by Jekka Jones
“I am sorry that I, in my selfless desire for revenge, caused you more grief,” Sri’Lanca said softly. “I really am, Landon.” He moved closer and settled himself on the sand, tucking his legs beneath his body. “I have always been amazed with Menrye’s fearlessness. They hold to their beliefs without a care of what anyone else thinks. It would be admirable if they weren’t so cruel.”
Landon was aware of Sri’Lanca. He felt the dragon burning to pursue a conversation but willing to let it drop. He could almost hear Sri’Lanca’s questions. How did you survive? Did Myra really kill the Twin? Landon didn’t want to answer those questions. They belonged in the past with everything else.
“Why did you bond to me?” he asked, hoping to deter Sri’Lanca’s feelings. “Liliana told me the dragon chooses whether to bond to a person or not—to accept him, or her, as his tamer.” He took a deep breath and tried to keep his thoughts organized. “So why me? What in Paradise did I do to make you want me as your tamer. You hated me.”
Hated. Past tense, yet it was true. Sri’Lanca felt no hatred towards Landon. Those emotions had disappeared from the dragon and hope had replaced them—hope that Landon would forgive him, that Myra would get better, and the armies would abandon Nircana and they could go home. The dragon never said any of this out loud, but Landon felt it as strongly as if they had been spoken.
Sri’Lanca shifted, rustling his wings, and anxiety pulsed through the bond. “I was wondering when you would ask that question,” he muttered. His emotions became a tumultuous combination of shame and longing. “Balaam, help me explain. . . .”
Landon waited, feeling that the dragon was struggling to find the right words. After a few seconds of Sri’Lanca rustling his wings and licking his lips, he said, “Do you remember promising you would never use the Wizard’s Seal to harm me?”
Landon nodded, trying not to think of how quickly he wanted to break that promise when Eli died.
“When you said that, I looked in your eyes and saw the truth,” Sri’Lanca continued. “Oh, I know you wanted me dead when I killed your father, and horse. I felt your rage and grief, but that isn’t what I am talking about now. On the prairie, you looked me in the eye and swore you would never use the Wizard’s Seal to hurt me, and then you walked away.
“I had heard so many things about the Seal, both from Judan, the emperor, and the Drakshus. But there you were, a possessor of the greatest power on earth, swearing to never use it against your enemy. I wanted to despise your integrity, hate you for it, but instead I admired you. I marveled that you could go through so much pain and still refuse to use the Seal for your own desires. I wondered if Judan could do that.” The dragon’s voice broke and grief shot through the bond. He turned away from Landon, staring at the sky just beyond the cavern mouth.
“Unfortunately, I know Judan couldn’t do that,” Sri’Lanca continued quietly. “From the day he hatched me, Judan wanted nothing but power and control. Although we loved each other, it wasn’t like your relationship with Myra, or Liliana with Ti’Luthin. I was more of a business partner than a friend or brother. Judan was so confident in his decisions that I obeyed him without question, thinking that was proper for a tamed dragon.
“Then Liliana tamed a dragon, and Judan threw her aside. I was shocked he would do that to his own kin, more so when the only mercy he showed was to oversee her trials. He cared more for his position as vizier than his own blood.” Sri’Lanca’s yellow eyes gazed into Landon’s. “You, however, had the most powerful object in the world in your hands and you despised it. You would rather destroy it than seize a throne or wipe out a kingdom. Judan would gladly do those things, because that was the kind of man he was.”
“I didn’t want a tamer like that. As you walked away from me, that knowledge struck me harder than Judan’s death. In that moment, I wished you had hatched me. I wished you were my tamer, and that was enough to form the bond.”
“But I use the Seal all the time,” Landon said quietly, shame filling him. “How is that admirable?”
Sri’Lanca’s mouth twitched with a smile. “You only use it to heal. Even in the camp, your or your parents could have easily used the Seal to obliterate the armies, but you didn’t. You used it to help others. You know the wizards, let alone the Seers, would have never used the power in that way.”
“That means nothing if Myra dies.”
Sri’Lanca rustled his wings, his anxiety so great that Landon’s heart quickened in response. “If that happens, then you can hate me for the rest of our lives. It is my fault she is in this condition,” he said bitterly. “But I hope that if she survives . . . that you will forgive me.”
