Dragon of the Prairie (Exiled Dragons Book 13)

by Sarah J. Stone

  Eliza went quiet on the other end of the line.

  “I'm sorry,” she said. “Our healing facilities here–”

  “Are advanced, like ours,” Nathaniel answered. “You should just know that so you aren't shocked.”

  “Of course,” Eliza replied. “I will see you soon, my love.”

  “And I you,” he said, ending the call. It left him with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach to say that. How many times would he have to tell people that, to warn them about his new, fragile Tiro? How many excuses would he have to make for her in the coming months or years?

  What exactly was this life he was living?

  At five-thirty, Desmond buzzed him through the com-link. Nathaniel had been sitting on his bed, engrossed in lesson plans. He had taught his afternoon class and then lost his head to the diagrams of an old plane. He had planned more activities with the pictures than time permitted, but he was happy. He was annoyed that Desmond was interrupting it, and he answered gruffly.

  “What?” he said.

  “Sienna and I are going to dinner in the cafeteria,” Desmond said. “After that, I have some research to do in the library.”

  “Okay?” Nathaniel asked, confused. “Why are you telling me?”

  “Because after dinner will be six p.m.,” Desmond said calmly and Nathaniel coughed.

  “You can't be serious about this.”

  “I think it will be good for you,” Desmond answered, and Nathaniel rolled his eyes.

  “You sound like Eliza,” he said. “By the way, did you see that quest?”

  “What a coincidence that we got a quest to Jeffro,” Desmond answered, gruffly “Is she all right?”

  “Should just be peace talks,” Nathaniel replied as he stood up. “Do you really want me to come with you?”

  “It's not about what I want, Nathaniel,” Desmond said. “It's your duty.”

  “Awesome.” Nathaniel grunted, but agreed. “I'll be there shortly.”

  As much as he did not want to spend his favorite meal of the day with Sienna, he did need to eat. All the units had kitchens, but hardly anyone ate there for dinner. When the witches were together, they were expected to socialize and to share their ideas and challenges.

  He made it to the cafeteria within ten minutes. He saw the two of them sitting at a table in the center and took a tray, deciding to load it up first. When he could avoid it no longer, he slid in beside Desmond, leaving Sienna on one side alone.

  “Are you eating for four?” Desmond inquired, looking at Nathaniel's plate.

  “Tough day,” Nathaniel replied, tearing apart a bun. Across the table, Sienna poked at her plate, shifting the food around without making much progress. Desmond watched her calmly, assessing the situation, and then spoke when he deemed it necessary.

  “Today is special,” he said. “But in the future, we would expect you to eat and keep your strength up.”

  Her eyes shot up, and she reached out, as if touch would communicate the issue. Magic shot from her hand accidentally. Nathaniel was fast enough to block it, throwing up his own stream and preventing any damage from being done.

  “Woah,” he replied. “What's that about?”

  Sienna looked guilty, drawing back. She took a deep breath, clenching her palm tightly.

  “Relax,” Desmond said, half to each of them. “It was an accident.”

  “That could have broken my glass,” Nathaniel said, going back to shoveling food in his mouth. Sienna said nothing, looking at the floor. “Jeffro has so many fragile things. Eliza's walls are full of artifacts. She can't be doing that.”

  “I agree,” Desmond replied. “It requires training, don't you think?”

  And with that, he got up, taking his tray.

  “Where are you going?” Nathaniel asked anxiously.

  “I told you, I have to go to the library,” he said. “Which is where I'll be if there is a real problem. A real problem, is that clear?”

  “Yes.” Nathaniel knew exactly what that meant, and slumped back down. Sienna clearly didn't want Desmond to go either, but she had little choice in the matter.

  She went back to playing with her food, shifting it around the plate and taking a bite now and again. Her magic was playing on her fingers, which wasn't acceptable table manners. Nathaniel was inclined to not care whether she went to bed hungry so long as she didn't break anything. But as he watched her out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something odd.

