Tellus

by Tyffany Hackett

  “I’ll always stay with you,” I whispered. “As long as you want me to.”

  He brushed a kiss to my cheek and snatched the blanket from my free hand. With a flash of that half smile he tossed it over his shoulder, spinning on his heel.

  The grin that met me when he looked back stopped my heart.

  Hours passed. One or two, maybe. I lost count of the seconds as I tossed, whispering softly with Meryn when she realized I couldn’t sleep. After a while, our conversation faded off and I lost myself in the stars overhead. I wondered if Annalea saw the same ones I did tonight. If she was all right. The uncertainty made me sick.

  Camion stirred not long after we’d fallen asleep. His grip tightened around me, right before the soft murmurs began. By the time his cheeks were damp, I had twisted around and began whispering his name. I had thought the nightmares were getting better. Once in a while instead of every night. There had always been a natural peace between us, an ease that calmed the fears. We were better like this, side by side. I rarely saw his nightmares progress this far.

  So, when he was overcome, a fist clenched around my heart. I had taken the small chunk of peace he had in this world and tainted it. Guilty tears slid free. I swiped them away. This felt worse than watching him be attacked by the Kotsani, worse even than the shame I had felt after the catacombs went disastrously wrong.

  I traced the lines of his face, whispered gentle reassurances. After a few minutes he calmed, his breaths slowly evening out. His hand drifted over my stomach in lazy, sleepy loops, his face buried in my shoulder. But a thought pressed at me.

  “Cam?” I murmured.

  He grunted softly, but his breathing picked up. His hand stilled. I almost debated dropping the matter on my mind, letting him sleep. He needed the rest.

  But time alone was rare, and with Meryn pacing the far side of camp it was the only time I might talk to him without curious ears. I looped my fingers through his and rolled onto my side, pressing tentative kisses along the line of his jaw. Camion groaned before he rolled onto his back, blinking slowly in my direction.

  “You okay?” he asked, exhaustion disjointing his words.

  I studied him for a long moment before I curled into his chest. “I’m sorry.”

  Camion shifted, tilting my chin so he could examine my face. His eyes narrowed. “Have you slept?”

  “Define slept . . .”

  He sighed heavily. His hand slid across my stomach again, pointedly this time, to the slim line between my ribs. I tensed as his thumb brushed over the scar, at his soft intake of breath. Finally he said, “You should sleep.”

  “You’re not,” I said. His brow lifted. “Not well, then. You were talking.”

  Camion’s throat bobbed. “I keep seeing . . . what happened . . . in every dream I have. My mind has decided it’s delighted with this new form of torment. I’m trying to move on. As soon as I close my eyes, though, the demons merge. Nothing I dream is untainted.”

  “I know.” I ached with guilt, physically, in ways I didn’t even think were possible. My fingers tightened on the front of his shirt. “I was trapped. Immobile, but I saw everything. And if I close my eyes, I keep hearing what you said. Your words echo around my nightmares, from faces that aren’t always yours. Every night I watch myself break the people I love, and I can’t get to any of you . . .”

  When I choked, Camion’s hand slid to my waist and tugged my nightshirt farther down as he pulled me against him.

  “That was it, you know.” His breaths became shallow, small tremors wracking the arms that tightened again. I tilted my head back, enough that I could see his face, and lifted my hand to his cheek. For a moment, he leaned into the touch. Then he spoke again. “We’ve always wondered what would be too much. What could break us. And I think we both secretly thought that line didn’t exist, not if we had each other. But maybe that was the difference. Watching you plunge that dagger into your chest, seeing you collapse . . . one person can only suffer so much before they begin to question if they’re meant to have light in their life at all.”

  “Cam—” And here we were, the reason I had woken him teetering on the tip of my tongue, fear trying to hold me back. Before I could reconsider, I said, “Tell me. About your demons. About what haunts you, what keeps you up at night. Tell me your stories.”

  He hesitated. I knew I asked a lot. I was pressing on a wound he preferred to keep buried. But the hurt was festering and I wanted more for him than that. He deserved to heal.

  “Your shadows will always follow you,” I whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid of them.”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said finally. “Not, at least, if I’m awake. Not anymore. I’m no longer powerless, and that makes a world of difference.”

