Capture (26 page)

“Fimor!” Ryneq skidded to a halt as the dragon raised its head to glare at him, dark eyes boring into his. “Is he…?” He couldn’t talk to dragons like the riders could, but both Ryneq and Cerylea could
feel
them, and Ryneq’s whole body shuddered as waves of despair and anger rolled over him. But under it all Ryneq felt the desperate urge to run back into the forest, and he knew Nykin was still alive… barely. “I’ll get him.”

Fimor’s eyes dropped closed, and Ryneq had to turn his head away. He’d never seen a dragon look so lost and vulnerable, and it just seemed wrong to look at him while he was like that. The other dragons and their riders now circled above the clearing, two of them already coming in to land and protect Fimor. Ryneq recognized Vashek, Eldin’s dragon, and waited for Eldin to climb down before gesturing to him to follow.

“Where’s Nykin?” Eldin asked, hurrying to catch up. The two of them met Cerylea and the others halfway across the clearing.

Ryneq pointed over to the forest where the harsh sound of metal on metal rang out through the trees. “Nykin’s in there… and I need to get him out.”

“You can’t. It’s not safe,” Cerylea cut in, but Ryneq took hold of her arm and silenced her with a look.

“Hatak stabbed him, Cerylea. He’s dying….” He glanced back over at Fimor to emphasize his point. “I have to do this, and we need to hurry.”

Faelon and Avelor immediately stepped forward and, after a quick nod from Morkryn, drew their swords. “Let’s go.”

Nysad moved to join them, but Ryneq shook his head and grasped Nysad by the shoulder. “Protect Cerylea.”

“With my life, Sire.” Nysad pulled out his dagger and handed it over to Ryneq. “Take this.”

Ryneq palmed the dagger with a grateful smile, and turned to face the two elves. “Ready?” He didn’t wait for an answer before running back toward the trees.

T
HE
FIGHTING
was a lot closer to the edge of the forest now, the Torserian Guard doing their best to flush the Rodethian and Athisian soldiers out into the clearing where the dragons could take care of them. Warmth blossomed in Ryneq’s chest as he watched his men with pride.

“This way,” he yelled and charged into the trees, with Faelon and Avelor on his heels.

There were soldiers everywhere, and although he could see Nykin lying where they’d left him, fighting still raged all around him. Ryneq shouldered into the nearest Athisian uniform, grabbed the man’s arm, and spun him around to slit his throat. Faelon stepped in beside him to intercept a blade heading straight for Ryneq’s side.

There was no time for thanks as they ploughed their way through to Nykin, fending off attacks from all sides. When they finally reached him, Ryneq’s heart stopped for a moment, and he sank to the ground beside Nykin, frantically checking for a pulse. Nykin looked so pale—far worse than when he’d been tortured by Hatak. Blood pooled thickly around his side, staining the grass a dark shade of red. If it weren’t for the faintest beat of Nykin’s pulse beneath Ryneq’s fingertips, he’d think they were too late.

“Wait!” Faelon hissed as Ryneq slid his arms under Nykin’s body to pick him up. “Let me bind the wound first and stop the bleeding.” Ryneq reluctantly allowed Faelon closer and watched as he put his hands over Nykin’s wound and whispered strange-sounding words. A faint purple light glowed under Faelon’s fingers as his magic flared. Then he was up on his feet, motioning for Ryneq to pick Nykin up. “Hurry. My magic will hold until we get to the clearing, but he has little time left.”

Ryneq refused to think about anything except getting Nykin out of there. He slipped one arm under his knees, the other under his arms, and hauled Nykin up against his chest, grunting with the weight. “Go.” With Faelon in front and Avelor guarding the rear, they hurried out of the forest.

Ryneq’s shoulder protested violently as he stumbled after Faelon. He’d probably opened up the wound again, but he didn’t care. Nykin was still alive, by the skin of his teeth, and Ryneq focused solely on getting him out of there and over to Fimor. The blood of his bonded dragon was the only thing that could save Nykin now.

Eldin waited by Fimor’s side, urging them to hurry. Ryneq cursed at him under his breath. Did he not think they were moving as fast as they could? He hoisted Nykin up a little when he started to slip.

“Do you want me to take him?” Faelon asked, looking back at them. His gaze flicked over Ryneq’s injured shoulder, lingering on the bloodstain on his shirt.

