Page 137 of Foundling

“Don’t,” Leita called. “We don’t need to start a war today.”

Come back to me, she pled down their bond.

Her words and a blink of his nictating lid brought clarity to his eyes. He snorted smoke, his gaze sparking as he finally released Araxos.

His large head glided through the air to hover before her.

I’m not the one who left, he thought loudly back.

Tears stung Leita’s eyes. “I know,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She threw her arms around his muzzle, sagging in relief to feel his warmth.

We’ve done it.

Attalus huffed, a croon building in his throat.

Which died just as quickly when Araxos began to stir.

His golden head lifted from the ground, and clear if bewildered eyes flickered open. The anax lay there surveying the meadow as though seeing it for the first time.

Attalus’s body contracted, shifting to his two-legged form. Standing, he spat out a mouthful of Araxos’s blood. “Shift, damn you!” he demanded.

Face slack with shock, Araxos’s glassy gaze found and fixed on Erastus, still pinned on his belly by chains. A hissing exhale flared the anax’s nostrils, making even Leita shiver.

“What have you done?” rumbled Araxos Anax.

33

The clearest sign that the anax’s sanity had returned was how efficiently he quelled hostilities and resolved the matters at hand. Attalus wanted to sink his fangs around Araxos’s throat every time he looked upon his brother, but even he had to concede that the anax proved expedient at least.

Attalus stood with Leita, arm firmly around her waist lest she get more ideas, watching Araxos make quick work of Erastus’s mess.

If Erastus hadn’t already been pinioned on his belly, he would’ve sunk there after the dressing down Araxos delivered. He suffered in humiliated silence, the anax not bothering to have him freed, choosing to leave him chained as the situation was dealt with.

Tychon and Chrysanthe too got earfuls, accused of insolent insubordination and stupidity of the highest order.

Honestly, for just going through a battle and having mercury literally pulled out of him with magic, Attalus thought Araxos in fine form. Usually staid and stern, seeing Araxos really worked into a thick lather had a viciously cathartic feel to it; seeing his half-siblings scolded by the king was even better than doing it himself. If Araxos hadn’t started the day attacking Leita, Attalus might’ve admired him for it.

As it was, he couldn’t quite manage to let go of his glare as the blackened meadow was slowly set to rights.

Assurances were made on both sides, granting parley as they collected their dead and wounded. Roots receded back into the earth, allowing dragons to stand and shake off the otherworldly experience. Chrysanthe led a force back across the strait to regroup and patch up the wounded.

Leita gathered her own wounded fae, using her magic and showing the warriors how to use what she’d given them to help speed their healing. Blistering burns faded away and deep slashes closed up before their eyes.

Marcades and the others marveled, many wondering if it was right to share in the Queen’s power.

“You stood with me in my first great test,” Leita assured them. “What more reason could I need?”

With the wounded seen to and most of the dragons lifting off from the meadow, Leita returned to Attalus’s side.

“You’re not hurt anywhere?” she asked at the same moment he said, “You can disperse your magic?”

“You first,” she said with a shy grin.

Tucking her into his side again, Attalus assured her he was fine. “Dragons heal quickly, and he only gave me a few scrapes.”

Hearing him—mostly because Attalus said it loudly—Araxos scowled over his shoulder, lip curled in disgust. “Don’t let your head grow so big you can’t fly. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

Attalus had plenty to say about that, but first he wanted to hear Leita’s answer.