Page 56 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Forty-one

Elowen

Venatrix tears through another wyvern, and I command her to fly up the beach and make for the closing gap.

Cayden and Ryder lead the charges, so there’s no possible way they’re on our side.

I have to find a way to at least slow the magic to give them a greater chance of escape.

Soldiers are packed so closely together the mass of them hardly moves.

Most of them will be crushed to death before the gap even closes.

The only small mercy is knowing that Finnian isn’t with them.

My saddle straps strain as she flips around, offering her back to the ground as the shimmering walls creep closer. “Zayèra!”

Venatrix blows her flames toward the wards with a new vigor, sending the magic back to grant the soldiers below a bit more time.

I turn away to give my eyes some reprieve from the heat and watch Sorin lock claws with a wyvern.

It slams its tail into him, but his scales hold strong against the venomous spikes.

He bathes it in green flames, melting the flesh from its rider and dropping them into the sea.

He bares his bloody fangs and lets out a vicious roar, calling out to any others that may be lurking in the distance.

Challenging them to come find him and face their doom.

Basilius comes to us, mirroring Venatrix and bathing the wards at my back in dragonfire. I can feel their power, feel something awakening in me through them. It’s like remembering the thing you forgot moments ago when it was on the tip of your tongue.

But the wards grow stronger, they keep coming at us, and the dragons are forced to keep descending.

Venatrix jolts as arrows are fired at me, letting them bounce off her scales.

My blood chills the lower we get. The scent of sulfur is heavy down here.

It conjures memories from the day my father tried to break my bond with my dragons.

I look over my shoulder, trying to find Cayden once I’m close enough to the ground to make out faces, but it’s impossible to spot him.

Venatrix and Basilius are forced to abandon their efforts.

Their bodies are too large to keep fighting within the small space.

Heat slams into me as a large boom resounds through the air.

Venatrix tips up, blocking the brunt of the billowing flames that weren’t conjured by any of my dragons.

Severed limbs and scalded bodies fly away from the remaining gap.

The dome stretches as far back into Imirath as I can see, and I search our side for any sign of Cayden.

If he’s stuck in Imirath, there’s not a thing I won’t do to break through this barrier.

With the surviving soldiers thinning, and corpses lining the beach like grains of sand—close together and impossible to differentiate—I see Cayden.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, or a monster ascending from an ocean made of blood, Cayden stands from where he covered Ryder’s body with his.

His eyes blaze with a hatred six hundred men couldn’t possess if they tried.

He tosses his helmet aside, baring his teeth, covered in blood, and raises two swords against the enemies surrounding him.

Oh, gods.

Blood pours from the corner of his mouth, and as I fly down to him, I note the pieces of glowing metal jutting out of his armor.

His exertion will only make it worse, but he thankfully finishes off the wounded soldiers quickly.

Ryder pushes up from the ground unscathed but a little unsteady on his feet.

I unfasten my saddle straps before Venatrix lands and slide down her wing, free-falling my way to the beach when she’s close enough and running over to the pair of them.

Cayden spits out blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before resting it on my cheek. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.” Shards from whatever the bomb was made of continue to glow in a sickly green color, jutting out of the right side of his chest and arm in harsh pieces. “Cayden—”

It was forged from magic.

I don’t know how to heal magic-induced wounds.

My panic begins surging.

“Don’t worry about me,” Cayden insists, but Ryder cuts him off while removing his helmet.

“The bomb was poisonous. There is a mage in Thirwen who creates them, and he must be here. His name is Nykeem. His signature is the green metal.”

“What kind of poison?” I demand. “Nyrinn is at the encampment with the other healers—”

“He won’t survive that long,” Ryder interjects. “He makes the poison himself and experiments in dark magic.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Cayden drawls. “It’s a fucking scratch.”

“There are several pieces of metal jutting out of you,” Ryder growls.

Cayden shrugs, looking toward Ryder with glassy eyes. “Many scratches.”

My stomach roils and breathing quickens. I twist my head in all directions searching for the one person who can help me. “Asena!” My voice is shrill, and my emotions tighten my throat. I do my best to shove them down, but it’s nearly impossible. “Asena!”

