Page 74

The creature’s iridescent scales reflect the firelight in oil-slick greens and purples mixed with flashes of copper and gold. Six legs are tucked under a long, conical body. It’s roughly the size of a house cat and sports an angular head. The large, knowing eyes regard us with an intelligence that makes my skin crawl.

It watches us for three seconds. Then it settles back down on its cushion, apparently deciding we aren’t interesting enough to warrant further attention.

I, on the other hand, can’t stop gawking. Half of me wants to pet the creature, the other half wants to see if my magic will affect it.

“My laboratory.” Veradin glides past me with a sweeping gesture. “Study. Whatever you prefer to call it.” He waves at the purple substances I already spotted. “Don’t touch anything purple.”

Noted.

He points me toward the wooden stools near one of the larger workbenches. “Sit, sit.”

Rather than obey immediately, I spare another moment to scan the space for more shiny cat-like caterpillars. Esme perches on one of the stools, clearly familiar with this routine. Her shoulders have relaxed completely. She feels safe here. If I were to break her trust of this place, I’d break her too.

I lower myself onto the remaining stool, positioned so I can see both of them as well as the main doorway.

Veradin crosses to one of the copper pots and stirs it with a long glass rod. He doesn’t look at us while he works. “Sorry I had to move the conversation, but I knew this mixture was about to start boiling and would need tending. Agnar, I assume you haven’t heard of the Wardens. Our order is ancient. We predate the current kingdoms by centuries, possibly millennia. We don’t have complete records…much was lost when the temples fell.” He methodically stirs the liquid in the pot. “Our magic isn’t elemental. It is life itself. The force that animates living things, that makes them grow and change and heal.”

“Sounds like a creation myth.” I expect an argument, but Veradin shrugs instead without rising to the bait.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps we simply learned to use what already existed.”

Esme shifts on her stool. “We maintain balance between humanity and nature, growth and decay.”

Her reply is quiet but earnest. She believes this with her whole heart. I envy her faith that goodness exists and am thankful life hasn’t beaten it out of her yet.

“For centuries, we did toiled in silence, unnoticed and unappreciated. Now, as a plague sweeps the land, everyone remembers that Wardens exist. Because suddenly, they need something only we can provide.” Veradin’s mouth twists as he sighs over his steaming pot. “We know how to end this, and could do so today, if we had the ingredients for one of our ancient rituals. The artifact Esme went to recover and an unhatched dragon egg.”

I struggle to hide my reaction as alarm jolts my system. A dragon egg. Hells.

I don’t allow any of the thousand small tells that would give me away. “Where do you plan to get one?”

Veradin and Esme silently share an entire conversation within a few seconds.

Veradin responds first. “Esme’s father is pursuing that avenue.”

Esme meets my eyes for half a second, then feigns fascination with the floor.

Her father, the disapproving one who never thought she measured up? The one she’s barely mentioned, except in passing comments about galas she didn’t attend and expectations she failed to meet? That father is pursuing dragon eggs? I file that information away with everything else that doesn’t quite add up.

Veradin turns back to his work, apparently satisfied with his explanation. “We’ve tried several other approaches. All have failed.” His shoulders sag. “We’ll keep trying until we succeed. The Everhand is our best hope. With so many lives at risk, what other choice do we have?”

So the father Esme fears disappointing because she couldn’t get the Everhand has tried and failed repeatedly to get his half of the ingredients for this ancient ritual? Sounds like he’s way more ineffective than she is, yet she hasn’t realized the truth yet.

While Veradin’s question isn’t directed at me, it would be strange for me not to reply. “You could try asking the kingdoms where the wild flights roost. Kamor has dragons in nearly all their mountain ranges. Tirene has dragons as well, but I’ve heard that none of the tame ones are mated. No one knows where the wild dragons there live.” Esme and Veradin don’t need to know about Chirean and Dame.

Esme picks at her fingers, staring at nothing.

Veradin squints at his concoction. “We’ve heard that Tirene has wild dragons but also don’t have an inkling of their whereabouts. A difficulty. But one that’s not ours for the moment.”

Relief washes through me that they aren’t focusing on Tirene for their needs, but my unease doesn’t fade. How much power would they need to cure the entire kingdom in one go? “What else can the Everhand do?”

The older man pauses his stirring. “I’m sorry?”

“If this combination of things has that much healing power,” I attempt to gauge Esme and Veradin’s reactions, “what happens if the wrong person gets ahold of it? Someone who doesn’t want to heal?”

Esme’s expression morphs from surprise to calculation to discomfort before she, too, consults Veradin for answers. She knew the plan the entire time yet never considered this possibility?

Veradin smiles gently. “That is precisely why we must retrieve it before anyone with ill intent does. Who can say what it might do in the wrong hands?”