No Good Dragon Goes Unpunished

by Rachel Aaron

  “You’d be unqualified to perform it on anyone,” Svena said haughtily. “You might be unmatched when it comes to brute force, Planeswalker, but this is my area of expertise, not yours. I saw the absolute mess of a seal you put on your mother.”

  “That wasn’t my fault!” Amelia cried. “Estella had me chained!”

  “But it was still your skill,” Svena argued. “Or lack thereof.” She stepped forward to stand between Amelia and Marci, motioning for them to get up as well. Amelia did so at once, popping off her chair like a cork. Marci rose more slowly, keeping her guard up, and the white dragoness sighed.

  “Relax,” she ordered. “Unlike the drunken red terror, I have dignity. I would never stoop to attacking an opponent who couldn’t fight back.” Her face broke into the most excited smile Marci had ever seen on the normally stoic dragoness. “Especially not when I can use her as a guinea pig instead.”

  “Then let’s hope your actions live up to your bragging,” Amelia said, grabbing two full handles of vodka off the banquet table. “Just give me a second to get ready.”

  Before Marci could ask what she meant, Amelia had ripped the cap off the first bottle with her teeth and downed it in three swallows. She did the same to the second, making both Marci and Svena wince.

  “What are you doing?” Marci asked when she stopped for breath at last.

  “Liquid courage,” Amelia wheezed, wiping her mouth. “My soul’s about to get split in two. You don’t expect me to go through that sober, do you?”

  “You haven’t gone through anything sober in your life,” Svena growled, smacking the third handle of liquor off the table before Amelia could reach for it. “I can’t do this if you’re too drunk to help. Now go stand by the mortal.”

  To Marci’s amazement, Amelia obeyed, walking over to stand beside Marci. “Wheneber’r ready,” she slurred.

  The jumbled words were barely out of her mouth when Svena struck. One moment, they were standing face to face on the sunny balcony. The next, Svena’s hand was inside Amelia’s chest. Gruesome as it looked, though, there was no blood. Amelia’s tank top didn’t even look damaged despite Svena’s arm passing right through the seam of its V-neck. But while the rest of her didn’t seem to mind the invasion, Amelia’s face told another story.

  “Ow,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You asked for this,” Svena reminded her, scowling in concentration. “Now. Don’t move.”

  The command landed like a thousand-ton press as Svena’s hand began to dig around inside Amelia’s chest.

  “OW,” Amelia said again.

  Svena didn’t comment this time. She just kept digging, closing her eyes in concentration as beads of sweat began to drip down her pale face. “Almost there,” she whispered. “Almost…got it!”

  Amelia made a choking sound, and then her pained gasp turned into a roar as Svena ripped her hand free, bringing a ball of fire out with it.

  Now it was Marci’s turn to gasp. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d expected the dragon’s life fire to be small, like the little flame Amelia had demonstrated on her palm, but the fire roaring in Svena’s hand was a white-hot inferno the size of a small car. It was still coming, too, spiraling out of Amelia’s chest toward Svena’s fingers like a sun being sucked into a black hole. It was so huge, Svena was actually forced to take several steps back to make room, raising the enormous, spinning orb of fire high above her head until, at last, the line of flame connecting it to Amelia snapped, and the dragon collapsed.

  “Amelia!” Marci cried.

  “Don’t touch her!” Svena roared, her blond hair flying in the burning wind that was rolling off the fire in her hands. “Her magic is unstable. We need to finish this quickly.”

  “It looks like you’re finishing her!” Marci yelled, pointing at the massive specter of fire hanging over their heads. “You said you were only taking half!”

  “This is half,” Svena said, her voice straining as she fought to keep the flames under control. “When will you understand? Amelia is powerful. I wouldn’t bother with her if she wasn’t.”

  Marci stared at the roaring fire with new respect. She’d never seen so much pure, concentrated magic in her life. Not even when she’d pulled off Vann Jeger. “And that’s supposed to go into me?”

