Blue Fire Read online

  Two more dragons died the next day: the one with the spear to the fire chamber, and another who’d lost a mage mere minutes after Shamino had healed her. The remaining dragons still required constant care, but as Shamino’s Gift replenished and depleted in turn, things began to improve. Then, four days after that horrible night, one of the barely injured dragons lost her mage. Shamino managed to order me to clean the Infirmary before he locked himself in his study.

  Without frantic humans and moaning dragons to fill it, the Infirmary stretched on forever. Someone had set up a few Lights for me, but shadows mottled the cavern and consumed the ceiling. The rock beds had been carried away for a dragon to sear off the gore, but enough blood remained in the cavern.

  I left my mop and scrub-brush by the door and went to a rusted patch of floor. The cavern reeked of sulfuric death. Bile rose up in my throat, but I forced it down as I knelt.

  “Please, First One,” I whispered. The cavern swallowed my words with emptiness. “My Gift needs to work. I can clean this faster…” I choked off. Such a pitiful request. ‘Let me clean.’

  I could clean. I could stay. I could bandage.

  “I could fight Thorkel,” I whispered.

  I pictured the crimson dragon—no. I shoved that memory away, for it made my knees weak and my head spin. Instead I recalled a different vision, the one where I battled the black mage. Confident Adara. Capable Adara. I pictured her instead, her hands glowing with blue flame, Incinerating objects the black threw at her. She was who I needed to be.

  Mentally, I followed the visualization instructions for Fire from my text. I extended my hands, released my Gift…

  “Please,” I growled. My Gift swelled in my chest, but my hands stayed empty. “You did just fine burning down Garth’s hut!”

  But mentioning the hut brought up the vision of the man in a pool of blood, blue fire all around.

  Don’t die, please don’t die…

  I stood. No magic. I’d have to clean the long, exhausting way. I grabbed the mop and scrub-brush.

  Mopping took Sphere after Sphere. My classes had been suspended temporarily, and my sore muscles were beginning to toughen up from the work of the past few days. Still. It was a lot of mopping.

  I’d finished two-thirds of the cave when Shamino entered with a mop of his own. Dark circles still rimmed his eyes. I held up a hand. “I’m fine doing the rest.”

  “I want to,” he said. He dunked his mop in my bucket. “Cleaning isn’t healing. There’s a sense of progress.”

  Yuriah must have moved in. That was the dragon who wanted to die. I swallowed my protest. Shamino needed sleep, but I doubted he could.

  For a long time, the only sound was our breathing, our footsteps, and the sloshing slide of the mops or scratches of the brushes. Then—

  “I received the official report,” Shamino said. “A massive Illusion hid enemy dragons and battle mages. Numbers vary as to how many, but it was a lot. Twenty of our dragons pursued a small force over the Illusion. The thirteen who flew here, those were the ones who lived.”

  I stopped mopping. “Seven dragons died there?”

  His mop handle bent so much I feared it’d break. “That’s why Jaya flew with her head half-torn off. She flew to save her mage, for there weren’t any uninjured dragons to carry either of them.” His mop dunked into the bucket and water splashed out. “They should have returned to the army, but they were spooked—and dying. What if there was another ambush ready? They decided that coming straight here was safest.”

  I leaned on my mop and tried to absorb the news. Seven dragons dead, likely with their mages. Dragons did not die easily, and their corpses never fell kindly from the sky.

  I hope they crushed some Carthesian battle mages.

  “He is a genius,” I murmured. Shamino frowned; I went back to mopping. “Something I overheard, that Thorkel is a genius. He must have come up with the Illusion.”

  “Paige has no idea how they did that, and she’s considered a prodigy.” He stared into the cavern with haunted eyes, as if he still saw that night. “If we could only kill him. Merram thinks the Carthesian Kyer will dissolve with Thorkel’s death, but we rarely see his dragon. Is that really a surprise, though? We’re not even seeing his followers.”

  He went back to mopping while I stayed silent, for what could I say? Instead I watched him, his face flushed and his chest heaving. Shamino put too much of his weight on the mop. He carried the dead.

