by Amie Kaufman
Hayn sighed. “I used to think the dragons were all different too,” he said softly. “But in the end, they proved themselves all the same where it mattered.”
Anders could see Lisabet still didn’t agree, but he caught her eye, and she fell silent. She didn’t want Hayn to end the conversation either—she wanted to learn more. And Anders had to keep the conversation going until he could ask about whether there was an artifact for locating dragons.
“The dragons have the ability to channel essence into their fire,” Hayn continued after a moment. “Just as we do into our ice. But as we have a gift for research, they have an ability to see what little bit of creativity an artifact might need to bring it to life.”
Anders wondered how to bring the conversation back to specific artifacts. “We saw in the Skraboks that you updated the wind guards at the docks,” he said, picturing the huge, metal arches, so familiar to everyone in Holbard. Surely those must be Hayn’s proudest achievement. The wind guards were one of Vallen’s most valuable artifacts—without them to keep the harbor safe, there would be almost no visitors or merchers sailing into the dock.
“That’s right,” Hayn said. “A wolf called Sylas designed them generations ago, but with the port becoming busier and busier, we needed to make improvements, which is a delicate business. I designed them, and they were forged into the existing arches by a dragon called Drifa. She was perhaps the most talented dragonsmith who ever lived.” He shook his head. “They used to say that Drifa had mixed elemental blood, one parent a scorch dragon and the other a Mositalan thunder lion, so she could channel essence into both her fire and the wind of her forge.”
“Pack and paws,” Lisabet whispered. “Can you do that?”
“Did she?” the words spilled out of Anders, and he leaned forward, his heart thumping. Was it even possible to have two types of elemental blood? Could that explain him and Rayna? He’d always been told, as long as he could remember, that two elementals could never have a child.
Hayn shook his head. “Of course not,” he said, and Anders’s hopes sank. “Legend has it that the child of two different elementals would have extraordinary gifts, unpredictable gifts, but it’s utterly against—well, I can barely even say ‘the rules.’ It’s so unthinkable, there barely needs to be a rule against it. Nevertheless, there most certainly is.”
Lisabet crossed her arms. “That makes no sense,” she insisted. “There are lots of children who come to the Trial of the Staff who have wolf blood, but never manifest. There are probably people with dragon blood who are the same, who don’t even know anymore, because the last dragon in the family was their great-great-grandmother or something. How do we know none of those people have children with each other?”
“We don’t,” Hayn admitted, and Anders’s heart stopped. So it was possible that he and Rayna were twins. “But no two elementals who had transformed—who knew what they were—would dream of doing such a thing. In all my reading, I’ve never come across more than one elemental type in the same family, let alone the same person.”
“Not now,” Lisabet agreed. “But sometimes myths exist for a reason. Are we sure it’s never happened?”
“Drifa was an exceptional dragonsmith,” said Hayn quietly. “People look for a reason, sometimes, that people are extraordinary. But we have no reason to think her parents were both different elementals. Every piece of research we’ve ever found in the depths of the library says it’s forbidden, and impossible.”
There was something in his tone when he spoke of Drifa that didn’t invite further comment, and Lisabet took the hint, eager to get a version of the story that didn’t come from their teachers. “You used to work with the dragons, Hayn. How did we end up fighting?”
“There’s no easy answer to that,” Hayn said, sobering. “There were always disagreements. The dragons never seemed to understand, or care, that all of Vallen depended on the work we did together. Our citizens needed us to produce more artifacts for them. I’m not talking about artifacts that would simply save them a little work. I’m speaking of artifacts to keep them safe and healthy. The dragons refused to help.”
“They refused?” Lisabet whispered. She sounded like she didn’t want to believe it.
Anders, on the other hand, could hardly believe that the dragons and the wolves had ever worked together. The thought of going so near a dragon other than Rayna—of exposing himself to their flames, their talons—sent a shiver down his spine.
“They refused,” Hayn said. “That’s the difference between us wolves, who understand duty and family, and the dragons, who believe only in their own needs, the demands of their art.”
Lisabet bit her lip against her disagreement, and Anders sucked in a breath. He could hear Rayna’s voice in his ears, the words she’d spoken so many times. We’ll take care of us, let them take care of them, she’d said. Just like a dragon, judging by what Hayn was saying. Just like she’d always been, answering his every hesitation about pickpocketing with a shrug and a quick excuse.
Could the dragon in her bring out those qualities? Was it happening already? If she transformed into a dragon again and again, were those parts of her that were so different from him transforming as well? Was determination becoming heartlessness? Were her sharp edges becoming cruelty?
He forced those thoughts away.
She was still Rayna, who had a hundred ideas that kept them fed, kept them safe, kept them together. She was his twin, and he loved her.
But Hayn was speaking again, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Lisabet, I understand you have questions about them, I’ve heard that from your teachers. But you have to understand, the dragons are nothing like your imagination. They care only for themselves, and what pleases them, and what they can take. . . .” His voice trailed away, his gaze turning distant. “I was there when it began.”
He was quiet a moment more, gazing down at his desk, and Anders held his breath, waiting for the man to continue.