Landon’s soul shuddered at the thought. “Will the bond make it happen?” he asked, almost in a whisper.
Sri’Lanca shrugged. “Maybe and maybe not. The purpose of the bond is so that man and dragon can draw closer to Balaam, or to Jeshua in your case. I have forgiven you, and I hope you will be brave enough to forgive me. Forget I said anything.” He rose and went to the wagons. “Are you hungry? I can make us soup. I stole the wagon with the meatiest smell this time.” He began pulling crates out of the wagon.
Landon watched the dragon, thinking over his words. Sri’Lanca wanted love and companionship, something that Judan Tan’Loraen had failed to provide. Yet he thought Landon would be that kind of tamer to him? He remembered the sudden flood of longing and jealousy he had experienced on the prairie, and he thought of Liliana. Liliana wanted nothing more than to belong, yet was forced to grovel beneath the will of others. Sri’Lanca wanted the same thing. Was it so bad to forgive him?
But he killed Eli. He killed Oni. He watched as Landon’s soul suffered at the hands of Darrin and the Drakshus. It wasn’t until Myra had been wounded and Landon’s heart broke that Sri’Lanca finally came to his senses. He didn’t want to forgive the dragon. Hating him was easier. . . .
“Sri’Lanca,” said Landon. Sri’Lanca paused to listen, but he didn’t turn around. “I will forgive you.” He sucked in a deep breath and clasped his hands to stop them from shaking. “I will forgive you but not now. I can’t do it right now. I . . . I just can’t.”
Sri’Lanca nodded. “I understand. It was too much to ask.”
“It’s always too much to ask,” Landon replied. He got to his feet and joined Sri’Lanca at the wagon. “When I was Angen’s prisoner, I asked for his forgiveness and he threw it in my face. He said my dead body would earn his forgiveness.” Landon wasn’t sure why he was telling Sri’Lanca this, but he didn’t regret it and that surprised him.
Sri’Lanca glanced at him, mystified. “I heard that is how Borikans forgive. A claw for a claw as we dragons say.”
“We say an eye for an eye,” Landon replied.
Sri’Lanca nodded and looked him full in the face. “Have you forgiven that Borikan?”
Landon blinked. “I don’t know . . . I try not to think about it.”
“Would you?”
Landon looked away. “I really don’t know. Like I said, I’d rather pretend it never happened.”
Sri’Lanca’s tail twitched again, but it was a thoughtful twitch rather than the mischievous one when he was feeling clever. “I think you would,” he said at last, turning back to the wagon.
“What makes you think that?” Landon asked.
“Because if you can forgive me for my sins, then you can forgive Angen Hastril. But like you said, not now. There is too much going on to worry about the ghosts of the past.”
Landon said nothing and watched as Sri’Lanca removed small crates of vegetables and meat from the wagon. He didn’t know what to think, or how to respond. Sri’Lanca had already forgiven him. He had moved on, leaving Landon to deal with the emotional pain by himself.
Happiness seeped through the bond, and Sri’Lanca started humming, a side effect of when he was excited. Landon watched as he pulled out the crates of cheese and stacked them on the side. The dragon draped a wing over the crates as if to prevent them from disapp
earing.
“What sounds good to you?” he asked as he rummaged through the wagon. “I can make a traditional Dagnorian dish with chicken, peppers, and onion in a red sauce. Normally you have it over small dumplings, but we have a plethora of bread that’ll do just fine. We have plenty of beef for stew, or . . .” the dragon gave Landon a sly smile, “I can make Mozzeli onion soup since we have so much cheese.”
“Beef sounds good to me.”
Landon was rolling his eyes when those words were whispered from behind him, feeble yet stronger than he expected. He and Sri’Lanca stared for a heartbeat at each other, then whirled around.
Sky blue eyes stared at them. A slow, tired smile crept across Myra’s face. “Howsy,” she said wearily.
Landon was at her side in a flash, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Good afternoon,” he said, choking on the wave of relief that swept through his body. “How are you feeling?”
