Luminous

24 - The Dragon and The Arrow ❣️

Clueless as ever, she tugged at his hand and guided him downwards, borrowing his fingers to free herself of the weakened clutches of slumber. He bit back his groan at the caress of heated velvet glazed with dewdrops on his fingertips. Lust overruled logic, and he caved to instinct.

She urged him forward with a subtle push on his hips. He mustered his courage and ventured inside, braced to withstand the worst she would have in store—then collapsed to a smoldering heap under her heat and pressure.

"Coris?"

Meya called hesitantly. Coris had dropped flat onto her like stone, his bony back heaving. She blinked, trying to make sense of what had happened amid the maelstrom of strange sensations addling her brain. As his fevered breathing subsided, it became clear the lad wouldn't be finishing what he'd started. Sighing away her disappointment, Meya hitched up a wry grin.

"Serves you right. Looks like Freda's with me this time." She held Coris as she flipped sideways, settling him down before her. His eyes closed, Coris smirked,

"Nay, she's with me. In her name I ravished thy land, whereupon I spring forth the Hadrian seed unto thy crib."

"Ugh! Couldn't you have put it any other way?"

"Nay. It appears bliss has opened my eyes to my inner poet. A rare occurrence I cherish—"

"—I don't. Drown you and your poetic seed, you donghead!"

Coris snorted with laughter. Cursing under her breath, Meya inspected her legs, only now noticing the masterpiece he'd left upon her. A grim realization drained color from her cheeks.

Oh no. She'd been so busy staying alive that she had forgotten. This was how a babe came to be, wasn't it? A man lay with a woman, planted his seed in her womb, then if he brought forth her water to rain upon it with Freda's blessing, she would fall pregnant. 

How many times had she lain with Coris already? Still, all those times, he hadn't brought forth her water once, so she wouldn't get pregnant, would she?

Meya blushed as she reminisced each of her escapades with Coris, muttering feverishly as she counted on her fingers,

"Are you trying for a babe, Coris? If not, I should get Silfum. Fast. We can find that in Hadrian, right?"

Jezia said getting Silfum Candles, whose aroma was said to kill seeds, wasn't a big deal in Hadrian (It was illegal in Crosset). To her immense relief, Coris nodded.

"Bishop Riddell will probably have some, but you won't need them." Meya raised her eyebrows. Coris smiled, "The healers said my seeds are too weak to impregnate a woman. And I don't want a babe, anyway."

"Why?" Although she'd prayed Coris wouldn't want an heir, Meya was intrigued. His smile turned bitter,

"You really can't guess?"

Meya blinked, then sighed and nodded. Coris didn't want to orphan his babe. Cautious fellow. Still, Meya was curious. And a little annoyed. It seemed he never decided anything simply by likes and wants; it was always logic with him.

"Don't you want to try, at least? Thought you'd want to leave something of yours behind?"

"Guess we all do, Ari." Coris shrugged with a sigh, looking weary, as if it was a question he had been asked countless times, "Procreation is the drive behind existence, after all, but dying isn't an excuse to let primal nature usurp reason, nor does it mean one can take priority over the rest. When one's future is ending, one thinks of the futures of others."

Meya huffed, disgruntled, having no way to counter his saintly preachings. As if he had sensed her uneasiness, Coris edged close and pulled her to him with his hand on her head.

"Besides, there are other things we can leave behind."

Their eyes met. Meya smiled in reply, even as her heart twisted in bittersweet agony.

From the day she first met him, she felt he was a lad with a fascinating mind, and she wanted to discuss more about any and all things. She wanted to hear his thoughts and share her own. But, one way or another, she couldn't do that much longer.

Her heart shuddered. Meya leaned in and kissed his lifeless lips, deep and slow. Taking his hand in hers, she reluctantly drew away.

"I'll bring up your breakfast, all right?" She sat up with an offer, as Coris seemed too wasted to get up. Coris caressed her hand with his thumb and shook his head.

"There's going to be a special charity tent today. You must be there. Get Zier to help. I'll join you as soon as I can."

"I'll have the Baroness come tend to you, then."

"I'd like that. Thanks."

With one last squeeze of his clammy hand, Arinel untangled the blanket and spread it over his shoulders, then rose and left for her adjoining solar to get dressed for the day.

When the door had closed behind her, Coris slithered from underneath the heavy fur, all signs of exhaustion vanished. He bundled himself in a silk robe from the stand beside the four-poster and strode to his study desk.

His drawer was crammed with dolls and toys he'd squirreled away over the years. Aunt Kyrel would probably be huge now. He hoped he'd live to see her babe. Would Simon be blessed with a little brother this time, or another sister?

He waded through the jumble and slid open a secret compartment. A metal arrowhead on a broken wooden shaft rested on the magenta velvet padding. The tip of the arrow was distorted—melted. The silvery metal shimmered rainbow in the early morning sunlight.

Like The Axel. Like that medallion 'Arinel' is wearing.

Coris picked up the arrowhead and turned it in his fingers. Memories rushed into him from its icy surface. An enormous leg covered in silvery metallic scales, soaked in dark red blood oozing from an arrow buried deep into its rotting flesh.

The purple rot was spreading. Iron-gray scales fell from shriveled skin. The wretched monster screeched, its other leg clutching him so tight he could hardly breathe. The mountain hurtled towards them, the cave opening black as a yearning mouth of doom. They were falling. They would crash. They would both die.

With his last ounce of strength, he strained his arm towards the arrow. He closed his pudgy fingers over the splintered wooden shaft, slippery with blood, then pulled with all his might.

The arrow sprung free. The stone of the cave floor slammed into him. Darkness engulfed him.

A blink, then there was fire and the stone walls of a cave. He wound strips of his tunic over and under a nasty patch of rotting flesh on a thin human arm, flicking away the long, red-gold hair that insisted on falling in the way. The rot spread like a dollop of ink on parchment.

" 'Tis nae stopping! They're gunna chop off me arm and I'm gunna die!" The girl wailed between sobs. Thick tears plummeted from her glowing, acid-green eyes.

"Just shut up and keep a hold on your hair, will you? You want this to get infected on top of poisoned?" Coris heard his small voice snapping.

"What's in-fab-turd?"

"In-fec-ted!" Coris corrected in exasperation as he cinched the bandages tight. The girl yelped in pain. "Little bugs eating up your flesh. You want that?"

"I dun have no bugs in me hair!" The girl whined. Coris snorted in derision, sounding very much like a pig,

"Of course you do! Your hair reeks of pig!"

Coris slumped onto his chair, panting, the arrowhead pressed to his forehead.

The memories were more vivid than ever. For the first time in seven years, he could make sense of their conversation. He could even smell the girl's hair.

Scalding water blazed a path down his cold cheek. Coris clenched the arrowhead in his trembling hand as relief flooded him.

He needed more proof, but after seven years, he might have finally found the girl who saved his life in Crosset.

And she wasn't human.

🐉🐉🐉