“Millie!” he called. “Millie!”
His human mate waved at him from the crowd.
A male who looked like a human prisoner raised a sword at him.
“Let me through,” Pollick said, parrying. “My family is in there.”
“You’re wearing the goddess’s colors.” The assailant lunged at him again.
Millie ran up to them, fighting her way through her protectors. “Pollick!”
“I’m not trying to attack them,” Pollick told the male. “You fucking ass.”
Millie darted in front of the man and Pollick. Pollick’s chest lurched. She could have gotten herself killed, the silly spitfire. “Don’t do that,” he scolded her. The man, luckily, stopped in time, and so did Pollick.
She hugged him, tearing up.
“Where’s my parents, and my brother?”
She shook her head.
“Where are they?”
“They’re gone, Pollick.”
“What?” His mind went blank. “When?”
“Just now. We… we were trying to escape, and the roof fell over us. Your brother was one of the first to charge in and protect us.”
“But… but he’s only a boy. He’s barely thirteen. He’s not…”
“Your parents went after him, and they were…” She squeezed him more tightly. “Oh, Pollick.”
A bitter taste hit his tongue. “It’s my fault. I did this.”
Millie pulled back and stared at him with her tear-filled eyes. “Oh, Pollick, it’s not your fault.”
“You don’t understand.” The guilt knocked into him like a hammer. “It’s because of my cowardice. The Mother… she made me this way.”
The sounds of battle felt distant, all of a sudden, even if they rang in his ears. The death and destruction swirled around him.
He parted from Millie, his fair-skinned, beautiful mate. “I have to go.”
“Go where? Pollick?”
He blinked. “To do what’s right.”
He threw himself at the nearest opponent. He wasn’t the best at fighting, and had to struggle the best he could. He felt a blade slicing through his face. He accepted the pain. It was what he deserved.
With his spread-out wings, he lifted himself off the ground after he managed, with much effort, to subdue his first opponent. He raged at the next. He might very well lose his life in this battle, but a coward like him didn’t deserve to survive.
Constance stared down Aesryn.
They’d been like that for the last few moments. She counted the heartbeats. They pulsed in her ears. Tension suspended in the air, so thick that she could almost taste it amongst the flames. The goddess was being more cautious than she usually was, and didn’t want to make the first move, and Constance was too unfamiliar with her new body to be confident enough to start a fight.
They lingered there, at a standstill.
She knew the storm was about to come.
She wasn’t ready for it, despite the power singing in her veins.
“You can’t run, sister,” Aesryn said, in dragon form, snarling like a rabid dog.
“I’m not running.”
“You can’t escape your fate.”
But this time, fate was treating Constance differently, because she’d been forced to look at herself and take what was hers. The end was near. She could smell it. “You’re running low on power,” Constance said.
The Mother hissed. “A minor inconvenience.”
Constance could sense dark magic trickling from the Mother. The goddess had harvested some the dragons who had been fighting her, but now the rest of the prisoners were far from reach. Constance stood like a wall between them. Aesryn couldn’t simply have her way anymore. The goddess’s soul beads were also likely running out from having to heal such a terrible wound. Rayse had put the goddess on the brink of death. Somehow, the Mother had managed to come back through witchery. Constance had to make sure that Aesryn’s death would be final this time.
“You’re not winning, sister,” Aesryn said.
The million years of torture she’d had to face flickered through Constance’s mind, still in a fuzz. She’d never been able to have a fulfilling life with Edrienne, now Rayse. Yes, she had been a vicious witch in her very first life, and had wronged Aesryn tremendously, but she had paid for that sin a thousand times over. She had to stop the cycle.
Constance wasn’t the same person she was before she entered the palace. Her torture in here had changed her, and she wasn’t as weak. “You’ve had a good reign,” Constance said. “But it’s time it ended. Your people deserve some peace, and you’re too wicked to give them that.”
“You’re looking at a mirror.”
“No, I’m not.”
Constance’s resolve seemed to spur the Dragon Mother into motion. Aesryn lunged at her. The Mother was so quick that Constance didn’t have time to react. She crashed into the ground. The rocks scraped against her hide. The colorful flames burned beneath her, but she was now immune to fire, and they did little more than give her a mere tingle. Rage shot through her dragon. These bestial urges mixed with her human conscience, bringing an unfamiliar sensation.
The pain from the rocks on her skin, however, was very real.
The Mother screeched out a harvesting spell, but Constance’s soul was now too imbued with strength to succumb to something like that. She blocked Aesryn’s attempt and kicked the dragoness. The Mother rolled and skidded across the landscape of destruction, throwing dirt and rubble into the air.
Aesryn got up. The goddess had not one scratch on her hide, and shook off Constance’s attack like it was nothing but a feather. Constance tried to harvest Aesryn’s soul, but it didn’t budge, as she had expected.
The goddess sent a Surgitia furmia Constance’s way. The piranha-like fog came at her, hungry for flesh. She almost panicked, but was familiar with the spell and sent another of the same toward the cloud of death. They canceled each other out and fizzled into nothing.
Aesryn didn’t have an unlimited amount of power, but Constance felt like she did. Sure, a million years of souls could run out, but for this fight, it seemed like a limitless amount.
