Page 147 of Wrath of the Dragons
Mae’s prophecy.
The sun will be bathed in blood and the shadows will shroud the day.
Something sparks within me. What else did she say…I force myself to think beyond Elowen, sending my mind back to Galakin. I didn’t seek Elowen out all those months ago because of the prophecy that she would be the ruination or salvation of Imirath. I believed in facts, one of them being that the woman bonded to five dragons hated the same man as me, but I’ll take anything right now. Even if it makes me a superstitious fool.
Ashes to be washed away by the waves.
Could that be the rain over the battle? The ramparts of the castle? My hands washing the gore from Elowen? Does it even matter?
Old eyes watch and new eyes shut.
New eyes…Elowen. Pain lances through me again. “Old eyes,” Imutter, dragging my hand through Elowen’s hair. The oldest eyes of Ravaryn would be the gods.
Have my powers awoken something? Someone? Desperation will make a person believe in anything, I suppose.
The earth rumbled as I screamed, and the gods feast upon the sorrows of mortals.
I’m moving before I even know what I’m doing, but I must dosomething.
I lift Elowen in my arms again, carrying her out of the house, and follow the sounds of wailing dragons. A hand clasps my shoulder, and I balance Elowen in one arm to draw my sword, pointing it at the neck of whoever approached. Feeling more animalistic than human.
“It’s me.” Ryder holds his hands up in surrender, more tears falling from his eyes as he takes in the state of me, the state of Elowen. I must look as deranged as I feel. “Where are you going?”
“I’m getting her back.”
A helpless sound crawls up his throat. “She’s gone, brother. I’ll build her pyre with you.”
“She will not burn!” I roar, tightening my hold on my sword despite it being at my side as Finnian and Saskia rush forward. I lock eyes with her best friend, maybe the only person who will understand my anguish. “She wanted me to tell you that she loved you.” Tears glimmer in his eyes and he chokes on a sob and drops his gaze from Elowen. “I’m getting her back.”
Saskia steps forward, and I clutch Elowen tighter, my protective instincts flaring up, intertwining with possession. Saskia’s eyes latch on to mine, and she holds up a single purple flower in silent permission. I breathe slowly, nodding only once, and she steps forward to tuck it behind her ear and kiss her forehead.
“I will miss you every day that I live,” she whispers.
“I’m getting her back.” I need to believe that this will work. I need to try. If I lose hope now then I’ll take her back to Vareveth and dig our grave behind our house, not a pyre. I’ll keep my eyes on hers as Ipierce my heart and curl my body around hers. One day, when someone finds us when we’re nothing but bones, they won’t know where I start and she ends. Too intertwined to ever be separated. Decay and time will attack our mortal flesh, but our souls will reside somewhere sorrow can’t find us, and I’ll keep her there, loving her until the very essence of what breathes life into our bodies is snuffed out.
“Please,” Ryder says. “Don’t force us to live with the loss of both of you.”
“I’m already dead.”
I stride past, ignoring him as he calls out my name, only turning around when the sound of struggling replaces his pleas. Finnian shoves him back, not allowing him to follow us, and Saskia drops to the grass to bury her head in her hands. A flash of silver rushes forward, and Zarius drops to his knees beside her.
“Don’t look,” he says, forcing her to turn around.
“Cayden!” Ryder calls out from where Finnian pins him against the earth. “CAYDEN!”
I feel nothing.
Not a shred of regret or remorse.
And I turn away.
The dragons must sense where Elowen is because they land in a circle around me, snarling and snapping their teeth. Maybe I should be afraid, but I’m not. It would be a mercy to be relieved from the torment within.
“Help me,” I whisper. “Please help me.”
I know they can’t understand me—the only person they can understand is Elowen—but she swore they could sense emotions and perhaps my devotion to her. I’ve ridden Basilius before, but to my surprise, it’s not he who lowers his head, but Venatrix. The fiercest of them all. The red queen.
I climb up her wing and settle us in the saddle, keeping Elowen’s body cradled against mine as I grip the saddle horns.
