“I’m free,” he said, his eyes flicking towards the inert form of Haspar—and beside it, the horribly small shape of what had once been his right forearm. “I’m free, and I’m with you. I’ll die happy.”
“Don’t die,” she said, her vision blurring—for a moment she thought she was losing consciousness before she realized it was just tears. “You’re not—permitted to die. You’re my soulmate.” Something shifted inside of her, and she made the mistake of coughing. The pain that shot through her nearly knocked her out, too brutal even to scream, and she spat out a mouthful of fresh blood before she took another ragged, shallow gasp of air. “We die together.”
Now it was Cato’s turn to scowl at her. “No. No, you live. You’re tough. Tougher than some human.”
“Not this tough.” She shut her eyes for a moment, not wanting to assess the damage but morbidly curious about the nature of the wounds that were going to actually do her in.
“Shift.” He was fighting to sit up, but there wasn’t enough strength in his body.
“I’ll die faster.” A wound on this shape, transposed to the larger one, grew exponentially in size and severity. There would be no safety in her dragon form.
“No.”
“Can’t talk your way out of this one, mage.”
He laughed at that, a desperate, broken sound… and she stopped herself from doing the same, not wanting to jar her shattered body any more. For no reason at all, she reached out and picked up the gauntlet, lying by them in the spreading pool of blood.
“So much fuss for a useless thing,” she said softly, tilting it this way and that. Maybe it was the blood loss, but the way the light caught it was rather pleasing. A kind of iridescent, rainbow patina glinting on the metal… reminded her of dragon scales in bright sunlight. She held it where Cato could see it, wishing she could tell him about what it was like, being aloft when the sun rose over the valley, when the first rays of morning shone through her wings… there were a lot of things she’d never get to tell him. More tears, dripping from her chin.
“Acantha,” he whispered, but his eyes weren’t on her face. They were on the useless gauntlet. “Acantha, how are you making it do that?”
She looked at him, not understanding. Her vision was gradually beginning to narrow as the last of the adrenaline that had been keeping her going sputtered out like a dying fire. In the distance, she fancied she could hear shouts and running footsteps. Cato was reaching for the gauntlet in her hand. Did he want to touch the rainbow patterns? He was reaching with the wrong hand, like before… she opened her mouth to tell him he needed to use his left hand now, but there was no breath in her lungs to speak with.
The darkness that had been creeping up on her was suddenly rushing in. And then there was nothing at all.
Chapter 24 - Cato
She wasn’t breathing. Everything else disappeared, vanishing into the irrelevant distance… the room, the growing pool of blood on the floor, the weak, dizzy fluttering of his heart and the eerie chill of his body. She was the only thing that mattered. She was the only thing that had ever mattered, his whole worthless life had been leading up to these precious few weeks of knowing her, and the only thing that could possibly matter was fixing this terrible thing that had happened. It didn’t matter that he was dying, that he could feel every beat of his heart pumping more of his life out onto the cold stone floor. All that mattered was that she continue to live after he was gone.
Somehow, he’d scrambled up into a half-sitting position as Acantha had passed out, and now it was Cato who was holding her unmoving form, his left arm curled awkwardly around her shoulders. He kept his eyes on her face as he shifted himself awkwardly, not letting his gaze drift towards where his hand used to be. He’d taken one quick look at his right arm after Acantha’s sharp sword had done its work, and one look was more than enough. All that aside, though… there was an odd quiet in his mind and in his heart that he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. The gemstone that had been a constant, unwelcome companion since he’d first met Haspar was finally silent.
But there was no time to enjoy the peace. He had to do something about Acantha. He was distantly aware that the running footsteps he’d been hearing in the distant background were stopping, that there were people speaking in hushed voices, standing around the perimeter of what had once been a prison cell but was now not much more than a room full of blood and twisted metal.
Someone was saying his name—repeating it, more accurately, with rising intensity. It was the Queen, stepping out of the crowd… her clothing was torn and she was sporting a few minor injuries, but she was safe. That would have been a relief, if he’d been able to think about anything other than Acantha.
“There must be something you can do for her,” the Queen was saying urgently, and he forced himself to listen. These people could help. Unlike him, they weren’t on the verge of death. “Think, Cato. Are there artifacts in the Archives that could help?”
He shook his head numbly.
“The dead man,” came another voice—Prince Conrad, looking considerably worse for wear than the Queen, his usually crisp white shirt soaked with bright blood from what looked like a serious head wound. “His rings—surely there must be—”
Someone was already scrambling across the floor, gathering up the scattered rings, audibly holding back sobs—Cato caught the flash of red hair and felt his heart twist as he realized Acantha’s sister was here. Of course she was—it felt like the whole Palace was here, if not the whole population of the cavern itself, assembling in greater and greater numbers both in the prison and outside it. Of course. With Haspar dead, the attacking mages would have felt the connection break once and for all, would have known there was no reason to keep fighting. And no mage would take on a dragon willingly, let alone a whole cavern full of them.
“Acantha,” he whispered, tears rolling down his cheeks and dripping onto her unresponsive face. “Please, wake up. They’re gone. It’s over. You did it. You protected the Palace.”
Then Morgan was in front of him, breathing hard, her cupped palms full of Haspar’s rings—including the ones that had been stuck on the man’s fingers, he noticed. But he shook his head helplessly. “Haspar never used healing magic. Said it was like preparing for failure.”
Morgan’s green eyes closed with grief, and the rings scattered as she dropped to her knees. The Queen and Prince Conrad had closed in, too, Conrad murmuring orders to the guards behind them to have the crowds keep their distance. Cato stared down numbly at the bravest woman he’d ever known. Was this what dying felt like? He was surprised by how hard his heart was still pounding in his chest. Surely he should have run out of blood by now… maybe that was why the center of his chest felt like it was burning. Working hard to pump something that wasn’t there any longer. At least the rest of the dragons were safe. After a fight like the one they’d clearly put up, no mage would be darkening their doorsteps again in a hurry.
But what a terrible cost that peace had carried. More tears spilled from his eyes as he reached out to brush Acantha’s hair back from her face, his fingertips lingering against her skin. Curious… her face felt so warm. The fingers of his other hand were pressed against her throat, which felt clammy and cold—
Wait. What?
“Cato,” Lana gasped, her eyes wide as saucers. “Cato, how are you—”
“What?” he whispered, staring down at his right hand. Or, more accurately, at what had taken the place of his right hand. He was looking down at the dull silver metal that had caused him such acute disappointment the first time he’d laid eyes on it… why had they heard so many stories about a perfectly ordinary metal gauntlet?
Well, there was nothing ordinary about what he was looking at now. Almost frozen with disbelief, he summoned all his focus… and the metal fingers moved in response. And he felt them move.