She possesses fire magic, as do many in Galakin, and the mages there are known to channel their magic into healing abilities.

She must be able to help.

Someone must do something.

Cayden rests his other hand on my face, bringing my gaze back to his as Asena appears in leathers streaked with blood and a red undershirt as an homage to her goddess. “I’m here, my queen.”

“You have fire magic, does that also mean you have healing magic?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have to take out the pieces and take a counteractive tonic.”

“You fool,” Ryder cries. “You fucking fool!”

“Thank you would also suffice.”

“I can’t heal a poison I can’t identify,” she says, her face grave as she looks Cayden over.

“Who can?”

“The goddess,” she says, and I shake my head, refusing to believe it. Her brows crease, and she rolls her lips together as she looks at the markings on our hands. “There are limits to mortal magic, but perhaps there is another way.”

She begins chanting in Ravarian as she opens a portal.

Cayden’s legs give out, bringing him to his knees, and I fall with him.

Venatrix takes a protective stance over us, clawing the dead bodies away to clear a space amid the gore.

Ryder forces Cayden onto his back, and I manage to find a clean part on my clothes to wipe my hands.

“Can I start removing the shards?”

“I don’t know!” Ryder throws his hands up.

“Yes. I will be right back,” Asena answers before rushing through the portal.

“Okay.” I shove the stray pieces of my hair behind my ears and take a deep breath. I’ve healed countless wounds. I can do this. I can’t let him die. “Cayden, this is going to hurt.”

“Do what you must,” he says.

I don’t waste time before wrapping my hand around the first shard, careful to avoid cutting myself, and yanking it out.

Cayden doesn’t so much as blink, and I’m worried his body has become numb until I look down to where his hand clutches the hilt of his blade.

I yank out another shard trailing down his right side, and once again, nothing.

I wonder how much pain he’s experienced in life to perfectly mask it when anyone else would be screaming.

If I could kill his father myself, I would, and I’d make it slow.

Only years of training keep me from losing my head.

I know I can’t heal him, but I can at least prepare him for whoever Asena is bringing to us.

He meets my eyes. “You can’t hurt me.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” I whisper.

I swallow through my tight throat, continuing my actions until all the shards are out, and begin unhooking his armor. Why can’t love find a way to untwine itself from tragedy?

Oh, gods.

I’m in love with him.

I think I have been for a while, but how could I have been so blind?

Love is the swelling feeling in my chest whenever he’s near, like I’ll burst if he doesn’t wrap his arms around me.

Love is how he kisses my tears and scars to replace my pain with adoration.

It’s the catch in my breath from both intimate and simple touches, and the weakness in my knees when he stares at me with intense eyes.

Love is woven into our daily lives so completely that we don’t realize it when it’s right in front of us because it’s always present.

Cayden’s been scaling the walls of the fortress I keep my heart locked in for months. I am entirely his. Trying not to love him is like attempting to survive without breathing.

I unlatch his armor and cut through his undershirt until his chest is bare. I press my lips together to keep from crying out. Ryder looks away, pressing a fist in front of his mouth as his nostrils flare. He’s covered in blood and bruises from the retreat.

“Remind me to get hurt more often if it results in you ripping my clothes off,” Cayden slurs.

I force a laugh for his sake, knowing he’d be keeping me calm if the roles were reversed. “It’s the only time I find you tolerable.”

“I can think of some other times.” More blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. “Some very good times.”

“ASENA!” I scream toward the swirling portal, no longer able to keep my fear masked. I’m wholly inadequate to treat him. My uselessness is so potent I could choke on it.

The veins in his neck, chest, and arms on his right side are turning black, spiderwebbing through his skin. A female mage cloaked in purple robes steps through the portal with Asena. The pair of them rush toward us and drop to their knees on Cayden’s other side.

“Your Majesty,” the woman says, her tone grave as she looks down at the wounds.

“No.” I can’t hear that tone. I can’t listen to her pity. I can’t lose him.

“A poison of this nature is extremely deadly. It pollutes the blood until only the poison remains.”

“I didn’t ask what it was,” I hiss. “I’m commanding you to heal him.”