  Rather than answering, Svena shoved the fire down on Marci’s head. She barely got a chance to brace before it landed, closing her eyes as she hoped against hope that this was going to be one of those “burns without pain” kind of magical experiences.

  No dice. It hurt exactly as much as it looked like it was going to. Like an actual giant ball of fire was consuming her from head to foot.

  “Draw it in!”

  Marci could barely make out Svena’s shout through the pain. It was hard to focus on anything when you were on fire other than not being on fire. Fortunately for Marci, while she was overwhelmed by mortal fear, Ghost was already dead, and he didn’t have a body to burn.

  Ignore it, he ordered, gripping Marci’s mind in an icy grasp that banished the burning. Take the magic. Quickly, before it really does consume us.

  Marci didn’t have to be told twice. Now that Ghost’s grave-like chill was protecting her from the pain, she could finally feel the white-hot thrumming of Amelia’s magic under the literal burn of the fire, and she reached for it desperately, grabbing the flames as she began to yank down handful after handful of the purest, strongest, most concentrated magic she’d ever touched.

  If drawing off Julius had felt like plugging into the sun, this was like becoming a star herself. Amelia’s magic roared into her so fast and strong, she couldn’t hope to control it. All she could do was pull it in, winding the wild power up like a wire until the fire around her finally began to die down. It still wasn’t enough, though, so she forced the fire smaller still, folding and compressing the magic she’d already wound up into a tiny, white-hot mass, cursing herself the entire time for not thinking to draw a circle before this started.

  You don’t need a circle, Ghost said, his deep voice as loud and clear as real sound in her head. A circle is just a tool. A construct to help you visualize what you’re trying to do. Chalk can’t actually hold in magic. It was always you. But don’t be afraid. I’m here. I’ll help you. You can hold it, and together we will be stronger than they could ever imagine.

  Marci scowled. He was doing it again, talking like a villain, but it was too late to doubt now. The magic was already in her, and if she didn’t get it stable, it was going to blow them both apart. So, with no way back, Marci did as her spirit said, closing her eyes and focusing inward on the wadded-up mass of pure dragon magic pulsing in her chest.

  Handling this much power without a circle felt like driving a race car at full speed with no mirrors or brakes. It was terrifying, but every time Marci felt she was about to fly out of control, Ghost nudged her back into place. She still wasn’t quite sure how it happened. Every decision took up the whole of her attention, leaving nothing to spare for how the final construction would fit together, but somehow, it worked. They kept it together, pressing and folding Amelia’s blazing furnace of magic inch by inch, smaller and smaller, denser and denser, until, at last, it was nothing but a flame in Marci’s own chest, dancing and flickering behind the wall of internal wards she’d just built freehand inside her own magic.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was lying in Svena’s lounge chair. The white dragoness herself was nowhere to be seen, and the sun, which had been nearly overhead when they’d started, was now touching the horizon. She was still staring at it in confusion when a shadow fell over her face.

  “You’re awake!” Amelia said, handing Marci a glass of water. “Thank goodness. You had me worried there.”

  “I had me worried,” Marci croaked, reaching out to take the glass and bring it thirstily to her lips. “You might want to give me a little more warning next—pah!” She spit out the water, which wasn’t water at all. “What is this?”

  “A cure-
all of my own concoction,” Amelia said proudly. “It’s a tincture made of herbs from multiple planes dissolved in a fifty-fifty mix of whiskey and cherry liqueur.”

  “Ugh,” Marci said, wiping her tongue on the back of her hand. “Tastes more like a poison-all than a cure-all.”

  “The foul taste is part of the curing,” Amelia assured her. “Finish the whole thing, and I guarantee you won’t care about whatever it was you took it for anymore.”

  She offered the glass again, but Marci pushed it away. “I’ll take my chances,” she muttered, lying back on the chair to stare at the sinking sun. “How long was I out?”

  “Not sure,” Amelia said, sitting back down herself. “I just woke up not too long ago myself, but going by the sun, I’d say it’s around five in the afternoon.”

