He’s angry, but at least his anger is on me. My fists clench. My heart races. I’m about to fight my father. Before either of us can move, though, Mom steps in front of me. Then Dr. Walsh steps in front of her. He cuts the tension with a calm “What exactly is the problem here?”
“Patrick,” Dad spits. “I’m sure you’re in on it, too, or allowed it to happen. Either way I’ll take your license. I’ll see you never touch another dragon in Forsen again, no, all of Toulin. I’ll have you arrested for not stopping this madness.”
“Afraid I am going to need a little more explanation.”
“He thinks I stole Hort’s silver to learn bronze-crafting and silver-crafting,” Farren interjects.
“When in reality, I taught her.Willingly.” I emphasize the last word. Luckily, it seems Farren’s dad understands the gist of our lies, of our problem here.Because while not as bad as exposing the idea of Nity or her gold, this falsehood has thrown my father into a rampage.My father would lose business, Farren had said weeks ago.And without business, we could lose the sanctuary. Worst-case? We’re arrested.
My father just threatened all three in the same breath.
“Ah. I see. But you have no proof we’ve done anything illegal.”
“Your daughter crafted bronze with ease. Helped open that gate with ease. No one can master upper metals without time, practice, and access to a dragon.Mydragon.”
“You’re not my only client with silver dragons, John. Farren works closely with me, bonds with dragons easily, studies hard. Sooner or later she would have learned.” Dr. Walsh steps closer to my father. I never realized he is taller, leaner and older, of course, buttaller. “You think you control every dragon or crafter in this town, but you don’t. And you never will.”
“This isn’t about control. It’s about the law. Your daughter breaking it.”
“She hasn’t. I taught her how to craft,” I try once again.
“You.” He points at me. “You, I will deal with later.”
“James is coming with me. He’s under my charge this summer,” Dr. Walsh says with composed authority. I’ve never been so happy to be under someone else’s charge.
“Let him go,” Mom cries. “Let him go.”
“This was the plan all along, wasn’t it, Aine? Take my son away from me?”
“I’m your son, now?” I gesture to my face. The throbbing tells me it’s swollen, at least red if not purple. “I’m your son?”
“You are my son and you will stay here. And accept your punishment for what you have done.”
Dr. Walsh nods for me to follow him to the car. “We’re leaving.”
“You are not leaving. Your daughter will be metal tested and charged.”
Dr. Walsh turns. “If you charge her with anything, if you come so much as near my family, I’ll have you arrested.” When my father opens his mouth, Dr. Walsh continues. “I know how James really broke his arm. I know everything about how you treat your child, your family.”
A tortured gasp escapes Mom before she clutches a hand over hermouth. If Farren’s dad was guessing, then my mom’s reaction more than verifies the speculation. Determination sets in her features. “Let them go,” she says, steadfast.
I want to urge my mother to come with us, to flee. While he’s never raised a hand against her, I’m afraid today that may change.
“I’ll be fine, James. Go.”
My father watches as my eyes connect to Hort. I just need to get him into the trailer.
“Hort and Bex stay here,” my father says. He knows he’s got me. That within that one statement he’s won at least something. Minutes ago, while Farren was in the stalls, Dr. Walsh had convinced my father we could house Bex for a week or two at the sanctuary in order to be with Hort and recuperate.
And now—
No, I can’t leave Hort here for Colm Ditters, or whoever my father thinks suitable to ride and train him to further injury, to descale and hurt. Maybe outright kill in order to teach me a lesson.
“If it’s not clear, you’re fired, Patrick,” my father continues with a sneer.
Dr. Walsh steps forward. He’s going to object and fight for these dragons like he fought for me. “Hort’s too big for regulation racing,” Dr. Walsh says instead. “His wingspan measured in at forty-five hands this morning. I suspect Bex will recover knowing Hort is alive and well. But if Hort is to stay, his corrected proportions need to be edited in your directories before the next race and his sleeping quarters to be modified immediately.”
We all turn, trying to parse out Hort’s height and width on sight. And I see it. Hort’s a head taller than Bex, it’s why he looked so odd trying to squeeze himself under his mother. In the last weeks, in the correct housing at the Walsh barn, he’s grown. I didn’t notice in the large expanse of the sanctuary. His stall in the barn still appeared oversized compared to how he lived before.
