Page 80 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Fifty-nine

Cayden

I walk through puddles of blood as I step over dead bodies, listening to people call out for loved ones. The battle is over, and despite us being able to defend Galakin from invasion, the death toll on both sides is substantial, and that’s not accounting for the citizens in the streets.

Where is my wife?

A knifelike sensation twists my gut as I look at the sky void of dragons.

They often circle wherever Elowen is. My mind is my own worst enemy, conjuring images of her either dead or captured, and madness thrums within me.

I’ve prepared for this war my entire life, and yet I know I’d give it all up for her.

I’d find a way to live with hating myself if it meant she’d be safe.

I whip my head in all directions, my heart pounding so fiercely it nearly drowns out all the shouting.

I don’t catch a glimpse of her curls or colorful markings anywhere.

It’s always been easy for me to spot her.

My gaze is often drawn to her in any room she enters and even seeks her out when she’s not there.

It doesn’t matter how many people separate us.

I was blessed with the ability to see only to catch sight of her; it’s wasted on anything else.

Fucking hells.

I follow the curve of the beach, keeping my eyes sharp. Once, I found peace in violence and felt a sense of tranquility at the end of battle. My muscles would burn, and my body would be too tired to listen to my mind, but a storm rages within me that won’t be quelled until I spot her.

My breath rushes from me all at once. “Elowen!”

She doesn’t hear me, speaking heatedly with Finnian who rubs his hands down her arms before she kneels in the sand, flipping over another dark-haired soldier with shaky hands. Her shoulders slump after she takes in his features.

Oh, angel.

“El!” I call out again, louder this time. Finnian sees me first, and even from here I note the way the tension leaves his body. Ryder stands from where he was crouched looking through the bodies and presses a hand to his chest.

But it’s Elowen I can’t move my eyes from once she whips toward me. Her brows knot, and her face coats in an emotion I’ve never seen before. It’s too powerful to be relief. Trembles rack her body as she rises to her feet and begins sprinting toward me.

My knees go weak under the weight of what it feels like to be loved by someone like her, and yet I remain standing.

I step forward like I’m in a trance, only breaking free of it when I sweep her off her feet and crush her body to mine.

Her heart beating against mine is the reassurance I need right now, and it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

She chokes on a sob as she buries her head in my neck.

“It’s all right, angel. We’re all right.” I skim my hands over her body to make sure there aren’t any wounds.

“I couldn’t find you. Nobody knew where you were.” She pulls back enough to look at me, and she frames my face with her hands as I set her on her feet and apply pressure to the back of her neck, massaging it slowly to ease her anxiety.

“I’ll always find my way back to you. No matter where you are. Never doubt that,” I say, pressing my blood-covered forehead to hers as the dragons circle the air around us. “I don’t plan on dying in battle now that I have someone waiting for me when it’s over.”

I drag my thumb over her bottom lip once, twice, and then she smiles, and it feels like everything will be all right. She remains close to me as Ryder and Finnian reach us, pressing her back to my chest to face them.

“There is talk that the king of Galakin joined the battle and that he’s wounded,” Ryder says. “He was going to accompany us to Imirath but now it’ll probably be Prince Zale leading the force.”

“Zale will be easier to deal with,” I respond.

Ryder nods. “I want to get back to the castle to check on Sas.”

“She’s in the stronghold and has Ser Rhys to protect her,” Elowen says. “She’ll be more worried about you.”

Ryder shakes his head. “I don’t trust him or the prince.”

“I don’t think any of us ever will.” I thread my fingers through Elowen’s and begin guiding her up the beach. “But he knows it would be a death sentence if Saskia died while left in his protection, and if any harm comes to her, Zarius won’t get his throne. He’ll get a pyre.”

Finnian dips his hands into the ocean to wash off the blood before following us. “Were any Imirath soldiers here? I only recognized Thirwen, but there was no sign of Nykeem.”

