Asra collapsed to the ground. Ciaran pulled back on the reins and signaled his dog to stop.

“Are you all right?” he asked Asra as he hopped down from the saddle. His muscles were tight and tense and his heart still pounded. Bane sprawled out on the cool dirt, his tongue lolling out from his mouth.

“I’m fine,” Asra wheezed. Sweat glistened on her coat, and Ciaran was momentarily distracted by the fact that she could still sweat in her dog form.

“What the hell were you doing in town, anyway?” he asked between gasps of breath.

“I heard gunfire and got worried.”

It took Ciaran a moment to process her words.

“You were worried about me?” Perhaps Asra’s fever and delirium were worse than he thought.

“I was worried you did something stupid,” she said.

Ah. There was Asra.

“What did you do to cause all that trouble?” she asked.

“Why do you assume it was my fault?” Ciaran grumbled. He removed his earring and dropped it into a small pocket in his rucksack. Then he said, “There was … an execution. In the square.”

Asra’s head flicked to him, and she watched him as he shuffled to a grassy spot and flopped down. “And?”

“And…” He sighed. “My friend in the royal guard. The one I told you was protecting me? He was set to be executed.”

If Asra had any reaction to this, she showed no sign of it. Ciaran plucked a blade of grass from the ground and began tearing it into short pieces.

“So you went to save him.” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if she were commenting on the weather.

“Yes.” Ciaran sprinkled the pieces of grass back onto the ground.

“And?”

“I sent Bane to hold the executioner. Then I shot a guard.” It took a moment for his words to truly register, then his stomach dropped. “Gods around us, I shot a guard.”

Asra’s canine brows raised, and Ciaran swore her tail twitched in the slightest hint of a wag. “And then?”

“And then … it was madness. The crowds rushed the gallows, they overwhelmed the guards, I slipped Thomson out in the chaos … ”

Asra snickered.

“What’s so funny?” Ciaran asked.

“You,” she said, flashing him a razor-sharp grin. “I never expected you of all people to incite a riot.”

“I didn’t! I mean … I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did. How ironic would it be that I’ve spent all this time trying to kill Nolan only for you to crumble the monarchy from the inside?” Her snickers broke out into all-out laughter.

“Keep laughing,” Ciaran said. “You won’t be when I take the throne. I will be on my best behavior then, I assure you.”

Asra’s laughter ceased. She laid her head between her paws and made a sound that was halfway between a growl and a sigh.

The resulting silence brought back memories of Thomson’s horrified face. Ciaran’s stomach twisted. He flicked away the shreds of grass and pulled his flask from his coat.

He glanced at Asra’s form lying on the ground as the whiskey warmed his chest. Her nose hadn’t seemed to detect the liquor, though he wasn’t sure if that was a result of the hound’s woe or if her condition had affected her sense of smell. Perhaps she knew but simply didn’t have the energy to argue.

A shiver rippled down her back, then spread to her limbs. Fevers had come and gone from her frequently the last several days. Perhaps it was the guilt of hiding the liquor from her, but he wanted to ease her suffering somehow. A blanket might bring her some comfort, but she’d never accept sympathy or help from him. He’d have to reframe it.

“It’s going to get cold tonight,” he said, pulling their blankets out of the saddlebags. “Probably not a good idea to start a fire, and Bane hates the cold. Would you mind if we slept next to you?”

She said nothing for a long moment, then:

“Fine.”

Ciaran breathed a small sigh of relief, then called Bane to him. He threw one of the blankets over Asra’s neck and back, careful to keep it off of her wound, which would need air to prevent the infections from worsening. He then sat down and leaned back against her shoulder as Bane curled up into his lap. He threw the other blanket over both of them.

Ciaran rested his head against her bony shoulder, watching the stars glitter through the treetops as he stroked Bane’s head. The stars were what he missed most about his hunting trips outside of the city.

He turned his head to look at Asra, his ear resting against her side. Her heartbeat thrummed, slow but still strong. Her breath rattled as it rushed to fill her lungs.

Ciaran leaned his head back against her shoulder and closed his eyes. He’d almost drifted off to sleep when Asra spoke again.

“Ciaran.”

Her deep voice reverberated through her chest into his skull. He waited for her to continue for a moment, then he prompted, “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. “For?”

“For the blanket.” She swallowed as though she were swallowing down bile. “And for not rubbing it in. That you were … right. About the valley. And the dragons.” She forced each word out like secrets were forced out during torture.

