Warriors of Wind and Ash (Merciless Dragons #2)

The last lucid part of my mind understands that in this instance, he’s right. I’m wobbling on the very brink of death, and if I want to survive this I need to stay conscious until we reach the healer.

My mind registers the steady beat of Rahzien’s boots. Long hallways, gray ceilings. Then a change in temperature. A dry, dusty smell, like old books, and the crackle of a fire.

“Not here,” says a woman’s voice, low with caution and concern. “The room down the hall.”

More booted footsteps, and then the hiss of water running into a tub. “I’m going to strip her and wash her first. I need to be able to see the damage before I heal her.”

“I thought you could see inside the body,” protests Rahzien.

“In a manner of speaking, but actual sight helps with the process. Stop fussing and hold her still.”

My brows pull together, a faint effort at a frown, and I protest weakly, but Rahzien is already propping me upright while the healer cuts off the blood-soaked dress.

“Fuck,” Rahzien mutters as it falls away and I’m left semi-conscious and naked in his arms.

I’m lowered into the tub and rinsed off quickly. At one point my lungs begin to rattle, and blood dribbles from the corner of my mouth. The healer makes an alarmed sound and directs Rahzien to pick me up again. His arms are huge and smooth against my slick wet skin.

My mind is a swirling blur, submerged beneath pain, and I can’t seem to see anything, no matter how much I struggle to open my eyes. Are they open? I can’t tell. I can barely breathe.

I’m draped on sheets… a bed. Rahzien’s hands slip away, and my body relaxes a little, relieved at the absence of his touch.

“Look at these eyes of yours, all plump and pink and purple,” croons the healer. “Like fat plums, eh, lovey? We’ll take care of those in a moment. The worst of it’s inside you, isn’t it, dove? Something burst and bleeding, I can sense it.” She clucks her tongue. “We’ll have you healthy in no time, sweet thing.”

Her fingers move across my stomach, and I moan.

“Oh, yes, I know it hurts, I know,” she murmurs.

She keeps pressing, and the pain spikes in every place her fingers touch. I can’t help a sharp cry at each poke.

“You can cry, dove. Go on—cry all you like, I don’t mind,” says the healer soothingly. “That’s a good girl.”

“Enough, Cathrain,” says Rahzien in a tone of warning.

The healer chuckles, then a slow, seeping warmth suffuses my belly, and the pain begins to fade. Within moments, I can breathe more easily.

“I have a meeting with the fucking Prince of Zairos soon,” says Rahzien. “Fix her. I’ll send someone with a dress and underthings, and they can take her to her room when you’re finished here.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Rahzien bends down, brushes his lips against my forehead, and strides out of the room.

The Prince of Zairos? So Kyreagan has a meeting with Rahzien today. His pretense of tenderness angers me, but I’m distracted by the realization that Ky and Rahzien will be in the same room, conversing and bargaining.

As the healer does her work and my pain level decreases, my anxiety spikes. What if Kyreagan says or does something to make Rahzien suspicious? With the party and our tryst, the night was a short one—what if Ky didn’t spend enough hours as a dragon to be able to hold his human form for the duration of the meeting?

While we were sequestered in his cave during the Mordvorren, we discovered that his sixteen hours as a dragon and eight as a human don’t have to be sequential. Once he has spent two hours as a dragon, he can spend one as a human. Or four hours as a dragon, two hours as a human. But if Ky didn’t parcel out his time correctly, he’ll be compelled to transform before the meeting is over, and his ruse will be discovered.

“How fast can you fix me?” I ask. The words sound thick and strange through my puffy lips, and I taste blood when I talk.

“Patience, lovey,” hums the woman. “I’m going as quick as I can. Takes energy, you see.”

I want to tell her that I’m familiar with healers, though I may not understand all the facets of their magic. We had two healers in the palace. Their capabilities and energy levels differed, but they did good work. If Cathrain is Rahzien’s favorite healer, she must be the best in Vohrain.

“Will you be alright?” I manage through my swollen mouth.

“Oh, sweet thing! No need to worry about me. I know my limits. These wounds are not difficult to manage, not at all.” She prods my forearm. “Such colorful bruises here! Almost a pity to erase them. Green and yellow, purple and blue.” Her voice has a mellow lilt, like a mother singing a child to sleep in the nursery. Not that my mother ever rocked me—I had the palace nurses for that. But I’ve watched Huli sing my little protégé Taren to sleep. In fact, I rocked him to sleep myself, many times. I miss the smell of his warm, wispy head, the faint lavender of his eyelids when he was truly exhausted, and the rosy, milky scent of him. Sweet baby. Parma said he and his family left the city. I hope they’re safe.

I hope my own little ones are safe, too. Guilt swirls like black ink in my soul because I keep forgetting about them—too deeply invested in my relationship with Kyreagan, too preoccupied with his safety and mine. But I swear, if Kyreagan and I make it out of this, if we can disentangle my life from Rahzien’s and break his hold on the people of Elekstan—then I will focus on my hatchlings, my babies. No matter what form they’re in, I will love them with all my heart.