“She who?” Fredrick asked as he put the final touches on Julius’s hair. “Your mortal?”
Julius didn’t bother to correct him. He was already calling the discharge desk at the infirmary. When the nurse picked up, she calmly informed Julius that Marci had been released to the lounge ninety minutes ago.
His stomach dropped like an anvil. Forget hating, Marci was going tokillhim. The lounge was the lowest level of human storage in Heartstriker Mountain. If she wasn’t already furious at him for standing her up, an hour in that place would put her on the war path, and rightfully so. He’d neglected and forgotten her, treated her like…like he was a stereotypical dragon. That was unforgivable. Hehadto make it right, and he was searching the Heartstriker listings for the number to the lounge to do just that when Fredrick cleared his throat.
“I can’t help noticing you are upset over the state of your mortal.”
“You could say that,” Julius muttered, scowling down at the ever-expanding Gordian knot that was the official Heartstriker Mountain directory. “Do you know who’s in charge of the mortal lounge?”
“I do,” Fredrick said. “Would you like me to call on your behalf?”
Julius’s head shot up. “You’d do that?”
The dragon looked insulted. “I am here to assist you as your aide, sir. I do whatever you need me to do.”
That was a very different stance than Fredrick had taken when he’d been grooming his supposed boss within an inch of his life, but Julius was more than willing to overlook any double standards if it meant rescuing Marci. “Yes, please!” he cried. “Get her out of there!”
Fredrick pulled a sleek black phone out of his pocket and tapped the air above it. A few seconds later, his razor-sharp dark brows furrowed. “I’m very sorry, sir,” he said. “I can’t secure her release. Your mortal left the lounge an hour ago with the Planeswalker.”
He said this like he was announcing a death sentence, but Julius had already slumped back into his chair in relief. “She’s with Amelia? That’sfantastic.” And awaybetter outcome than any of the doomsday scenarios he’d been envisioning. He’d still have to make it up to her for letting them put her in the lounge at all, but at least now she’d be entertained and safe. Marci and Amelia could talk magic for hours, andno onewould bother her if she was with the Planeswalker. But while he was feeling miles better about the entire situation, Fredrick looked horribly confused.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “You’re happy the Planeswalker stole your human?”
“You’ve got the wrong idea,” Julius said, shaking his head. “Marci can’t be stolen because she doesn’t belong to me. She’s her own person, a fact Amelia knows better than anyone. She and Marci are friends.”
At the word “friends,” Fredrick’s look of confusion turned to one of horror. “And youbelievethat?”
“Yes, I do,” Julius said firmly. “I trust her. I trust both of them.”
It was true, too. Marci had more than proven herself on that score, and even his sister had shown she could be reliable, at least when it came to this. He checked his phone one last time, just in case. Sure enough, Marci’s calls stopped an hour ago, which would have been right around when Amelia showed up. She hadn’t responded to any of his frantic apologies either, which he hoped was a sign that she was having too good a time grilling his sister for magical secrets to mind that he still hadn’t shown up. Either way, Marci was unquestionably safer (and probably happier) with Amelia than she would have been stuck in here with him. So, with a final quick message to let her know that he was staying here until the vote was done, Julius let it go and turned his attention back to his own problems.
“I think my hair’s had as much styling product as it can take,” he said, pushing himself up off the ornate ottoman Fredrick had been using as a barber’s chair. “Is there anything else you want to groom, or can we move on to the educational part of this? ‘Cause if I’m going to memorize ten clutches’ worth of Heartstrikers, I should probably get started.”
“There’s no hope of that now, I’m afraid,” Fredrick said, checking the time. “I thought we’d have an hour to go over things, but getting you to the minimum standard of presentability took far longer than I anticipated. We need to hurry and get you dressed if you’re going to make it to the vote on time.”
Julius stared at him, uncomprehending. “But,” he said at last, “it’s only two o’clock. The vote’s not until six. How is it going to take mefour hoursto get dressed?”
“Actually, I’m worried four hours is overly optimistic,” Fredrick said as he walked across the mirrored dressing room. “But we’ll make it work somehow.” He opened the door to the hall as he finished, sticking his head around the corner. “Bring it in.”
The order was barely out before a work crew of humans led by yet another F—one who, again, Julius couldn’t name but recognized vaguely as the dragon who managed his mother’s treasury—wheeled in a wooden crate the size of a wardrobe. They set the huge box down on its end where Fredrick indicated, and then the crowbars came out, cracking the crate’s nailed-down lid to reveal an authentic suit of Mayan armor complete with fur cape, jaguar-skin breastplate, and enormous, intricately engraved golden cuffs for the wrists, upper arms, ankles, and neck.
Startling as all that was, though, the real surprise was the slightly smaller crate they wheeled in next. This box was opened personally by the overseeing F, his long fingers prying the wooden boards open to reveal an enormous golden headdress decorated with gigantic rainbow-colored feathers. Feathers that had very obviously come from a dragon, and not one Julius had smelled before.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, eyes wide as the dragon carefully removed the circle of plumage from its protective silk padding. “Whose feathers are those?”
“They belonged to the Heartstriker,” the new F replied, giving Julius a cutting look. “The original one.” He lifted the crown delicately with both hands and turned it around so Julius could see. “This headdress is a treasure of our family. It was originally meant to be worn by our grandfather and contains the only remaining plumage of the Quetzalcoatl left in existence.”
That was as impressive as it was macabre, but Julius was having none of it. “I amnotwearing that,” he said firmly. “Carrying his tooth is bad enough, but I am not putting on a dead dragon’sfeathers.”
“You will wear them,” Fredrick said coldly. “The Great Quetzalcoatl is the original root of all Heartstriker power, and his crown is proof of our legitimacy as his lineage. Bethesda does not need to wear it because her right to rule is unquestioned. You, however, are an unknown dragon trying to claim authority in a clan where name alone is enough to determine rank. It doesn’t matter how good your ideas are. No one in that room will listen to you if you don’t have power. That’s what this headdress represents: your power and legitimacy as a grandson of the Quetzalcoatl.”
That was a pretty good argument, but Julius was still cringing. “How does this even exist? The Quetzalcoatl’s been dead for nine hundred years. How are his feathers not ash?”
“For the same reason you’re still wielding his Fang,” Fredrick said, nodding at the sword on Julius’s hip. “Mother was careful. After she defeated her father, she locked down the lingering magic left from his extinguished fire. Rather than permitting his power to escape and his form to fall to ash, she trapped it, preserving parts of his body, and magic left in them, for later use.”
Now Juliusreallythought he was going to be sick. “Shepreservedhim? Like dragon jerky?”
“Of course,” Fredrick said with a scathing look. “Bethesda is greedy and clever, and even in death, the magic of a dragon as great as the Quetzalcoatl isn’t something you throw away.”