  “Powerless against what? Your father?”

  He inclined his head hesitantly. “He didn’t want me. And not in the detached, ‘I wish I could get rid of this child’ way.” His throat bobbed and his fingers unconsciously moved to the chain around his throat, to the ring that hung there. The rose gold glinted in the moonlight, the pink quartz reflecting the stars. “He tried to get rid of me. Over and over.”

  My blood froze. “He what?” I choked out.

  “I know. Sadistic, yes?” He huffed a laugh. “He’s always blamed me for my mother’s death. Always. I was small, when she died. I remember her, but I was young. She became ill, was in bed sick for days, and one morning I woke to my father’s sobs—”

  His arms tightened to match the catch in his voice. I thought that might be all he would tell me, then he went on. “He told me I looked like her, but the words were venom. How dare I wear so many of her features, how dare I have her eyes, her hair. He hated me because I was a walking reminder of that loss.” I reached up and brushed away a tear. The corner of his mouth tilted up before it flattened, and he said, “The scars are from whatever he could get his hands on. Some I deserved. Some, he was bored. Or drunk. I couldn’t live up to my mother’s memory, so what business did I have trying to be her. Whips, chain, broken horse reins, branches. The thin ones hurt the worst.”

  My fingers shook on his cheek. He lifted a hand and placed it over mine. The pain in his voice twisted my stomach into knots. What kind of person didn’t want their child? Their own flesh and blood? As he spoke again, the tears burning in my own eyes threatened to spill over.

  “He didn’t stop there, though. To him, I was an utter failure. I did well in school. I excelled at smithing. But I was always in this shadow, never the person he wanted me to be.” His throat bobbed again. “I couldn’t live up to an illusion. His memories. The fact that I kept trying was an affront to nature, apparently.”

  “What do you mean?” I didn’t think I wanted to know the answer.

  “When I was around eight or nine, he tried poison.” I couldn’t stop the tears then. Camion frowned, pressing his lips to my forehead as he said, “I can stop. I don’t need to tell you this.”

  “You do,” I murmured. “I want to know. No, need to know. I want to help.”

  He shook his head gently. “You already do, Tyli.”

  “No. I made your dreams worse. Now, I’m going to try and make them better.” I swiped at my cheeks. “How did you survive?”

  A soft sigh ruffled my hair. “I didn’t feel right after he made dinner. Call it a hunch or survival instinct, I don’t know. But I forced myself to throw up the entire meal. I barely managed to drag myself to a healer in time, but I got there.”

  “I’m glad you did,” I whispered.

  “Is that enough for now?” he asked.

  I nodded, curling into his chest, holding him as tightly as I could manage. The thought that he might not be here, that his father had done such a heinous thing . . . His father almost extinguished one of the brightest lights I knew. “I’m glad you got away from him.”

  “The leaving wasn’t the hard part,” he admitted. “Finding your way in a world that doesn’t see you like you’ve been told to see yourself. Acc
epting your worth and hoping others will too. That’s the hardest part.”

  “And your scars.”

  “Yes, those too.” His lips brushed my forehead as he spoke, the words hushed. “Sharing the scars is the hardest part.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you have to hope people can see past the ugly, the twisted, and find the good within. Most people don’t care to look.”

  Chapter 28

  We climbed the hill first thing in the morning, after determining the remaining ruins a bust. While the center of the city was fairly intact, the farther we went toward the edges the more destruction we found. Most of the outer limits were little more than piles of rubble, and utterly unexplorable. So, we made our way to the last building, the one we were almost certain held the Scepter. This close, I realized the structure was maybe half the size of my palace, and almost certainly a temple—if not now than once long before.

  Heavy oak doors stood at the entrance, untouched by the destruction that had fallen over the rest of the city. Above us, the ceiling rose high into the sky, letting white clouds peek through the thick, paned glass. Furniture laid in shattered remains across the floor, splinters of the pieces that had formerly been seating. I didn’t recognize any of the symbols or figures along the walls. Toward the back, right in front of stairs leading to a dais, reminiscent of the one from the catacombs, was the very thing Jyn had feared.

