“I was just starting to get movement out of it. Now, I'm back to the beginning. Clean or not, A double broken wing bone has a chance of mending apart.”
“Mending apart?”
“The breaks heal over with a space between, leaving a separation too weak to handle flight. The pain will fade, but the wing won't function.”
“Yes, it will!” He took my hands. “If I have to find a magic-user to mend you, I will, but you will fly again. I promise you, Eliel.”
I went still, staring at his earnest face. This man would heal me with his will alone. That's how much he cared. “Lay back, Your Majesty. I want to take care of you. My choice. I haven't had that for a long time.”
“You haven't had what?” The Dragon King frowned.
“The choice to care for someone.” I pushed gently on his chest until he lay down. “Roll onto your belly, please, Your Majesty.”
“Only if you call me Raven again.”
I smiled. “Raven, please roll onto your belly.”
He turned onto his stomach, pulling the pillow under his chest and bending his knees to prop his boots against the carriage wall. As we rode away from the sacred site, I laid my hands on the King and worked his tight muscles loose.
He sighed. “That's wonderful.” He paused and then asked, “Would you sing for me?”
My hands went still.
Chapter Fourteen
“You don't have to,” Raventar said.
The King's voice and the rocking of the carriage soothed me. It was just us. I could do this. I could sing for him.
“I'm not that good.” I went back to massaging his shoulders. Although healed, the mark left by Nahel's sword was still there, thin but an angry red. I stroked it, hoping to soothe the compulsion away.
“You have the most beautiful voice I've ever heard.” He turned his head to look at me. “I'm sorry. I overheard you a few times.”
“A few?” I squeaked.
“Please, Eliel. Sing to me. It will ease my anger. Surely, the Lelurra have a song for comfort.”
“We do, but I won't sing it for you.”
The King swallowed roughly and turned his face forward. “I understand.”
“I will sing you a healing song, though.”
His face jerked back toward me. “What song?”
“It's traditionally sung to fledglings with injured wings or to elders who can no longer fly. It is meant to slow the heart rate and ease pain.”
“That sounds perfect,” he whispered.
I focused on his back, my hands moving instinctively while I summoned my courage. The first few notes were wobbly, but when the King's muscles loosened under my fingers, I put more power into the words, my song swinging into a steady melody.
“Feather warm, feather slow.
Rest your weight on the wind.
It carries you now.
Struggle no more.