  Every time her hand passed over the apple slices on her plate, her magic jumped a little more. It was as if it was drawn to the apple, fighting to leave her body and attack it.

  He had never seen anything like that. A witch's magic was not partial to anything. It operated within them, and they were in control.

  Except, of course, when the acridid gene attacked the body's own natural systems.

  He furrowed his brow and reached across the table, pulling her plate away from her. She looked up at him in surprise, but didn't move.

  The magic stopped pushing against her fingertips, and they returned to a normal color.

  “Huh,” he said, in surprise. He pointed to the apples. “Have you had these before?”

  She cocked her head, and he growled in frustration. There were translation devices, but they didn't operate on com-links. He needed a large room in order to let her speak freely. So instead, he held up the apple slice, extending his arm toward her.

  The magic jumped again.

  “What the hell?” he asked. She didn't look like she wanted to eat it, but she recognized what he was doing. “Has that happened before?”

  Her hand reached for her plate which was full of pasta. The magic did not appear as she pulled her plate closer and picked up the fork. Now that the apple slices were removed, she seemed to be in more control.

  He knew that the off-site facilities did not have proper catering, and he also knew that the planet she came from could not grow anything. Most things there were made instead of grown. It was possible that she had never come in contact with an apple before.

  But why was her magic pushing like that? It baffled him, and he didn't like things that baffled him.

  They didn't have any way to communicate, and so he waited until she was done eating before he stood with her.

  “I can give you a tour,” he said. “Show you where class is going to be. You will be going to class.” ‘Since you can't go on any quests worth their salt,’ he thought.

  “Quests?” she asked, as if she was reading his mind.

  “Sometimes,” he replied. “Jeffro, on Monday.”

  “Jeffro,” she recognized the name, and reached for her com-link. To his surprise, he found that it was Jeffro issue.

  “Where did you get that?”

  She paused. “I…Jeffro.”

  “You...” he shook his head in confusion. “Are you from Jeffro?” he asked. He saw it now, of course. The accent should have given it away, but Eliza was so fluent that he hardly heard it. “Oh, my creator.”

  She waited to see whether that was good or bad, and he took a risk.

  “Eliza?” he asked, and she nodded.

  “Queen Eliza,” she said, mocking a curtsey.

  “That's right,” he said, grinning despite himself. He put a hand to his chest. “Eliza and I are good friends.”

  Her eyes lit up at that, and she nodded. It was the first moment that he felt something, but he dismissed it.

  So, she was from Jeffro, and Eliza could tell them what was going on in her head. It didn't mean he should get attached, because she was likely not going to survive long enough to do so.

  Chapter 7

  “I might not be here when you get back,” Mariah said early on Monday morning to Desmond as he packed his bag. It was five a.m., and they had to be on the airstrip at six. Desmond was barely awake himself, trying to think about what he needed. Twenty minutes ago, when the alarm had gone off, he had sat upright in bed, and right away sent out an unobtrusive ping of magic. It was
what he did every day by instinct.

  ‘Christa,’ he said at first before his mind had pulled through sleep. ‘Safe.’ She wasn't on planet, but the faint bond that they still had told him she was fine.

  ‘Reynolds,’ he always tried, his heart aching. Nothing came back in response, as usual.

  ‘Nathaniel,’ he pinged, feeling his former Tiro still sleeping soundly somewhere.

  ‘Mariah,’ he reached out, and was surprised to find her presence approaching. She must want to see him before he left.

  ‘Sienna,’ it was new to his routine, but he knew he would be doing it for the rest of her life. She was next door, still curled up in bed. He briefly considered waking her, but decided it wasn't necessary yet. She would learn to be ready for quests on her own, or she would make a mistake once, and never do it again. It was how they all learned, and he smiled, remembering the first time he had left Nathaniel on the platform, stunned that Desmond would follow through on his threats.

  ***

  “Where are you going?” he asked as he grabbed another shirt.

