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I make the first thing that comes to mind, a little crimson flower. It vanishes almost as quickly as I make it, my magical energy sinking into Alindra’s body. She places her hands on Rowan’s chest. With a soft click, his chains break down the middle, then fall in a heap around his knees. He turns to her with the ghost of a smile on his bloody lips.
Another round of screams explodes from the dragons in the meadow. Alindra looks up, then pulls in a breath.
“Oh!” she cries.
I turn to see a pair of golden wings beating against the ragged edges of Rowan’s portal. They pull forward, then sink, then beat forward again, and I grit my teeth as the memory of the portal that brought me to Alindra washes over me. For a heartbeat, the golden wings almost disappear entirely. And then they rocket forward.
The golden dragon explodes through the portal and crashes onto the grass. He’s clutching something to his chest. I lean forward as dragon voices clatter all around us.
It’s the dragon woman. She’s in her human form, again, with her red hair spread across his bloody golden scales, but she’s clearly the same dragon who just threw herself at Rensivar and tipped him into Rowan’s portal. Honestly, she’s rather unmistakable in either form. Even with all the blood.
I turn back to my brother.
“Rowan,” I whisper. “Close it now.”
Chapter39
Alindra
EVEN IF IT HURTS
Slowly, the blue flames rising from Rowan’s head thin and fade as Rowan lets go of the magic holding that last portal open. Phaedron helps his brother lie down on the battered pine needles at our feet. Rowan’s skin is so pale I can trace the delicate, twisting paths of his blood vessels, but stars, I don’t care for the blotchy red flush spreading across his cheeks. Or the heat rising from his skin.
Behind us, dragons are shouting again. I glance through the trees. The golden dragon who just flew out of Rowan’s portal comes slowly to his feet. Behind him, the ground has closed over the place that just swallowed Rensivar the Wicked. The last portal Rowan opened is gone, and the mountains around us are far emptier than they were when night fell. The absence of the human army on the other side of the ridge leaves a silence so vast and ringing I feel like it might crush me.
My throat is almost too tight to breathe. Rowan tossed me a piece of portal magic as his father led us into these mountains, something that felt much more familiar and stable than the magic he just used to rip apart solid rock.I have to get back to someone, Rowan said, and I’d promised to help. But now Rowan’s barely conscious, and there’s a fever burning in his cheeks like a signal fire.
Damn it. Healing magic is the trickiest of all; there’s a reason King Grathgore’s healers are guarded almost as closely as his magicians. Still, I have to try. I turn to Phaedron and hold out my hand.
“Magic?” I whisper again.
Phaedron flinches like he’s been hit. His eyes widen, and his hand drops to the hip that no longer holds a sword.
“Hey,” a voice growls from directly above me. “Elves.”
My body goes cold. The illusion! That last little bubble of magic keeping us invisible must have vanished as Varitan fell into whatever world waits on the other side of Rowan’s weaponized portals. Singing stars above, I didn’t even notice when the illusion fell.
“What should I do with ‘em?” the voice asks.
I turn to see a pale red dragon looming above the trees. Her jaw is open, revealing rows and rows of serrated teeth. I try to remember how to breathe as she turns her maw toward us.
Warmth flickers against my palm. Magic. Phaedron’s magic. I pull it into my body, ready to make whatever I can to protect us. A shield, perhaps, like what I used in the canyon in the Barrier Mountains to protect us from Malron’s flames.
The dragon’s mouth opens. Magic hisses and burns just beneath my skin, ready to leap forward.
“Hello,” the dragon says. Her brow wrinkles in what’s almost a frown, as if she isn’t quite sure how to greet us. “We’ve got some questions for you,” she continues. “Uh, politely. Polite questions, I mean.”
I wait for the questions, my heart pulsing in my throat. The dragon’s face wrinkles once more.
“Is he okay?” the dragon asks, tilting her snout at Rowan.
Rowan moans softly. His remaining eye flutters but doesn’t quite manage to open.
“He’ll be fine,” I reply. “If I get a chance to heal him, that is.”
“Oh,” the dragon replies. Her head pulls back, and she swings her jaw from me to Phaedron. “I guess we’ll, uh, ask our questions later, then.”
The dragon twists away, then turns back to us. Behind her, the sky slowly brightens in delicate shades of blue, a gradient that makes me think of soft velvet.