Ryneq wouldn’t be surprised if it was bleeding again, but he absolutely was not letting go of Nykin. “I’m fine,” he gritted out, ignoring Faelon’s raised eyebrow and pushing past him. His arms were on fire by the time they reached Fimor, but he still managed to lay Nykin carefully down on the ground before collapsing next to him.

“Ryneq… your shoulder?” Cerylea rushed to his side with Morkryn right behind her.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry.” He took her hand in a reassuring squeeze before addressing Eldin. “What do we need to do?”

Eldin had ripped away the remains of Nykin’s shirt, and Ryneq felt the anger bubble up inside him at the sight of the gaping hole in his back. Faelon’s magic had held it closed while they carried Nykin to safety, but the wound was already starting to bleed again. The smaller gash in front was holding for now, but as Ryneq watched, small drops of blood began to pool at the surface.

“Fimor,” Eldin said softly, resting a hand on the dusky-red scales of Fimor’s neck. “I need your blood.”

They all watched, the three elves with matching rapt expressions, as Fimor scraped one of his claws over his front leg and tore through the thick hide to the flesh beneath. Blood seeped out of the cut, rising to the surface and spilling out. Eldin immediately rushed forward and collected the dripping blood into a cup, letting it fill almost to the brim. He thanked Fimor and gently settled the cup on the ground next to Nykin. Fimor’s leg wound had already started to clot.

“Cerylea.” Eldin looked up at her and pointed to her dress. “I need cloth to wrap Nykin’s wound.” She frowned at the dirty outer layer of her clothing, quickly hitched it up to get to the relatively clean undergarments, and tore off several strips to pass over to Eldin. He poured some of Fimor’s blood onto two of the rags and pressed them into Nykin’s wounds using the others to bind it tightly.

Ryneq held his breath as Eldin slipped a hand under Nykin’s head and raised it off the ground. He met Ryneq’s gaze and nodded over to the remaining blood. “Get the cup.” Ryneq quickly reached for it and brought it up to Nykin’s lips, while Eldin forced his mouth open.

Ryneq tipped the cup, watching the thick red dragon’s blood slide into Nykin’s mouth, and prayed that he’d swallow enough to help him heal. It started to spill out the side, dark trails staining Nykin’s lips and racing down over his pallid skin. “Come on, Nykin!” Ryneq reached out to hold Nykin’s face, pushing the blood back in with his fingers and silently urging Nykin to drink.
Please, Nykin. Please….
He felt the weighted stares of those around him, knowing that he was all but telegraphing his relationship with Nykin, but he didn’t care.

They all watched and waited, the shouts and clashes of swords behind them in the forest only vaguely registering. Ryneq had every faith his soldiers could more than hold their own against Hatak’s men—especially with their leader now dead—and besides, they also had the dragon riders guarding them now.

The moments passed agonizingly slowly. Ryneq almost dropped the cup as finally,
finally,
Nykin’s eyelids fluttered open, and he swallowed. He choked a little at first, and Ryneq imagined that drinking dragon’s blood wasn’t the most pleasant experience, but Eldin held Nykin’s head up a little more and Nykin slowly emptied the whole cup. “Thank fuck.” Ryneq leaned forward and rested his head against Nykin’s. His skin still felt far too cold and clammy. Ryneq had been hoping Fimor’s blood would have an instant effect on Nykin, but when he drew back a little to look at Nykin’s face, Nykin had fallen unconscious again. “Didn’t it work?” Ryneq asked, looking at Eldin expectantly.

Eldin sighed and rubbed his hand over his eyes. “Yes, it worked—his injury is no longer life threatening. But even dragon’s blood can only do so much, Sire. Nykin was so near to death, it’s going to take a long while for him to heal fully.”

Ryneq’s gaze fell on the wounds on Nykin’s arms, and he was reminded of just how much Nykin had suffered these last few days. All so he might escape. The bruises on Nykin’s face were far from faded, and Ryneq traced their yellowing edges with his thumb. “Fimor healed him when we were imprisoned,” he said, not missing Eldin’s sharp intake of breath.

“Over such a great distance?” Eldin shook his head. “It’s a dangerous thing to attempt. Their bond must be stronger than I thought.”

