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“You’re not dying,” I shout, furious at him for some reason.

Shaking, I crouch down next to him and find his dragon whistle.I pull it out and blow with all the air in my lungs, and a high-pitched screech rends the air.

Nivene finishes off the last knight, and as she does, a loud roar rumbles over the horizon. The rhythmic beat of wings pulses in the air. I peer over the parapet to see Tarasque soaring toward us. Blood streaks from her body, and one of her wings is ragged and torn.

She’ll never be able to carry us back to Brocéliande, but she lands on the tower with a boom. I feel as if the whole tower is compressing under her weight.

I pull Talan close against me.

“Help me,” I shout to Nivene. “We need Raphael’s healing magic. He’s dying.”

Nivene rushes to my side. “Raphael been hit in the head—the flat of a blade, but still hard. He’s incoherent.”

Talan meets my gaze, and the fading look in his eye wrecks me. I can’t breathe. The world is going dark, turning to ash.

“Help me get him on the dragon.” My voice sounds wild, panicked, but an idea has sparked in my mind. “Talan, can you walk?”

“Of course I can fucking walk,” he mutters, but he doesn’t sound convincing.

Nivene and I help him up, his arms slung over our shoulders as we half-carry him toward Tarasque. She watches us with narrowed metallic eyes. She’s suspicious, but after a moment, she lowers her neck for him. Talan climbs on her back, swaying, and I slide up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist to steady him. I take care not to press against his wound.

As we settle onto her back, Nivene pulls out the vials and sets them carefully on top of a stone merlon. Then she backs away rapidly, muttering, “Burn that shit, will you?”

I glance at Raphael. He’s still clutching his head. “Take care of him, will you?”

She nods. “Of course.”

I lean in closer to Talan, heart hammering. “Talan? Can you tell Tarasque to burn the vials?”

He exhales a ragged breath, then rasps the command.

Tarasque raises her head with a low growl. Fire engulfs the vials, boiling the liquid for a few moments. The glass shatters, and the liquid sizzles and evaporates, its threat extinguished by the flash of blistering heat. Steam hisses into the air, rising in harmless tendrils.

I exhale in relief and hold tightly to Talan. “Will you be able to stay on?” I ask.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “but Tarasque is too hurt, Nia. She won’t get far.”

I press my face against his back, breathing in the beautiful, familiar scent of him. I can hear his heart beating through his back, and I never want it to stop. “That’s okay. We don’t need to go far. I have a place. Somewhere safe.”

At his command, Tarasque rises into the air and glides over the still waters of Lake Avalon.

And as Talan slumps against me, barely conscious, all I can do is thank the gods I spent one storm-wracked day learning to fly her on my own.

CHAPTER 55

The wind lashes at us as we soar, icy and sharp against my skin, but I barely feel it. I’ve led us straight through the mystical veil toward Avalon.

The shadowed castle rises through the fog ahead, looming like a half-remembered dream.

Talan slumps in front of me. I cling to him tightly, trying to keep him upright. He’s slipping in and out of consciousness. His head rests back against my shoulder.

“Can I help you find a book?” he mumbles in English, his voice soft.

He’s echoing phrases from my old life, which makes my heart splinter. I am in his head, always.

His blood has soaked through his clothes. It’s warm against my hands, and the fear inside me is sharp and wild, thorns that scrape inside my skull.

Up ahead, Avalon takes shape in the mist, and my heart races.