A number of Fae Elders were already waiting at Winterlimb's side when Minx and the others arrived, and they were each wearing white robes quite different from their usual, simpler, garb. The Elders greeted the First with a bow and then looked immediately to Kaleb. Their glances were studious; they were appraising him the same way a builder might approve the raw materials for a construction project. A few paced about him, and they uttered things to one another in conspiratorial fashion.
“Thank you for coming,” began one of the Elders—a bearded ancient with hunched shoulders. He moved slowly toward Kaleb, patting his shoulder with an almost fatherly tenderness. “I hope you will accept my sincere apology for what comes next, young man. You see, ordinarily this ritual is carried out with a mere dragon's hide—that is, a skin detached from its host. Although this has never been attempted to my knowledge, I rather expect that your participation as a living specimen will make the whole ordeal more time-consuming... and painful. I cannot guarantee your safety, and I expect your suffering will be immense...” He cleared his throat. “I could not in good conscience follow through with this without informing you of the risks. Will you still proceed?”
Minx stepped toward them, drawing in a sharp breath.
The words surging to her lips were stopped by Kaleb's reply, however.
“I will.” The dragon shifter was determined to follow through.
“Very well...” The hunched Elder motioned to his fellows and Kaleb was led closer to Winterlimb. “Let us begin at once. The ritual will take a considerable amount of time. In fact, because of these odd circumstances, it could take days.” He spared a glance at the First. “One way or another, the shielding spell will be refreshed, but... we must ensure that the lands of the Fae are not conquered in the interim. Are there enough troops to defend the city at this time?”
The First did not have a good answer to this question. He, like Minx and Mau, knew just how poorly the forces of the Fae had fared during recent battles. Finally, he offered a slow nod. “We will do our best to deflect any attacks. The land and sky seem at war with themselves; perhaps our enemies will think better of invading during these turbulent times. If they do arrive, we will do everything we can to repel them.” Here, he turned to Minx. “Right?”
It was all the Fae huntress could do to nod blankly. In that moment, Minx could scarcely remember how to nock an arrow, much less how to hold her bow. She felt numb from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, and couldn't pull her wide, misty gaze from Kaleb, who was presently being stripped of his armor. His muscular form, clad only in his thin undergarments, was stationed in the shade of the great tree, and the Elders were positioned all around him, about to begin their work.
From where he stood, he turned and locked eyes with Minx, a gentle smile playing across his lips. “Take care of yourself, Minx. Things might heat up out there. I'd love to help out, but I'm going to be a bit tied up...”
Again, she nodded, holding her breath to keep the tears from erupting.
She was in no state to work, to take on a new mission, but her objective was plain.
Till the shielding spell had been refreshed, Minx had to make sure that the territory and her people were not overcome by the enemy.
The two of them were fighting their own battles now—and neither of them could be assured of victory.
Chapter 23
The ritual was a lengthy affair—an extended tour of the limits of Kaleb's endurance. Throughout their work, the Elders often winced and apologized for the immense suffering they put their subject through. “Usually, we only use a dragon's hide,” explained one of them unhelpfully when Kaleb's writhing grew to be too much. “I'm not used to the dragon still being attached...”
It had begun simply enough, with his being disrobed and bound against the trunk of old Winterlimb with sturdy ropes. From there, the Elders had begun to mark his body in strange symbols. A brush dripping with dark ink was dragged across his bare skin, leaving him covered in an odd, flowing script quite unlike the modern writings of the Fae. These characters were scrawled across both arms and legs, as well as the chest and forehead. Except for the chafing of the ropes that held him, the dragon shifter's discomfort in this stage was negligible.
But then the chants began.
The Elders, standing all around Winterlimb with their heads low and quivering hands outstretched, began to utter the words of their spell in a low voice. The head Elder—the bearded one who had spoken earlier with the First—moved his arms from time to time as if to signal the others and keep their chants unified. As Minx watched from afar, she felt that the Elders purposefully kept their voices low, so as to keep other Fae in the vicinity from picking up the exact wording of the chants which were necessary to draw the power from Kaleb's body. The ritual was carried out in this public space, but its workings were closely-guarded and known solely to the Elders, who had passed it from generation to generation from times immemorial.
Within minutes of the chanting, Kaleb began to show signs of distress. He twisted against his restraints, teeth grit, and sought to hide his discomfort. Certain parts of his body twitched; muscles began to spasm involuntarily and he was fast coated in a layer of sweat. He winced as if being held over a low flame, struggled as though haunted by a severe itch he couldn't reach, but did not raise his voice in complaint. The Elders sometimes
