Draven Ashborne's Arc

Chapter 7 of 17

Three days passed. Seraphina's wounds closed, but she could not sit up without her arms shaking. Draven kept the fire high and pressed water to her lips. He knew how to swing a sword and how to kill a dragon. He did not know how to heal. Every remedy he tried left her the same, pale and thin against the pillow. "I'm not getting stronger," she said. Flat, like she was naming the weather. "Blood loss. Herbs won't fix it." Draven gripped her hand. "Then tell me what will." Her eyes moved to the window. Beyond the yard stood a great tree, its branches heavy with orange and pink petals and blue flowers. Green fruit hung in clusters among the leaves. "That one," she said. "There's an elixir. The fruit and the flowers, brewed together. It rebuilds what the body loses." "Tell me how." "I don't know the mix." She swallowed. "The creatures do. They tend it." Draven went out. In the yard the antlerwolf lay near the tree, silver wings folded, blue eyes tracking him. Beside it perched a sleek black cat with purple markings and shadowy wings. Its barbed tail flicked. Draven crouched, unsure. "She needs the elixir," he said. "From this tree. Show me." The winged cat rose and padded to the trunk. It reached up and hooked a blue flower with one claw, dropped it at Draven's feet, then a second. The antlerwolf lifted its antlered head and knocked a low branch. Three green fruits fell. The cat batted them toward him and looked back, waiting. Draven gathered the fruit and flowers. He carried them to the magical lab tucked inside the home. The winged cat followed and leapt onto the workbench. When Draven reached for the wrong jar, it swatted his hand away and nosed a stone bowl instead. He crushed the fruit in the bowl. The cat pushed the blue flowers in after. The antlerwolf breathed on the mix, and warmth spread through it. The pulp turned deep gold and thin. Draven filled a cup. He knelt by the bed and lifted Seraphina's head. "Drink." She drank. Her face tightened at the taste, then eased. Color crept back into her cheeks. She breathed deeper than she had in days. After a while she pushed herself upright without shaking. She swung her legs off the bed and stood, one hand on the wall. "It's working," Draven said. "It's slow," she said. "But yes." She took a step, then another, steady on her own feet. That night she stood at the window, whole enough to walk. She stared past the tree at the dark line of hills. "Vexmorth had a mate," she said. "The corruption came from a pair. Killing him only stopped half of it." Draven's hand moved to his sword. The dragon he hunted was dead. Another still lived.