“He needed it.” Ryneq let his fingers slide down the side of Nykin’s neck, to rest on his collarbone. He sensed Cerylea still watching him, but he avoided her eyes. There’d be time for questions later. “Fimor didn’t want to do it,” Ryneq said, looking back up at Eldin. “But Nykin couldn’t have escaped in the state he was in.” He barely felt the steady rise and fall of Nykin’s chest, but it was the only thing convincing him that Nykin was alive. “Why didn’t Fimor do it again when Nykin was stabbed? Why let him almost die?”

“Why do you think Fimor is so weak?” Eldin gestured behind him to where Fimor lay, looking almost as bad as Nykin.

“Because Nykin is near death,” Ryneq snapped back, thinking the answer obvious.

“No. Only Nykin’s actual death would affect Fimor.” Eldin lowered his voice and reached out to gently wipe some of the blood from Nykin’s face. Ryneq tried not to let it bother him. “Nykin lost a lot of blood, and from the position of the wound, he should be dead by now. Fimor is only like this because he’s been keeping Nykin alive through their bond.”

Guilt niggled at Ryneq’s insides. He should never have doubted Fimor would do everything in his power to keep his rider alive.

“It’s only that and Faelon’s magic that stopped the wound from being fatal, and n—” Eldin’s head snapped up sharply as Rodethian soldiers suddenly burst into the clearing. Ryneq was on his feet in an instant, his dagger already in his hand.

“Wait.” Cerylea put her hand on his arm, and Ryneq turned to look at her before returning his gaze to the lowland soldiers spilling out of the trees. The moment they saw the dragons, they stopped, weapons clattering to the ground and hands up in surrender. The familiar uniforms of the Torserian Guard appeared right behind them. The guards rounded up the prisoners and collected their weapons. Nysad, as Ryneq’s second-in-command, moved to take control of the situation, and Ryneq was more than happy for him to deal with it. He had other, more important things to be concerned with.

He knelt back down beside Nykin and reached for his hand. The black leather cuff still covered Nykin’s wrist, and Ryneq unclasped it, revealing smooth, unmarked skin. He remembered Nykin stroking the skin and complaining how lost and wrong he felt without his mark. “Faelon?” Ryneq didn’t bother looking up. He knew the elf wasn’t far, and soon enough Faelon crouched down next to him.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Faelon reached out to take the cuff from Ryneq’s hand. “You want me to remove the magic?” He traced his fingers over Nykin’s skin, and Ryneq bristled with jealousy.

“Please.” Ryneq managed to keep his voice steady and resisted shoving Faelon’s hand away. “He doesn’t need to hide it any longer.”

Faelon nodded and held Nykin’s wrist as he whispered the words to remove the spell. When he withdrew his hands to reveal Nykin’s mark, Ryneq almost sighed with relief at seeing it where it belonged. The burnt-orange flames of the fire triangle etched once more into Nykin’s skin.

“Thank you,” Ryneq whispered, stroking the mark and feeling the stirrings of magic underneath his fingers.

Faelon smiled and rose gracefully to his feet. “You’re most welcome.”

N
YSAD
LEFT
to lead his soldiers and their prisoners back to the Stone Palace. According to Eldin, they would join the others captured during King Seran’s failed attack earlier. Seran had escaped, but not without sustaining heavy losses to his army. Ryneq knew it wouldn’t be the last they heard from him, but he was gone for now, at least.

It took two hours for Fimor to regain enough strength to fly and another hour after that before a company of soldiers returned from the nearest village with a cart for Nykin. Ryneq stayed by Nykin’s side the whole time, along with Cerylea, Eldin, and the elves.

As soon as Nykin was safely loaded onto the cart and wrapped up in blankets and furs, Ryneq pulled Cerylea aside. “How did this happen?” He gestured to where Morkryn, Faelon, and Avelor were talking with Eldin. “I thought the elves refused to get involved?”

Cerylea smiled softly as she looked over at Morkryn. “Things change.”

So it would seem
, thought Ryneq, warmth filling his chest at the look of happiness on Cerylea’s face. “You can tell me everything when we get back.”

Cerylea met his gaze and then looked pointedly over at Nykin, who lay in the cart and looked decidedly healthier as the hours went by. “You have some explaining of your own to do, brother.”

“Yes.” Ryneq smiled and pulled his sister into his arms. “It would appear we have a lot to talk about.”

Cerylea laughed loudly, causing everyone to glance over at them. “Come on, then.” She stepped away and tugged on Ryneq’s arm until he followed after her. “Let’s go home.”