Page 8 of To Fight and To Fold

They helped her around the rubble, and she felt oddly, frantically numb at the sight of the crumbled rock.

“He didn’t get hurt, right? The dragon.”

They were silent, and she dug her heels into the grass. “Is my dragon alright? Tell me!”

They shared another look before the eldest of the two nodded. “Yes, he took flight. Come with us.”

Flight? Her stomach turned. He wasn’t scheduled to do so.

She went, curiosity and hope pulling her in their direction. The other dragons were restless, pacing and huffing and whining in their caves.

At the back entrance into the castle, she passed a group of Tethered as they rushed to pacify their dragons, escorted by guards. A familiar face made her heart lurch.

"Are you alright?" Rose asked, her pace faltering.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," she said. "Go check on Moss."

She nodded and caught up to the group, leaving Aaryn with the guards.

“So there was an attack?” she asked, picking up her skirts to better keep pace with them, their chain mail clinking as they walked, steps clicking on the stone floor. “Were there any casualties? Is everyone alright? The king?” she gasped, only just now considering him and the family.

Her first priority had been Starspark. Was that treasonous? Aaryn found she did not care. Why was her dragon the only one to take flight?

Her hands were sweating as she followed the guards, and it wasn’t long before she recognized the direction they were heading.

Toward the south tower, which she’d never been to.

Prison chambers were rarely of her concern.

Her heart leapt into her throat, but⁠—

Skies, did they suspect she had something to do with this? Because Starspark was missing?

No, no. That couldn’t be it. Mayhap they had captured someone. Though why they would want Aaryn to know of it, she couldn’t comprehend.

Unease rattled through her.

The smell grew musty and aged, and she breathed through her mouth, sporadic and shaky. She didn’t know what to do if they were to lead her to a cell, tell her to step inside, and lock her away.

What choice did she have? Aaryn wasn't like Thea—she couldn't fight, or wield a weapon, no matter how familiar Aaryn was with Thea's form while she had tried to show her.

Suddenly Aaryn wished she'd paid a little bit of attention during those afternoon sessions. As if she could've foreseen this. As if she could take on any of the guards, even trained. They were in armor and she was in… damned skirts!

"Why are we going this way?" she asked, voice thin. Neither of the guards answered her.

I didn’t have anything to do with this, she wanted to scream.

Aaryn's corset felt too tight. Her hand ached, the one with the scar, and she massaged her opposite thumb over the raised skin. The contact seemed to ignite the pain and there was a flash of heat, a flush flickering beneath her skin.

She closed her eyes against it and for just a second, the black whorls on the backs of her eyelids morphed, cleared—or maybe blurred—into… clouds.

Just as she placed the cotton shapes, she realized what she was seeing and feeling—the ground was no longer beneath her, and yet she felt so incredibly heavy.

She gasped, opened her eyes, and—it was gone. The guards’ questioning, red faces were staring at her, lips moving and forming words she only heard the tail end of as the whooshing in her ears receded. Their armor seemed to glow threateningly in the fire of the lanterns.

The pain flared, sudden as a strike of lightning, and she jolted, hissed, and gripped her wrist.

“Miss?” she heard one of the guards ask.