In response, Rhys tucked his wings and rolled several times through the air. When he stopped, Phelan’s lips were pulled back in a big smile. Kiril looked over at Constantine to see a worried frown upon his face.
Something was wrong if Rhys wasn’t healing. They healed almost instantly, and though a Dark Fae’s magic could hurt them, it had never done anything like that before. The only Dragon Kings that had been there were the three of them, and neither he nor Con had sent any magic close to Rhys. Who then was responsible?
Kiril didn’t like the apprehension and anxiety that nestled uncomfortably in his gut. He kept glancing at Rhys’s injury, but not once did it heal.
They flew high in the clouds dodging planes. A couple of times Rhys wasn’t able to hide his discomfort, causing Kiril and Con to fly on either side of him. They let him set the pace, keeping him a little ahead of them at all times so they could keep watch. Kiril’s worry grew with each flap of his wings.
By the time they reached Dreagan, Rhys could no longer hide the fact that he was in tremendous pain. He struggled to remain in the air, dropping several feet at a time, only to fight to continue to stay with them.
Kiril had never been so glad to see the familiar mountains of Dreagan. They glided lower so that they could touch the top of the mountains if they wanted. He hung back behind Rhys while Con stayed beside him. Kiril grew more worried for his friend as Rhys’s breathing became labored, his sides heaving.
When the manor came into view, Rhys stopped trying to remain in the air. He flew low, dropping Phelan in the field behind the large opening in the mountain.
Con tucked his wings and flew inside the entrance first. Kiril flapped his wings to hover in the air as he watched Rhys try to make it to the mountain. Rhys’s left wing scraped the ground and crumpled, sending him crashing into the ground where he lay still as stone.
Kiril dove toward him, spreading his wings to land just before he hit the ground. As soon as he touched down, Kiril shifted into human form and knelt beside his friend.
“Rhys?” he asked.
“What happened?” Phelan asked breathlessly as he raced up.
Con handed Kiril a pair of jeans as he walked out of the mountain and inspected Rhys’s wound. “Just as I thought. This was done with dragon magic.”
Kiril finished putting on his jeans, the news hitting him with the force of a dragon wing. He hadn’t wanted to believe it, had refused to even consider it on their flight from Ireland. But the truth was staring him in the face. “How is that possible? I didna use my magic, only my power, only ice.”
“I also didna use magic,” Con said softly.
“What the hell?” came a shout behind them.
Kiril turned to see Laith and Kellan come running toward them. They skidded to a halt as a wide shadow passed over them. Kiril looked up to see an amber dragon circling them. A moment later and the dragon descended, shifting into human form before he touched the ground and rolled to a stop. Tristan stood and rushed to them.
“I didna know he was injured,” Phelan said and wiped a hand down his face lined with concern.
Tristan stood beside Rhys inspecting the injury. “There’s no doubt it was dragon magic.”
“If it wasna us, then who?” Kiril asked.
Con’s face mottled red as he lifted his gaze to the horizon. “Ulrik.”
Tristan turned to Kellan. “Such events come to you so you can record them as Historian. Who did this to Rhys?”
“It’s no’ that simple,” Kellan said and scratched his jaw. “I doona see your everyday lives. I see battles, meetings involving our future.”
“The important stuff,” Laith grumbled. “This is important. This was a battle.”
Kellan shrugged. “I wish I could help. But right or no’, that’s the way of it. I doona have a choice of what I get to see or doona see.”
“Only dragons can use dragon magic,” Kiril pointed out.
Tristan laid a comforting hand on Rhys. “Kellan, what if you try to discover what happened?”
Everyone turned to Kellan as he closed his eyes. Several seconds passed before he took a deep breath. “I see the battle,” Kellan said. “I see the Dark Fae and the house. I see the four of you fighting—Phelan in Warrior form, and the rest as dragons.”
Kiril held his breath, both wanting to know if it was Ulrik so they would have an answer, and hoping it wasn’t him.
“I see Kiril laying ice and Rhys laying flames along the Dark. I see Rhys grabbing Phelan before being hit with the dragon magic. Then you all are returning home.” Kellan opened his eyes and looked at Con. “I can no’ see who directed the magic at Rhys, only the impact.”
“Which tells us nothing,” Laith said into the silence that followed.
Con faced Kellan. “Only a dragon can use our magic. The only other King is Ulrik.”
“Aye, but we bound his magic,” Kiril said.
Con’s black gaze cut to him. “He’s figured out a way. Maybe Druids are helping him, or even the Fae. I doona care the reasoning. What this tells me is that it’s time I killed Ulrik.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE