Page 192 of The Shattered Rite
Do not sleep,Vaeronth warned softly, a pulse of fire low in her mind. His voice sounded strained now, almost afraid.I will carry you, but you must not sleep.
“I’m not,” she rasped, though her words felt like lies even to herself. Every muscle in her body ached. Her side burned where Malric’s blade had struck, her blood still a slow, sticky warmth along her ribs. Her limbs felt far away now. Numb. Like her body was no longer hers.
She should have died back there.
By Malric’s hand.
Instead, she was here.
Flying.
Her lashes fluttered, memory bleeding through her exhaustion: her mother’s voice, her mother’s steady hands braiding her hair on that final morning. Lavender oil. A calmness that Eliryn hadn’t understood until it was too late.
If she could see me now...
“She would never believe this,” Eliryn whispered, her voice thread-thin.
No,Vaeronth agreed.But she would be proud.
Eliryn’s hands shook harder. She pressed them more firmly against her wound. But the pain only sharpened.
Beneath her, Vaeronth’s body tensed. His power burned hot against her skin, but even his strength felt like it was waning. She could feel the distance he was forcing into his mind—the fear he was hiding. She was dying, and he knew it.
And yet he carried her anyway.
She thought of Malric, and bile rose in her throat. His voice haunted her more than his blade.
"I didn’t want to hurt you. This is the kindest thing I’ve ever done."
She had believed him. Trusted him. And when her guard was down, when her heart was bare, he’d tried to carve her open like a ritual sacrifice.
Garic had saved her.
Not prophecy. Not destiny. Not even her dragon.
Garic.
It should have been him, she thought, her pulse flickering weakly. It should’ve been Garic the Flame chose. He would have led without flinching. He would have survived without breaking.
The Flame chose wrong.
Vaeronth’s answer came, soft as embers:
The Flame sees what mortals deny. You are not weak, Eliryn.
She said nothing. She didn’t believe him. Couldn't.
Below them, the world blurred into forest and fog, the castle and its ruin reduced to a fading bruise against the earth.
And still Vaeronth flew.
Higher. Farther.
Eliryn’s blood stained his scales. She could feel her grip slipping.
“I… can’t,” she whispered at last.
Vaeronth’s voice curled around her like a promise.
