, Kingston inspected Nikau’s injury, concluding that the short sword had sliced his side open, but hadn’t actually punctured any major organs. He would survive as long as we got him help soon. In the meantime, he wrapped the wound with the leather band he always carried around the handle of his spear—helping to control the bleeding.
Nikau slept most of the way as we smoothly glided through the underground tunnels. Asher and Evie napped for maybe a couple of hours on Luna’s back, after Kingston ordered us all to take the rest we could. He, too, dozed off for a while.
I didn’t close a single eye. I was still startled from everything that had occurred. Too rattled after witnessing the Warlock King’s true power. The way he halted the battle with a single snap of his fingers—like hitting the pause button on your TV remote. How he froze not only his army, but our three Dragons, then entered my thoughts within a fraction of a second, creating a completely different and tangible reality within my mind…
No explanation occurred to me for how I’d been able to fight back, cutting him with Harrison’s dagger while being in the mind meld. Raithian had captured me in some alternate, “thought world”, while our bodies remained below us. However, I felt every excruciating second of his torture while he attempted to uncover my past, stealing my memories. His wrist felt real in my grip, the dagger cool and precise when I sliced his skin—an injury that appeared on his real body.
And then, there was the shock in his voice when he saw my hand.“Where did you get that ring?!”
My attention dropped to my left hand that rested over Tharion’s scales, observing the perpetual soft glow of the Dragon ring around my finger. My muscles still tingled with the lightning-like force that had coursed through my being, helping me break free. The connection was still there.
Closing my eyes, I visualized the spider web, anchoring me to its center. Like the first time I had imagined it, silver threads glimmered with a blue hue, stretching in every direction towards me. Most of them were dim, fading into the shadows while representing Vyper, Draco, the bronze baby I still had to name, and a few other Dragons I had interacted with in the honeycombs. Those were dormant, far from me, and unable to influence me.
Tharion’s was the strongest one of them all, because he had bonded with me, and I currently sat on his neck—flying. His robust energy throbbed along the silver thread, shimmering a blue so bright that it seemed to illuminate my entire psyche. However, his wasn’t the only radiant one among the connections. A thread that hadn’t been there before, glowed so fiercely that it matched Tharion’s.
Except, unlike his, the glow wasn’t permanent. It came and went, pulsing like a beating heart, or maybe even a radar, its glimmer moving along the length of the thread getting closer and closer.
Before I could make anything of it, Luna, Spartan, and Tharion began to descend. I focused on the present, to find bonfires flickering ahead of us, signaling to a very spacious clearing among the forest. Fulgur, Athina, Spike, Ember, and Alkor, laid on the fresh soil, creating a protection perimeter against the trees, while hundreds of the slaves we had rescued sat among them in groups. Saithar also sat along the perimeter.
The horses were the next thing I spotted, just as Tharion’s hind legs touched the ground, and he lowered himself, wing extending for me to get off him. Subtle. Jumping over the membrane a few times, I reached the earth, turning to find Evie being lowered to the ground on the talon of Luna’s wing. She looked like a true queen when Luna did that. To be fair, she always looked like one, but that was one of those bad-ass queen things she got to do.
“Hey, are you okay?” Asher’s hand gripped my shoulder, pulling my attention away from Evie.
“Yeah, fine.”
Concern furrowed his brow, he didn’t believe me one bit. “The first time we kill can be… difficult.”
The words shook me, reminding me of something my mind had conveniently pushed aside, among everything else that happened last night. My gaze dropped to my father’s sword on my hip—still stained with blood.
“I’m fine,” I snapped. I wasn’t really mad at him, it was just too much to process all at once.
“Okay, if you want to talk…”
“I don’t.” The muscles along my jaw clenched, and I looked beyond him to a vast river that cut through forest. I didn’t want to think about that right now. Probably ever.
“Sure.” He nodded. “I’m going to get some water and something to eat.”
“Cool…”
Sighing, he respected my need to be alone, and walked towards Harrison, Finn, Hanna, and the other land riders, who had set up a cooking station over a few of the bonfires. They seemed busy preparing soups and roasting two large animals that looked like wild boars from where I stood.
Free of their riders, Luna and Spartan advanced towards the perimeter, lying next to the rest of the Dragons to sleep. The trip alone was taxing, I couldn’t even imagine how much the ordeal they endured at the Crimson Fortress had drained them too. My antisocial Dragon, however, moved towards the river, apparently wanting nothing to do with the others.
For once, I agreed with him.
Walking to the edge of the river, I sat on one of the rocks, watching Tharion drink from it and splash some water over his body with his wing. After munching on several fish longer and meatier than my leg, he found a spot smack in the middle of the current, and laid there. A hissing noise rose in the air, steam leaving him when the cold water clashed with his smoldering nature. His eyes closed while the river rushed all around him. He looked like he was enjoying himself.
A small smile reached my lips at the sight, but it soon vanished when I looked down at my sword. Unsheathing it, I immersed it in the water, and began to rub the dried-up blood off the blade, splashing it over and over. The task became almost therapeutic as I focused on nothing else but that. Soak, rub off, splash again.
I wasn’t certain how long I sat there, continuing to wash it long after it was clean. My fingers ran the length of the hilt, rubbing the wing detail along the hand guard but not really appreciating it. The beginning of the blade glimmered when the sun rose in the sky, and my gaze caught something. Inside the golden wings that curled downwards, what looked like two long pieces of glass edged the blade on each side, nestling it together.
At least it looked like glass, because the small rods were heavily scratched and dull, with a white haze marring their surface. Weird. Who put glass on a sword?
“Brax?”
