A/N: Yep, it's finally here! The long awaited part 10! :D Sorry to keep you all waiting for so long, I've just had a lot on my plate!
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Etain remained unconscious through the rest of night. Deyanira and the Queen were kept busy fetching things for the priests of Hera, who had been summoned to take care of her. King Haimon never left Etain’s side, and spent his time praying to Dionysus and Hera to save her. Canicus lay curled up in his stall, never taking his eyes away from Deyanira or Etain. Deyanira could feel the guilt rolling off him, and tried to sit with him whenever she had a moment’s respite.
“You couldn’t have done anything to stop him.” Canicus lifted his head off the floor and looked Deyanira in the eye. He sighed and a shiver ran across his body, causing Deyanira to wrap her arms around his neck. She hugged him fiercely, letting him know how much she loved him. Deyanira gently reached out with her consciousness, touching the vast reaches of Canicus’ mind.
Despite all the years they had been connected, his mind was still alien to her. She could feel his guilt for not trying to help Etain, anger at himself for leaving Deyanira vulnerable, and fear, a burning, all-consuming fear that next time Deiaro would win. The stories about royalty who had lost their Dragon’s were legend, the pain of having your companion die was enough to drive a person mad with grief. In comparison, the Dragon’s got off lightly, if the person they were bound to died, the Dragon would waste away within a matter of days. Unable to eat, unable to sleep, their bodies just rejected the idea of having to live without their partner.
“I’m glad you didn’t help Etain. I’d rather that she died, than run the risk of losing you,” whispered Deyanira. She relaxed her grip on the neck of her companion, and turned to look at her father. Through the eastern window she could see the sun beginning to rise, throwing shadows across the floor, and bringing the King’s gaunt face into sharp relief. It had only been a night, but the change from the previous day was dramatic. Deyanira was shocked, she didn’t know what was worse, the full extent of Etain’s injuries, or the look of desperation on her father’s face. He looked like a man condemned to the gallows. His grey hair was limp, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. He seemed frail, as though he was an old man of 90, not a fit and healthy 54 year old.
Every so often, Etain would nudge him with her head. Deyanira had to look away, the look of absolute devotion upon Etain’s face, the expression that showed she was ready to die for Haimon without a second thought was almost enough to break Deyanira’s heart. Knowing that Canicus would do exactly the same thing for her had always been a comfort, but there was also the belief that Dragons were all-powerful. To see a magnificent creature like Etain, a Dragon who had been around since before Deyanira was born, fighting for her life was unbelievable.
The priests and priestess’s of Hera continued to work diligently, changing dressings and administering tonics and mixtures. They laboured ceaselessly, slowly pulling Etain back from the edge of the Lightlands. Death was not feared in Isidor, it was only in life that the Gods would punish you. Those who walked the dark path in life were simply lost within the void in death. It paid to keep the Gods happy.
It was mid-morning when Deyanira left the stable, the bright sunlight washing away the worries of the night as she crossed the courtyard towards the main palace. She paused for a moment, memories of her childhood home washing over her. She had played in this very courtyard with her brothers, flown across the palace roof upon Canicus back, cantered across the city upon her stallion, racing her brothers and her friends.
Many people had said that the King was too soft on his children, that encouraging bonds between them would only cause them to become weak and emotional in later life. Deyanira shifted her gaze to the rose bush that was slowly taking over the trellis next to the main door. The rose bush had been planted by the King, the day of his marriage. Since then it had taken over most of the eastern wall, the soft, golden sandstone now lay almost two foot behind the thick wall of leaves. In spite of its size, the rose bush was dying. Each year fewer and fewer of the bright cerise roses bloomed, less leaves grew and it wilted a little more throughout the harsh Isidorian winters. The Queen would pray to Aphrodite everyday to encourage the growth of the plant, yet the goddess neither heard or cared. Deyanira sighed, she would have to visit the Temple of Aphrodite soon, it had been almost six months since her last visit.
She continued walking, passing along the halls of palace, as swiftly and silently as a ghost. She counted the stairs that lead up to the third floor and her bedroom, the steady rhythm of the numbers soothing her mind, releasing the fatigue that had been held back throughout the night. She pushed open the door to her bedroom, her eyes wandering across the soft golden furnishings. The circular doorway to her balcony had been propped open by a maid, leaving a gap large enough for a Dragon to fit through.
Deyanira shut the doors and drew across the heavy brocade curtains. Even with the rich yellow fabric covering the windows, the strong sunlight still pierced the room, giving it a strange twilight appearance. Stripping off her shirt, Deyanira threw the bloody garment onto the floor, too tired to leave it in the dirty clothing basket. She peeled off her calf-skin breeches and laid them at the end of her bed, taking care not to let any mud touch the saffron-coloured sheets. The princess pulled back the covers on her bed, and crawling inside, was quickly swept away into slumber.
Part 11