Page 48 of Court of Embers (Dragonesse #2)

The dragon I loved lay on his stomach, his face turned to the side, as still and pale as marble. His back remained a constellation of open wounds, swarming with Yura’s parasites, reaching for Cryla.

How long did they take to incubate? Would they burst free at any moment, seeking fresh bodies?

But as I drew closer, they wavered like seagrass, then retracted beneath his skin. They sensed what I was, and they feared me.

I would not let him suffer, nor would I allow him to lose this battle and destroy his House. If Rhylan were awake to talk to me now, I knew exactly what he’d ask of me.

“It’s time, then,” I said grimly. “The last resort. Cryla, all of Talariel Eyrie was infected with these, including their Ascendant.”

She swallowed, and in the quiet, I heard her throat working. “Are they—?”

“Dead. All of them. The House of Undying Light is extinguished. But Emei feared us, Cryla. Kirana and myself. Our Naga blood drove her away.”

She set her lips, and I exhaled. “Myst. Erebos.”

The Ascendants melted from the shadows.

“We felt her death,” Myst said softly. “Sera, we do not know—”

“No, we don’t. But it’s better than this.

Rhylan would rather live as a dragon than risk his people.

He’d rather die than let Jhazra fall. It’s worth the risk.

The only question is, should we use my blood, or yours?

Emei feared us, but only because we’d drunk the blood from the source.

Is my blood strong enough to kill these? ”

Myst exhaled, and Erebos slowly shook his head, then nodded. “Possibly, child. This…is something I have never seen before. But if she feared you, perhaps it is the way.”

“And if mine doesn’t work, will you lend yours?” I asked evenly, meeting their eyes squarely. I was no longer hesitant.

They had torn the world open, and they had allowed the world to remain cracked and scarred, the tiniest keyhole for Ustrael to slip through. The dragons had done this, and though the world could never be made whole, they could damn well offer their blood to help fix this.

Erebos swam through the air, no larger than a dog, though the air moved around me as though a much larger mass had displaced it. “If yours fails, I will tend to my child. The blood is strong in him already, this scion of mine. If we are very fortunate, it will not be taken as an invader.”

I licked my dry lips as Cryla handed me a small, neat blade, so polished and smooth it looked brand new. “What if we don’t feed it to him? What if we try something else first? Cryla, hand me that glass there, please?”

She gave me a sidelong glance, but obeyed. At any other time, I might’ve felt guilty for stepping on a healer’s toes. But this wasn’t healing; it was brute force, fighting fire with fire.

And he was my mate, so it fell to my hands to do it. If he died, it would be because of me, no one else.

I cut my inner arm, filling the small glass with my own thick blood, and put the knife aside. Then I looked down at Rhylan, the moment I dreaded finally here.

The cup in my hands could spell failure. Or his eternal damnation as a full dragon, more beast than man. Either way, our bond would be shattered, and the pillar I leaned on would crumble to nothing.

I was not the only one who would lose him. All of his people would mourn, and his House would be reduced to one, the weight falling on Kirana’s shoulders to continue their line.

Or…there was the thinnest sliver of a chance that my Naga blood would burn the parasites away. Emei had not feared us for nothing.

Rhylan could walk away from this unscathed.

I gripped the cup. My hands would’ve been damp with sweat, if not for the coolness of my scales. “I want those maids off this floor and everyone in the eyrie prepared to evacuate. Cryla, start moving them down. The Horde dragonships should be able to take everyone.”

The healer was no fool; she didn’t argue, merely inclined her head and hurried to the hall. I heard her snapping out orders to the Bloodless women, their voices fading.

I allowed fifteen minutes to pass. Time enough for the Bloodless to descend to the valley floor, where the dragonships would carry them to safety in the event of failure.

I looked up at Myst. “If the worst happens…don’t let us live. Bring the eyrie down on our heads if you must, but don’t allow us to spread it.”

In a strange way, I was both fortified and nauseated at my Ascendant’s solemn acquiescence. But the knowledge that she would destroy me, rather than allow me to walk the earth as Yura’s puppet, was a comfort.

I looked down at Rhylan again, and finally dared to sit near him. The parasites feared my Naga blood and flesh; they would find no hospitable home in my body.

But still , my mind whispered. So I remained out of touching distance, and extended the cup.

I tilted it slowly, pouring a few precious drops into the uppermost wound, that reddened circle in his flesh. It steamed as it hit him, fire meeting fevered skin.

For a few painful seconds, nothing happened. I bit my lip, tasting blood under my sharp teeth, and prepared to try the riskier path. I would risk it all for him.

But Rhylan jerked, a mindless, unthinking motion, and the parasites burst forth, thrashing frantically.

They crawled from him, wriggling black worms, and my stomach flipped over, threatening to spew everywhere. It was only the fact that they shriveled and died, right there on the sheets, that kept my guts in place.

No wonder poor Mykah had vomited. She’d seen worse things than this.

But my blood, the blood of a Naga, was killing them.

Swallowing hard, my mouth watering, I poured the rest of my blood over Rhylan’s back, filling each one of those holes with the gift of life and fire and praying as the parasites slithered from him, evacuating their nest only to die.

When the last had gone still, I dared to touch him, grasping his ankles and dragging him from the bed, away from the dead parasites. I rolled him over, checking every single inch of his body for any signs of infestation.

But he was clean, the wounds on his back still open, but no longer raw and infected-looking. The blood was steaming, but it was cleansing the flesh, repairing it even as I watched, reknitting those wounds into benign scars.

“Oh, thank the gods.” I knelt next to him, stroking his hair back from his sweat-pearled face, my shoulders slumped with a relief so heavy I wanted to collapse. “Thank you, Dyad, Daughters. Thank you.”

But he hadn’t woken up. I cupped his cheek, running my thumb along his black-scaled cheekbone.

Rhylan , I said. Are you with me again?

He didn’t answer.

I didn’t know how long I stayed there on my knees, the light in the room wavering from the bright gold of day to the blue-painted shades of dusk. Speaking to a dragon who might’ve been dead, for all the signs of life he gave.

I didn’t stop speaking, begging him to live, to wake, until the light had gone entirely, the room lit only by the glowing coals of the fire.

Sera?

He sounded exhausted, the two syllables of my name plinking into my mind like droplets in a pond.

Rhylan!

His eyes cracked open the thinnest sliver, revealing the blue that was painfully bright against his pale skin. I’m still alive. I’m still with you.

He twined a hand around mine, fingers weak, and I gripped him so hard not even a dragon could separate us.

I’m with you , I told him, kissing his cold lips. I’m here. Sleep now.

He lived, and that was all that mattered to me. Rhylan slipped into a true, healing sleep, and I remained at his side, guarding him with my life.