Aesryn continued sending threatening spells her way, but Constance knew the counter for each and every one of them. They fought on, like two opposing tides pushing at each other, not giving in.
But then the Dragon Mother ran out of patience and decided to go on a physical offensive. “You are a child compared to me.” Aesryn made a maneuver through the air so quick that Constance’s eyes couldn’t follow. She felt a sharp sting beneath her wing. She tried to direct a spell toward the Mother but didn’t know where to aim it. Perhaps it was her hesitation that made Constance weaker. Some part of her didn’t want to end the Mother, despite all that Aesryn had done.
Aesryn mounted her and pushed her onto the ground. The Mother drew her talons and positioned them on Constance’s spine.
Constance tried one last attempt at a Surgitia furmia. The Mother swatted it away with the remainder of her souls.
“You’re out of magic,” Constance said.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Aesryn thrust her claw through her back. Blinding pain seared through Constance. She felt her heart beating in the goddess’s talons, bleeding out as the Mother shoved her claw into the flesh of her organ. Constance’s power was mixing together with her dragon healing abilities, repeatedly stitching up her wound. But it didn’t numb the pain. Instead, it felt like her heart was deforming, healing into an odd shape around the Mother’s intrusive digits.
“You can’t kill me,” Constance said. “Then you’d die, too.”
“I’d rather die than let you win.”
She sucked in a sharp breath of pain, trying not to whimper. “You lose, Aesryn. Whichever way this goes, your empire will end and you will fall.”
Aesryn growled. “Shut up.”
Constance saw Rayse flying toward her from a distance. She smiled at him—however much a dragon c
ould smile, anyway. All she felt was agony at that moment, but they’d won. She would die in the process, but she could accept that.
She closed her eyes and waited for death.
26
Rayse’s heart stopped beating.
They were too late. The Dragon Mother had his mate in a viselike hold. He could see the blood dripping from the gold dragon’s back. How could she have so much blood? It looked like a river of red was escaping from her chest, trickling down the rubble in an endless stream.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.
He had trusted himself. He thought he could help them win. But this attempt was just like any other—a failure.
He flew as quickly as he could toward his mate, not willing to let go.
But he was too far away, and despite how fast he was, he knew he wouldn’t be able to reach her in time.
He felt the abyss of the last sixty years awaiting him.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a smaller-than-usual brown dragon darting toward the Mother. That dragon was close enough to save Constance. He wasn’t a sight to see, and looked like he’d have trouble lifting a boulder, but with the Mother distracted, he should be able to take her down.
Rayse’s life depended on this weak-looking beast.
He watched with the tension of a taut rope as the brown dragon closed in. It descended on Aesryn with full force and sank both claws into her neck. Aesryn choked as the dragon tugged her away from Constance.
The brown dragon threw the goddess to the ground and ripped off her head.
Time stilled.
The goddess was truly dead.
The whole clearing simmered into a standstill, and deep silence blanketed the crowd.
Rayse checked the goddess’s talons for Constance’s heart. They were still empty. He nearly collapsed from the relief.
Kien rushed up to the brown dragon. “Pollick!”
Pollick stared down at the goddess’s dead form. He looked stunned. “I killed her,” he said. Pollick reached down into the Mother’s chest and tore out her heart. “For extra measure.”
Nobody moved. They couldn’t believe that the Dragon Mother was truly dead. Hell, Rayse himself couldn’t believe it. She’d been towering over them for so long, like a storm cloud without an end in sight. She couldn’t simply be gone…
But she was.
Just like that.
He grinned.
He could finally rest. He called back to his human form and ran up to Constance, who was already stitching back together. He heard the slick sound of flesh knitting up as he neared. Her wounds closed, then she was shifting back as well.
Rayse peered at her, dumbfounded. “Constance… your scars.”
She reached for her face. She lit up with surprise when her fingers ran over smooth skin. She had been beautiful even with them, but she looked happy to find herself as she was before the Dragon Mother’s torture, and that brought him joy, too. “They’re gone,” Constance said. “The power… it was regenerative. That’s why I don’t have a hole through my chest right now.”
“And thank god for that.” It was more of a saying. He wondered if he could be considered an atheist now. Maybe all of them were. “God” was lying a few feet away with her head missing.
He opened his arms and pulled his mate into an embrace. Her soft skin melded into his. The scent of their relief was palpable. The colorful fires were horrid, but now a decoration for their celebration. The remnants of the Mother were already flickering lower and melting into the ground.
Constance pulled back. “I don’t think the power is going to stay there for long. It’s meant to be an answer to Aesryn. I can feel it fading, and the voices are gone. The memories of my past lives… they’re fading, too.”
“You don’t need it anymore,” he said, then gently brushed her lips with his. She smelled sweet. Victory was glorious. “I can take care of us.”
“What about the Ayesrialians? What about those in Yvrdeen and Falron?”
The magnitude of what they had to pick up hit him, but it didn’t seem as daunting as he thought it would be. “We can rebuild. We’ve done so before. The water witches and the Grimfire dragons can help us. Now that the Dragon Mother is gone, we can live our lives.” Emotion poured through him. Freedom. The taste of it was something he would never forget. He didn’t want to release his hold on Constance. He felt dirty with Aesryn’s scent surrounding him. Constance was his salvation. He needed her to wash away that filthy woman’s stench.
