Page 162 of Under Restless Skies

His wingbeats grow shallow and slow, and we sink—closer and closer to the towers. Another bolt lodges itself deep into his scales, with a sound like flesh tearing, as a lump forms in my throat.

When we finally cross the wall, I want to break down and cry in relief, even if bolts still chase us.

We fly on, the dragon’s wingbeats growing more labored and shallow, his breathing strained, until a small break in the trees appears below. He angles downward, his descent unsteady, and hits the ground with a heavy, skidding crash that sends dirt and torn-up grass flying.

I slide from his back and check the wounds. Oh, no. My breath stills and my stomach lurches. The dragon has long gashes where the bolts tore through his scales, still welling dark red, dripping steadily into the bushes beneath him.

A desperate scream rips out of my throat. If I could, I’d lick his entire body and heal him, but I don’t have that magic. I can’t do anything.

“I’m so sorry.” My words come with a strangled sob.

He turns to look at me, purple eyes soft and tired, each breath a shallow labor, and I press my cheek against the warm scales of his jaw, feeling the vibration of a low sound in his chest.

Then his weight shifts under me. A single step back, then another. I try to touch his scales, but my hands find only air as he swings his great head away, tucks his wings, and runs past me into the dark tree line, branches snapping under him until the forest swallows him whole.

“Wait.” I chase after him. “You need a healer. You need to rest.”

The trees press in so close that I can barely see him ahead of me, let alone understand how he can move through this dense forest.

“Wait!” I call out again into the dark, stumbling forward.

As I take a careful step, a hand clasps around my mouth.

“The last thing I’d do here is yell.” The rider’s voice has a threatening, dark edge.

I push his hand away. His grip tightens, so I bite down hard on his fingers. He pulls back, but leans close to whisper, “Don’t yell.”

“Fine,” I whisper back. “Where did he go? The dragon? He was hurt.”

“He’ll be fine. You’ll see him again, but we need to get out of here.”

“He was bleeding,” I croak, my throat tight with tears.

“Are you a dragon healer by any chance?” The condescension in his tone annoys me.

“No, but⁠—”

“Then it doesn’t matter if you don’t see him any time soon. I’m telling you he’ll be fine, you know he’ll be fine.”

“You could be lying.”

“Derkeinians don’t lie.”

“Der what?”

He frowns and starts to walk. “Let’s keep moving. What do you mean der what?”

“The word you said. I don’t know what it means.”

“Derkeinien?” As my eyes adjust to the dark, I catch the furrow of his brow. “What do you call someone from Derkein?”

The terrain is difficult, and I stumble on a gnarled root, trying to match his pace. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you call your neighbor kingdom?”

“Kingdom of the Riders.” I shrug. “Is that not right?”

A sharp, annoyed laugh leaves his lips. “No. We’re in Derkein. And we don’t lie.”