Page 19

Chapter eighteen

Sifa

I Will Free Him

H e’s calling to me.

I have no idea how I know it, but I do. While I slept, he found me and started whispering in my dreams. I woke up with his image in my thoughts—the terrible, majestic, tortured dragon I saw earlier in the trip. When I heard his screams, I realized what I had to do.

Fhord tried to stop me. What else would he do? We’re both painfully aware what a bad idea this is. How easily it could go wrong. That even if I succeed, the dragon and I will be outcasts, forever hiding in a land that won’t be nearly big enough. But I couldn’t have stopped myself if I tried. And I didn’t see any reason to try. This is bigger than anything else in my life. Bigger, even, than going home.

When Fhord and I hide behind the bush, I reach out to the beast, caressing him with my thoughts. His response is everything. Relief sits highest atop his emotions, his weary spirit desperate for an end to his torment. Shimmering just below that, though, is anger. Hate. Spite.

Vengeance.

He’s so fucking strong. They’ve tried—the gods know how cruelly and sadistically they’ve tried—but they’ve never broken his will.

I will free him. And then I’ll join him in serving retribution on everyone who harmed him. All those who hold dragons in their grip, taking but never giving back.

I was born for this. It’s why I was drawn to this world. The next few minutes will set my fate or end me.

My thoughts stretch out again, gently probing at the trainer’s mind. I’m on edge, ready to yank them back if I get any hint he realizes I’m here. He doesn’t, as far as I can tell, but my search fails. He’s built walls of steel around his psyche. I can’t find a way in.

Freeing the dragon won’t be easy. The trainer is powerful, and I have no idea if I can beat him.

Slowly, a plan takes form in my mind. I’m turning toward Fhord when I feel his breath in my ear.

“Can you come up with a distraction?” He asks. I find his eyes, dark and solemn. He shifts a bit to again whisper directly into my ear. “I can attack while his focus is on you.”

My lips find his ear, mimicking his caution. “I need to do this Fhord. I’m not sure how I know, but I have to be the one who takes the guard’s life.”

Pulling my head back, I watch as he wrestles with my decision. I have no idea what this is between us, but I do know Fhord is driven to protect me. It pains him when I expose myself to risk. He has to fight to control some urge to smother me and keep me safe. Eventually, though, the rational side of him prevails. He nods his head.

“I’ll provide the distraction.” His voice is resigned, echoing with fear and doubt. My chest swells with the knowledge of what this male will risk for me. How important he’s become to me, despite our efforts to push each other away.

And then his lips are on mine. This kiss is different from the first one. It’s gentle, probing. He’s asking me to open to him, to trust him with this part of me. When I respond, parting my lips and letting my tongue taste him, he doesn’t pull back. He leans into the embrace, wrapping his arms around my back to pull me closer.

Every single part of my body responds. My stomach flutters, launching a kaleidoscope of butterflies to the tips of my toes. I burn for him, like I never have for a male before. In that moment, I want nothing more than to open myself, letting him see every part of me.

When I feel the dragon purr in my thoughts, I pull away. I can’t get this close to Fhord. Ever.

Fhord holds my gaze for a moment, his face a chaos of emotions. “This is why I can’t be with you,” he rasps in a low voice. “If you are in my life, my little rabbit, I can’t see past you. I can’t see anything but you. Too many will suffer if I let myself lose sight of them.” His lips find mine, more reckless this time. Desperate. “But know this,” he adds as he pulls himself away. “If not for Tindera—everything she would endure for my happiness—I would choose you. Even if it doomed everyone else.”

Fhord stands abruptly, backing away as he watches me. His eyes flare, a war of emotions reflected in their depths. “Be safe, my rabbit,” he whispers before spinning to slip away from me.

I can’t move. I can barely think. He’s so fucking dangerous. To me. To everything that matters to me.

Because I realize he may matter more than anyone or anything else.

Shaking my head to dispel the lunacy creeping through it, I focus again on the dragon and the brute holding his chain. Soon , I assure the beast. Be prepared .

Within less than a minute, Fhord’s diversion echoes through the valley around us. The trainer whips his head up, his eyes alert and searching. Turning, he whispers a command of some kind to the dragon, then stalks to a bag strapped to the saddle and pulls out a thick metal pole. I feel a hint of power as he stabs it through a link in the chain and into the ground, pulling the beast’s chin down.

The dragon’s pain in this position drowns out every other sense. His wings are drawn tight, the contraption that holds them digging even more deeply into every pressure point. He can’t move. He can barely think. Which is exactly the intent. The dragon can’t do anything until the trainer returns and frees him.

The trainer strides off in search of whatever has dared enter this area, and I slip from behind the bush toward the dragon. Resting my hands on his snout, I whisper my apology for leaving him in such agony. I can’t free him yet. The trainer can’t know I’m here until he gets close enough to kill.

The dragon’s response soothes my guilt. He knows. And he’s patient. He’ll suffer what he must to escape this chain and the torture instrument at his back. My heart rate slows as an unexpected calm washes over me. My fingers are loose as they reach for the knives at my belt. I’m exactly where I should be, doing what I must.