“‘M okay . . . I think . . .” Myra replied haltingly. Her eyes flicked around the cave, taking in the rough walls and smoldering fire pit. “Where are we?”
Landon stroked her face, noting the softness of her skin. “Menrye,” he answered. “Sri’Lanca brought us here. He said it was the safest place for us and . . . and he was right.”
Myra gave him a puzzled look.
“We’ve been here for about a week, and so far no dragons or Seers have turned up,” Landon continued. Pride and gratitude flowed through the bond, but he didn’t turn to look at Sri’Lanca. He kept his eyes on Myra, drinking in her eyes and smile, relishing this moment because he knew she would fall asleep and angels knew when she would wake up again.
“That’s a relief.” Myra smiled again. “Can I . . . water?”
Landon turned, but Sri’Lanca was already thrusting a canteen towards him. Landon took it, muttering a genuine, “Thanks,” and helped Myra drink.
As he did, he told her about sorting the wagons, building the shelves, and sitting near the cave mouth to watch the sea birds and waves. She laughed when Landon told her about Sri’Lanca stealing the wagons, a painful, choking huff that made her face twist in pain. Landon’s stomach twisted in guilt at that, and he was careful afterwards.
She stayed quiet, not trying to speak or laugh. Landon trailed off in his nonsensical commentary as her eyes drooped, letting her body succumb to the rest it needed. Unlike Landon, Myra didn’t fight it but fell still, her breathing slow yet steady.
Landon sat cross-legged on the bed, stroking her face a moment longer. Sri’Lanca joined him, his large body and heavy feet making barely a sound on the cave floor. Sri’Lanca gazed down first at Myra, then Landon. A strange emotion seeped into the bond, something that was like hope, but Landon couldn’t place it.
“See,” said Sri’Lanca in a soft voice. “I knew she would be okay. Our gods are watching over her.” His eyes met Landon’s and the feeling sharpened. Sri’Lanca smiled and turned away to continue preparing dinner. “Beef stew it is! But methinks I’ll add some cheese anyways.”
Landon was too relieved to entertain the dragon’s comment. His throat tightened as he tried to maintain a calm composure. For the first time in days, he felt more hope than fear. It was a blessed relief; as though an angel had put its arms around him.
He continued to stroke Myra’s face as Sri’Lanca prepared dinner. That feeling permeated the bonding, growing stronger every time Landon felt the dragon’s eyes on him. It took him several minutes to identify it, and only because when he looked at Myra the emotion doubled in strength.
It was love.
Landon didn’t know what to think of that.
Chapter 24
Over the next several days, Myra’s condition improved. She woke up more often and was able to eat without assistance. Her wound was healing, and Landon wasn’t using the Wizard’s Seal to destroy the infection as often as before.
Landon also began to learn more about Sri’Lanca. Besides loving cheese and taking great delight in stealing supplies from the armies, Sri’Lanca snored, nibbled on the tip of his tail when he was bored, and loved card games. A deck of cards was uncovered in a Menrian food wagon, and Sri’Lanca spent a day teaching Landon every Dagnorian card game in existence. He would prop the cards against the tip of his tail, and pinch them between his claws, being careful not to pierce the paper. Myra played too if she was feeling well enough.
The cards helped pass the time, except when Sri’Lanca was hunting. He hunted every two days and was gone for hours, leaving before the sun rose and wouldn’t return until the late afternoon, later if he needed to steal wagons. If Sri’Lanca got back early enough, then he would take Landon and Myra to the top of the cliffs.
As much as Landon hated flying, he looked forward to those short field trips. Menrye or not, it was nice to leave the confinement of the cave and feel the sun on his face. Landon enjoyed the ocean view, looking for whales and dolphins, or simply enjoying the salty tang. Sri’Lanca often had him take the katana, and they would spar while Myra watched. It helped ease his worries about what was happening back home. Sri’Lanca hadn’t been able to get near the Rillis Mountains but continued to raid the supply lines rather than the armies directly.
“Are you sure you don’t want help with that?” asked Myra. She sat next to a pot of rice, making sure it didn’t boil over, and watched Landon heave a storage shelf against the wall.
“Nope,” he grunted. Since their arrival in Menrye, Landon had made three more storage shelves and was lifting the sixth one upright. It was heavy, but Landon knew he could get it in place with careful and patient manipulation.
