Lucan moves to my side with easy, confident strides. His expression is calm, gaze detached, as though he’s a world away. Inever noticed how different his demeanor and expressions have become when we’ve been alone in the Tribunal.Thisis the Lucan I’m most familiar with—the vicar’s adopted son, the unaffected, dutiful servant of the Creed.
Our eyes meet, and I quickly look away. Out of everyone, of course I would be paired with him. The vicar’s hand is all over this match. But…maybe it’s not the worst thing? Lucan’s proposal of an alliance with Saipha and me still dangles between us. This could be a prime opportunity to test the mettle of his offer and formalize the obvious choice.
A knight steps forward and guides us away. Our walk down the corridor is far too long and incredibly claustrophobic, and I force myself to keep my breathing even. I imagine we’ve walked two or three city blocks when we finally arrive at a door.
The room we enter next feels even worse than the passage.
Before us is the head of a green dragon—one Irecognize. It’s the beast that attacked Vinguard the day Saipha and I snuck into the wall. It’s festering with rot, scales barely clinging to the sludge that was once flesh and muscle. Its neck has been unceremoniously hacked away. Sinew and bone jut out at odd angles. I can’t prevent the shudder racing down my spine when I realize its eyes are now only empty, oozing red holes.
A trail of crusted blood connects the dragon to a colossal chute jutting out from high up on the wall. Judging by the permanent stain at its opening, I assume it connects to the city—an easy way for Mercy Knights above to send pieces of dragon into the thick rock of the crust, away from both sky and Font.
“Your tools.” The Mercy Knight gestures unceremoniously to the wall at our left.
I stare at the wall and the tools that line it, stomach churning, knowing exactly what I’m about to be asked to do.
26
Hanging on the wall before me are all manner of saws, thick metal needles, chisels, hammers, and pliers. The dragon carcasses are quickly processed on the surface—just enough that the pieces can fit down the chutes. This must be where they are broken down completely to finish the job of dispersing the Ethershade.
“Reduce the skull to small enough pieces that it can completely fit in that barrel.” The Mercy Knight points at a vessel to the right of the door that’s surely far too small. We’d have to reduce the skull to little more than pulp to get it to fit… “I’ll return in an hour to assess your progress and ensure neither of you are particularly susceptible to Ethershade.”Cursed, he means. That’s why we’re really here. Put us all in front of a whole bunch of Ethershade and see if anyone transforms.
“Put on those,” he says, pointing to two pairs of gloves that look long enough to stretch past our elbows. They’re resting atop an equally tall pair of thick leather boots in front of heavy leather aprons hanging on the wall. They’re all red like the Mercy Knight robes, but uneven—and I want to vomit as I realize just how much dragon blood has stained them, year over year, without a proper wash.
At least if we are dragon cursed, we won’t die covered in dragon innards. I’m learning it’s all about the small victories during the Tribunal.
With that, the knight leaves, and the door closes behind him with an ominous thud. Shivers dance down my spine at the distinct sound of a lock on the outside of the door engaging.
Lucan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stares at the head of the dragon, mouth pressed into a hard line.
I cross to the wall and shove on a pair of boots and gloves, then sling the apron over my neck and tie it on. It’s all slightly too big for me, but I’d rather the extra space over pinched toes. Then I turn to the tools hanging along the wall. Beside them is a basic anatomical chart of a dragon. It bears the seal of Mercy in its lower right corner—an impaling blade, a dragon wrapped around it.
“Which would you like first?” I select a bone saw. When Lucan doesn’t immediately answer, I glance back at him. He’s still staring at the dragon’s head, shoulders curled in slightly.Relatable.I cross and hand him a hammer. “We should get to it.”
His eyes drift toward the hammer, then to my face. Lucan’s skin is ashen, and a fine sheen of sweat beads his brow, like he might pass out at any moment. I bite back a sigh. I didn’t want to find something in common with him, but if he hates this as much as I do…
“They’re going to be back before we know it,” I say, softer. What I don’t say is what I know he well understands: they’re going to want to see results, and not having them is a grave risk.
“Right.” He takes the hammer from me, his jaw tightening.
“There’s a chart over there. The softer spots and good break points are marked.” I gesture, then go right to the head.
It’s a truly disgusting sight. Bile creeps up the back of my throat as I lean in. Being this close to a dragon’s head—even a very, very dead one—has my throat tight. Innate fear wars with disgust as my saw sinks into the squelching, rotted flesh. The scales part with ease, the meat below no longer holding on to them.
“You…are very good at that.” Lucan still has yet to move.
“Almost half my conscious life has been spent under the tutelage of the Creed.”
“As has mine. That’s how I know they didn’t teach you this.”
I should’ve expected that offhand excuse not to work on him. Straightening, I debate if I can tell him the truth. If he wants tobe allies, this is a good test. “My mum.”
Comprehension dawns on his face.
“She studies the dragons as much as she does the scourge. She believesdragons are not the cause of the scourge.” I echo her at the end.
“Study of anything related to Ethershade is prohibited if not in service to the Creed or Mercy.” His voice lacks conviction, as if he’s simply reciting it out of habit.
I give him a dull look that I hope conveys he can stop echoing the vicar around me. “You going to turn her in?”
