I don’t understand that threat, but the Reformist makes an embarrassing squeaking sound before clearing his throat.
“Yes, sir. W—We’ve received an urgent scrying brand message from Commander Decimus indicating that the feral dragon may not be in the north anymore. They tried to contain him, but—well, sir, they’ve lost him again.”
Lost him?
If Baelfire’s dragon isn’t corralled and protected, he’ll be a target. His uncle, the last feral dragon on the loose, was hunted and killed for his scales. What if that happens to Baelfire?
All the nauseating possibilities make me move forward, stepping out into Everett’s office without thinking. I’m about to demand where he was seen last so I can hunt down my dragon, but the legacy in the doorway jolts when he spots me. His eyes widen to a ridiculous degree, and something uncomfortably close to idolization crosses his face.
“H—holy…great gods above! You’re Maven Oak?—”
Ice erupts around him, freezing him solid in less than a second with his mouth still hanging open. Everett shuts the office door without a second thought.
“No one can see you yet. This is the easiest way to keep mouths shut,” he mutters as an explanation.
He’s not wrong.
Still, that Reformist may have had more information about where Baelfire could have gone.
“Send someone to track him,” I blurt, trying not to picture people hunting my mate.
Everett notices my stress and smooths his cool hands over my arms, kissing my forehead.
“This has happened before, a few times. The dragon sometimes disappears into caves and goes missing for a day or two as it sleeps, but it inevitably pops up again to burnsomething down and be a giant scaly pain in my ass, as usual. The Decimuses are very good at tracking down their feral youngest. Give it a day or two, and we’ll know where he is again. I promise.”
He’s being reasonable, but something deep inside me is still unsettled.
I’m seeing Silas tonight, and tomorrow, Everett will just have to accept that we’re going out searching for Baelfire. Then I’ll find Crypt, whether fate likes it or not, no matter what plane of existence he’s in.
But in the meantime, I need to make sure my poor elemental gets the rest he obviously hasn’t been getting. So I nod, take his hand, and lead him back into his bedroom.
13
SILAS
Every dayand night is a new hell as confusing as the last, but at least I’m coherent right now.
As coherent as I ever am, anyway.
So shamefully weak, my father’s voice growls.This cage is your own making. You should just leave.
He’s too weak to leave now!another voice echoes.He needs blood.
He needs death,another argues.
Yes!more voices giggle.Death for the weakling.
The voices have only multiplied—but as always, the worst voice is like an iron needle through the center of my forehead.
My handsome lunatic, my keeper's voice whispers.They’re right. You’re too weak. You were an idiot to think you ever could have saved me.
“I tried,” I mutter to the absence around me.
Not enough. Even with sacrificing your magic, you were never going to be enough. I deserved better than you. You should have accepted my rejection, but now look what became of our quintet. Our fates are your fault.
My head rolls from side to side as I lie trapped in the iron chamber, confusion pounding through my skull. I try to blink away the blurriness to observe the dark room around me, but it’s no use. The iron shackles have weakened me for months, just as I intended. When I am more myself, I can get out of this coffin-like chamber and move about the barren, rune-etched room—but physically and metaphorically, the shackles stay on.
Something clangs nearby. It’s the same sound I hear whenever the blond, curly-haired human arrives to check on me. Or when that oversized, tattooed leprechaun comes here with orders to force-feed me through magic.
