AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After burying Eliya inside the crypts beneath the cathedral, I return home. Since I used the very last of my magic to blow her coffin through the tunnels, I have none left to teleport back to my manor. Instead, I walk through the empty streets and stumble over the debris. Stone grinds beneath my heels. Several times, I lose my balance and my father’s staff escapes my grasp. Every muscle aches as I bend to retrieve it.
I pass no one. Not even at the Arcanium, where so many gathered to battle the undead. There’s no sign of anyone. Only blood and ash and streams of rubble.
The necromancers killed everyone, raised them all from the dead. Even the birds are absent. I don’t know whether they flew from the horrors of last night, or whether they also fell victim to the hordes of undead.
I barely recognize where I’m walking, but my legs—weary though they are—remember the way and carry me home.
My manor’s gates are as I left them, flung aside now that the Aether Tower is disabled and their enchantment is broken. The gardens are ravaged. Flowers are pulled from their roots and half the fountain is smashed apart. Water gushes across the stone path and swamps the surrounding grass.
The doors of my manor are also wide open, and one of the golden lion knockers has fallen off. It lies discarded on the lowermost stone step.
Arluin must have blasted through my manor in search of me, and he might still be here, awaiting my return. I should feel panicked by that thought, but I am too fatigued to feel anything. I stand there, hesitating for a long while, wondering whether I should run or haul myself up the stairs and into bed.
Before I can decide, scratching comes from under one of the large, rectangular planters. The trough is upturned, and mud and flowers are spilled all around it.
I freeze. Instinctively, I try to draw aether, but it fizzles out in my fingers. None remains in my veins to gather the magic in the air.
A low growl rumbles beneath the stone planter. It sounds frail and pained and very much alive. Not undead.
I don’t pause. I rush over to it.
Having no magic left, I am forced to shove the heavy trough with all my might until it topples over and reveals its contents.
Azure scales glitter beneath thick layers of mud. Violet wings beat the dirt away, but one moves slower than the other and jerks back and forth, having been battered by the planter’s stone rim.
“Zephyr!” I exclaim, scraping away the mud.
He doesn’t respond as I lift him from the dirt. His scales are cool beneath my fingers. His usually bright eyes are dull and tired. He blinks once and then lowers his head, sinking into my grasp.
He’s alive, and I’m not entirely alone.
I cradle him to my chest, hunched and trembling.
It is a while before I rise, and when I do, I carry Zephyr in my arms. We climb the stone steps and pass through the bruised doors.
Inside, my manor is as devastated as the gardens. Broken vases and ornaments are scattered through the hallway, along with glass from the shattered windows. The small circular table at the center lies helplessly on its side. All around, my mother’s paintings have fallen still. I pause and gaze at the midnight seascape opposite me, the one that was always her favorite. Though I stare hard, the deep teal waves do not ripple. Neither does the powdery foam crowning their crests bubble.
I continue through the hallway and up the stairs. Shards of glass and pottery crunch on my way.
When I reach my room, I turn the handle slowly, half fearing Arluin or his necromancers are waiting for me behind the door.
But there’s no one inside. The golden brilliance of my rug and curtains and sheets blinds me. I scan my surroundings a second time before fully entering, and I set Zephyr down at the foot of my bed.
He rests his head in his forelegs, and his violet wings fold across his back. The left is crooked and rests at an awkward angle.
“I’ll find you some Blood Balm,” I say. He doesn’t look up at me. I know it isn’t pain alone which causes his unresponsiveness. There’s no sign of our other faerie dragons. Like the citizens of Nolderan, all are gone without a trace.
I rummage through my cabinets until I find a tin of Blood Balm. I return to Zephyr’s side and perch on the edge of the bed, unscrewing the tin’s lid. The scarlet substance glistens in the late noon sun. I dig my fingertips through the sticky contents and paste it across Zephyr’s left wing in thick layers. At first, he flinches but doesn’t shrink away.
When I finish, I screw the lid back on and place the tin onto the square cabinet beside my bed. Zephyr closes his eyes. I turn to the window and stare out at the lifeless streets. The image is distorted by the long crack zig-zagging through the glass. None of my windows are smashed, though. Not like downstairs.
I soon grow tired of gazing at the dead city and slump down onto my bed. My eyes fix onto the decorative ceiling above. But they don’t stay open for long.
The claws of exhaustion drag me into darkness.
Forty-One
Idreamofdeathanddestruction,ofbloodandbone,andofaetherandash.
