Page 75 of Between Fear and Favor

“Let me help,” I said, but she was determined, crawling closer despite the immense pain she was feeling. I hated to see her suffer.

“Poor baby,” she whispered, placing her own hand atop Ryo’s wound. I adjusted, pulling her into my lap, hoping to share the load of her divinity. Despite knowing about this specific benefit of bonded conduits, we’d never had to use it. With Hanwen’s gift and our own extreme amounts of power, neither of us had needed to rely upon one another like this. A whimper tore up Em’s throat, and her body shook against mine. “I think we’re too weak to heal him. Can you—” She started, voice wobbly as she fought her tears. “Do you see any other healers?”

I spotted Maurice near the pit, stumbling toward some of our soldiers who had been pushed atop us. They were injured—with broken limbs and bloody faces. I couldn’t stop him from what he was doing. Em knew that too, but pragmatism wouldn’t come naturally to her in such a state.

“Em,” I murmured, whispering into her hair. Pulling her tightly against me, I fought the urge to heal her. It would be wasteful if Ryo was still connected to her.

“I know,” she said, and then she began to weep. “We can’t ask. Right? It would be selfish, wouldn’t it?”

She sounded so young, so fragile, that I wished I could tell her no. I wished we could redirect any of our conduits to heal the dying dragon in front of us. But there were people who needed healing. And, as much as I hated to think it, if Em was desperate enough for another dragon, she could make more.

None would be Ryo, though.

“Please don’t let me forget,” she cried. “I don’t want to forget.”

Her body shook with each sob, and her anguish threatened to overwhelm us both.

“I won’t, dear heart. I won’t let you forget,” I said, but we both knew it was a lie.

Em would lose a cherished memory when Ryo died, just as she had when Hyše drowned. Despite her choking on dry land, there had been no lasting impact on Em—besides grief. It made me consider something I knew she wouldn’t want to think about.

When she’d created this sweet beast, she had combined a joyful moment from our past with Ciarden’s shadows to form him. We had been children, playful and merry in the meadow. Truthfully, I thought that moment had allowed for everything that came after. I swallowed, chest tight over the idea of losing the memory. Smiling through my own grief, I thought of the time I’d first met the dragon before me. He’d knocked me to the ground and licked me, all coltish innocence. Just like the past version of ourselves.

“I will remember for the two of us,” I said. “I will remind you every day.”

She sniffled, turning and burrowing her head into my chest.

But even if Em were to lose that memory, we’d made so many more with the creature. My favorite had been when I’d taken Elora to ride upon Ryo, with plans of him being her own dragon one day. I’d held onto my daughter, breathed in her summer scent, and heard her screams of joy that might have verged a bit on terror. It had been one of the best days of my life, bonding with her.

Elora would be devastated.

I would mourn the dragon nearly as much as Em, but at least I’d be able to keep the memories as solace. While she could keep the new ones we’d formed with Ryo, she would also lose a special part of us. It was nothing for her to lose the memory of killing Keeva, though she’d grieved Hyše just the same. But this would be two losses; she would not only lose Ryo, but also a sweet moment in our story—before we ever could have guessed we’d end up here.

“Do you think if I make him smaller, that maybe we could heal him?” she asked, sniffling, though she pulled herself upright with renewed purpose. Confidence and desperation roared within her, and though I doubted it would work, we had to attempt it.

“I don’t think it would hurt him to try. But we should take the daggers out first.”

Ryo’s wings were spread wide behind him, resting on the stone street. With precision, I maneuvered around him, doing my best not to disturb his sore body. As I pulled each blade out of his back, his whining only grew more severe. His heart started pounding fast, and I worked quicker, so Em could shrink him and I could hopefully heal his wounds. At least this way, the dagger wounds could grow smaller as he did.

As I removed the last one, Em whimpered. “He’s in so much pain,” she said.

I helped her sit up, mesmerized as she drew her shadows back from the creature. They twined up her arms, seeping into her skin—it was alarming to witness.

“Are you all right?” I asked, supporting her the best I could, as Ryo grew smaller and the shadows that had created him swirled across her torso.

“Yes,” she gasped. “I’m fine. Will you help me heal him?”

He was the size of a large dog, and I laced my hands over hers to help her funnel our divinity into his body.

And yet, nothing happened. I couldn’t feel Aonara’s gift sealing his injuries or fixing the organs which had been nicked by the sharp blades. For several minutes, we fought against his wounds, but nothing came of it.

And then he began to thrash. His heart raced, and he tried to stand. I knew we had to intervene. Hopelessness crept across our bond as Em realized it too. Ryo got to his feet for a brief moment, only for his legs to give out as he slammed back down to the ground. His whine turned into a high-pitched howl. It was clear what needed to be done.

“He’s suffering, Em,” I said, feather soft. I hated that it had come to this. But if we could not summon him from the brink of death, there was no need for both of them to be in pain for longer than was necessary.

“I know,” she said, and she slid from my grasp, carefully adjusting Ryo’s wings to curl her body around his. She cried openly, tears streaming as she buried her face against his neck. “But I can’t.”

I rubbed her back, not quite sure what she meant. If she needed me to be the one to stop his heart, to end his suffering, I would shoulder that burden. But since he was a part of her, connected to her, perhaps she wanted to be the one to do it.

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