  A guardian.

  A gatekeeper to the Tellus Scepter.

  A massive, slumbering black dragon covered in jagged scales. Sharp points crested its spine, crawling down to a tail that curled up onto the staircase. Membranous black wings rested along its sides, rising and falling with the soft puffs of smoke curling from downturned nostrils.

  “How did we not wake it?” Andimir murmured, so quiet we barely heard him.

  “See the points?” Meryn asked softly. “If I recall, most of the lore about dragons said only males have them.”

  “How did we not wake him, then?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jyn whispered back.

  Instinctively, Andimir pulled Fetian from his shoulder and encouraged him out the doors behind us. To safety, where I would rather be. I paused.

  No. I would rather be with them, no matter the cost.

  Jyn had his daggers in hand, but doubt creased his expression. “I don’t think we can actually fight a dragon.” He scanned the room with weary eyes. “I might be able to sneak past.”

  I gripped his arm. “And if you’re wrong?”

  “Then I guess we’re even?”

  I gritted my teeth together, watching the amused smirk creep onto his lips. Biting my tongue was harder than I had imagined. “You’re not funny.”

  “I am, in fact.”

  I frowned. “So, what do you want us to do?”

  “Be ready to cover me when this thing inevitably wakes up?” Jyn lifted a shoulder. He returned his attention to the sleeping form, to the massive talons that scraped along the wooden floors.

  “Why you?” Andimir asked as Jyn took a step forward. The Elf’s eyebrow rose.

  “He’ll be quieter and faster than any of us.” Camion’s gaze remained steadfast on the dragon. A scaled foot shifted and his hand slid to the hilt of his sword.

  I tightened my grip on Jyn’s arm and he paused. His lips pressed into a thin line before he stepped closer. Pulling me tight to his chest, he murmured, “I’ll be fine, Princess. I promise.”

  “You have to be,” I said, squeezing him.

  When he stepped away, my heart leapt to life and thundered in my ears. He crept along the far wall. I pulled my bow free, nocking an arrow loosely. Meryn began to murmur, her fists clutched tightly—around a plant, I assumed—but she didn’t spare me any glances. Andimir and Camion both clutched their swords. Doubt was written across their faces, though.

  Jyn passed one of the membranous wings, stepping carefully over the spiked tip aimed in his direction. He squeezed behind one of the broken pieces of furniture and was almost to the stairs when the beast stretched, still asleep. A wing spread out, up toward the ceiling, and dropped to the ground with a quaking boom.

  Then it happened.

  One of the glass panes overhead shattered.

  I froze, terror a flood of ice through my veins. The dragon lifted his head, eyeless sockets opening as it slowly glanced toward the ceiling. None of us dared move but Meryn, who kept whispering, though her pace slowed and her voice lowered. That scaled head bent down to survey the fractured glass.

  Then it saw us.

  Purple fire lit in those dark sockets, blazing down the dragon’s throat and across its body until the entire underbelly glowed. Its wings lifted and spread wide as the creature leaped to his feet. Jyn narrowly ducked out of the way, managing to slink up the stairs and onto the next platform.

  But the dragon’s focus was on us. We scattered as a blast of purple flame shot across the floor, in the spot we had been standing only a moment before. The beast roared, shaking the stone and shattering more of the skylights.

  Camion tugged me against him and tried to shield me as glass showered down around us. Andimir did the same for Meryn, who desperately tried not to blink and break her spellcasting.

  The dragon’s head swiveled toward her, as if sensing her magic.

  Took one step.

  Two.

  I fired an arrow.

  The blow struck true, landing in one of those hollowed eyes. Without flinching, the creature lashed out, his spiked tail slamming into me and Camion. Rock and glass scraped my arms, my face, as I slid across the floor. Camion skidded to a stop just before I did. He leapt up, raced to where I landed.

  “I’m okay,” I said, pushing myself up and wincing at the spots of pain. Blood dribbled down my arms, trailed down the side of my face and neck. A slim crimson line fell along Camion’s temple.

  Shiny black talons swept for him before he could react. I grabbed Camion and yanked him back. The claws missed him, scraping over my arm before I could move myself.