“That looks heavy,” Myra pointed out.
With a thump, the shelf settled into place against the wall. Landon huffed and slapped his hands together. He turned back to Myra, beaming. “I told you I didn’t need any help. I got the other five up by myself, y’know.”
Myra shook her head. “What are you going to put on that one?” she asked.
“The blankets and clothes,” Landon answered. “That way we have more room for medicines, and Sri’Lanca can have his cheese shelf.” He stared at the shelves crammed with cheese wheels. Some of the wood bowed in the middle.
He shook his head and began transferring the linens to the empty shelves, moving the katana’s box to a middle shelf along with the pouch containing the Wizard’s Seal.
After much deliberation, Landon had decided to keep the Seal in the original pouch, that way Sri’Lanca or Myra wouldn’t touch it by accident, and they all knew where it was in case of an emergency. Not that they expected trouble, but Sri’Lanca constantly reminded them that it was a matter of time before a dragon arrived. Landon knew he should be more alert; it had been over two weeks since their escape from the Seers, but it was hard to feel scared anymore.
“I wish you’d let me help,” Myra grumbled, giving the rice a stir with the ladle. “I’m not a cripple. My belly hurts every now and then,” she said defensively to Landon’s questioning look, “but not enough to keep me bedridden.”
Landon walked over to her and sat next to her. He took her hands and kissed them. “When you stop getting infections and wincing every time you stand up and sit down, then I will let you do more than cook. Besides, Sri’Lanca and I let you walk around the cave, which is more than I was allowed to do after a month of bedrest.”
“That was different,” said Myra, taking back her hands so she could stir the rice. “You had more than a couple little nicks to the belly.”
Landon raised an eyebrow. “A couple nicks? Myra, those cuts could’ve been worse. You could be dead. Besides, I didn’t do a good job with the stitches. I don’t want them tearing open when you try to lift a box.”
Myra sighed. “All right, all right. I’ll stop whining.”
“Thank you. I want to let you help,” Landon continued, softening his tone, “but trust me, it’s better to let your body heal. Who knows how long we’ll be here,” he added, looking around the cave.
“I still can’t believe this
has been our home for the past two weeks,” she muttered. The spoon scraped around in the pot. “This looks ready,” she added, and she pulled the pot off the coals. She dished out the rice into two bowls and passed one to Landon.
Landon removed the lid of a second pot and a plume of steam billowed from the white sauce simmering within. The smell of steamed potatoes and carrots filled the cave, causing his mouth to water. “If it’s any consolation,” he said, eagerly spooning the sauce over his and Myra’s rice, “this smells fantastic.”
Myra laughed. “Thank you. It’s one of my mom’s recipes. What’s Sri’Lanca feeling?” She tried to sound nonchalant, but Landon knew she was nervous. She was always nervous when Sri’Lanca was hunting. Landon felt the same. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone except Jeshua himself, but Sri’Lanca’s large body, with his wings, claws, and teeth, was a huge comfort. The cave felt less evil, less like Menrye when Sri’Lanca was there.
Landon paused, chewing while he listened to the bond. “I think he’s flying. He’s happy and content.”
“He’s probably thinking about all the cheese he’ll eat when he gets back,” Myra said with a chuckle. “Dragons and cheese. . . . It’s so weird!”
Landon laughed too. They ate their meal, talking about everything and yet nothing. As he ate, Landon couldn’t pull his eyes from Myra. She sat in a pile of blankets, leaning against the cavern wall. He could see her soul, pure and loving. She was alive. He never allowed himself to forget that. It was a miracle, an angelsent show of mercy.
Still, this was all Landon’s fault. He had allowed her to be dragged into this mess. He should have forced her to go home, should have broken off their relationship in Tsuregi when he had the chance. It was his fault that she almost died.
“I’m sorry,” Landon whispered.
Myra paused, her spoon just lifting free of the rice, and stared at him. “For what?”
Landon swallowed. “I wasn’t strong enough to protect you. When Sri’Lanca gets back, I want him to take you—” He broke off at the icy glare on her face. “Please, Myra, let me finish.”