Then I remember very few can get close to Titan when he’s injured and defensive. Fear grips my chest like a vise. I spread my wings wide and take off, flying toward the stables with powerful beats that carry me swiftly across the courtyard. The blood trail below is enough to make my heart ache with worry.
I land just inside the stable entrance, my boots hitting the packed earth with a soft thud. The familiar scents of hay, leather, and horse surround me, but underneath is the sharp metallic smell of blood. I go running for Titan’s stall, my footsteps echoing in the wooden structure.
It’s then I see Hemlocke, shifted again into his unicorn form. He’s using his spiraled horn to heal Titan, and I watch in fascination as the wounds slowly seal themselves closed. Pale blue light emanates from his horn, washing over Titan’s injuries with gentle pulses. It’s a miracle unfolding before my eyes—flesh knitting together, blood flow stopping, swelling reducing.
When he’s finished, Hemlocke steps back and shifts to human form, immediately swaying on his feet. His face is pale as parchment, and I can see the exhaustion weighing on him like a physical burden. I lunge forward and catch him before he falls, my arms wrapping around his waist to steady him.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur, feeling how his body trembles with the effort he’s expended.
I drag him over to a pile of clean hay that smells of summer meadows and help him sit down carefully. “It took a lot out of me.” His hands shake like autumn leaves, and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice.
Looking around frantically, I spot a cooler in the corner. I rush over and grab a juice box, the cardboard container cold against my palm, and bring it to him. He takes a sip and laughs—a sound that’s breathless but genuine.
“Thank you.” His voice is shaky, but there’s warmth in it that makes something flutter in my chest.
“What’s so funny?” I brush his dark hair away from his face, noting how damp it is with perspiration from his efforts.
“You.” He laughs again and takes another sip, the sound echoing softly in the stable. “You befriended a dangerous stallion, then came running to check on him when he’s injured.”
“Of course I did—he’s my friend. And so are you.” I study Hemlocke’s face and see how dull his usually bright eyes have become. The healing clearly took far more from him than he’s letting on.
“You’re a very odd dragon,” he says as he leans back against the wooden wall, his breathing still labored.
“Yeah, well aware.” I smirk and look him over more carefully, noting the pallor of his skin and the slight tremor in his hands. “The juice isn’t enough, is it?”
He lowers his head and shakes it slowly; the movement seeming to cost him effort. “No, it’s not.”
“What do you need?” I tilt my head, studying him as my father’s familiar footsteps approach the back half of the stables.
“He needs blood,” Thauglor says as he enters, his voice matter-of-fact but tinged with concern.
“Oh...” I look between Hemlocke’s exhausted form and Titan, who’s now standing steadier but still bears the scars of the fight. Without hesitation, I walk over to the cooler and find the disposable cups stacked on the side. I grab one; the plastic crinkles loudly in the quiet stable.
I bite my forearm, letting my dragon’s teeth pierce through my flesh with practiced ease. The sharp pain is brief, quickly replaced by the warm sensation of blood flowing. I watch the crimson liquid drip into the cup, filling it halfway before my accelerated healing kicks in and closes the wounds.
I offer Hemlocke my blood without reservation, the cup warm from its contents. “Thank you for healing Titan. This is the least I can do for you.”
He takes the cup hesitantly, his eyes flicking to my father for permission. The uncertainty in his gaze speaks to deeply ingrained protocols about accepting such offerings.
“She offered of her own free will—you may accept it,” Dad grants, his voice carrying the weight of formal permission.
The minute Dad gives his consent, Hemlocke drinks the contents in one swift motion. I can see color returning to his cheeks almost immediately, the dullness leaving his eyes.
“Raven, the only downside of offering him your blood is that his unicorn will sense if you’re in danger and drive him to come to you,” my father explains before leaving the stables, his warning hanging in the air like incense.
I look at Hemlocke, and he does indeed look significantly better than he did moments ago. The tremor has left his hands, and his breathing has steadied. Hesitantly, I get up and walk over to examine Titan more closely.
His front legs are scarred and swollen, the skin puckered where the worst wounds have healed. The sight makes my chest tight with guilt and worry.
“I did all I could for him. Only time will tell if he can be ridden for the processional,” Hemlocke says from behind me, his voice stronger now but still carrying exhaustion.
“If he can’t, he can’t. I’ll figure something out.” The words taste bitter, but I force them out. Slowly, I rub the dried blood off my forearm, feeling the smooth skin where the bite marks have already disappeared. “Get some rest, Hemlocke. I’ll send extra oats and alfalfa for Titan.”
My chest hurts as I look at both of them—one who sacrificed himself trying to protect me after he started the fight, the other who sacrificed himself for the war horse I care about. Either way, my heart feels heavy as a stone.
What’s going to happen if Titan isn’t healed in time for the processional?The question echoes in my mind as I stare at my wounded friend, uncertainty gnawing at my resolve like acid.
Chapter 17