“My brother, Felix, and I collaborated with Drifa many times,” Hayn said eventually. His mouth was a set line amid his neatly clipped black beard. “We were supposed to meet her that day, but I was held up.”
He was speaking so softly now, Anders and Lisabet had to lean in to hear him, and Anders was sure the designer wasn’t even seeing the workshop around them anymore. He was far away, and long ago.
“Felix got on better with Drifa than most wolves and dragons. I thought we were safe with her, or as safe as you can be with a dragon. But . . .” He stopped again, drawing in a deep breath before he continued. “But Felix was found dead, and Drifa was seen flying away. And after that, she was never seen again. There’s only one reason she would go into hiding.”
“She killed him,” Lisabet said softly.
“We demanded the dragons send Drifa to Holbard for trial,” Hayn said. “We wanted justice. But they refused. They said they couldn’t find her. As if the greatest dragonsmith of our age would simply go missing.” He snorted. “There was precious little trust between dragons and wolves to begin with. After that, there was nothing left. We worked with the mayor and with other humans to set up a guard, and keep the dragons to the parts of the city where their projects were, but that wasn’t enough for them.” He closed his eyes. “Eventually they attacked Holbard.”
The three of them stood in silence, Hayn’s eyes closed as he remembered that long ago day. Anders was remembering it too, in a way—the smell of smoke, the sparks, the sound of screaming, though he was never sure in the memory whether it was his own or someone else’s.
Then Hayn cleared his throat, lifting his head. “The dragons are simply not like us. They cannot consider the good of others. If we let them get a foothold now, after all this time, I’ll bet my tail they’ll show their true colors again. They are greedy, and, as we learned the day Felix died, violent. So we keep watch and protect Holbard. We protect all of Vallen.”
Anders and Lisabet were both quiet, gazing at him. Hayn looked at their faces, se
emed to dig deep for a moment, and then produced a smile. It still looked a little sad to Anders. “All that’s a very long way of saying that you should listen to Professor Ennar,” he said. “So you’ll stand ready when your turn comes.”
Anders could tell Hayn was about to send them away. He only had a few moments more to ask his question, but his patience had paid off—Hayn had given him the perfect opening. “Is there any way we can watch for them?” he asked. “Is there an artifact to help us find the dragons?”
“There was,” Hayn replied. “Fylkir’s chalice. But it broke long ago.”
Anders’s heart sank. Another dead end. “You can’t repair it?” he asked.
“We can’t repair broken artifacts,” Hayn replied. He gestured at the workshop around them. “Updating or improving an artifact is one thing, but once the magic is gone, that’s it. The artifacts you see here are broken now.” He walked over to a pair of metal sculptures of plants, runes running along their leaves. “These used to keep a greenhouse at a perfect temperature, so we could grow fruit and vegetables all year round. Now they’re just statues.”
His hand lifted to brush down the frame of a huge mirror, taller than he was, and almost as wide. It had a pair of dragons forged into the frame down one side of it, and a pack of wolves running down the other. “This used to be a larger version of the small communication mirrors we use. We could reach all the way to Drekhelm with it. These days, it doesn’t even show you your own reflection. It’s just black, and silent.”
Anders couldn’t believe the chalice he needed had existed, and now it was gone forever. “You can’t . . .” He searched for words, for ideas. “Carve the runes on Fylkir’s chalice again, try to fix the artifacts that way?”
Hayn shook his head. “It would be too dangerous. An improperly repaired artifact could literally kill people. We would need the dragons’ expertise, and we don’t have it.” He looked at both their sober faces and seemed to remember in that moment that he was talking to first year students. “Well, you’d better get to lunch,” he said, suddenly businesslike, as if he regretted telling them the story he had. “Thank you for the help carrying the books.”
Anders swallowed his disappointment as the big wolf showed him and Lisabet out of the workshop. To have come so close—to have learned the name of the artifact he needed, only to learn he could never use it—was a bitter disappointment.
But one small question still teased at his brain.
If the wolves couldn’t make any new artifacts, and they couldn’t repair the old ones, then what did Hayn do in his workshop? Why did he say he was still a designer?
Was there more to the broken artifacts than met the eye?
Anders decided that if he could, he was going to find out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AFTER LUNCH THEY HAD PHYSICAL fitness with Professor Ennar. Despite Mateo, Jai, and Sakarias all warning him not to eat too much—and when Sakarias told you not to eat, you knew it was serious—Anders was nearly sick in the first ten minutes. Ennar didn’t seem the least bit sympathetic as they ran until he thought his lungs would burst, and he had no chance to think over what Hayn had said.
When it was time to transform, though he’d been finding it easier and easier, he struggled to catch at the seed of the wolf inside him and manage the transformation. Around him, he noticed many of his classmates were just as slow.
“It’s the weather,” Sakarias said, running a hand through his reddish-blond hair and pointing at the window. “Sun’s out.”
Anders blinked. “Does that make a difference?”
“Pack and paws, does it ever,” Lisabet muttered, scowling in concentration, then abruptly sliding into wolf form with a surprised yelp.