  “I don’t mind finishing,” I said softly. “I can eat a late dinner.”

  “I’m fine, Dragonling.”

  “No, you’re not.” I took a hesitant step toward him. “I understand why you’re pushing yourself so hard, but you need rest.”

  He paused and haggard eyes looked at me. “Adara, the work’s not going to vanish.”

  “I know, but you’re doing too much. You’re the healer, and the Seneschal, and for the time being, the Dragonmaster—”

  “Orrik arrived this morning. He’s taking Merram’s duties for a while.”

  “He’s here?” I didn’t know why that surprised me. Merram trusted Orrik, and Shamino very much needed help. “Still. Maybe you can ask for another mage to help at the Quarters? Just for a while?”

  He snorted. “Believe me, finding a person is more work than doing everything myself.”

  “Sylvia wants to do more—”

  “Sylvia is seventy.” He gestured to the wall covered with shelves that held buckets for potions and ointment. “She nearly collapsed the night the wounded arrived. I’m responsible for my dragons and my people.”

  “You need to let your people help your dragons,” I argued. “Sylvia’s Gift is replenished. Let her do the magics that drain you so you can focus on healing and running the Quarters.”

  Shamino threw his mop to the ground. “If someone’s Gift worked, I wouldn’t have to ask an old woman for help.”

  I recoiled as if he’d slapped me. A horrible moment passed, him angry and me stunned. I clutched the mop handle.

  He’s right. First One knows, he’s right.

  “Adara…”

  I turned and willed hot tears to go away.

  “That was out of line,” Shamino said quietly. He came up behind me. “Dragonling, I shouldn’t have—here you are concerned about me, and I attack you—”

  “It’s the truth.” I shoved the mop across the floor, only vaguely noticing it had gone dry. “I’m useless.”

  “You’re not useless.”

  I choked back a sob. “When dragons are dying, what can I do? Argue with people and hand you tools.” He tried to speak, so I mopped harder and talked over him. “I can’t bandage. I can’t heat rocks. I can’t sear blood off a rain-forsaken floor. The Quarters need—the Kyer needs—no. You. You need a mage, and I’m… not.”

  Tears finally spilled. They splashed on the floor. I mopped them to oblivion.

  Shamino came behind me, reached around my body, and pried the handle from my hands. The wood clattered to the floor. His fingers tangled in mine and he drew me close against him. So close. Two people, almost one, alone in dim forever.

  “Dragonling, you’re right. There are things you can’t do.” His breath tickled my ear. “But the dragons love you. All of them. Even Maolmuire respects you. They think you’re creative and smart, with the ways you adapt without a Gift. They admire your courage. You tackled Dragon Mage Bree.”

  “You know about that?”

  “Dragons gossip, just like humans. Anyone who faces a stronger opponent impresses them.” His head rested against mine, and he whispered, “I agree with the gossip. You’re amazing.”

  I tilted my head away. Emotions swirled in a whirlpool of shame and pleasure and doubt. The warmth of his arms made me dizzy. I loved it. “Not amazing. Not like you. You can heal.”

  A soft chuckle. “Did I ever tell you of my older brother?”

  “No.”

  Shamino gently turned me around, and I found myself with my hands on his che
st, his hands on my back. Exhaustion still lined his face, but the anger and frustration had softened. Even his green eyes seemed tender.

  “Rogan was a year older than me. Father called him perfect in every way.” Pain in his eyes, just a flash. “Rogan was a skilled Generalist who could cast anything. His manifestation was spectacular. We went riding with friends, and a horse threw twelve-year-old Tressa. Rogan caught her with Telekinesis—his very first spell. They were betrothed the next day.”

  Tressa… betrothed to Shamino’s brother. Pieces began to click. Shamino’s brother, dead. Shamino inheriting. His father urging him to honor a marriage contract… to Tressa. Who changed the subject anytime anyone mentioned the Seneschal.

  “Father began to anticipate my Gift,” Shamino continued. “Problem is, how does a dragon healer manifest without any dragons?”

  I had no idea. “You didn’t manifest?”

