Nothing Left to Do

Nothing Left to Do
Naomi

Skye runs her fingers over the grooves and notches along the hearth in Fraser’s kitchen. Her inspection of every room we visit in this place is thorough to a scientific extent, but I guess that’s the risk I took when I told her the truth–or when she stole the truth from me. 
It’s morning. I’ve yet to see a clock here, and our phones are painfully useless this far from modern society. It’s like we’ve dropped through time and are now firmly seated in a place that no longer exists, a place we can’t call Eastonia or Crescent Falls. This castle tucked in the middle of a mountain predates everything. 
“Alex should see this place,” she muses, crouching to examine hooks meant to hang cauldrons over the fire. “He all but confirmed civilizations this old in Lunaria before we left. He’d have a field day here.”
“Fraser would like him, I think. They can nerd out together. I’m sure they’ll never run out of things to talk about.” I don’t think that’s true, but I’ll throw Skye a bone if I must, for her help just getting here. I couldn’t have jumped all this way alone. She is far more powerful than me in her own way as it stands–older, more practiced, and more settled in her unique gifts. 
I’m still trying to find my footing with mine. 
“Where is your dragon, anyway?” She rises and turns back to the rudimentary meal I’ve managed to scavenge. 
We’ve been picking at a basket of dried apples, a shockingly fresh loaf of dark bread, and an impeccably roasted chicken for the past hour. I found the apples, but the rest were waiting for us here, in the one room I’ve spent the most amount of time in during my past visit to the castle. “I’m not sure. He’s a strange person. I’m under the impression he’s not used to having guests. Not as much as he’s had them in the past month, at least. I think he’s overwhelmed by our presence.”
“Well, if I see him again during this trip, I’ll apologize on behalf of the entire royal family and see if there’s anything we can do to make up for it,” she replies, breaking off a small piece of bread and popping it into her mouth. 
I toy with a slice of dried apple before tossing it back in the basket. “You have to keep him a secret.”
Her violet eyes meet mine. “Is that his decision or yours?”
“I would assume both.” I rise from my stool and walk to the sink, which is little more than a large basin with a water pump. I set my empty plate down and turn back to Skye. “He’s under the impression that he’s the only dragon left in our world, and we have no proof otherwise. It would be dangerous for him if his existence is suddenly common knowledge.”
“How so?”
I tilt my head from side to side in thought. I’ve been thinking about this–him–since we met. “Dragon bones and teeth were used in many forms of dark magic, for one.”
“I thought you weren’t allowed to study that. You didn’t make grades.”
“You already know that’s a lie. I wasn’t allowed to take the official courses because the professors at the academy appealed to my parents and voiced their concerns that I was too enthusiastic.”
Skye huffs a laugh, which is a rare thing for her. “Is enthusiasm a bad thing?”
“For dark arts, yes. They didn’t want to inadvertently create the world’s next great villain, and apparently, they saw something in me that warranted that concern, and my parents agreed.”
“Naomi, that can’t be the case.”
“Take it up with them if you’re so curious.” I eye the dragon who just entered so quietly Skye hasn’t noticed his presence yet. Fraser’s golden-brown eyes hold mine for several seconds before he turns to a shelf and pulls down a pewter cup, moving with a strange silence that even our resident vampire’s bride can’t pick up on, which I find quite odd. 
“But you know dark arts?”
“Well, Arthur has never stopped me from reading anything from his archives, so yes, I am more versed than most.” Than all. Even Fallon, who was allowed to study and perform several dark rituals during her time in the academy in Moonrise, doesn’t have a full scope of dark magical knowledge, and that’s normal. 
No witch is allowed to practice dark arts. It’s forbidden unless explicit permission is granted and on the rarest of cases. However, it's still learned because, should, in Fraser’s words from last night, history repeat itself, we cannot be at a disadvantage if a future enemy comes to call and plays dirty. 
The difference between my sister and me, and honestly, my mother, and her mother, and Ella, is that my Firestone gifts lean dark. 
I don’t know why. 
Fraser leans on the counter on the far side of the room. He watches me closely, obviously aware that Skye has no idea we have company. Yet. 
“Dragons were used for parts back in the day,” I continue. “That’s well documented. Sure, some believe it’s only legend, but there's a good reason for that now. I’m sure many a hunter would be markedly curious about something as priceless as a real life, living, breathing dragon in our midst.” 
Fraser narrows his eyes. 
“Alex’s lab in Lunaria found scales in the ice. Some were from fish, of course, but the deeper finds could never be traced to anything we have in modern life.”
I keep my eyes on Fraser. “Water dragons, perhaps.”
“Well, Lexa met one, remember?”
Fraser holds my gaze so intently I feel it in my bones. 
“In the arena, in Pantharas, I know.” My voice breaks. Fraser takes a silent but deep breath. I wonder if he feels shocked to learn another dragon was around within the past two decades or so. “A water dragon.”
Fraser looks down into his empty cup, his expression darkening. 
Skye takes a deep breath. “Look, Naomi, there will be ramifications for this. Our parents aren’t stupid. They know you’ve been gallivanting around the Allied Kingdoms doing Goddess knows what, and they trust you, but this could come to light in so many ways, and you will take the fall. But, I will keep your dragon a secret, although I doubt I’ll be able to keep it a secret from Alex.”
“I’d enjoy meeting your man,” Fraser says, and Skye, one of the two most level-headed members of my family, leaps into the air in fright. She whirls toward Fraser, who gives her a quick smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, and reveals the book he’s kept tucked behind his back, the same book I tossed into the cave mouth as his dragon tip, or whatever the cost of summoning him is called. “His theory on multi-genus interaction and its genetic implication on magical profiles was an exhilarating read.”
