Page 57 of Water Dragon
Ancient. The reason the castle had been built here rather than inland. Holy. Seeping into every stone of the castle itself, glinting like bronze in its dark blue structure. Present. Never out of reach.
Hear me, Malcolm thought.I am with you. You are with me. Within me.
His inner dragon growled again, this time low and soft, as if to underline his barely pronounced prayer, his offering to the waters that had borne a thousand lakes and had carved itself a landscape where it could sustain the people. As much an offering as any other. And in a rush, there was wind, and in a blaze, there was fire, and with a rumble there was earth, and water rained. It rained to play, to appease, to move the soil in a never-ending cycle. In a rush, they were all there, together, connecting. Malcolm sensed them each in turn, feeling their presence as though they were standing behind a thin veil.
The veil of the binding spell.
The binding spell that was there, between them, and surrounding him. No longer a straining within him, but existing without him, collecting condensation like glass pearls on its surface. It could not hold him. It would not.
It was other. It was unworthy.
And so, he reached out and tore the veil down.
Blood.
Her blood.
Her blood is water.
He opened his eyes again.
Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. There was fighting breaking out all around him as the other crowned heads had turned on their captors and were vying for control. He knew that by tearing down the veil he had affected the binding spells as though they were all a web of repression afflicting all of them as one.
He didn’t care what they were doing, his focus was entirely on Iona still on the floor and the pool of crimson that was spreading around her.
Sir Patrick was somewhere indistinct.
Leon as well.
They no longer mattered.
All that mattered was that there was blood, and blood was water.
Malcolm sank to his knees next to her, seeking her gaze and finding it.
She was awake, trying to speak. He silenced her with a shake of his head as he reached his hands out. He pressed them over hers covering the wound. Then closed his eyes again.
Return, he thought.Return back where you belong.
He thought the command over and over again, as his mind reached for each droplet within her, without her. Those still flowing in her veins, those now staining her dress, those spilled across the flagstones.
Return.
Back where you belong.
His hands clasped hers, sticky and slick, and then he heard a soft intake of breath from her. It made him open his eyes and watch in wonder as the stains of blood were gone, as though they had never even existed. There was only the cut in her dress where the sword had gone through. Her skin was healed to the point that there wasn’t even any scarring.
Her hands went back to the wound, then she raised them, staring at the lack of stain.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
“It’s impossible.” They both turned their heads to Leon, whose face was twisted with growing rage. “What you did is impossible,” Leon repeated, taking a step forward, holding a hand out in front of him as though reaching for Malcolm’s throat and getting ready to launch himself at the prince. Malcolm stood, blocking any access Leon might have to Iona.
She slowly pushed herself into a seated position, then reached up, grabbing his hand and pulling herself to her feet. Malcolm’s gaze drifted from Leon to Sir Patrick, who had retreated into the shadows behind the throne. They could not hide him now. His betrayal shone around him, drawing the eye.
There were noises of struggle all around them as the elemental magic began to reach back to those chosen to Keep it.
Malcolm knew Leon was growing increasingly desperate because those were the sounds of winning, and they weren’t being made by those fighting for him.
