Page 37 of Dragons' Bride
He stroked her hair. “You can cry. I know it hurts very badly.”
A sob finally escaped her. The first one.
“There you go,” Cyril said.
“I don’t want to cry.” Her voice hitched.
“You can trust me with your pain,” he said, rocking them both as Kit’s shoulders finally started to shake. “I have you, nymph. You aren’t a business deal. You are the beating heart of the pack, the one that lets us keep fighting. You are everything.” He brushed his fingers gently over her abused back, then rubbed the base of her neck with his thumb. He didn’t realize his dragon was purring to her too, not until he felt the vibrations in his own chest.
When Kit’s shaking shoulders settled a bit, Cyril dared to unwrap one hand from her long enough to pull a med satchel toward him and take out a tin of salve. It took a moment to get the tin open without loosening his hold on Kit, and another few heartbeats to softly let her know what was coming. That it may sting a bit before it helped, but that itwouldhelp. Just as he would help. The scent of arnica mixed with other herbs drifted into the air.
Kit flinched at first contact, her body going taught before her head pressed harder into his shoulder. “Sorry,” she whispered.
“Never be sorry for letting me see the truth,” said Cyril. “Would it help if I started on a less tender part?”
No answer came for a moment, then Kit nodded reluctantly, as if admitting to a weakness. Cyril kissed the top of her head. He understood too well, knew that this went a great deal deeper than a bit of salve.
“Tavias and I are twins,” he said against the sound of another quiet sob that Kit let escape from her, the tentative trust between them like a weave of a spider’s web. “But I was born first. I was the heir apparent.”
Kit shifted, evident surprise rippling through her.
“When I came of age, my father, Ettienne, sent me to sea. Learning to command a ship and crew isn’t the same as ruling a kingdom, but it was a start.” He adjusted her in his lap, returning his attention to her back. It was easier to speak without looking into her face. “The water called to me, and I fell in love with the waves and winds. With commanding a ship and using my magic to make us a force to fear. Eventually though, Ettienne decided that I was becoming too reliant on my personal magic and needed a new lesson. He ordered that I return to court. Leaving the ocean was the last thing I wanted. So… so I didn’t.”
“You refused the king?”
“I did. It… It didn’t go well. Ettienne gave me enough rope to hang myself. He knew I’d want to prove myself at sea, and so he waited for me to get reckless. Eventually, I did. I brought a fleet into action against a larger force from the serpent court. We lost, and the Serpari queen, Nagaia, took the survivors prisoner. As is customary at sea, she offered to return me and the other officers back to Massa’eve – an exchange for some of her people that we’d captured. The terms were fair. Except, Ettienne said no.”
Done with Kit’s back, Cyril gently cleaned off the blood on her forearm, hating the sight of the slave brand there.
“Nagaia was upset at the snub. She’d expected Ettienne would gladly give her anything to get me back, and convinced herself that I must be a spy trying to penetrate her court. There was no more courtesy after that. Nagaia is known for… she is known for her dungeons.” Cyril felt his heart pound against his ribs, the unwelcome memories hammering against his senses.
Kit half turned, her hand splaying on Cyril’s chest until the warmth of her touch grounded him again. “How long were you held?”
“Five years. First, she forced me to watch while she tortured and killed my crew. Then she started on me. Sometimes, after a while, the beatings were the only thing that reminded me that I was still alive. So long as I feared them, I figured I was still capable of reason. On worse days though, I welcomed physical pain. It was the only way to shield myself from the darkness in my mind.” Cyril had never spoken of his time with Nagaia aloud, not even to his brothers, but it felt right to tell Kit. “She left brands on me, too. The many years since then and my immortal blood have erased many of the marks from my skin, but I remember them.”
He wrapped a linen bandage tightly around her forearm then peeled the dress off and nudged her to lie down on the bed, careful of her back as he wrapped his body protectively around her. “I’d likely still be there except Tavias pulled a team together to get me out.”
“And that is why he is the heir apparent now?” Kit asked. She lay on her belly, her head pillowed on Cyril's shoulder, the softness of her cheek pressing against his skin.
“No,” said Cyril. That was a different conversation altogether. He brushed his hand over her hair, savoring the feel of the strands. “But I did learn then how little royal blood matters.” He pressed his forehead against Kit’s. “Please never make me do that again,” he whispered, his voice hitching. “Even if you can bear the pain, I do not believe I can. I would rather hand myself over to Nagaia than have to hurt you again.”
20. KIT
Iwake to the sounds of multiple quiet voices talking over me and Cyril’s hand drawing small circles along my neck. Blazing fire covers every inch of my upper back. I don’t remember it hurting so much last night. Maybe the adrenaline had kept the pain at bay. This morning however, all my nerve endings are awake and screaming. Cyril’s gentle stroking is the only thing keeping me from bawling right now, and I don’t dare move or open my eyes while I get myself under control.
Through the haze, I start making out the ongoing conversation.
"Who?" Tavias demands.
"No one person.” For once, there is no humor in Hauck’s voice. “From what I gather, the sailors got it into their heads that having a human aboard was bad luck, and it became a theme."
“The wounds look worse than last night.” Cyril’s voice is tight, tension filling each word. "And her heart is beating too quickly.”
“It’s just pain and swelling,” says Tavias.
A soft growl. “Justpain and swelling?”
“I meant there is no infection.” For once, Tavias sounds like the calm one. “It will get better. She needs something for the pain, and more salve for the welts. Here I'll – " he cuts off as a primal sort of growl echoes through Cyril's chest. It isn't a sound I've ever heard from him and it fills the cabin with the promise of bloodshed. The hand that's been stroking my neck now pulls me protectively against Cyril’s hard body.