I don’t have to wait long. Within a few minutes, the trainer is stomping back toward us, angry at the interruption he couldn’t identify. I back away to hide on the dragon’s side, waiting until the male is close enough to attack. Inhaling slowly and silently, I check the blanket I’ve erected around my psyche, making sure no hint of my presence will seep out.

He turns his back to me as he reaches for the rod holding the dragon’s chain. And I smile. My knife is around his throat before he knows I’m here, its edge drawing a trickle of blood.

But this male is not so easy to kill.

Throwing his head back directly into my nose—the pain echoing through me—he flings himself away, breaking free of my hold. I sense the initial push of his psyche as he calls for help, but before he can send out more than a word or two, my blade is at his throat.

He focuses again on the physical threat, reaching for my wrist to try to whip me around and into his back. Before he can, I spin away, wresting my arm free as I dance back a few feet.

“You dare to enter these grounds?” he demands in a harsh voice. “To interfere with my training? Your life is mine. Lay down your knife and your death will be quick.”

“I’m here to take your life,” I sneer at him. “This dragon has suffered too much. You’ll pay for all you’ve done to him.”

His eyes grow wide as he somehow senses the true me. “An elf,” he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. “Now your death is certain. The Dróttning will reward me when I carry your lifeless body to her.”

I feel his power shift, as if he knows my weaknesses. If I don’t kill him now, he’ll win. And the dragon will be bound forever. Already, though, my energy is draining from me. My thoughts can’t reach him. My arms grow heavy, the knives I hold anchors weighing them down. I drop to my knees, defenseless against the unexpected power this man wields.

The trainer moves toward me, his lips tipping up in a grin full of malice and hate. When I see the medallion he holds, pinned to his coat—a design I recognize from the prisons—I understand. He’s prepared to meet and subdue an elf, unlikely as it seems. He carries one of the amulets imbued by the Dróttning with the magic she uses to control elves. I never found a defense against them. They can cause pain or this weakness he’s chosen to use on me. I steel myself for the agony that inevitably follows.

But then the dragon shifts, ever so slightly. I feel his torment as he breaks the trainer’s grip on the medallion, the damage he causes his wings by that little movement nearly dropping him to the ground. It’s what we both need to escape, though.

The trainer grasps for the amulet but it’s too late. Before his fingers reach it, my knife is flying through the air toward his heart. It rips through the leather on his chest like a blade through butter. A heavy moan echoes around us as he drops to the ground, dead before he reaches it.

I turn to find the dragon’s eyes full of anguish. “I’m so sorry,” I tell him. “I moved too slowly. I should have taken his life the first time my knife touched his throat.”

Lurching to my feet, I reach out for the rod pinned through his chain. It takes three yanks to pull it from the ground but I finally manage to wrestle it free. Tossing it aside, I turn to the metal wrapped around his wings.

“Gods,” I whisper as his agony wraps around me. He’s trying to hold it back, to protect me from his pain, but it grips him too tightly. He can’t think past it. “I don’t know how to get this off of you.” My ribs constrict as a wave of helplessness washes over me.

But I can get the harness off, and that will help. Maybe he can relieve some of the pressure on his wings if he’s not weighed down by the chain. My fingers are reaching for the links along his cheek when I feel Fhord’s hands rest on mine.

“Let me help you with this,” he tells me. “I know how to remove it.”

“Thank the gods,” I respond with a groan that’s more a sob than anything else. “Because I have no idea what to do right now.”

And then I turn to look at Fhord, my heart breaking at what I see. His features are blank, not a hint of light in his eyes. He’s given up, resigned to the fact that this thing between us is even more impossible now.

I made myself an outcast, expanding the already insurmountable barrier between us.

But we both knew it would happen. This always was temporary.

That doesn’t make it any less tragic.

We spend nearly ten minutes removing all the metal from the dragon’s snout and wings. I can feel his torment with every tug, pull and push. He doesn’t let out a single sound, though, as he suffers through it. Instead, he watches us with quiet gratitude, his gaze finding mine every chance he gets. The spark of life in his eyes grows with each inch of him we free.

Finally, Fhord and I fling the final piece of metal as far away from the dragon as we can. Our eyes meet for a moment, but nothing’s changed. Resignation still wraps around every emotion. We’ll get someplace safe and then we’ll go our separate ways.

And so I shift my thoughts to the dragon and his relief. Bone-numbing, deep in his veins, dominating each sensation whispering or galloping through him. Overwhelming relief.

He’s also achingly tired, this episode of torture having lasted long days without any sleep or food. But he’ll follow us where he must before he collapses.

For a moment, I wonder how I know him so well. How I can understand his thoughts and emotions as thoroughly as I do. But that’s a question for tomorrow. Today, we need to get far away from here.

I turn to start moving toward our camp but the dragon grunts lightly. Swinging his snout toward the trainer, my mind fills with his warning.

“We need to bury him,” I tell Fhord. “Quickly.”