Ciaran smiled and said, “I think the mortal injuries are ‘I told you so’ enough, don’t you? I didn’t really want to rub salt in the wounds. Literal wounds.”

Asra’s mouth twitched in the shadow of a smile. “You’re not what I expected you to be.”

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“What did you expect me to be?”

“Cold. Selfish. Like your brother.”

A pang shot through Ciaran’s chest. He’d spent most of his life being chastised for not being more like his brother, mostly from his exasperated nanny. Nolan had always been responsible, level-headed, and mature for his age, everything Ciaran had not. The fact that he was nothing like his brother had been a source of deep shame for him.

“Did I really ruin your chances of keeping the throne just by throwing a glass at some rich prick?” Asra said.

It took Ciaran a moment to realize Asra was referring to the confrontation in the resort in New Port. He laughed at the vast oversimplification of Duke Lambert’s role in the kingdom.

“That wasn’t just some ‘rich prick,’ Asra,” Ciaran said. “That was the Duke of Akenstead.”

“So?”

“‘So?’” Ciaran laughed again. “He controls almost as much territory as Windemere. He’s practically royalty himself.”

“Is that why he hates you so much?” Asra asked. “He resents your authority?”

“Hmm, probably a little.” Ciaran shifted Bane in his lap. “But I think it’s mostly that Duke Lambert has never viewed me as a good candidate for next-in-line to the throne. He doesn’t think I’m strong enough to command a kingdom, and he worries that I’m too friendly with commoners. Too soft on them. So when I’ve brought on a new assistant—a commoner who I can’t control … Well, that proves his concerns about my ability to govern, doesn’t it?”

“That whole system sounds so … fragile. Why would you want to be in control of something that could turn on you for just a minor insult?”

Ciaran sighed. “Truthfully … I don’t. I’ve never wanted to be king. I’ve always been happy to let Nolan keep that responsibility.”

Asra cocked her head to the side like a curious pup. “Then why did you ask me to kill Nolan for you?”

Ciaran traced Bane’s ridge from his rump up to the whorls at his shoulder blades and back, over and over, searching for the words before he spoke.

“I don’t think I have a choice, Asra,” Ciaran whispered. “I think Nolan’s going to kill me. Like our father killed our mother, and our grandmother killed her sister. Thomson was right. I think it’s just … in our blood.”

His heart raced at the admission. Speaking the words aloud made the nightmare real. His brother was going to kill him, unless Ciaran killed him first.

Asra stared at him for a moment. She laid her head back between her paws as she said, “You don’t have to be king, you know. When this is all over. You could leave.”

Ciaran laughed. “And do what, Asra?”

“Whatever you want,” she said, her words slurred by the beginnings of sleep. “You’re worth more than a stupid throne.”

“I think all these fevers are addling your mind, Asra,” Ciaran said with a smile. “You’re being nice to me, and I don’t even think you realize it.”

When Asra said nothing, Ciaran turned to her. She slumbered lightly, her breath rumbling and rattling in her lungs.

Ciaran leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “It’s nice to hear, anyway.”

----------------------------------------

The next several days did not fare much better than the preceding days.

The night of the execution in Creekwater was the last time Asra was lucid enough to hold a conversation. The next city was still almost a week away, and each day left Ciaran more skeptical that Asra would last that long.

Their progress was slowed by the massive gazehound’s ambling pace. Ciaran frequently had to stop and wait for her, or guide her back into the proper direction. There were times when she just leered at him, as though she was trying to remember who he was, and refused to budge an inch. Ciaran had taken to sleeping a good distance away from her, unsure if he could trust her fever-addled mind to not turn on him and eat him in his sleep.

Fortunately, Ciaran’s hunting skills remained intact. He rose early each morning to catch herbivores rousing from their sleep to munch on dew-slick vegetation. He had been fortunate enough to dispatch a few rabbits and even a deer. Ciaran and Bane ate the jerky and dried fruits from their packs and gave all of the fresh meat to Asra, who snapped it up greedily each time. He hoped her appetite was a good sign that she still had some fight left in her.

As Ciaran tracked an elk one evening, his mind lingered on Asra. He hoped she was leaving her wounds alone. She’d been licking and chewing at them worse than ever the last few days and was starting to create nasty hot spots. The last thing she needed was more infection.

An odd noise drifted on the wind. It was a sort of booming sound, soft and muted in the distance. Ciaran couldn’t identify the culprit, but if he’d heard it, Asra certainly would have, too. He thought of the noise she’d heard in the tunnel, how it had driven her to paranoia. He needed to get back to her before she spooked and ran off.

