Pain erupted like fire as Darius lifted his hand, the ring pulsing with a sinister glow. Cedric crashed back down, agony wracking through him like a thousand knives carving him apart from the inside.
“I thought you were smarter than that, Cedric,” Darius said, amused. His smirk gleamed like the edge of a dagger. “Don’t try to fight me. I’ll put you in your place.” He rolled his shoulders, feigning boredom, before gesturing to the guards. “See that Princess Gwenna is taken to suitable accommodations in the palace. You already know where to take the traitor knight.”
The guards hurried to follow orders. Others stood around Cedric, holding the chains that bound him.
Darius made a show of polishing the ring with his sleeve. “As for you…well, I have a special place for you, dragon.”
Gwenna snarled, twisting back to look at him. And in her gaze, Cedric saw everything—the fury, the grief, the silent promise.
This was not over.
But Finn…
Finn was hurt too badly.
And Darius had made one thing crystal clear: The knight didn’t have long to live.
Cedric’s world crumbled.
If Finn died, it was over.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Finn drifted toward wakefulness. Something was different. The chilly dampness of the dungeon was gone, replaced by warmth. He wasn’t lying on stone. His body rested on something soft.
I must be dreaming.
A hand ghosted over his arm, feather-light. Finn’s eyelids fluttered open, his vision slow to adjust to the shift in brightness. Sunlight. There was sunlight streaming through a narrow slit of a window.
The scent of herbs filled the air, subtle but familiar—marigold and comfrey, clean linen, something faintly lemony beneath it all. The air was warm. Too warm.
This wasn’t the dungeon.
Finn’s brows furrowed. The agony in his body had dulled, replaced by a deep, distant ache. His last memories came in fragmented flashes—Gwenna’s voice, the rush of freedom, leaning heavily on Cedric…and Darius.
His pulse jumped. Where am I?
A woman knelt beside him, garbed in the deep blue robes of a royal healer. Finn stiffened, instinct screaming danger, but her hands were gentle as she dabbed cool salve along his forearm, where the burns had been. Had been. His breath hitched—his skin, raw and blistered before, was pink and whole. He hadn’t imagined it, had he? The searing agony of the brand, the shattering of bone?—
His fingers twitched, and a fresh wave of nausea rolled through him. His right hand was no longer a mangled wreck. The bones, crushed beneath the mallet, had been reset, the deep ache settling into his joints like a phantom pain. It didn’t make sense. He should be ruined. He was ruined.
His throat worked, but the words caught. He turned his head, sluggish, searching for something—someone—familiar, but the healer only murmured a soothing incantation, her magic whispering against his skin.
For a long moment, Finn simply breathed. His body still ached, but it was manageable now. Not the grating, all-consuming fire it had been before.
“Wha—” His voice scraped against his throat like gravel.
The healer glanced up, expression neutral, though something gleamed behind her eyes—pity? “Don’t talk yet,” she instructed. “Drink this.”
She pressed a cup to his lips, and Finn swallowed greedily. Water, fresh and sweet, washing away the dryness in his mouth, soothing his ragged throat.
Then the memories returned. The dungeon. Cedric’s fierce presence. Gwenna’s determination. The sickening crunch of bones reshaping under magic’s cruel grip. Darius.
Cedric.
Finn shoved himself up, ignoring the sharp protest of his muscles. “Where are they?” His voice was raw, but forceful. “Where’s Cedric? Where’s Gwenna?”
The healer’s hands were firm but careful as she pushed him back down, stronger than he expected. Or perhaps he was weaker than expected. “I don’t have any information for you,” she said briskly. “My job is to tend to your wounds, nothing more.”