He would forever be haunted by that memory, but he could live through it and let time heal him. The worst was over.
A chorus of cheers started around them. People were hugging, kissing, screaming joy. Many of the drakin shifted back and moved toward the prisoners, eagerness burning in their eyes. The women and children broke apart from their tight formations. They ran up to the warriors.
Constance’s lips parted. “The drakin…”
“Many of them were willing to join the resistance. Their families are amongst those trying to escape.”
Pollick was getting patted on the back and having his hair ruffled by his fellow combatants. The stubby man wore a grimace. Pollick scurried up to Rayse and Constance with a scowl on his face. “Can the both of you come out and claim credit, already? I know that killing the Mother was just me being lucky. I don’t deserve this. I need to talk to my mate. My family…” He cast his gaze down.
“You deserve the recognition,” Rayse said.
“No I don’t.” Pollick turned his head away. “I’m the reason she was still alive in the first place. I… I was too afraid.”
“Then you’ll have to live with that.” Like the many other regrets Rayse had to live with.
Horns blared from nearer districts of the city. The news had spread.
He turned to his mate, expecting to see a large grin.
But she was crying and laughing. She looked almost hysterical. He swept her closer and kissed her forehead, letting her release her tidal wave of emotions. She began to calm down into a sniffle. He reached up and wiped the tears from her cheeks the best he could.
“Greta… Jaerhel…” She was shaking like a leaf in a storm. “They aren’t here for this.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “They’re in a better place,” he said, not certain if he believed it. His gaze crawled over the expanse of destroyed bricks and ash. Blood was sprayed all over the ground. Dead bodies littered the battlefield like flies. Some of the prisoners were mourning over the drakin who didn’t make it.
In the sky, he saw the drakin who were the most loyal to the Dragon Mother, fleeing. They’d lost and had to run, or their lives would be forfeit under this new regime.
Constance and Rayse had escaped, but not without a price. Shen was crouched over Greta, weeping. Constance padded forward to join Shen. She bent down and placed her hand over the corpse. Greta looked so peaceful, as if she were simply sleeping—a precious gem trapped in an endless slumber.
Rayse bent down and lifted the old dragon into his arms. “We’re going to miss you, you crazy woman.”
He almost expected a response, but Greta lay still, with a cheeky smirk still on her lips.
Epilogue
Reiana strode up to Uncle Pollick’s hut. Today was a very special day. The Grimfires were coming to visit, and she had to have a plan. But she was only a little dragonling, not past her tenth year. She knew nothing about boys, but she was certain she liked Favian. How was she supposed to come up with a plan if she was so clueless about the opposite sex?
Uncle Pollick was often generous with his information. He was just the right person to give her what she needed.
She skipped up to his doorstep and knocked three times. She folded her hands behind her back and waited.
“What is it?” The wooden door creaked open, sounding just as cranky as the dragon man was. Pollick didn’t like to hang around with the others in the clan. He was private, until it came to Reiana and Aunt Milli
e. He treated her like a princess. Her mother told her it was because he had been responsible her birth when he called for the midwife.
“Ah, Reiana,” he said. “Come in.” His boots clicked against the floor. The wooden boards were making a squeaky noise. She’d asked Papa why they didn’t change the flooring. He said that their stay here in the Everpeak mountains was only supposed to be temporary, and the shoddily built houses here weren’t supposed to be masterpieces.
“What can I help you with?” Pollick asked, wearing his usual grumpy expression. Just because he liked her, didn’t mean he had to smile.
“Where’s Aunt Millie?”
“She’s taking the boys to class.”
“Huh.”
“Shouldn’t you be in class, too?”
“There are more important things to deal with. My parents gave me permission to skip school today.”
“You’d skip class even if you didn’t have permission.”
Reiana shrugged. “Probably.”
“I’ll need to talk to your parents about that.” Uncle Pollick sniffed and rubbed his nose with his thumb. He sat down on his fluffy couch, the one with fur so comfortable that Reiana wouldn’t mind sitting on it herself. “So what do you need, princess?”
“Favian’s coming today,” she said, scooting over to one of his chairs and plonking her butt on it.
“That boy you couldn’t stop yapping about the last time the Grimfires came over?”
She frowned. “I wasn’t yapping.”
Uncle Pollick took a large gulp of liquid from the jug next to him. He always slurped too loudly when drinking. “Sure you weren’t. Well, what about him?”
“How do I make him like me?”
“You’re too young for that.”
“Am not.”
He raised his brows. “If you’re not too young, then you would know with one solid look. Your dragon won’t be able to withstand the sight of him and it’ll… uh… wake up. But you’re not of age yet, so that’s not going to happen.”
“Wake up? Like how?”
“That’s for adult ears only.”
“I’m old enough!” She felt like she was smarter than her parents sometimes, and could even do multiplication without having to look at the chart the teachers liked to hand around so often.
Fractured Souls (Soul of a Dragon Book 3) Page 22