Abandoning the elk’s trail, Cairan hoisted himself up on the gelding and called Bane to follow. He kept the horse in a steady trot through the forest, his heart rate picking up pace the closer they got back to their designated campsite for the night. He spotted the large oak that marked the spot, and directed the horse around the large rock he’d left Asra next to, and …

There was no Asra. Ciaran glanced around, double checking the notable landmarks to make sure he had the right spot. This was definitely it.

“Shit,” he hissed as he hopped down from the horse and checked for any indication of where she may have gone. He found some dug up moss and a giant paw print in the mud heading northwest. He directed Bane to the paw print, and said, “Find it.”

Bane set his nose to the ground, zig-zagging through the forest as he followed Asra’s trail. Ciaran mounted the horse once more and followed, carefully scanning the ground for any visual cues Bane might have missed.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he pictured a hundred horrible scenarios of what might be happening to her right now. What if she’d run into another dragon? What if she’d succumbed to the infection? What if she’d been found by the royal guard or a troop of soldiers? He shook his head rigorously, as if he could shake the thoughts out of his brain.

The moon was high in the sky now, illuminating the forest with a pale glow. Ciaran’s eyes were heavy, but he forced them open. How far could Asra have run? Much further than Ciaran was comfortable with.

The sound came again. It almost sounded like a short roar. He swallowed. Dragons were not uncommon this far west, and without Asra he wouldn’t stand a chance if a dragon found him.

“Come on, buddy,” he said to Bane. “You’ve got to find her.”

The sound came again, in three short bursts. A bark, maybe? Was that Asra’s bark? He realized he’d never heard her bark before. Did she bark at all? That felt like the sort of thing he should know.

The sound drifted from the direction of Asra’s trail. Either the sound was Asra, or it was something hunting her. If he abandoned the scent trail and followed the sound, he could get to her faster. Or he could miss her entirely.

He nudged the horse into a canter, hoping that abandoning the trail wasn’t a foolish choice. Bane followed behind. They tore through underbrush and leapt over fallen trees. The sound grew louder and louder. Ciaran prayed he could make it to her in time.

They halted in a clearing, surrounded on three sides by tall rock. Asra stood in the center on tall, wobbly legs. Drool dripped from her fangs in long lines, and her eyes were half open. Ciaran breathed a sigh of relief that turned into horror as he trotted the horse around to her side.

The wound was oozing and red, the skin surrounding it bruised and bleeding. Nearly all of her fur had been scratched or licked away. It was the most putrid hot spot he’d ever seen. That combined with the rapidly spreading infection from the dragon wound had clearly put Asra in critical condition. He dismounted the horse and crept toward her.

“Asra? Are you all right?”

Asra made no acknowledgement that she’d heard him, or even that she knew he was there. Bane whimpered behind him.

“Asra?” Ciaran said, taking a few more tentative steps toward her. “Can you hear me?”

He was almost close enough to touch her now. He extended a hand toward her muzzle, his palm raised up, hoping that she might catch his scent and recognize him. Her eyes looked empty, her face gaunt. He took two more cautious steps. His hand almost brushed her nose now.

Her nares flared as she breathed in his smell. Recognition flickered in her eyes for a split second.

Then there was another roaring sound. Asra’s whole demeanor changed in an instant. She straightened up, pulling her lips back so that every one of her teeth shone in the moonlight. A thunderous snarl erupted from her. Ciaran threw himself back just in time to avoid being snapped in half by her huge jaws.

“Asra, it’s me! It’s Ciaran!”

Bane’s paws thudded toward them. Ciaran turned and grabbed the dog, holding him back from attacking Asra again. He didn’t think the ridgeback would survive the encounter this time with as far gone as Asra was now. Bane snarled and snapped, but Ciaran held him firmly as he tried to drag the dog back to the horse. The horse probably wouldn’t be able to outrun Asra, but it was the only chance he had.

Asra crouched down, readying her muscles to lunge at Ciaran and Bane. Ciaran shut his eyes, bracing himself for the attack. The sound of the roar-bark, so close now that it made his teeth rattle, forced his eyes open again.

A figure emerged from the trees to their right. It was massive, covered in thick orange fur. Its fangs shone starkly against its jet-black muzzle. The black and orange were segmented by angular blue sigils. The beast looked like someone took a fox and stretched its legs out to comical lengths.

Starlight glinted off of the bull ring dangling from its canine nose, as well as the dozens of piercings in its ears. Ciaran’s jaw dropped.