Page 71 of Fae Tithe

The Dragon unfurled his wings. They reminded Helena of a bat’s wings, but huge. The webbing between the fingers of the wings matched his obsidian scales. One hung awkwardly from its well-muscled shoulder joint, and two of the fingers had been snapped and healed at an almost-right angle.

She gasped. “What happened to you, Atlas?”

That Surt I tried to befriend attacked me. It wrenched my left wing from its shoulder joint and broke two of my fingers.

“Is there any way to fix it?” Helena asked, mouth falling open as she stared up with a mix of awe and sympathy.

Wings can be healed with the aid of another Dragon’s magic, but I am alone here. I have not flown since, the Dragon explained, refolding his wings and settling them on his back.

She snapped her mouth shut. The pity Helena felt for Atlas increased tenfold. Not only had the Dragon been bound to this place and had his magic siphoned when he was barely an adult, but he had then been attacked and crippled when he tried to make a friend. A single tear ran down her blistered cheek in sympathy.

“I am so sorry, Atlas. I’m really glad I didn’t ask you why we couldn’t fly to Lance’s light,” she rasped with a chuckle.

I already heard you ask in your head. Atlas rumble-laughed, shaking the ground beneath her boots.

Helena stumbled, but caught herself on a scale of one of the Dragon’s legs. “Of course you did,” she replied, pushing back upright.

We need to move faster, Atlas said. I am concerned about the Surt following us.

“I can’t,” she replied. “I don’t know how I’m moving now, if I’m honest. I haven’t eaten, slept, or drank anything in… days? I don’t know how time works here.”

The Dragon stopped and lowered his head to look at her. There is a hollow behind my horns at the back of my head where you should fit. Climb on.

Helena’s eyes raked over his scaly side. In her condition, the Dragon may as well have asked her to climb a mountain. “I can’t.”

Please, Len, he begged, a gravelly whimper coming from the back of his throat. We need to move more quickly. I can outpace them, you cannot.

“Did you just call me Len?” she asked in surprise. “That’s what my friends and family call me.”

Are we not friends? Atlas asked, shifting his head a little closer to her, so the scales at the bottom his jaw just brushed the toes of her boots.

Ash puffed into the air at his movements and Helena waved it away from her face, her claws whistling slightly where they swiped through the haze. She felt a thrum of hope down the golden thread that tied them together. She reminded herself that this Dragon was immature, in his mind if not in his body. Atlas had grown up in isolation and had been alone for longer than she could truly comprehend, away from a family and all meanings of the word. The Dragon saved her, not only because he was desperate to leave his bondage to the Fae, but because he did not want to be alone anymore. Atlas wanted a friend.

Another tear slid down her cheek, her heart wrung with pity for the lonely Dragon. “We can be friends,” she replied. Helena jolted in surprise as a resonance of joy plucked down the thread between them from the Dragon’s end of their tie. “I will try,” she agreed, looking up the side of the Atlas’s head.

Helena reached forward with her scarred arm. After what felt like days of travelling with the Dragon, the pain from there had subsided, hurting less than the rest of her aching body. She used it to pull herself up to the first foothold she could see in the interlocking scales. Helena grunted and grimaced her way up, her blistered legs screaming as they propelled her up the side of Atlas’ head. She collapsed, chest heaving, into the small hollow the Dragon had described.

Helena scooted her body and propped her back against one of his towering horns, weakly peering over the shorter ones that were in front of her. The blue light was still far away and, for the briefest of moments, she saw it flicker. She felt a pang of panic as it disappeared and reappeared.

Hold on, Atlas rumbled, before taking a long stride and propelling them into a quick march across the scorching land scape.

Eleanor glared down at the King’s corpse, nose wrinkled in disgust. The capillaries in Rian’s face had burst in his death throes, leaving his skin with a gilded hue. His brown eyes were shot through with gold. They were open, lifeless, staring up to the smoky sky.

Eleanor knew he was gone. Relief flooded her as she breathed freely again. There were no more hooks or lines of his magic woven between them.

Mum did it, just like she promised. I’m free. A giddy grin spread across her face.

The crash of armoured boots on cobblestones snatched her attention, and she snapped her head in the direction of the noise.

Her smile was replaced with a furrowed brow. Panic flowed through her. I can’t get caught now!

The smell of charred flesh made her nose wrinkle as she narrowly avoided being seen by the Solas Guards, slipping into a side street as they poured towards the fiery wreckage. Eleanor peeked around the corner. The score of Solas Guards surrounded the dead King, two dropping to their knees beside him.

She turned, glancing in the direction of Bright Sun. Her ears twitched and, unable to make out the sounds of any other guards coming, she sprinted away from the carnage.

I Faedamn hope Mum is alright. She puffed, sweat soaking her neck as she ran faster than she ever had before. A pang of worry struck her chest. She was really badly hurt… I hope Lance can heal her.

Before she knew it, the inn was in her sights. To the Changeling’s surprise, the Seelie Stallion was waiting for her obediently outside.