“You fucking nerds,” I murmur under my breath. 
Fraser rolls his eyes at me and turns to Skye. “You’re a researcher, yourself?”
“Um, well, I was at one point. I fear I’ve left that behind to join the Order of Mystics. I do teach astrophysics and astrology at the University of Moonrise, though. My husband is a paleomicrobiologist and would be honored to meet you.” 
“I’m sure we wouldn’t run out of things to talk about,” Fraser replies. He actually smiles at her, and it’s warm and inviting. Why am I jealous?
“Well, this conversation is about to be very boring, I can already tell.” I leave my plate in the sink unwashed and skirt past Skye and Fraser. “I’m going to check on Ian and Oakley.”
“Leave them be. This is all he’ll have with her,” Fraser replies, and I pause in the doorway leading off the kitchen and turn back to him. 
Skye looks down at her hands. She can sense it too, can’t she? That this, this final day of the dreaded affliction, is going to be Oakley’s last day in our realm and the beginning of a brutal nightmare for Ian.
He might be cured, or whatever we can call it, of his beast forms. He might be able to control them now and go on to live a full life. 
But he will have to carry this with him forever. 
He loves her. Deeply. Even with a broken mate bond, he is devoted, heart and soul. 
I wonder what that feels like. 
I catch Fraser’s gaze. I watch the column of his throat bob. 
“Fine.” That's all I can think to say. It’s a surrender more than anything, a brutal acceptance of my utter failure to fix this mess for someone I love, someone who doesn’t deserve to bear witness to the ugliness of our world. 
I spend the remainder of the day walking around. I open shop doors in the village and pick through the dresses, some of which disintegrate between my fingers. I can’t bring myself to touch the red dress that caught my eye the first time, but I regret it, even when, later in the evening, I’m tucked in Fraser’s library trying to keep my angst at an all-time low while dissociating over a book of ancient maps in a language I can’t read. 
The sunset is fading through skylights across the ceiling, but the palace remains as silent as usual. No ticking clocks. No footsteps. No echoing voices. 
Just silence. 
But then…. 
I feel it in my chest before the first scream. A knot, tight and grating, tangles around my heart and tugs. I rise from my chair for the first time in several hours, ignoring the sharp ache radiating down my spine from poor posture, and brace my hands on the worn table top, squeezing my eyes shut against a rolling sensation of dread that threatens to bring me to my knees. 
Then Oakley screams again. I can hear her all the way down here, like her voice is carrying through levels upon levels of stone. Fraser’s footsteps race past the library and up a set of nearby stairs that lead to the sleeping quarters, the suites, and then everything is quiet again. 
This is it. Her death. 
My only solace is that she’s with Ian, and he’s with her. He won’t have to question whether she suffered in her last moments as the full moon rises over the mountain and paints this library in silver. 
It’s a clear night, which feels so unfair. It’s like the Goddess is taunting them. 
I move like a ghost through Fraser’s palace, following Oakley’s agonized screams. At some point, down a long, dark corridor I’m happy to haunt alone, Skye pops out of an archway looking so pale I can see every blue-tinged vein in her face and neck when she spots me. 
“What do we do?”
“What’s happening?” I ask, but my tone isn’t hurried or panicked. 
Skye notes the surrender in my voice, and I’d like to believe it settles her somehow because she says, “They’re in that room, the big one.”
“It’s a landing base,” I correct her, swallowing hard. 
“That makes sense.” Her voice is shattered by another scream so shrill it makes my skin erupt in pebbles. 
I follow her through another corridor, and then here we are, in the room where the world opens up to us in a blast of cold air and mountain views. 
I close my eyes for several seconds, just enough to adjust to the popping, grinding sounds coming from the writhing body Ian and Fraser are trying to hold down on the floor. Skye takes my hand because this is all we can do. Watch. Watch and listen to Ian’s breaking heart and Oakley’s breaking body as the final shift happens. 
But Ian holds his transformation back. He’s cured, so to speak. 
I open my eyes to the moment Fraser unsheathes a blade from his belt. My lips part in shock, maybe even relief. 
“Ian, look at me,” Fraser says through gritted teeth, but his eyes are wide and bright with emotion. “I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”
“You said she’d be better!”
“I never promised anything. You knew this was a possibility. But right now, she’s in pain. We cannot fix this for her. There is nothing left to do.”
Ian has tears streaming down his face as he holds Oakley’s head in his lap, swiping her tears away with his thumbs. She’s bright with fever. I can feel heat pouring off her from here. Her legs are bent at an odd angle, and her scars on her arm are eating away at her skin, like her body is shifting into something against its will. 
Fraser shows Ian the blade. “Do you remember what I said to you last night? This is the final test.”
Ian holds his gaze, and Fraser….
Skye chokes on a sob. 
I just look at Fraser, feeling oddly void of any feeling as he drives the blade with practiced skill directly into Oakley’s heart, killing her instantly. 
Ian doesn’t move. He’s not even breathing. He just sits there, holding her, her blood pouring between them and soaking the floor. Fraser draws back his blade and staggers upright, unbalanced, his hands red with blood, and drops the blade on the ground a few feet away while taking several swaying steps in my direction. 
I reach for him on impulse, my mouth parting to ask if he’s okay, which he’s not. Instead, I begin to thank him, the first word falling from my tongue, then it shatters in a gasp. “IAN!”
I hadn’t seen him rise with Oakley’s body in his arms. I hadn’t seen him walk across the room, leaving a trail of blood that now ends abruptly at the edge of oblivion. 
His eyes are locked on mine, wet with tears and devoid of all emotion, as he takes one step and disappears into the night.