“I didn’t spot any Imirath ships as I flew, and nobody bore my father’s sigil.”

“It was all Thirwen, but Imirath is with them.” I fill them in on what I found out about the blockade as we look for horses to ride back to the castle.

With Galakin’s aid, and the advantage of surprise, I’ll come up with a plan to get us through.

Imirath will be focused on protecting their southern tip, so the full force of their navy won’t be present, but Thirwen’s numbers will be vast. We grab the reins of three riderless horses on the beach and mount the blood-covered saddles.

I keep Elowen in front of me, not wanting to release her just yet.

Sorrow and relief surround us as we ride, wading through the ever-confusing aftermath of war as some reunite with loved ones and others lose everything.

Elowen wipes a tear off her cheek as a man hoists a little girl covered in ash out of the rubble, holding her to his chest as he blinks back tears and she wraps her small arms around his neck.

I wonder if Elowen is thinking of her father, or maybe Ailliard, two men who let selfishness and fear get in the way of loving her.

We follow the procession of soldiers riding back to Zraka, keeping quiet out of respect for the fallen.

We could’ve boarded a ship at one of the various docks, but the wounded need to sail more than we do.

Ryder is practically vibrating with anxiety when we make it to the long stone bridge shaped like a sea serpent that connects the castle to Zraka.

We’re forced to slow our pace to avoid trampling some wounded being escorted across, as well as citizens seeking refuge.

Healers hustle throughout the courtyard, their magic shining like golden orbs in the night.

I help Elowen dismount and guide her toward the front entrance. Ryder runs ahead of us, hardly dodging those in his path, but Finnian sticks beside us. Elowen threads her arm through his and leans her head on his shoulder, and though she doesn’t see it, he stares down at her adoringly.

“Sas!” Ryder calls out, his voice echoing throughout the vast entryway lined with floor-to-ceiling gaps to provide a view of the ocean.

Saskia jerks her head up from where she kneels on the floor to hand out cups of water.

The ladle tumbles from her grip as she jumps to her feet to wrap her arms around Ryder.

Ser Rhys and Zarius lean against a pillar a few paces away, the latter pulling his now sober eyes away from the back of Saskia’s head to look in my direction before facing the sea.

Saskia throws her arms around Elowen next, not caring about sullying her gown as she presses Elowen’s dark blue and black leathers against her. The sheer cape that stops at the top of her thighs must’ve been torn during the battle.

Finnian stays beside her as I stride toward the white-haired prince. “There will be wounded soldiers from your kingdom being brought to the dungeons for questioning if they’re of high enough rank.”

His red eyes flash to mine. “I will not kill them if you—”

“Give them the option of taking a blood oath,” I cut him off. Killing them would only turn Thirwen against him. “When you face your father on the battlefield, don’t do so with only my soldiers surrounding you, do it with your own.”

“My father will most likely be cowering in the castle,” he says. “He has a penchant for killing those who are unarmed, not soldiers.”

“Even more of a reason to differentiate yourself from him. Don’t tell your people to follow you, show them why they should.”

He glances around the room. “Will Thirwen soldiers already be in the dungeons?”

“Yes. We rode back, but they would’ve put the prisoners on ships to avoid them escaping.”

“And you know where the dungeons are?”

I jut my chin toward the hall, and both he and Rhys follow.

I know just about as much of the castle layout as a servant after spying on Erix.

We need to act quickly, before Galakin orders their execution or they die in the interrogation process.

The air is humid, making the dried blood on my skin itch as we stride toward the eastern tower.

Like every other tower, it’s built of white stone and topped with an orange dome, only there are no open windows, just small slits covered in bars.

The guards let me pass, and the putrid scent of human waste makes me long for the smoke and gore of battle the moment we cross the dark threshold.

“I’ll have to kill them if they oppose me,” Zarius says, his voice echoing throughout the musty hall.

“You’ll also have to kill Thirwen soldiers on the battlefield if they raise a sword against you. Get used to it.”

