Dragon's Blood (The Dragon's Gift Trilogy #2)

Rage flared up in Lucyan again, and he squashed it quickly before it could show on his face. “Is the arm the only injury the prince suffers?” he asked.

“Injury, yes,” Princess Basilla said. “But the anti-dragon spell has also affected his health. I believe he would recover on his own if not for the magic, but there is nothing I can do about that save for sending him back to his own country. And that, the king will not allow.”

“Of course,” Lucyan murmured, noting the pity in Basilla’s eyes. So she was more like her younger brother, Ryolas, he mused, though that did not necessarily mean she was sympathetic to all dragons. “The spell will hamper my work, but I mixed up some potions specially formulated for dragons. They should help boost his healing.”

“Excellent.” Princess Basilla rose from her chair. “Let’s get you to him, then. I fear the prince may be dying, so there is no time to waste.”





24





“Oh, Alistair.” Dareena sighed as she mopped his sweaty brow with a cool cloth. “I wish there was something I could do to ease your suffering.”

“You are doing something,” Alistair said, his voice rough with pain. “Every time you touch me, you’re helping.”

Dareena bit her lip. She’d been healing Alistair with her magic every few hours, but it wasn’t having much effect—he’d been exposed to the anti-dragon spell for too long. All the healing did was keep him from getting worse, but his time spent in the dungeons, away from her, combined with the trauma of having his arm severed, had brought him close to death’s door. His forehead was scalding, his face was lined with exhaustion, and his body shook with racking coughs that sounded like death rattles.

“It should have been me who lost that arm,” she said dully, dipping the cloth in the bucket of water. She squeezed the cloth to wring the water out, her knuckles going white as she imagined her hands around Arolas’s throat. He’d taken Alistair’s sword arm, and for a soldier, that was almost worse than death. Even if he trained himself to fight left-handed, he might never be as good as he once was.

Alistair gripped her wrist and turned her around to face him. “Don’t say such foolish things,” he said fiercely. “I can handle losing an arm. I could handle losing my life if it meant keeping you safe. But I couldn’t abide anything happening to you.”

“Nor could I abide anything happening to you,” Dareena cried. “The reason Arolas went after you is because of his jealousy. If I had not provoked him—”

“You did nothing wrong,” Alistair growled. He pulled her flush against his body and kissed her quick and hard. “Being beautiful and opinionated does not give any man the right to your body, or to be angry that someone else is sharing it instead. It is not your fault that Arolas is such a vile maggot.”

Dareena opened her mouth to respond, but Alistair’s eyes rolled back into his head. “Alistair!” she cried as he passed out, his head thudding against the pillow. “Please, please don’t get any worse,” she begged, pressing her hand to his forehead. She tried to pull more magic from the air and feed it to him, but her mental muscles were already overtaxed from doing so multiple times throughout the night. Tears of exhaustion and grief seeped from her eyes, and she swiped at them in frustration. Why was she so useless?

“Dareena?” The door behind her opened, and she turned to see Princess Basilla hurry inside, a strange, bespectacled man wearing a long coat and carrying a satchel following her. “This is Doctor Otho Harrigan. He has worked with dragon patients before and says that he can help Alistair.”

“A dragon doctor?” Dareena rose, looking the doctor up and down with skepticism. She wished Alistair were awake—if the man was a charlatan he would be able to sniff him out immediately. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I assure you, I have spent a great deal of time amongst dragons.” The man brushed past Basilla and approached the bed. “Please move aside, Lady Dareena, so I can look at him.”

Dareena frowned—there was something familiar about the man’s voice. “Very well,” she said warily, giving him some space. It couldn’t hurt to have the man look at Alistair—perhaps there was a potion in that bag that could help ease his pain. “But I’ll be watching.”

“As you should.” Something very much like affection glimmered in the doctor’s eyes for a split second as their gazes met. But before Dareena could think about it much more, he bent over Alistair, checking his pulse and feeling his forehead. He rolled up Alistair’s sleeve to expose the newly-healed arm, which had been severed at the elbow.

“Whoever healed this terrible injury did excellent work,” the doctor said. Dareena was surprised to hear the note of anger in his voice, but perhaps any doctor would be outraged on behalf of their patient.

“I did what I could for him,” Basilla said, “but I’m afraid I am of no help with his illness. Perhaps being a dragon makes him resistant to my elven magic.”

The doctor nodded grimly. “I should be able to help him, but I need some time and space. I’ll call for you when I have news.”

“Very well.” Basilla squeezed Dareena’s hand gently, a gesture of comfort and solidarity that made Dareena’s throat swell with tears. She was so grateful to have the princess as an ally—without Basilla, she would have likely given in to despair already. “I’m only a shout away if you need me,” she said before she left.

Dareena turned back to the bed just in time to see the doctor pull a necklace over his head. “What are you doing?” she demanded as she watched him fasten the chain around Alistair’s neck. “Is that some kind of warlock magic?”

“As a matter of fact, it is,” the doctor said in a voice she would recognize anywhere. Shock reverberated through her as she tried to reconcile what she was hearing with what she was seeing. “Look, Dareena,” he said, his tone hushed. “It’s working already.”

Dareena stared at Alistair. Sure enough, his entire body had relaxed, and the shaking started to subside. “By the gods,” she whispered, drawing closer to the doctor. “Lucyan…is it really you?”

“It is,” he whispered back, turning to face her. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come after you.”

“Oh, thank the gods,” she sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. She finally let the grief and terror from the past week free, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she shook from the force of it. Lucyan kissed the top of her head and held her tight, murmuring sweet nothings. She clung tightly to him, basking in the warmth and comfort of his embrace.

“There, there, miss,” he said aloud, likely for the benefit of the guards, who could hear her crying from the hallway. “It’ll be all right.”