Page 59 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Forty-three

Elowen

My hair is still damp from the bath when Ryder finds me at the small dining table.

Similar to the entryway, the tabletop is made of broken sea glass sanded by the waves, proving once again that even broken things can still create something beautiful.

His dark eyes are shadowed with regret as he finds Cayden’s sleeping form sprawled out on the bed.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, gesturing to the trays of food a servant brought up.

All I’ve managed to do is pick at some bread while watching the waves through the arched windows and the rise and fall of Cayden’s chest through the seafoam canopy.

I may physically be at the inn, but mentally, I’m still in the battle.

I can’t stop thinking of the wyverns and the white eyes of the mages as they controlled the creatures.

I will always choose my dragons, no matter the enemy, but watching the beasts fall from the sky twists my heart in the aftermath.

“I ate a bit before I bathed,” he says, claiming the seat across from me. His gaze remains on Cayden as he drags a hand down his face. “Is it all right if I sit here? I should’ve asked.”

I give him a half smile while blinking away the moisture in my eyes. “You’re his best friend, Ryder. Of course you can.”

“They’ll get easier.” He gives me a knowing look. “The battles.”

I nod, clearing my throat and taking a sip of tea.

“I didn’t know what he was doing when he tackled me.

” A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Everything happened so fast. We finally managed to get through the gap by some miracle. We were still packed together when the bomb went off, but he grabbed me to cover me before the explosion launched us through the air.”

“None of this is your fault, and he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

“He would’ve died had you not tortured yourself,” he snaps before squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to lose my temper.”

“I understand.” If Ryder thinks that was losing his temper, he should’ve witnessed an episode from Ailliard. When I was fourteen, he destroyed the bookshelf I made myself in a fit of rage.

“He’d do the same thing when we were younger because I had Saskia and he had no one. I just want him to stop viewing himself as expendable and invincible.”

I look to the waves again, remembering Cayden telling me about how they calm him. “What were you two like when you were younger?”

I’ve always had a hard time picturing how they became friends, but maybe reminiscing will help Ryder through his emotions. Ryder is the type of person who could befriend a rock, and Cayden is the type of person to throw a rock at someone.

“The first thing Cayden ever said to me was Leave before I kill you for interrupting my dinner. ” Ryder finally gives a weak laugh.

“Gods, if you think he’s bad now, you should’ve seen him back then.

He was so angry. I’d never seen anyone with that much rage.

So, naturally, I attempted to befriend him and ended up with a black eye and busted lip. ”

“I give you credit for approaching him.”

“I did it for Sas. We couldn’t take any money with us when we left home because my father would’ve pressed charges, and I couldn’t be a sellsword because I’d never used one.

I was a shit thief, having been born into wealth.

She got sick soon after we left home, and I carried her into the dingiest tavern I’ve ever seen during a stormy night and approached the worst-looking person in there. ”

“Did he turn you away then?”

“Oh, he tried, but I was a protective older brother who needed his sister to survive the night. When I brought her into it, Cayden handed over his keys and told us to be gone in three days. I still don’t know where he stayed while we occupied his room, but hot soup and medicine were delivered to the door every night. ”

My heart thaws for the jaded boy from the past. Knowing what I do about his father, I wonder if he helped them because he didn’t want to be the catalyst for someone losing a loved one.

Cayden has killed many people without remorse and was even paid to commit murder, but maybe he saw himself in Ryder’s desperation.

“So you were friends after that?”

“Absolutely not.” He snickers. “I kept hanging around the tavern, and somewhere within that time he stopped punching me for stalking him, then he stopped threatening me for annoying him. We didn’t become friends until he returned one night completely drunk and asked me if I wanted to help him hide a body, and even then, I use the term loosely. He called me Rykus for a solid year.”

Ryder’s shoulders shake along with mine as I laugh. He goes on to tell me about how he and Saskia moved in with Cayden soon after, how they began acquiring wealth through the fighting pits and smuggling, and how Cayden taught Ryder to wield a blade and pick a pocket.

“He sounds exactly how I thought he’d be,” I say.

“No matter how much of a bastard he was, I felt more alive living in the slums than I ever did in my family estate,” Ryder says. “I left for Saskia, but I also left for myself. I would’ve died in that lifestyle—it was too soulless.”