“I’ll grant them the mercy of a quick death. I won’t leave them to rot in a cell.”

“The only ruler wearing a bloodless crown is a corpse,” I respond, as I spot our intended target in the distance. I jerk my chin, signaling him to step forward and order the guards aside.

To his credit, he doesn’t balk or shy away as one might if they were taking on a role unknown to them.

“Step aside,” he commands, but the Galakin guards don’t move.

The Thirwen soldiers do their best to catch a glimpse between the bars of who’s speaking but can’t quite make it out yet.

“I am Prince Zarius Liluria of Thirwen, firstborn son of King Fallon and rightful heir to the throne. I signed a treaty with your king and unless you’d like for that agreement to be dissolved due to your insolence, step away from my soldiers and leave us be. I will be the judge of their fate.”

The guards eye each other warily, and I rest my hand on the hilt of my blade for good measure, sending the pair of them scampering off with their tails between their legs.

“Are you sure the King of Galakin will approve this?”

“Ask for forgiveness, never permission,” Elowen says, stepping from the shadows and startling Zarius and Rhys.

“Gods, where did you come from?” Zarius asks, placing a hand over his chest.

“A loveless marriage.” She gestures for Zarius to step toward the door, and whispers to me as he complies, “Did I scare you?”

I don’t want to crush her hope, but I knew she was there the whole time. “Mhmm.”

Her triumphant grin has me shaking my head as I follow her into the cell filled with eight prisoners. Only a small barred window provides fresh air in the overly crowded cell with wounded men and women pressing their backs into the walls.

“So it’s true,” the woman closest to us says. “The prince lives, as does Ser Rhys.”

“Why did you come here?” Zarius asks. “What was the purpose of the invasion?”

“Officially, to seek revenge upon the dragon queen for burning our fleet.” She licks her pale lips.

“However, there were rumors you were alive. Your father sent us to kill you.” I rest a hand on my sword in tandem with Rhys, and Elowen takes a step closer to Zarius, who holds up a hand to ward off our protection as she addresses Rhys. “We thought you died in the battle.”

“It was fabricated by King Fallon when I was away from Prince Zarius. His intention was to kill us both, along with”—he clears his throat—“Queen Ruella. We escaped. She was not so lucky.”

“Queen Ruella died of fever,” a man in the corner states.

“Then why wasn’t she given a pyre as all monarchs of Thirwen are?” Rhys’s voice becomes rough, rigid. “If he wanted to properly mourn his wife, he would not have buried her in the crypts and married another woman in a fortnight.”

“Queen Ruella,” the soldiers surrounding the cell mutter, placing their fingers to their lips before pressing it to their hearts. Zarius and Rhys follow suit.

Zarius continues after a pregnant pause, “The dragon queen was doing her duty and is an ally to the crown prince of Thirwen.” None of them challenge his claim, which is a good sign. “You have the opportunity to join me by swearing a blood oath, or you will face the sword.”

A soldier in the corner speaks first. “If I am to swear to you, I’ll have to fight against my kin.” He lifts his head, blood spilling from a gash in his forehead. “I cannot spill their blood.”

His shackles rattle as he stands and kneels before Zarius with his head bowed.

Rhys steps forward to take the burden off his shoulders, but a subtle shake of Zarius’s head stills him, earning a bit of respect from me.

A second soldier moves to kneel beside the other, but the remaining six offer up their palms to him, prepared to take the blood oath.

“King Fallon committed treason in killing our queen,” the woman who first spoke says. “We will avenge the good queen by placing her son on the throne.”

Zarius moves to each soldier, slicing their palms open as they let their blood soak into the stones below and give their oath to protect, serve, and never betray him on pain of death.

Zarius turns his sword on the kneeling soldiers, placing his blade at the neck of the first and saying the words I spoke to Elowen weeks ago, and to the wyvern tonight: “May your soul cross the river and find peace.”