“Warm weather makes us weaker,” Sakarias replied, as nearby Mateo successfully wrangled himself into wolf form, completing his transformation with a soft, annoyed growl. “Sun’s not good for ice, after all. It’s easier to channel essence in cold weather.”
Anders wondered if that was why he had felt so muddled, struggled so hard to think, around the waves of heat rolling off Rayna in her dragon form. They had felt wrong, almost scary. If the heat was affecting his wolf blood, that explained why.
“Wolves prefer cold, and dragons are stronger in the heat,” Ennar said, suddenly behind them. They both jumped. “Once you’re ready,” she said, a little pointed, “you can complete your transformations and begin your next series of laps. Days like today are good reminders of why we need training.”
Nobody’s transformation was pretty. Sakarias looked like he was going to make it, shifting most of the way to wolf, when suddenly he sprang back into human form like a ball bouncing off a wall, landing flat on his back and blinking up at the ceiling.
Anders laughed helplessly at his expression, and nearby Jai leaned on Det for support, wiping away tears of laughter, while Mateo’s tongue rolled out in amusement. Even Viktoria cracked a smile, though she tried to get rid of it immediately.
“I hoped for more from you, Viktoria,” Sakarias protested, gazing up at her and pretending wounded dignity. “I’d like to see you do better.”
Viktoria sniffed, haughty all over again, her expression turning to a deep frown of concentration. She closed her eyes for several seconds, then slowly but surely made her transformation. Then she turned and trotted away to Lisabet.
“Viktoria is intense,” Sakarias complained, rolling over onto his hands and knees to try again. “She can even intimidate herself into doing things.”
By the time Anders and Lisabet made their way to the library for his tutoring session that night, he wanted to lie down under the table and sleep, not work on improving his reading.
He slowed down as they reached the glass cases of artifacts just inside the library door, mostly to delay sitting down and getting to work. He’d been wondering since he first saw them if any of them could help with his search. They might not be as useful as the chalice Hayn had mentioned, but even something that could narrow his search area would be worth a risk.
“Why are these artifacts shut away?” he asked. He was pretty sure he could pick the lock in under ten seconds and slip an artifact out of one of those cases before anyone looked his way. He’d been watching for a chance, but it had been harder than he’d expected to find a time without librarians around. They moved so silently.
Lisabet looked down at the displays. “They’re broken,” she said. “And without a dragonsmith to fix them, they’ll stay that way. It’s only going to get worse, as more break, but like Hayn said, apparently it’s better than risking letting the dragons back into our lives.”
Anders didn’t feel like getting into an argument about dragons. Lisabet was kinder to him than anyone at Ulfar, but just now, surrounded by yet more useless artifacts, he wasn’t in the mood to hear about her views on dragons. Those same dragons had kidnapped his sister and were going to sacrifice her in a few weeks, unless he got there first. So to change the subject, he pointed at the metal buttons he’d seen the first time he looked at these cases. “What’s that one?”
Lisabet made him help her read the labels, so he ended up in a kind of tutoring session anyway, but the answers were interesting. It turned out the buttons were for old people whose hands were too stiff to fasten their own. If you stitched the buttonhole with essence-infused metal thread, the button would do itself up without any help when you spoke the right command.
The boxes—back when they had worked—allowed their owner to store things much larger than the box itself inside them.
But it was the engraved metal picture frame that stopped Anders in his tracks. “It’s a locator frame,” Lisabet said, reading from the card. “I mean, it was. It says here that if you put it on top of something somebody owns, the canvas in the middle will show you a picture of that person.”
Anders had to draw in a shaky breath before he could speak. “You mean, show them wherever they are?”
“I think so,” she said. “But it says here it bare
ly works anymore.”
Anders could hardly keep still. If it barely worked, then perhaps, just once, it might. But the next moment, his heart crashed. Where was he going to get something Rayna owned?
He’d have to get out of Ulfar to check all their hidey-holes and see if she’d left anything behind. Which meant breaking the rules.
He’d find a way.
He fought to keep himself from giving anything away to Lisabet, forcing himself to turn away from the locator frame. “Let’s do some proper work,” he said.
That day they were starting a basic history primer, and Lisabet took him through it paragraph by paragraph, helping him figure out each word and writing down the ones he struggled with.
“It’ll help it stick in your brain,” Lisabet promised. “That’s what I do.”
“I feel like I’m taking up too much of your time,” Anders said, chafing at the lesson, and not just because he was tired. This was of no use to him—nothing he was learning here got him closer to Rayna. “Isn’t there something else you should be doing?”
“Not really,” she said, gazing down at one of the books. And there it was again, for just a moment. That hint of something—of loneliness, maybe—he’d spotted when she’d argued with Sigrid in Military History, and more than once since. For all she sat with Viktoria and Sakarias at meals, and talked to the others in their class, something about Lisabet kept her a little bit solitary.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked on an impulse.
“No,” she said. “Just me. What about you? You said that first night you didn’t have anyone, but did you ever—”
“Just me,” he said, echoing her words and ignoring the pang inside. He wasn’t denying Rayna. He was protecting her.
“You have the pack now,” she murmured, and he knew she intended to be comforting.
