Page 91 of The Last Dragon
“Your unit, your responsibility,” he retorts.
“My unit—is a conflict of interest.”
At first, he’s hesitant. But then he clenches the bolts with his hand before he takes a deep breath.
“I will take these to the general.”
I nod in approval, the tension in the room easing. Rylan signals the guards to release Eryca. She rubs the backs of her arms, wincing as she tries to soothe the bruises. Then her eyes drop to her torn leathers, scraped raw against the stone floor, dark blood seeping through the rips.
The second the guards leave, Ilian rushes toward Eryca and embraces her. Curses form under her breath, managing to call the guards and—specifically Rylan—every vulgarity there is.
“Shit,” Ilian whispers, letting go of Eryca.
She’s shaking, stunned after everything, shutting her eyes tightly to shut off, control the adrenaline in her body. I let silence stretch for a moment before I approach her carefully.
“Are you alright?” I ask, my voice firm. But I can’t imagine how terrifying this must have been for her.
“Yes,” she says, opening her dark eyes. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be dead.” I let out a breath of relief, and a smile curves on her lips, contagious enough to reach me.
“One day I’m gonna rip his throat out with my own bare hands,” she mumbles, dusting off her leathers.
“Murder will get you clipped,” I say.
“Then I’ll throw him in the hearth and blame it on the Redsnout.”
I smile, letting another silent moment stretch.“Did you do it?” I ask eventually.
“The hell?” she says slowly, furrowing a brow. “You have to ask that?”
A unit should be one and trust each other’s words. But to me, there’s nothing more important than honesty. She bares her teeth, her lip twitching into a frown, ready to defend herself.
“I don’t doubt you, but considering the circumstances and as a leader, I still have to ask. Did you purposely not lace the bolts?”
She inhales sharply before giving her firm answer. “No.”
I nod, and I don’t ask anything after that. I trust Eryca—with her desire to become a lieutenant, she would never risk humanity’s survival. But I wonder who would—and why.
“Why would anyone think it was you?” Ilian asks, staring at the door as if he’s ready to jump a guard.
“How the hell am I supposed to know that?” Eryca snaps.
I look across the dusty shelves. My eyebrows furrow at the bolts in the front of the shelves with an empty gap. I wonder who it was that crafted bolts before Eryca. I look back at the hearth, then the table where Ligerion sat as we crafted bolts together.
Is it him? No, it can’t be. I helped him craft those bolts. My heart sinks.
Shit.
Was it me?
No. Ligerion would’ve said something, or he would’ve laced them himself.
Then who the hell was it?
I’m at the rooftop again.
This feels like the longest night of my life. I inhale the cold breeze that’s tickling my hair, a subtle crispness hiding behind the stench of heavy decay. The air is always so heavy. If only there were more trees around this place.
I close my eyes, feeling my chest slowly rising and falling as I clear my mind. The rough tiles scrape my fingers. I feel grounded. Alive. Yet the numbness of my legs keeps reminding me of how close to death I really am. I don’t know how long I can take this. I don’t know if I’ll be able to save everyone before I’m gone.
