Page 69 of To Touch A Silent Fury (The Bride of Eavenfold #1)

She patted my shoulder awkwardly. “That Wragg’s a right bastard. If it keeps ye from him, that’s all I need.” Once more, she grabbed my arm and pulled me along like I was nothing more than an unruly child. “Now, I’ll get you and yer little one some food for now.”

I ate a bowl of stew at Kallie’s request, and she watched me eat every bite, as if she wasn’t sure I was being fed.

Hanindred woke up. Loud man here. Food?

Man is friend. Food soon , I said back as I swallowed down another scalding chunk of well-seasoned rabbit.

I heard his belly rumble. Friend food good.

I rolled my eyes as I ate, wondering what Foxlin had found to feed him with. He had a wyvern of his own, and he was close to Lang, so I was fairly confident he wouldn’t give him anything too foul.

Sleepy… food, he murmured. I felt our connection wane as Hanindred fell asleep once more. He had slept nearly all day, so I was surprised he was so tired, and yet it could only be a good thing for him to be well-rested before our journey.

Once I was finished, Kallie gave me the meat for him. Then she patted my shoulder again and sent me on my way.

At the main hall, I paused on the stairs.

I looked across its thoroughfare, seeing all of the castle’s invisible work taking place under my nose.

Chambermaids carried fresh linens across from one staircase to a service corridor and messengers dashed by as two lute players strode towards the southern exit.

Through the rushing feet, a tight spiral staircase led up to what I assumed must be the eastern tower through an arched portcullis.

I looked down at my bowl of raw meat, and then felt the dragontooth at my back.

Afternoon light filtered shadows long across the castle’s marble floors.

I shook my head and ascended the main staircase, pushing down the urge to see Seth and check he was alright. He was the nephew of the king, his advisor. His tower cell was probably no different from my own rooms, and to run to him now, only an hour after his arrest, was plain stupid.

No, I would feed Hanin, and I would devise a real plan, one probably involving begging Lang, but I would swallow my pride and do it if needed.

Sunlight warmed me as I crossed the gardens again, my thoughts so wrested by Seth and the night’s escape that I paid no attention to my surroundings.

Then I glanced at the door and nearly dropped the wooden bowl as a sickening feeling permeated through me like water through sand. The door to my room lay wide open, and even from here, I saw it sat unsteady on its hinges, its surface warped. On the floor, a pair of boots, immobile.

Dread smothered me as I ran to the entrance.

Hanin?

No response.

I called again into his mind, as loud as I could, and met only an unconscious resistance.

Foxlin lay on the ground, his eyes closed. Thick blood pooled around his head, half of it sitting in a puddle atop the stone and the rest soaking into the golden runner. I fell to my knees and pressed my fingers to his neck.

For a moment, I felt nothing, and my chest tightened.

Then I forced myself to breathe, focus, and pressed harder against his neck.

A pulse, weak but there nonetheless. The man was alive.

The blood soaked through to my knees, and I lifted his head, finding the source of his injury.

Some blunt instrument had hit hard into the back of it.

Foxlin let out a low groan as I settled his head back against the rug. My mind whirled into panic. I stood, and yelled out, calling for guards, calling for help. Someone, anyone.

Pushing the hair out of my face, I leapt to the back of the room, my steps uneven from the damp weight of the blood on my skirts. I already knew what I would find.

An empty bed.

And yet still I fell onto the floor, calling out for Hanin in my mind, and then out loud, searching every corner even though I knew he was gone.

He wasn’t dead. Somehow, I felt that. His presence was there, just subdued, as if in a deep sleep.

Under a blanket, I found a chewed-up flower, its yellow bud and mushed white petals still discernible. Domil.

Whoever had done this had come prepared to drug Hanin. I ran back to the door, jumping over Foxlin’s unconscious body, and screamed louder, finally attracting two guards. I kept moving.

I needed to find Hanin. Now. And the fastest way to track him was to find Theollan. By my blood, I hoped he was still in the castle.

Hanin’s words came back to me as I ran back down the main staircase, and it fell into place.

A loud man had come in and given him sleepy food.

And I had sat in the kitchens, eating a rabbit stew, while my dragon was taken and Foxlin nearly killed.

I narrowly dodged a scullery maid and apologised as I pushed myself across from her. She gasped, and then stared at me in horror, and I only kept running, not comprehending her reaction. It wasn’t until I reached the main foyer and caught my reflection in a metal gilded frame that I understood it.

My dress was soaked in blood, and the same red liquid coated my nose and cheek.

With my freakish eyes and a warmongering smear, I finally looked like the tribeswoman they all believed me to be.

Moreover, I looked like I’d been stabbed myself, but there was nothing for it.

I rubbed at my face as I ran across polished marble.

Eyes and muttering followed me, but I had to get to Theollan, and the library was my best bet.