I understand the feeling all too well. “We’re all on borrowed time, and I intend to know that I truly lived when I close my eyes for the last time.”

“That sounds like a decent plan, sunshine.” Ryder gets to his feet, looking between Cayden and me. “I’ll check back in the morning, but you should try to get some sleep.”

“Oh, wait!” My slippers press into the cold wooden floor as I walk to my trunk and flip it open. What I need is right on top, and I return to Ryder, handing him the green tin with a white bow. “I know you had a pint with Cayden before the battle, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday.”

A broad smile parts his lips as he lifts the lid. “Did you make these?”

He devoured the cookies I bought him while visiting the Aestilian neighborhood in Verendus, and I figured food is always a good gift. “I did. It’s a mixture of lemon, sugar, and shortbread cookies.”

I have a tendency to bake when stressed.

And I’m stressed a lot.

“Thank you.” His warm eyes settle on me. “Don’t tell the others that I have these. They’ll steal them when I’m not looking.”

“They sniff out baked goods like bloodhounds, so I wish you luck,” I say, and he chuckles while walking to the door. “Night, Rykus.”

He glances over his shoulder, tapping his fingers along the doorframe as he watches me walk back to my trunk. “Welcome to the family, Elowen Veles.”

The door softly shuts behind him, and I rummage through my belongings to find the vial of oil I bought several weeks ago.

At some point Cayden turned to lay on his stomach, leaving the scars on his back bared to the faint candlelight in the room.

Rage fills me at the sight, especially knowing it was his father who put them there.

I climb onto the bed, straddling Cayden’s hips as I tug the sleeves of the sweater I stole from him up to my elbows and pour some oil into my hands.

Even though I’m exhausted, I doubt I’ll be able to sleep until he wakes up.

I doubt he’ll even remember getting here.

Even if he was on his feet, I think it stemmed from years of self-preservation rather than him actually healing.

I glide my fingers down the red lash marks carved into his back, some raised and others sunken gashes, before digging my palms into his muscles to ease the inevitable aches.

His skin glistens as I work, trying my best to undo decades of knots, but just when I think I’m getting somewhere, the world flips around, and I’m flat on my back with a knife pointed at my throat.

Cayden’s eyes are open and alert, glaring down at me with an emotion they never have.

It’s gone in a blink, disappearing quicker than my fear has the chance to appear.

“El.” His chest heaves, and he throws the knife to the ground. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” I say through my racing heart, and his eyes flick to my glistening palms. “I was just trying to lessen your aches in the morning.” His eyes dart to the window before looking around the room in confusion.

“We’re back in Vareveth. We’re in Avaloria.

The battle is over. We’re leaving for Galakin in the morning as planned. I got you back here on Calithea.”

He wraps an arm under me and crushes me to him, burying his face in my neck and inhaling deeply. His heart crashes against mine as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. He flips our positions, pressing his back into the headboard and placing me on his chest. “You should be sleeping,” he murmurs.

“I needed to know you were okay.” My throat tightens now that he’s awake. His voice. I knew I craved his arms, but didn’t realize how desperate I was to hear him speak. “There was so much blood.”

“I know, but I need you to rest, love.” He runs his hand through my hair and massages his fingers into the nape of my neck when I start shaking. “I’m all right, El. You’re not getting rid of me after only a day of marriage.”

I don’t say anything, just hold him tighter as the mixture of fatigue and relief pummel into me.

I want to stay awake, to soak in his presence, to talk to him about everything, but it’s impossible to keep my eyes open.

Guilt burns my throat when I think of the wyverns again.

It’s so much simpler killing humans. They’re partaking in the battle consciously, but the wyverns are trapped under a spell.

They must not even know what’s happening to them until the mage dies and loses their hold on their minds.

The greed of humanity harming innocent creatures, it’s a timeless, wretched tale.

“How do you sleep knowing what you’ve done will find you in your dreams? ”

“Beside you,” he answers. “You’re a reminder that everything I’ve done is worth it.” He kisses my forehead and runs his hands over my body like he’s reassuring himself that I’m unharmed.

“Never,” he whispers. “ Never choose me over yourself.”

“I chose myself when I chose you.”