Page 25 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)
Chapter Seventeen
Cayden
I shove my hand beneath Elowen’s head to keep it from slamming into the ground, scraping my knuckles on a tree root protruding through the soil.
Our chests press together as we catch our breath, listening to loved ones calling out names or shouting for healers.
It was a massacre. I’ve seen my share of gore and tragedy, have fought countless battles both honorable and not, but never have I seen beasts attack in such a frenzy.
I plant my elbows in the dirt to give Elowen room to breathe. “Your leg.”
“Your chest.” A netherwraith managed to sink its claws into me during the chaos of our final moments, but it’s not fatal, and at least it wasn’t a venomous bite.
The bright red blood from where the wound pressed against her further ruins Elowen’s blue-and-gold ensemble.
I kneel and pull her up to a sitting position to inspect her injury, but she distracts me by pulling at my shredded shirt.
“I’m fine,” I insist. “Once I wash the blood off, you’ll see the wound isn’t that deep.”
She drops her gaze to her leg. “I’m the same, it’s already clotting. They’ll both scar though.”
“Oh, the horror,” I mutter.
“Was anyone bitten?” Elowen turns to our other companions slumped in the grass, all too winded to form words but they shake their heads. “I don’t have healing supplies to stop the venom if anyone was.”
“What about Nyrinn?” I was loading her trunks when the beasts came, and I shoved the woman through the portal before she could protest. Elowen would’ve been devastated by her death.
Elowen’s head whips around, frantic until she sees Nyrinn amid her trunks, stuffing her belt with herbs and tonics and giving orders to Aestilian soldiers around her. “I should help her.”
The sound of retching makes us turn in the opposite direction. Finnian is slumped over and violently trembling as he clutches his stomach. Elowen springs toward him, rubbing his back and pushing the sweaty hair off his forehead.
“Was he bitten?” Ryder shoves to his knees.
“It was like before,” Finnian rasps through bloodless lips, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “So many families lost. So many children now orphans. I couldn’t save them.” Finnian isn’t with us, I realize. He’s lost somewhere in his mind.
Dried blood flakes off his cheeks when Elowen frames them, unconditional love written plainly on her features.
“Your mother, father, and sister, wherever they are, are thankful you weren’t in the house that night.
What happened to them was a terrible tragedy, but I believe they find solace in your heart still beating. ”
Finnian’s eyes fill with tears, and he crushes Elowen to him, burying his face in her neck as his body is racked with silent sobs.
We’re all covered in gore, but Finnian holds her as if she’s the only thing that can take his pain away.
I offer Saskia a hand up, and then Ryder, the latter clapping me on the shoulder.
Where Finnian’s eyes are water, Elowen’s are pure fire as her anger burns. “If this was an orchestrated attack by Imirath or Thirwen, I want the people responsible dead before nightfall and their heads on pikes.”
“Mage!” I call out, not remembering his name.
“I don’t want a lesson on the gods from Ophir. I want to mount a dragon and burn their fucking camp,” she growls as Finnian releases her. “If this was their first act of war I will gladly respond.”
Elowen is capable of doing whatever is necessary to win, but she won’t slaughter innocents.
Families visiting soldiers on the front, healers working along the border, those people would stop her from following through.
I’ve always thought fate to be a spiteful bitch, but Elowen being the person to share a bond with five dragons is a rare mercy.
“All magic has a signature that other mages can sense. It’s like signing a letter. In rare cases that signature can be hidden but it’s highly unusual. If Thirwen was controlling those beasts, the mage will be able to confirm.”
Still, something is off. If this was an act of war, and our enemies were targeting us knowing we weren’t protected by our army, they’d have made themselves known. They’d either have attacked us directly or run from the forest to escape the dragonfire.
“Your Highness, welcome ho—”
“Were you able to see through the portal?” I ask.
“Yes, sire. The portal is transparent to Asena and me because we conjured it.”
“So you witnessed the attack?” He nods in response. “Were you able to sense any magic when you opened the portal?”
Ophir’s brows furrow. “No, sire. Godly land has felt more volatile since the dragons have been released, but we all believe that’s the cause of the imbalance. Dragons haven’t existed since the gods left us.”
Elowen huffs and looks toward the sky. “So you don’t believe anyone was controlling the netherwraiths?”
“No, Your Highness, but they are known to live in the Sweven and Terrwyn forests. They must’ve followed the scent of blood straight to your kingdom.”
“They don’t travel through the…” She drums her fingers against her lips. “Would it be possible for you to open a portal where the Caleum River curves through the mountains? It doesn’t have to be large, just enough for me to see.”
Ophir nods, closing his eyes and muttering a spell in Ravarian.
Sparks and wisps gather around his fingertips, swirling through them like snakes as he parts the air and creates a portal no larger than the length of my sword.
He continues his incantation, and the black and purple fade, revealing a clear picture of a forest.
“Sunlight.” Elowen’s hand latches on to mine. “The mist is gone.”
“You sense no magic with this change to the mist?”
“No, sire. No living person would be able to lift it. The barriers were made by the gods and cannot be undone.”
“Why now?” Elowen mumbles, more to herself than anyone.
“The magic left behind by the gods grows weaker every year,” Ophir answers anyway. “This could be a result of that.”
“You can close it, thank you,” Elowen says, still lost in thought. I nod to the mage, and he bows before turning away and finding Asena amid the rows of people waiting for care. Castle healers have also joined them, and servants distribute bread and water.
“You all right, angel?”
“I don’t like how they speak about the events in our lives as if they’re determined by gods I don’t believe in,” she mutters.
“Ailliard swore the mist would never fade, so I suppose I’m glad to have been right, but Sorin was uneasy the whole time we were in godly land. He could barely tolerate landing.”
“They’re fanatics. It could rain and they’ll say it’s because a god is crying or pissing.” The dried blood on her cheeks cracks when she laughs wearily. “But at least it wasn’t an act of war.”
She nods, still not looking fully convinced. “I’m going to write to the queen of Galakin tomorrow and have Asena send it with magic so it arrives instantly. It may not have been done by Thirwen’s or Imirath’s hand, but every day that passes is another pushing us closer to the inevitability.”