  Amelia had picked Marci up right before lunch, so that meant—“Svena left us lying out here for five hours?”

  Amelia laughed out loud. “What do you think she is? Nice? At least she put our bodies in chairs. And she moved us under the umbrellas. That was thoughtful.”

  Maybe by dragon standards. “Well, I’d say her bedside manner definitely needs work.”

  “You can’t argue with the results.” Amelia closed her eyes. “I can feel my fire inside you. It’s weirder than I thought it would be.”

  Marci closed her eyes, too. Sure enough, Amelia’s fire was burning in her chest, warm and strong. It was so inviting, she couldn’t resist drawing off just a bit. She’d only meant to take a taste, but the moment her mental touch brushed the flames, power flooded into her, lighting up her bracelets like Christmas. Ghost perked up as well, his longing hitting her like a hunger pang.

  “Here you go,” Marci said, releasing the magic down the connection she shared with her spirit. “But not too much.”

  But we have so much, the spirit said as he gobbled it up. Just think what we could do with this, Marci. How powerful we could become.

  “You sound like a comic-book villain,” she told him, locking the magic firmly back in place. “Haven’t you ever heard that with great power comes great responsibility?”

  The cold rush in her mind told her what Ghost thought of that, and Amelia chuckled beside her. “Spirit getting grabby, is he?”

  “He thinks your fire is his own personal feeding trough,” Marci said, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, though. I’m wise to his ways. I’ll keep your magic safe.”

  “I know you will,” Amelia said, her voice so serious, Marci almost didn’t recognize it. “I’m betting it all on you,” she whispered, staring at Marci with glittering, almost feverish eyes. “You’re my winning ticket. You’re going to be the first Merlin, I just know it. We just have to get you there.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marci asked. “What’s a Merlin?”

  “You’ll see soon enough,” she said, pushing up out of her chair. “For now, though, that was way rougher than I’d thought it’d be, and I need a drink. You want one?”

  “Depends,” Marci said. “Does it have those horrid herbs in it?”

  “Nope,” Amelia said, rattling around on the table, which someone had apparently cleared off and reset while Marci was out. All the sandwich trays and brunch dishes were gone, replaced by a fresh selection of salads, steak, seafood, desserts, and a bar that would have served an entire wedding, which Amelia was currently digging through for a glass.

  “Here,” she said, plunking two ice cubes into a glass before pouring Marci a perfectly normal-looking splash of brandy. “I snitched this from Bethesda’s private stash. If drinking a shot worth more than most houses can’t make you feel better, nothing can.”

  Marci was on the verge of saying no, but she must have absorbed more of Amelia than just fire, because she ended up nodding instead, accepting the terrifyingly expensive drink with trembling fingers. When she finally got the courage to take a sip, though, she discovered Amelia was right. It did make her feel better. Good enough to ask the dragon for another one, which Amelia was delighted to provide.

  And high overhead, unseen in the long evening shadows, a raven flapped off the peak of the mountain and flew away into the sunset.

  Chapter 4

  Julius had never felt more ridiculous in his life.

  Fredrick hadn’t been messing around when he’d said he was going to get Julius ready to face the clan. He’d brushed and scrubbed and scraped and cleaned and trimmed the younger dragon with ruthless efficiency. Before Julius even knew what was happening, he’d had his hair cut, his face shaved, his teeth whitened, and his eyebrows trimmed, and those were just the procedures he’d agreed to. If Fredrick had had his way, he would have been spray tanned and airbrushed, too.

  But the line had to be drawn somewhere, and Julius put his foot down at having his skin painted. Even without the painting, though, a good hour and a half had still passed before he realized it, and by the time it occurred to him that Marci really should have called by now, it was far too late.

  “Oh no,” he muttered, grabbing his phone, whose screen was a wall of missed calls. “No, no, no. She’s going to hate me.”

  “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 to kill him. 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. He had to 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’s fantastic.” And a way better 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, and no one would 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 you believe that?”

  “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 me four hours to 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.”