Page 77 of Redeeming the Dragon

She was walking about, her hands flashing in the air then twisting in the skirts. Her peepings and mutterings became louder and more insistent. The angrier she grew, the more my fingertips itched. I kept up my own whispers right along with hers, saying the same things—

“Don’t let her prevail. Don’t let her win. Kidron is mine. I claim him. I will keep him. Don’t let me down.”

“Mother?” Atora’s voice broke into the battle of wills between the Scraggen and me. “Why is nothing happening, Mother?”

“Silence!” Her mother pinned the girl with a look of pure wrath. “I’ll hear no words from you.”

“You’ll hear them from me, though.” The green glow around my hands intensified as I bravely stalked towards the Scraggen. “You have tried, Scraggen. You have taken the gown. You’ve tried to complete it. Your magic couldn’t finish the job. You have not prevailed. Lift the curse on the Warkin prince. Allow he and I to go from this place unharmed. It is over. I’ve defeated you twice. I’ve won.”

“You’ve won nothing!” she screamed, her face red and furious. “I’ll not be bested by a worthless nobody!”

“You already have,” I asserted. “We had a bargain. Maintain your end. Lift the curse, Scraggen.”

“Very well,” she hissed.

She whirled, the unfinished blue gown spinning about her body in a cloud of soft, mystical color. Her hands raised in a sharp, angry motion. She shouted foreign words. In a puff of black smoke, a burst of grey fog, and a gout of orange flame, the great dragon disappeared and Kidron stood there, wavering unsteadily on his feet, doubtless confused by the swift transition from beast to man.

I knew she intended no good.

“Kidron, watch out!” I shouted. My warning was too late. Kidron’s head jerked towards me, then towards the Scraggen. I darted forward but I was too late, as well. I could do nothing as she dashed towards the Warkin prince, plucking a sword from one of her guards, plunging it into Kidron’s chest.

“Kidron!”

My scream bounced off Moonswept’s walls. I felt the pain of my chest being stabbed and it knocked me to my knees. Blood bloomed on Kidron’s torso. He also dropped to his knees. His golden eyes met mine. Helpless. Forlorn. Defeated.

“Lorna,” he tried to say. Blood burbled from his lips.

“No!”

I acted without thought. Ignoring the shouts of the onlookers, I jumped to my feet and stalked towards the Scraggen who stood there laughing, taunting me.

“He is released, Peddler. Just as you asked,” she sneered. “You are welcome to him now.” Bracing herself with a foot to Kidron’s shoulder, she tugged out the bloody sword and tossed it to the floor with a clang.

The sight infuriated me. I scarcely knew what I did. Acting on instinct alone, I raised my palms, drew them back, then pushed them outward, expending every bit of power and vitality and magic and hatred and fear and despair that I’d ever possessed. A great burst of green fire erupted from my hands, surrounding the Scraggen. She shrieked in agony. My magic would not burn. It was not of that nature. It was persuasive magic. In the green cloud that encompassed the witch-woman I heard my own voice, magnified a million times over, saying,

“Let him go. Heal him. Free him. Release him.”

The voices clamored and raged, demanded and implored, shouted and begged. The dissonance rose higher and higher, swirling about the witch-woman like a waterspout at sea. I heard her shouting back, attempting to battle the magic. I upheld my hands, clasping her in my grip, refusing to relent. I had defeated her twice, both in a simple contest with the shirt and then with the gown. She would not defeat me now. She would not take the man I loved.

“Let. Him. Live,” I shouted, my voice rising to be heard about the cacophony of the emerald funnel.

The Scraggen screamed, and this time it was a scream of agony not of resistance or anger. Startled, I stepped back, but didn’t drop my hands. I couldn’t. The magic had taken over, performing something I’d not even intended. The Scraggen collapsed, swallowed by the green cloud and the whispers of my voice. In another swirl of sparkles and color, the blue gown suddenly appeared on my frame—finished, complete.

I was knocked sideways from the force of the magic, the skirts flaring around my feet as if in a grand dance. I swirled and wound up facing the Scaggen, who was crumpled on the floor. I started to dash over and ensure she was dead, then stopped. Her chest was open. There was no blood. No entrails. No gore. Her heart was simply gone. As if a giant hand had reached in and scooped it out, bloodlessly, leaving her prostrate on the marble floor of her keep, her gaze fixed sightlessly on the ceiling.

“What happened?” I demanded of the shocked room, finally lowering my hands. “What is this?”

“She is obviously dead,” replied Atora soberly. She appeared relatively unbothered at having seen her mother defeated by a stranger’s magic and then her life crushed in this shocking manner. “And good riddance,” she mumbled.

I still did not understand. One instant, the gown had been on the Scraggen. The next, the witch-woman had collapsed and the gown was on me. I might never know what, precisely, had happened, but the mystery paled in importance compared to Kidron. Forgetting the Scraggen, who was no longer a threat, I gathered up my skirts and dashed over to the dragon prince.

Chapter 46

“Kidron.”

I dropped to my knees beside him, uncaring of our audience, uncaring of anything except the fact that he’d been so abused throughout this entire ordeal. My soul flipped with fear when I saw the translucence of his skin, causing the smattering of scales beneath his eyes to stand out. His tattoos also stood out sharply against the pallor of his skin, its color leaching away with the blood spilling from his wound, pooling on the marble floor beneath him.

“Oh, Kidron. Oh, no. Oh, no,” I murmured, passing my hands over his hair, his face, his beard, his neck. I kept going, tracing them over his chest, his arms, his hands. “Don’t leave me, Kidron. Please,” I whispered. “If you leave me now, you go a place I cannot follow. I followed you east of the sun and west of the moon, but I cannot follow you to the eternal realms. Please don’t go,” I begged.

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