  “The facility on Rogers Base has had four Tiros blinded during a training exercise,” she replied. “They have asked me to work with them for a few weeks and see if they can continue.”

  “Oh my,” he replied. “I am sorry to hear that. But if anyone can assist, it is you.”

  “I'm glad to be asked,” she said. “Their life does not have to be over. I wish there had been someone there to show me the way.”

  He paused. “Mariah…”

  “No, Desmond. You were a wonderful support, of course. But you sympathized. You didn't understand.”

  “Of course.” He accepted this as he zipped his bag. “You really didn't have to get up this early, you know.”

  “I wanted to,” she smiled at him, her sightless eyes somehow sparkling. “We always used to do this for each other before we got old.”

  “Or lazy.” He shrugged. “I remember, though. We'd always see the other one off.”

  She stood up, hearing him zip up the bag. “And it was wonderful, wasn't it? The quietness of the morning…” She reached her arms out, and he let her put them around his neck, leaning into her. This was something that was recent, this level of touch. It was as if the older they got, the more they needed to feel each other and to know the other was still breathing.

  They said nothing for a long moment, holding each other in the semi-darkness. He would have let it last another moment longer when Mariah gave a startled gasp.

  “What is it?” he asked in shock.

  “It's nothing,” she shook her head. “It's nothing. I think Sybil just took a tumble on a cliff somewhere. She's all right, but I felt the impact.”

  “The bond never quite fades, does it?” he asked. “Even with Christa, I still feel when she's overexerting herself, running for miles, or dodging a meteor shower.”

  “How odd to think that she's had two Tiros and is on her third,” Mariah shook her head. “Christa is efficient.”

  “That's one way of putting it,” Desmond said, and reached out with the magic again. “Both of them are still asleep, by the way. I really don't want to have to barge in and wake them both.”

  “Have you tried the light trick?” Mariah asked, a devilish smile on her face. “I used to do it with Sybil all the time. Reach out with your magic and turn on the light in their rooms.”

  “That's positively evil,” Desmond replied, as he twisted his hand. It took a moment of concentration, because he needed to visualize exactly where it was. But once he could see it clearly, it was easy. “Ha!”

  “Kids these days,” Mariah said. “Shall we get some breakfast?”

  “I think I'll wait, if you don't mind,” Desmond answered. “I've found that Sienna won't eat unless encouraged, so perhaps we should indulge on the ship.”

  “That's going to be quite a problem to deal with,” Mariah observed, and he sighed.

  “I know. If I could figure out the cause – what she's feeling – perhaps we could help. I think going to Jeffro, where Eliza can directly translate, is going to be a huge leap forward.”

  “If you can tear the queen away from Nathaniel,” Mariah replied. Desmond shrugged.

  “Eliza and Nathaniel have always been good about dealing with the task at hand. It's after we are done working that I will worry about them. I don't want Sienna to know that–”

  “Her Maestros break the rules?” Mariah inquired.

  “Walk a grey line, is the term I prefer,” Desmond replied. “If there was just one for her – her one and only – that would be different.”

  “Like you and I,” Mariah prompted, and he lay a hand on her shoulder.

  “Like you and I,” he assured her. “Not like Nathaniel's multiple women before and in between Eliza's knowledge. That is not the way to go about things.”

  “But you have a new Tiro now,” Mariah reminded him. “Despite the mistakes you feel you made last time, this is time to start anew. Besides, he didn't turn out so bad, did he?”

  “No,” Desmond admitted with a smile. “He's all right for now. I should get going, though.”

  If they had been a normal couple they would have kissed just then. But instead, they stood inches apart. There had been hundreds of moments like this in the past years. When was it okay to cross the line, and when could they be strong enough to not do so?

