One of them doesn’t have a scrap of red on it. Not on its neck or the trailing edge of its wings. That same dragon has a rider, just like most of the dragons on Draig Island.
Wait a minute! Wait just a minute.
It’s a Draig Dragon. It has to be.
“That’s one of my fight captains,” Magma says, and his voice has gone deeper, richer than it’s been in days. “That’s Inferno and his rider.” He chuckles and then groans in pain, his eyes clouding.
“What are you saying?” I’m smiling too. “Are they here to rescue us?”
I watch the dragon fold its wings to land, and I let out a breath.
Then something warm and wet runs down my side.
I look down.
A dark line of blood is tracking from underneath Magma’s arm, over my ribs, and soaking into the waistband of my underwear. I look up fast. The wounds on his side and shoulder are still bleeding. Worse than I thought. He’s lost so much blood already, more than I let myself register during the fight, and now that the adrenaline is starting to ebb out of me, it’s all I can see.
“Try to stay still,” I tell Magma. “You should sit.”
He shakes his head, his smile widening.
“Look,” he tells me, and I do, just as the shape of a rider slides down from the back of a Mistveil dragon.
The figure is moving at a jog but limping a little. It takes me a full two seconds of staring before my brain catches up with what my eyes are seeing.
“Oh, my god!” The sound that comes out of me is not something I planned. “It’s Flint.” I wave with my free hand. “It’s him. He’s here. Flint!” I scream, waving my free arm.
The laugh that follows is embarrassing. It comes out shaky and wet and a little broken at the edges. I’m so happy to see someone I know. Someone I recognize. I didn’t think I would get out of this. I thought we were dead for sure.
I think I might be crying again.
“We’re going to be okay,” I say, and I mean it for both of us. I look up at Magma, and his face has turned serious, the softness from a moment ago tucked away.
“Listen to me, Carla. What happened, happened,” he says. “Now we move on and forget about it, okay?”
It’s spoken quietly, and the words are clearly meant to be kind. A gift, maybe, a door held open so I can walk back through it without it costing me anything.
I feel the sting of it, even though it was meant well.
Which is ridiculous. He’s right. He is objectively right, and I know it. What happened between us… Well, it…it…is what it is.
“We need to forget it happened,” he whispers. “You scent of mud and of my blood. No one will know what happened. No one ever needs to know. Okay?”
It still feels wrong not to acknowledge it.
How do I forget?
I nod because he nods.
“Yeah.” My voice is too soft, so I clear my throat. “Of course.” I nod again and smile.
Then Flint is there.
He doesn’t slow down at the end. He closes the last ten feet at a near-run and wraps both arms around me, pulling me in, holding me tight. I can’t relax or lean into him…I just can’t. I feel wooden, but I go through the motions anyway and put my arms around him.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathes against the top of my head. “Jesus Christ, Carla.”
“I’m okay.” My voice comes out muffled.
