Chapter 27

Knave whined softly, his great head on his paws, his body encircling the sleeping boy, whose breathing sounded dangerously shallow. Something was happening to Fynch, but his close companion could not reach him. All he could do was watch, wait, and pray to the Dragon King that this was not Fynch’s time.

Fynch was dreaming. He felt himself flying; the wind whipped through his hair and whistled past his ears.

For a dream, the view around him looked awfully real, and the wind was shockingly brisk.

A voice suddenly spoke into Fynch’s mind, and he knew it could not be a dream.

Not long now.

It was the Dragon King and Fynch was realized he was riding him, feeling each powerful beat of his wings as they worked in tandem to drive the creature faster through the air.

My king, Fynch sent, his voice unashamedly filled with awe. Where do we go?

To a private place, my son. Somewhere safe. Where you will be free from your pain and where no one can hear us.

Am I truly with you?

Your body is with Knave, Fynch. Your spirit is here.

How can I do this?

It my way of honoring you.

Honoring me?

We ask so much of you.

Whatever you ask, sire, I give it gladly.

Brave boy. You are more than worthy.

Of what, my lord?

Of Kingship, Fynch.

I don’t understand, my king.

You will, my son. That is why I have brought you here.

Wyl felt a sense of despair as they entered the gates of the fortress. Cailech was immediately surrounded by well-wishers welcoming him back, and stealing interested glances toward the golden-haired beauty he had left on the horse. It was Myrt who arrived at Ylena’s side to help her dismount.

“May I show you to your rooms, my lady?” he asked, taking her hand to help her from the horse, much to Wyl’s discomfort. “The King has requested you dine with him later.” Wyl reached for a gracious smile, though the invitation reminded him of the meeting with Celimus he had been forced to attend while trapped in Leyen. “Thank you, er…?”

“Myrt.” Aremys appeared at Wyl’s side and now offered the formal introduction. “He is a friend, Ylena.

You can trust him.”

Wyl nodded toward Myrt, who gave one of his rare smiles. Aremys had already explained that Myrt knew about Aremys’s suspicions about Lothryn’s fate, but as the mercenary obviously could not come clean about Ylena, he would have to remain polite but distant to Wyl’s sister.

“I will see you later perhaps?” Aremys said to Wyl, and then to Myrt: “Shall we meet at the stables?” The big warrior nodded. “Come, my lady,” he said, and Wyl had no option but to be guided away, deeper into the fortress of the Mountain King.

Fynch remained curled on the Dragon King’s vast back, though the creature had landed. Its darkly vibrant colors seemed to pulse bright one moment and soft the next, illuminating its scales. Fynch felt warm and safe for the first time since leaving the Wild, even though he knew he was not really here.

Physically, he remained on a freezing ledge near the home of the Mountain king and he was dying, with Knave’s body curled around him.

He twisted to lie on his back, loving the deep connection between himself and the Dragon King. The magnificent beast remained silent while his guest acclimatized himself to the breathtaking scene below.

They were on the highest peak of the Razors, but not in the northeast, where Fynch’s body lay.

Are we in the Wild, my lord?

Yes, Fynch.

The boy sighed. If I died now amid this beauty, my king, I would die happy.

The King did not reply.

I am dying, aren’t I, sire?

You have pushed yourself too hard. The magic you have called upon is so potent it is poisoning you.

Elysius managed to live with it, Fynch said.

True, my son. But Elysius did not draw upon the magic of the Thicket, nor was he required to use magic for years on end. He preserved himself by using it sparingly.

I am sorry I have been so careless with it.

The Dragon King twisted his sinuous neck and the massive head came close. A monstrously large eye regarded the tiny figure that lay on its back. You need make no apology to me, Faith Fynch.

It moved Fynch to hear these solemn words and tears ran down his face. I am not afraid to give my life, my lord— I hope you know this. But I am so afraid of failing you that I am impatient to reach Rashlyn.

The Dragon King gave a murmured growl of agreement. I know, child. You will not fail us.

But I am not sure I can recover in time, my king. I will likely end my life where Knave and I lie.

That is why I have brought you here, Fynch, the King said, his voice so deep the boy could feel it rumbling the length of his own body, despite the gentleness of its tone. I shall restore you. But, as always with magic, there is a price.

I will pay it, Fynch said bravely. I wish only for my strength to return so I may to do your bidding.

I accept your sacrifice, and in return you deserve an explanation. I have seen something in you, Fynch, that you must know.

I felt it too, my lord, the boy admitted. I sensed you recognizing a part of me I barely know myself.

Can you not guess, child?

Fynch considered the King’s question and closed his eyes. Yes, he could guess, but was this something he truly wanted to know? He assumed the price he must pay for the temporary restoration of his health was death, had already accepted as much. If it had to be sooner rather than later, he would not fuss. He made his decision.

It is connected with my mother, I feel.

Go on.

Fynch felt a breeze break through the protective wings of the huge beast and brush against his cheeks.

More tears were falling, but he ignored them. He was not crying because he was sad or frightened; he was weeping because this was the most emotional moment of his life. The Dragon King was about to confirm something he had always known but had held buried within, a secret with far-reaching repercussions. If revealed, it could affect the course of a realm.

I believe I am not of my named father’s flesh.

A tremble passed through the Dragon King. You are correct, my son. So who fathered you?

Fynch did not want to speak the name. He didn’t know why he was so sure it was the truth; all he knew was that he had glimpsed it within himself the moment the Dragon King saw it. While it had surprised the King of the Creatures, for some reason it had not surprised Fynch.

The boy looked out again over the majesty of the Razors, hidden valleys emerging from beneath the snows as spring staked its claim.

I didn’t know it would thaw this high up.

We are in the Wild, my son. Everything is possible.

Fynch nodded. The Dragon King was not rushing him to answer, but now it was time. My mother was fey. At each new moon she would experience a sort of madness. The madness took the form of lust

. He hesitated.

Go on, Fynch.

She would tempt other men. She had no control over it.

And?

I was conceived during one of those moon times.

Yes, you were. Who is your father, Fynch?

My father is… He almost dared not speak the name but knew he must. My father was Magnus, King of Morgravia.

Indeed. You are part of the dragon throne line and thus apart of me.

Was Magnus aware of who I was during our conversations at Stoneheart?

He felt a strong connection to you, Fynch, as you did with him. But no, he never knew you were of his flesh.

At the great creature’s final word, Fynch felt a rush of sadness. It washed over him like a crashing wave but settled finally into peace—the peace that comes with the finality of suspicions confirmed and a puzzle solved. A new sensation took over; a feeling of warmth. He did not know whether it was the dragon himself—but he was aware of some sort of new link between that creature and himself.

Suddenly he felt a sense of intense belonging…to both Kings, Magnus and the Dragon.