Rak started to whimper again. “Do not, oper’non…” he pleaded, losing himself in the fear once more.
Forael set his heart in stone, firmly grasped around the tear, and drove in the needle. Rak howled. Tebber was nearly thrown to the ceiling by Rak’s kick. Jisten was forced to abandon the wings to add his body weight to Rak’s legs. Forael stitched quickly, ducking beneath the renewed attack of the wings. In… out…knot. In…out…knot. Jisten and Tebber were being pummeled, but they held Rak down. Everyone studiously ignored Rak’s other reaction. After the third suture, Rak went limp, mercifully unconscious.
Forael deftly tied the fifth and last knot, cut the suture and sagged back against the bathroom wall, drained. Tebber had a nice bruise purpling up on his cheek where Rak’s kick had smashed him into the rim of the tub.
“Cover him and keep him warm. Blood loss makes one cold,” Forael advised.
“Yes, Ylion,” said Tebber. He went into the bedroom to turn down the bed. Jisten wrapped a towel around Rak’s groin, picked him up and took him to the bedroom. He laid Rak in the bed and gently arranged the wings to his liking. He tucked the blankets in around the drowsing priest while Tebber stoked the fire in the fireplace. The room would be toasty in no time.
When Forael came out of the bathroom, cleaned of all evidence, Tebber bowed. “Allow me to escort you home, Ylion.”
Forael smiled and agreed. They walked out of the palace just in time to intercept the rescue party from the Sun Temple. But he did escape before the king arrived in Rak’s suite demanding to know what was going on.
Chapter Seventeen: The Mai’eras
“Dragons blasting down Sun Temples, sun priests invading the palace, Captain, please do tell me what is going on?” Owain looked at his Captain of the Guard with an air of expectation.
Jisten snapped off a salute. “Nothing out of the ordinary, Your Majesty!”
Owain stared at Jisten with great suspicion. “You consider this sort of thing
ordinary
?”
“Yes, Your Majesty! No one was hurt. Your son’s dragon displayed not only his power, but his affection for Ylion Forael. Both work for your benefit, Sire.”
“Yes,” mused Owain. “I am growing fond of that dragon. Do you think Araken will give me a ride sometime?”
“Best to ask his dragon, sire. It is quite sentient,” Jisten advised.
“The odds of Zotien and the Bitch making up their differences are higher,” muttered Scorth as he walked into the bedroom to check on Rak.
“Ask the
dragon
?” Owain snorted. “Very funny, Captain.”
“Your Majesty, perhaps you should let your son, the high priest, rest some more?” Jisten offered. Small chance of that, but he had to try.
“He has duties, just like his brother. I expect
both
my sons at dinner tonight.”
“You can’t make him attend dinner,” snapped Scorth.
“Scorth,” Jisten whispered urgently, “He’s the king!”
Owain gave Scorth a withering look. “Araken will be at dinner. Or else.” He nodded once and strode out.
“Or else
what?”
growled Scorth. But the king was gone.
“Please, Scorth,” Jisten whispermoaned.
Scorth looked at Jisten. “The only way Rak will be attending dinner is if you get him up and dressed.”
Jisten sat next to the sleeping Loftoni and his resolve failed him. “Let him sleep. I’ll tell the king something, anything, and take the punishment. He looks so tired.”
“Dinner isn’t for another two hours,” said Scorth.
“Good,” Jisten said, gaze glued on the sleeping form.
Rak opened an eye and looked at him. “Cold,” he murmured, despite the heaped blankets and blazing fire in the hearth. Rak’s eye closed again. Jisten crawled under the covers and spooned with him.
After a while, having noticed that Rak wasn't warming up like he should, Jisten felt Rak’s pulse then scooped the smaller man out from under the covers. He carried Rak into the parlor, and the better lighting enabled him to see the Loftoni’s paleness. Scorth looked up from his book.
“I must take him to Clan Grandmother’s, the Mai’eras.” Jisten included the terms from both Koilathan and Valer for the dragon.
Scorth shot to his feet and opened the door for them. The black man looked worried. “I can barely hear him. I thought it was the morphea.”
“Come, Scorth. The Mai’eras has her own powers,” Jisten said. “And the best knowledge of Loftoni in Karpos City. Forael is too tired to heal him even through my sunset bridge. I don’t know if a lesser priest can utilize it.”
“The roof?” asked Scorth.
“Yes, best place. No guards there.” Jisten smoothed Rak’s wings. “Can you ask Morth to clear the hallways ahead of us?”
The death hound wuffed from Jisten’s side and trotted on ahead. Muffled shrieks were heard ahead, but the path was clear when they arrived. Scorth chuckled as he opened the staircase door and gestured Jisten through.
They looked around as they emerged on the roof to make certain they were alone. Once they determined that nobody else was present, Scorth immediately transformed. The leather harness was still on his draconic body.
Jisten set down Rak gently and clambored on Scorth. Sure enough, the rope was there. He let it down, and then slid down Scorth’s side. He hefted Rak over his shoulder, murmuring apologies, and then climbed up Scorth’s side again, this time using the rope. Scorth helped as much as he could.
On Scorth’s back, Jisten cradled Rak, almost frantic that the high priest hadn’t wakened, protested, or even moved during the jarring journey up the side of the dragon. Scorth caught his worry and powered straight up at his best speed. Jisten hung on to both Rak and the harness. It would have been a short flight under normal circumstances, and as it was, Scorth went straight up, tipped over, and went straight down onto the target he plucked from Jisten’s mind.
The Valers showed no fear of the dragon, though their shouts and pointing fingers proved they’d seen him. Young boys were chasing chickens
