Page 111 of Deadly Maiden

“That is nothing,” my dragon grumbles as we arrow southward. “Aiming for Bollingham. Thander will care for your father.”

“Nothing? Thank the gods. Kyvin has been hit, too, but he doesn’t seem to care.” I smirk, as my undead hero extracts the blade then casually discards it over the side.

The weapon spirals out of sight. So, this metal storm is what an edgemaster can do. Begs the question, why did he not leave the house and use it earlier?

Fear of Rorsyd…of course.

I recall his awedsoulmate with a dragonshifterwords. How did he see that? I must ask later.

Something wet spots my hand, and I look up. Blown by the wind, a thin streak of red runs along Rorsyd, from his head to where I sit.

Oh no. Oh fuck no.

I bite my lip. “You have another wound?”

“Yes. My eye. I can heal it, though. Fret not. Ouch, but I will heal in time.”

“In time for what?”His eye?I’m wincing.

“Your war.”

My war. This, today, is war.

Can I withstand more of this? Can anyone? Why should I be spared? I am tempted to run away.

“You’re certain your eye is okay?”

“I am.”

Until we circle to land near Bollingham, and I prepare to rush Landos inside, up the ramp, to demand a doctor attend him, no matter my banishment. I will do anything.

But when we land, Rorsyd rounds on me ponderously. Despite his half-closed eye, he nudges me with his nose toward the canvas bag that holds Father.

I can and will do anything, except bring Father back from death. A sword is stuck through the middle of the bag.

He looks so peaceful, eyes closed, he’s almost smiling.

I drop to my knees, tears spilling in huge blobs that splatter onto the canvas. “Daddy?” I drop my head to him and let out a coarse, rending sob that feels as if it will tear me in two.

Chapter 36

Rorsyd

I have never felt so helpless. What does one do when your mate is grieving so horrendously over the death of her father?

Once Andacc has ascended the ramp to find Thander Munk, she rises though she still weeps. With her father’s body at her feet, Wyntre seems as lost as I. The sun betrays the tracks of tears on her cheeks. I plod over to her, curl around her, cradling her as well as I can with my dragon body.

This form is not made for comfort, but I hope she knows I am trying.

A few yards away, Landos lies cold and silent.

“I am sorry,” I breathe at her. She only leans into the angle of my neck and cries some more.

Telling her anything seems fraught with wrongness. That Kroll is likely dead? Which would be a reminder of the cause of this. No.

That it was a quick death? Absolutely not. Or that we can seek vengeance? Too soon. And suggesting violence, well, I have had enough of that today, so perhaps she, too, is tired of it.

I could say that he has gone to a better place, and I would be false because I do not know this. It might make her feel better, but I will leave that sentiment to others.

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