  Desmond reached the platform at ten minutes to six a.m. and filled out the necessary paperwork. Sometimes, they took commercial vessels, but most of the time, they could sign out one of the smaller ships to make their own way for their quests. Every witch was trained in piloting during their schooling, and the day they took over piloting the ships from their Maestros was a rite of passage. The ships operate manually with fuel, but could also be fueled by strong magic if needed. Desmond chose a stronger battle ship, unsure whether Eliza was telling the truth about the situation on Jeffro. It wouldn't be the first time that she had downplayed just how bad things had gotten. Eliza was a strong leader who ruled absolutely, and she didn't like to admit weakness. But Jeffro controlled so many planets that they could barely keep a grip on it, and rebellions were a common experience. Peace talks, assassinations, search and rescues, and all out wars happened often within the Jeffro system.

  “I don't want that one,” was the first thing Nathaniel said to him when he arrived on the platform and saw which ship Desmond had signed for. “It's boring to pilot. I want the Portland Wing.”

  “Are you going to fly a Portland Wing by yourself for twelve hours?” Desmond asked. “It may be more exciting to fly and have better guns, but it isn't a one-man operation.”

  “Isn't that what you're here for?”

  “I may be occupied,” Desmond replied, watching the door for Sienna. He decided to give her five more minutes to show up on her own, and then he was going to go and get her.

  “You always flew one with me when we got it,” Nathaniel grumbled.

  “Nathaniel, if you want it, you need to take responsibility for it,” he replied. “But that ship is not a smooth ride.”

  “For those of us who are fragile,” Nathaniel grumbled as Sienna made her way to the platform, a backpack over one arm. Since it was her first quest, Desmond had sat with her and told her what she needed to pack, as well as going over the quest plan. He noted that Nathaniel had apparently contributed to nothing about this plan.

  “Good morning, Sienna,” Desmond greeted her warmly. “Are you ready?”

  She looked between the two of them, and then her eyes darted to the Portland Wing. She smiled, pointing. Nathaniel smirked.

  “You see?” he asked, going to change the paperwork. “Sienna knows what's right.”

  Desmond sighed as Nathaniel vanished, and he crouched down to talk to his new Tiro.

  “Can I see your pack for a moment?” he asked, wanting to check that nothing had come out from last night. She needed a myriad of medications that he couldn't keep track of, and he wanted to focus on someth
ing other than missing Mariah already.

  He was checking the pill bottles when there was a shout behind him. Desmond thought it was just an accident, someone dropping something. But his shoulders tensed as he sensed darkness in the room, and he spun around suddenly.

  “You have no authority over me!” a voice screamed as a body broke free from two guards exiting a ship. A dark stream of magic shot from his hands, and one of the guards fell.

  The alien was dark blue, with two antennas and four eyes. Desmond could see from his broken bonds that he was a prisoner, possibly being brought to trial for an intergalactic crime. However, his strength was clearly more than anyone had anticipated.

  The alien turned before anyone could stop him and shot magic toward the ship's fuel tank. It ignited, and Desmond barely had time to react. He pushed backward, putting an arm against Sienna as a stream of magic shot from his hands. He was trying to block the alien's magic, and luckily, everyone on the platform had the same idea. If the alien's magic hit the fuel hold, the entire place would blow.

  “Hey!” Nathaniel's voice distracted the alien as he dropped the paperwork. Desmond watched as his stance changed, and his hands went out. He was ready to fight, but the alien was strong.

  Sienna made a noise, and he realized she was scared. She had likely never seen battle.

  “It's okay,” he said, quickly, as he reached his hand out to Nathaniel. It was easier when they were still bonded, but Nathaniel could still feel his offer for help. He redirected his palm, and the magic transferred between the two of them.

  The alien shot a blast of magic that could have destroyed the whole platform, but Nathaniel's borrowed strength, combined with his own, stopped it cold. As quickly as he had stopped the shot, another one came.

  Witches were taught not to kill unless they had to, to be more peacemakers than killers. At the last second, Nathaniel circled his hands to twist the magic, and it formed a bubble rather than a single shot.