  Andimir charged forward then, yelling loud nonsense to taunt the dragon. The creature’s attention snapped to him, then back to Meryn as she screamed loudly. A geyser of orange flame blasted to life underneath the dragon’s stomach.

  A roar of agony and fury shook the room as the flames did their job, burning away fleshy skin. Purple light was doused wherever the orange touched. White teeth snapped for Meryn, but Andimir was there, thrusting his blade into the roof of the dragon’s mouth. Blood blossomed on his sleeves where the fangs grazed. He jumped back when the purple flames began to lick at him, deep from inside the dragon’s throat.

  The creature released his hold on Andimir, shaking his head in anger as he tried to dislodge the blade. After a moment the sword flew free and clattered against one of the far walls.

  The dragon froze. Then he turned to stare at Jyn with absolute, unwavering focus. None of the arrows I fired mattered, nothing Andimir yelled caught its ear.

  Jyn had the Scepter.

  Purple flames lashed out toward Jyn’s feet. He dove out of the way, rolling nimbly to his feet before he caught my eye. His daggers were tucked into their sheaths. Without words, I knew what he wanted us to do.

  “Run. Back into the ruins, run,” I yelled.

  “But what about—” Andimir started, his brow creasing.

  “Trust me,” I said. “Do you think I’d ever leave Jyn behind?”

  Andimir shook his head. The dragon roared again, angry at the Elf who had stolen his most valuable possession and who now flitted around him. We ran, back into the city, back into places that might give us an advantage if the dragon followed.

  I ducked behind a collapsed pillar, nocked an arrow and lined up the shot. Camion scrambled for the forge, Andimir at his heels, and Meryn vanished in the direction of the springs. The silence left in their wake was unnerving. Every muscle in my shoulders and arms were tense, ready, waiting for the dragon to crash through the temple wall. The building shuddered, ston
es falling like rain. Still, no Jyn.

  Camion was at my side, bow in hand, by the time Jyn bolted out and lithely vanished behind a broken wall. Another roar bellowed from the dragon, and the very earth trembled beneath us.

  The temple seemed to lean to the right, then the left. Silence fell, deafening after the commotion. Then the dragon was up, shattering the stone framework holding the skylights in place. Wings snapped wide, blotting out the sun, a dark silhouette of purple and black that furiously sought its missing treasure.

  “Hit the underbelly, under the jaw, the mouth,” Meryn panted, dropping beside me. The pockets of her skirt were overflowing with dark flowers, a small smile tilting her lips. “I didn’t grab enough of these. A few more hits of flame and he should be done.”

  “Can you do anything else?” Andimir asked. “Wouldn’t flame be less effective against a dragon?”

  “Apparently not,” she panted, daring a glance at the beast. It had dropped to the ground near Jyn, his nose snuffling anxiously toward his hiding spot. “Let’s go, before that dragon makes a meal of him.”

  I loosed the arrow still pointed at the beast. The tip bounced harmlessly off his scales. I scowled. Camion’s shot was better, lodging into the soft gum behind one of its teeth. The dragon angrily shook his head, trying to remove the arrow. Andimir slunk closer. His hands were wrapped around the hilt of a massive greatsword, with a blade that glinted black in the sun.

  Camion loosed another arrow, striking the soft skin by the dragon’s leg, before he muttered, “That blade is carved with runes we couldn’t read. But when he saw it in the armory, he insisted.”

  “Runes you can’t read? Ones that could sap him?”

  Meryn glanced up from wrapping her hands and arms with the flowered vines. “Were the markings familiar at all?” Camion shook his head. Meryn shrugged. “He’s fine. Probably.”

  If I hadn’t been so focused on firing another shot, I might have thrown my arms up in frustration. But as my arrow bit into the thin flesh of the dragon’s wing, Andimir snuck beneath the creature and thrust the blade upward. Black blood leaked free, thickly coating Andimir from head to toe. The dragon nearly stomped him in rage, screaming in agony, and finally spun away from Jyn. Andimir leapt back, managing to dislodge the blade as he fled. Meryn crept away from my side to hide in a spot very near Jyn’s, whispering into her balled hands.