  “I think my magic came in at fifteen—same age as Rogan’s—but I didn’t heal my first dragon until I was sixteen. Until then, I was a failure. Even after that day, Father called me worthless because I couldn’t heal humans.” Shamino pressed his forehead against mine. “I know how you feel, Adara. And despite that, I attacked you, just like Father attacked me. I promised myself I’d never be like him, yet here I am hurting someone I…”

  He stepped back and picked up my mop. “Makes me a poor Seneschal, and an even worse friend.”

  The cave felt cold and massive. Lonely. He held out my mop, but I hugged my arms to my chest. His words helped, yet they didn’t.

  “The problem is, I did manifest,” I told him. “Your Gift worked after you saw that dragon, didn’t it? I’ve cast a handful of spells, but I didn’t plan a single one. I’m broken. Without a Gift, I can’t bond.”

  Without bonding, I would have to leave the Kyer. I would have to leave…

  Shamino still held out the broom. “I’ll write Merram and petition the Elders. Ask them to let you stay on as long as it takes. If I can get the unbonded dragons to support me… What do you think?”

  Once Shamino had fought to keep me out of the Quarters; now he’d fight so I could stay. I took the mop and smiled through my tears. “Write him after you take a nap.”

  He broke into a grin. The cave warmed. “After a nap.”

  I continued mopping as he left to rest. With every stroke, I grew more certain. Shamino would write, but Merram would say no. He couldn’t afford anyone asking why he’d made an exception. Even if she worked hard. Even if the dragons and the Seneschal liked her—Dragonsridge would question it even more, Shamino asking to keep a girl at the Dragon Quarters.

  You must make your Gift work, Adara. Hopelessness made the mop as heavy as stone. Zoland couldn’t help me. The First One clearly wouldn’t. I’d tried and tried and tried…

  I finished late and stopped by the empty dining hall for some bread, meat, and fruit. I planned to eat after I soaked in a hot bath, but when I got to my rooms, my door hung ajar.

  My appetite vanished. I lit a candle and went straight to the desk.

  Another white box with a silver bow sat there. I exchanged it for my dinner and brought the present to the sofa. With trembling hands, I lit a few more candles before removing the bow.

  My blood turned to ice.

  Under the wooden lid, nestled in straw—

  A box of pure crystal rests in my hands. I lift the lid and pull a silver chain. Out tumbles a shard of sapphire, it glints in the candlelight as I dangle…

  … it from my fingers.

  First One, the vision was real. It was happening right now.

  I held a solid, real necklace of sapphire.

  I dropped the necklace, and it bounced once on the rug. The box stayed in my lap. Paper lined its bottom. More letters. I smoothed them flat, recognizing the angry, slanted writing. So much writing.

  My Dearest Adara,

  It seems you do not trust me, and I commend the wisdom of caution even as I yearn for our meeting. Perhaps this gift will convince you of my sincerity. No, I do not take you for a silly girl to be lured by trinkets. This sapphire is more than a gemstone. It is a key.

  With it, you can unlock your Gift.

  I rushed to the bathroom where I became thoroughly sick.

  How does he know? How does he know? I tried to calm myself, but it was difficult to picture a lake with my face in the privy. Thorkel knew I couldn’t work magic; a secret I kept from everyone but Shamino and Zoland—and Sylvia, and Byron, and anyone who might have noticed my uselessness in the Infirmary.

  But who would have told Thorkel? The thought of a spy made me sick up again. To think of someone watching me, betraying even more vital secrets…

  When my stomach finally calmed, I rinsed my mouth and returned to the living room. I found the paper on the floor with the sapphire.

  It’s shamefully simple, really. So simple that every mage doesn’t realize why he can cast spells from the start. You see, a jewel is necessary. As a follower of the First One, surely you’ve heard the stories of the first mages? Did not the First One give them both a ruby created from the dragon’s heartblood? Within fiction, fact.

  I digress. Read my enclosed instructions and embrace your Gift. On the last sheet, you’ll find directions so you can thank me in person. And remember, this is knowledge I share with you and no other. No one else is worthy.