If he wasn’t there, I would find his rooms, and if he wasn’t there, I’d scream until I found him.

He was a tracker. He would find Hanin for me. He had to.

I ran behind a man holding a few books, and when he turned and saw me, covered in blood, he immediately squealed and leapt into the nearest alcove. I ignored him, only running faster as the light outside changed from golden to a deep amber.

I called for Hanin again in my mind, even knowing him now to be under a domil sleep. The only blessing was that the sleep might keep our secret, if I could find him before he woke and showed his eyes.

Reaching the library, I pushed the great wooden doors open.

The room spilled into view, hundreds and hundreds of colourful spines set in tens of shelves, all blending and warping as I blinked the tears from my eyes and cleared my sight.

I couldn’t let myself crumble; I had to be strong for him. I couldn’t let him down.

I only saw one attendant, clearing the books from a low wooden table up on the mezzanine floor.

“Theollan?” I called, startling the attendant, who dropped his books and glared at me. I cared not, turning a full circle as I peered down every aisle I could see, yelling out for my white-haired brethren. “Theollan? ”

A door opened at the end of one aisle, and I realised it was the very same private study room I had used. I whipped my head towards it, my blood rushing.

I heard him before I saw him, and it was enough to know him instantly. “What is—”

Lang’s voice cut out, his irritation fading to instant concern.

He looked almost as frantic as I did, papers clutched in his hands, though he was decidedly less bloodied, standing in the middle of the library.

“Edrin’s flock, Ta—Vorska.” He swallowed, glancing at the scampering attendant, the single other audience to his mistake, as he left the papers on a nearby stool and strode up to me.

His voice was far softer. “Is that blood? What happened?”

My breath came thick and fast as I struggled to know what to say, how to articulate it, and it all fell out in a jumbled mess. “Hanin is… and Foxlin. I need to know where he is—I need Theollan.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you hurt?” His thumb grazed my cheek where I must have missed its mark, and the sensation of his emotions, even fleetingly, nearly brought me to my knees. This man was suffering. “Who did this?”

I stepped back, his touch too overwhelming right now. “Not my blood. Don’t know who—who took him.”

Lang dropped his hand, clenching it at his side. He breathed in through his nose deeply. “Slow down. What happened? Where’s Foxlin?”

I swallowed air like water, forcing it into my body in great gulps.

Why did seeing him make me want to break down?

All I wanted was to fall into his arms and have him fix it all for me.

But this was my dragon, my friend. Hanin’s words, strong together , reverberated in my head.

I had to be strong for him, now more than ever .

Regaining a slither of control, I formed an explanation. “Someone hurt him. I left to speak to Kallie and when I came back, he was unconscious and bleeding.” Lang’s eyes flashed to the door. “I sent guards to him. He is alive for now, but he’s hurt.”

Lang nodded, but I saw the tension in his body, and I understood it more than he could believe. “And Hanindred?”

“Gone.” I gasped in another shaky breath. “Someone has taken him.”

A number of calculations jittered across his blood-red eyes. “By the Five.”

“I need Theollan. He is a tracker. He has smelt Hanin before, maybe he can find him.”

Lang slowly shook his head. “I don’t think we need Theollan.”

“Why?”

“I know who took him.” That same dread fell over me, a wave pulling me under as I clawed my fingernails up its beach. “Years ago, the eve before my brother was supposed to inherit his dragon egg. I stole it from him. I took Chaethor, and claimed her for myself.”

The culprit did not surprise me, and yet, it did nothing to alleviate my fear. “The Wragg took Hanindred?”

“I think so,” he said. “Maybe he suspected you’d run.”

I set my jaw. “Where is he?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

It was a warning that I would ignore. This had gone too far. This family had taken far too much from me. “Where is he?” I repeated.

Lang took a step towards me, closing the distance between us as he shook his head.

“Think about this. He has taken your dragon. He must fear that you will leave, and he’s doing everything he can to keep you in his power, trying to cage you here.

Do not fall for his bait.” Once more, he reached up, and I did not move.

His thumb and finger curved around my small chin. “You can still run.”

Everything I had felt on him before—his regret, frustrations, rage. All of it was magnified. His touch was featherlight, but behind those eyes he was honed, a weapon ready to strike.

It hardened my own resolve, a whetstone against my own anger. “I’m not leaving them.”

“It might be your only chance to escape.”

“Would you leave Foxlin? Would you leave Chaethor?” I felt the names land on him. “My dragon and my only friend are here, locked away. I would rather be chained up alongside them than spend the rest of my days running alone.”

Once more, Lang glanced at the door.

“Don’t even think to stop me, Langnathin.” My voice was a growl, draconic and low.

His crimson gaze was just as deadly. “I’m not going to stop you. I’m coming with you.”