Treasured by the Dragon

Ch 26: Free

No food. No water. No fuel for the fire.

The only heat I have is the dwindling flames in the brazier and the ratty blankets leftover from my original nest.

I use what little energy I have to move the hay over to the cell bars, getting as close as I can to the meager fire. My body temperature is dropping fast and movement is difficult. I need to get cocooned in the blankets as soon as possible so there's still some heat within me to warm my ragged shelter.

Each shift, twist, and shiver beneath the blankets sends a shockwave of pain thanks to the wool's stiff little fibers scratching against my dry skin. Despite the pain, I secure every part of me within my woolen casket. A small break in my wrappings allows for fresh air to pass through, but even that I consider denying myself.

However, I don't have time to argue with myself over which is more likely between frostbite and suffocation. My body and mind are spent. Once I'm nestled into my bed, not even my itching skin can keep me from falling asleep.

Some time later, the sound of the frozen cell door, crisp and creaking, wakes me.

Swaddled in darkness, it's hard to know if it's morning. Time has passed. My stomach is tighter, my tongue is drier, and my lips are so chapped that the smallest movement causes them to crack and bleed. However, I was in such an awful state to begin with, it's hard to tell if these ailments worsened over the course of hours or mere minutes.

A rough kick to my shoulder reminds me that something exists beyond my darkness and they are even more cruel than the hostile environment.

"You still alive?"

I don't know the voice, but I'm certain it's one of Irving's kin.

I groan in response.

"Shit, would've been easier if you were dead. Now I have to carry your ass all the way up." Another kick shakes a small scream from me. "Get out of there. I'm not lugging all that wool around."

I'm in no position to argue or resist. However, I'm also incapable of prying myself from my bedding with my body so sore and cold.

If this is what it feels like as a warm-blooded creature, how much worse must it be for these dragons?

I cling to that thought—that minuscule, nearly imperceptible thread of hope. Maybe we can still fight back. Though I can't right now. Not when I can barely move a finger.

"Are you even listening?"

I try to tell the angry voice that I simply can't remove the blankets, but I'm fairly certain all that escapes me is a whimpering moan.

"Fuck's sake, even living an ocean away hasn't changed your species. You're just as useless as the humans back home. Guess I'll have to do it myself, since Lord Irving is keen to have you."

Something presses into the blankets and prods my arm.

The fabric tears. A sharp, cold dagger digs into me. I scream, my back arching against my confines. The movement draws the blade over my bicep, before sliding off my elbow.

Threads continue to snap and fray as the weapon slices open my cocoon. Cold air pierces me just as hard and my body seizes with the sudden shift in temperature. My teeth chatter and though my arm burns, it is dulled by the numbing chill.

The Waterheart clucks his tongue. "It's your own fault, you know? If you just came out when I asked, I wouldn't have had to use my claws."

I look up at the towering beast as I shiver in a ball on the floor. His long fingers stretch and curl, revealing his vicious nails before they recede to their human form.