  The letter ended without a closing. I glanced at the other sheets. I didn’t take the time to read the ones about the sapphire, but I saw enough of the directions to know two things.

  One, the directions were for flight. The author assumed I’d bond.

  Two, the directions took me north, deep into the Karpak mountains.

  To Thorkel.

  Chapter Nineteen

  What am I willing to do to stay?

  The question kept me up late, long after I’d hidden the sapphire and its pages in my free boot. If Thorkel was correct, that I could somehow use the gem to free my magic, it would solve everything.

  But to do so meant accepting the help of the man who had slaughtered our dragons and people. Not to mention, I’d need to hide the reasons why I could suddenly fling fireballs.

  I could fling them against Thorkel.

  Yet if I met him… what if he told me something that made me not want to kill him? I couldn’t imagine such a thing, but at one time no one could imagine the tribes of Carthesia uniting, or the renegade dragons in the desert forming a kyer. Countless men and dragons, persuaded that Thorkel was worth following.

  I should take the directions to Merram. If they truly led to Thorkel… But I’d been through that with his previous gift. If Merram went north, another Illusioned trap would slaughter our dragons.

  Then there was Merram himself, keeping his own secrets…

  So many questions. No answers. Praying had done me little good before, but then, I’d been the one to run out of the Devotarium. Perhaps I needed to finish reading the passage about visions. Especially since one had come true.

  I went early in the morning. This time, the Great Room’s tables were packed with people reading the Record or other religious books. Muted prayers and tears filled the hallway of prayer rooms. I passed one occupied room after another.

  At the last room of muffled voices, I paused. Jerroth. Tressa.

  I never apologized to her, I realized with dread. With my classes canceled, I’d had no chance. Long hours in the Quarters meant I ate at odd times or in my rooms.

  “… barely move,” came Tressa’s annoyed voice.

  “It’s made for prayer, Tressa.” Jerroth, too, sounded annoyed.

  I bit my lip. No one stood in the hallway. I thought of creeping closer to the door—no. Eavesdropping? In a place of prayer?

  “I’m bothered,” came Jerroth. Words too soft, then, “… spells were magnificent. I’m ashamed to say it, but he’s a genius.”

  “He’s insane and this entire war… need to move on.”

  I couldn’t help it. I eased over the tiniest
bit, making sure they couldn’t see me through the little window.

  “… upset, and you’re talking of parties.” Jerroth again. Definitely annoyed, and maybe angry. “There are dead dragons and mages because of this man—this madman I’m admiring—and you—you don’t care at all, do you?”

  “Jerroth, love, you mistake me.” Tressa, switching to a voice of honey. A swish of fabric. I could see her in my mind, clinging to his arm and gazing at him with wide, concerned eyes. “You are right. What happened is tragic. But it is also war. From a practical standpoint, while it is right to mourn, we cannot let it make us weak. As for admiring Thorkel, well, it is natural.”

  “Natural.” Jerroth’s doubt sounded a tinge hopeful.

  “Is it wrong to admire an enemy who is more powerful, creative, and ambitious than your leaders? In fact—”

  A door down the hallway opened and I jerked away. The emerging woman wiped her eyes. I pretended to be checking the windows for an open room as she left. Her room, now open…

  Full of guilt, I returned to Jerroth and Tressa’s conversation. I’d missed some, but Tressa still spoke with confidence.

  “… disregards the customs that make the rest of Drageria strong. Commoners hold high positions, there is no sense of rank—how can there be order during attacks if there is no clear hierarchy?”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  An exasperated sound. “I’m glad I’m not staying at the Kyer. Things are frustrating at court, but not like here. Here, there are no consequences if a nobody slights you in public. At least no one will invite a Westwood to a party in Dragonsridge.”

  “Tressa, you should let it go. Adara’s so naive—”

  “I saw you talking to her. I know you explained how it works—etiquette that shouldn’t need to be explained.” I cringed as she went on. “She has not sent me a single apology for embarrassing me in front of such important people. I can’t have an Elderdown thinking poorly of Blackveil!”