“You’re right.” His voice is so flat, empty of any feeling. Already I miss the short time we’ve had together.

The dragon heaves himself toward the trees, where leaves and dried moss cover everything. We can hide the grave here, I realize. Even in his agony, his thoughts are sharper, more focused than mine.

Fhord and I can’t do much, our hands no match for the claws that easily break into the ground. We drag the trainer and the remains of his torture device over to the grave the dragon is digging, and do our best to hide the blood spilled. Within a few minutes, we can drop his corpse and the chains into it. And then the dragon fills it, his snout and paws moving more dirt than we ever could. When he’s done, Fhord and I cover it up and inspect our work.

If we can get away quickly, not draw attention to this area, we might be okay. We just need to get back to our camp and get Thyra and the horses before anyone realizes he’s missing.

Thyra’s surprisingly blasé about the dragon who follows us back to the camp. Which is probably why Bevin values her enough to send us to retrieve her. She takes everything in stride.

“I owe you my life,” she assures me as we’re packing the horses. “You were doing a job for Bevin, but I know better than most how risky it was. What you sacrificed to get me out. I’ll keep your secret.”

And that’s that. I know her well enough to trust her word.

The rest of the day is brutal. So fucking brutal. I’m tired after too little sleep, but my fatigue pales next to the dragon’s. He drags himself after us out of sheer willpower. The training has stripped him of muscle and fat, leaving him a shell of the beast he must be at full health. It’s in his claws—the exposed skin scaly and patchy—and the featherless patches along his wings. And I feel it. He’s beaten, almost defeated. But he’s here, with us. And he’ll follow us wherever we go, for as long as it takes.

Finally, hours after the sun sets, Fhord finds shelter for our group, a deep cave with enough growth in front to hide the fire we need to light. As the dragon and Thyra collapse, Fhord and I scout the surrounding foothills, looking for any hint of danger. When I feel Fhord’s relief, I echo it in my thoughts, then turn back to the cave. We’ll be safe here. At least tonight.

My heart settles when I stumble back inside and see the dragon sleeping near the fire, Fhord sitting on a log watching him from the other side. I feel complete, as if I could live and be happy in this strange world, even if my time will be brief. In a ridiculously short period, I’ve forged bonds with these two males. When I go, I’ll leave part of me with them.

Tonight, though, I’m complete.

I sigh as I walk over to settle down next to the dragon. Nestling my back into his side as he shifts to make room for me, I close my eyes. And I sleep.

The cave is light when I wake up, the bushes outside not nearly enough of a barrier to keep out the sun. But I barely notice anything around me.

Instead, my thoughts, my very being, are filled with the dragon. His presence. His existence. His love.

His name.

Astarot . The Leading One, he shares with me. When he came into being, it was foreseen that he would lead his family out of their torment. He would be the first, but others would follow. He would be their leader. And so he was called Astarot.

I sit up, finding soft brown eyes, which watch me with patience. And love. The love I felt when I woke was for me.

Mine . The word drops into my mind, a wealth of meaning buried in that little syllable. I am his. He is mine.

“You gave me your name,” I whisper, unable to keep the awe out of my words.

Mine , he repeats. This time, though, it’s an explanation, not a declaration. I know enough about dragons in this world to realize that outside of dragon society, dragons share their names only with those they’ve claimed—the human (or long ago, elf) who becomes theirs. Who they bond with.

“I am yours. And you are mine.”

His chin drops as his eyes hold my gaze. Yes, he’s telling me. We belong to each other.

I can’t keep the grin from my face. Or hold back the laugh that bubbles out of me.

“We’re in so much trouble.” My hand lifts to stroke the snout that drops to the ground to receive my touch. My grin grows even wider as he leans into my fingers, shifting so they’ll find the sensitive space behind his horn. “They’ll kill us for sure if they find us. We just have to make sure they don’t.”

His eyes blink closed once and then open to hold my attention. Peace , he tells me in a voice rich with satisfaction. He’s more relaxed, lighter than I could have hoped. He believes he was born to change this world, to free the dragons of the Dróttning’s bonds. So he’s sure we’ll live. That certainty carried him through his punishment, gave him the strength he needed to survive without bending.

Fate , he adds after a moment. Again, a single word tells me so much more. If Astarot had let himself be joined to another rider, he would have been stuck with that human. In almost every part of their existence, dragons must give in to their riders’ demands. When they are tied to cruel humans, they manifest that cruelty. Even the most peaceful and solemn dragons become ugly, evil beasts when the Dróttning chooses ugly, evil riders for them.

Once that bond is formed, it can only be broken by the Dróttning, even if the dragon finds its destined rider. Too many dragons have been forced to kill the humans the fates intended for them because the Dróttning compelled them to give themselves to an unworthy rider. The fated bond between Fhord and Tindera is rare in this world.

Astarot refused the rider the Dróttning chose for him, a weak male who was rumored to prefer children to adults in his bed. He paid a heavy price for his defiance, but he has no regret. His pain is behind him. He would pay that price again to ensure he was unbound when he found me.

So that he could bind himself to me.