Page 26 of Dreams and Dragon Wings (Clean Fairytales for Adults #2)

The strange weave slams home, flinging Bene backward. Straight into me. Knocking me back to the ground. Into the mud. But it is not the weight of a grown man collapsing atop me that knocks the air from my lungs.

It is the sensation that comes after:

That of our bond snapping. My soul quieting. My mind growing still.

Dark. Empty.

“Bene!” I scream, hoarse, frantic. But he doesn’t answer me. I search for the silver thread that once bound us together, but it is gone.

My hands claw at his shoulders, rolling him off me and onto his back. Nearby, Brisa and Glorana lie motionless. But I barely see them through the rain. Through my tears. All I can see is Bene.

Bene with his glassy eyes and his unseeing stare. Bene with the slowly dimming Corona Ignis still on his brow. The Corona Ignis that finally winks out while I watch, becoming nothing more than a gold circlet once more.

No .

I can’t think.

I can’t breathe.

“Bene!” I scream again, shaking him, desperately trying to wake him. But it’s no use. His eyes do not blink. His body does not move.

No . Please, no. He can’t be dead.

It can’t end. Not like this.

The storm abruptly stops. Lightning no longer flashes overhead. Thunder no longer booms. But still, the rain falls— pattering against my bowed head and shaking hands in a gentle drizzle.

As if the Great Weaver weeps with me.

From far away, I am aware of the great gates of Spindleton creaking open. I am aware of hoofbeats sounding on the sodden road leading out of the capital city. I am aware of Friedemar and his soldiers drawing to a halt.

But I do not care. Nothing matters anymore.

Let these men rip each other apart, warring over me if that is their wish.

The only man I have ever loved is dead.

Bene . My hands cup his cheeks, stroking the still-warm skin. I’m sorry.

The Aether wraps around me, holding me steady, as the first sob breaks from my throat.

I should have done something.

? You did your best. ?

But was I not his Therya’kai ? He died, suffering. He died in pain.

I should have been able to share that pain.

I should have been able to ease his burden.

? You are untrained in these matters. ?

Anger suddenly wells within me—a conflagration I can’t stop. And where were you? I mentally shout at the Aether. You are his god . Where were you when Bene needed you most?

The answer comes immediately, blooming in my heart with a warmth so at odds with my own cold fury. Where I want to rage, the Aether is gentle. Where I want to hate the Great Weaver for letting Bene die, He is still loving.

? I am here. ?

Boots thump against the wet ground, luring my attention upward. Friedemar is here. Friedemar, with his strange sword and his dark smile.

Instinctively, I hunch over Bene’s body. My arms wrap around his head and cradle him against my chest. I will let no one touch his body. I will let no one desecrate it.

Before the King of Briarhold can take another step, the stranger smoothly slinks between us. Friedemar blanches and shrinks back, his hand falling to the hilt of the magical sword sheathed at his hip.

“Lord Malice. You… you are here. At last.”

Malice . Bene’s uncle.

The one who cursed our fate. The one responsible for keeping Bene from me all these years. The one who made Bene suffer to the very end.

Hate sweeps through me like a rising tide as I glare up at the back of Malice’s head. I hope Friedemar kills him with that blade of his. I hope the Great Weaver strikes him dead .

Air wraps around Friedemar’s throat, lifting him clean off his feet. My hope turns to ash as I watch the King of Briarhold choke on nothing and claw at his neck, trying to pry the threads free.

Malice speaks—calm, cool. “You were supposed to contact me the moment you were aware of the Jewel. You were supposed to bind her for me. You were supposed to”—the threads tighten with a twitch of his fingers—“ take care of Benevolence.”

Friedemar shudders but does not answer. His feet kick at empty air, fighting for purchase.

Just when his struggling slows, just when a final breath rattles from Friedemar’s lungs, Malice relents. The Air dissolves. Friedemar collapses to the ground, panting, whimpering.

“Please,” he begs. “Forgive me. Spare me. I meant no disrespect.”

Malice’s disgust audibly drips from his words when he whispers, “No. You merely meant to keep the Jewel for yourself. You who are not even worth the effort of killing. You who are unfit to carry a Theryn’Crae . You who are unfit to even look upon the last living Jewel.”

I tighten my hold on Bene’s form as Malice booms into the night, “From this moment forward, you will no longer be able to see the Jewel, nor hear the Jewel, nor smell the Jewel.” Threads of Mind and Spirit weave together, accompanying his words, wrapping around Friedemar’s body in flashes of silver and gold.

“Even if she stands before you, she will not exist to your eyes. Even if she speaks to you, you will be deaf to her.”

Just as Malice’s weave pulls tight, snapping into place, just as he rips free from Friedemar’s waist the magic-wreathed sword, I feel something stir against my collarbone where Bene’s head rests. Something warm. Faint.

Breath .

A small flame of hope sputters back to life in my heart. Can it be? Is Bene… alive?

Or is it all in my head?

Swaths of Air suddenly wend about my torso, wrenching me away from my dragon king’s limp form, prying us apart. As if Malice has any right at all to touch me.

As if he has any right at all to separate me from my Theryn’kai .

“No!” I scream again, horrified when Bene, Brisa, and Glorana suddenly blink out of existence.

Gone.

They are simply… gone .

I have no strategy. No plan.

I am but a creature of desperate instinct, thrashing against Malice’s weave, fighting with every ounce of my strength. I scream like a woman possessed. I fight until my muscles give out. I struggle until the very moment Malice shifts into a great black dragon and captures me within his claws.

Yet again, I am a prisoner.

Yet again, no onlooker comes to my aid.

Horses and soldiers alike scream in terror as Malice takes to the skies, a warning roar thundering from his throat. Magic shimmers all around me, taunting me with my inability to wield it. To save myself. To save Bene.

Bene, who might very well still be alive. Somewhere .

I reach for threads of Air with my mind and imagine using them to pry Malice’s claws from around my waist. I grasp for threads of Fire. Water. Spirit. Anything .

But it is no use. No matter what I do, no matter what anyone says about how important I’m supposed to be, I just… can’t . I can’t weave. I can’t escape.

Not as Malice flies me far beyond the twinkling lights of Spindleton—far from my mother, my father, Lord Reggie. Far from all I’ve ever known.

And straight into the heart of Drakara.