No Good Dragon Goes Unpunished

by Rachel Aaron

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself,” he said, getting his smile under control before turning back to the crowd. “I burned every favor I had outstanding to gather you all today. I did this not because I was desperate, but because I believe that if you’re not using everything you have to win, you don’t really want it. And I want this. I want Heartstriker to change, and if your name starts with anything lower than a D, you do too. Bethesda will only fall once. This is our chance, our only chance, to turn that to our advantage. So if you don’t want to see all of this potential go to waste—if you don’t want to spend the next thousand years under David and Bethesda’s thumbs—you know what to do. Go out and tell the others what Julius and I have said. Call in favors, get them on our side, get us the majority we need before the vote tomorrow, or I won’t be the one who loses. It’ll be all of us, and it’ll be for good.”

  The room was silent by the time he finished. Then, like some secret signal had been given, all the non-J dragons got up and left. They didn’t say anything, didn’t look at Ian or Julius. They just walked out, breaking into threes and pairs as they filed down the hall toward the elevators.

  “Oh boy,” Julius said with a ragged breath. “That didn’t go well.”

  “What are you talking about?” Ian said, sitting back down with a grin. “That went amazingly.”

  Julius looked at him like he was crazy. “They walked out.”

  “Yes,” Ian said. “Without saying no or laughing in our faces or demanding we pay for their assistance. They just left, which is as close to an unequivocal yes as dragons get.”

  “You seem pretty confident for someone who’s still losing,” Justin said. “You need half the clan plus one to beat David, and J, I, and a handful of Hs isn’t half.”

  “But it’s more than I had yesterday,” Ian said proudly. “It’s only going to grow, too, because I’m not asking them to vote for me. I’m asking them to vote for preserving their own shot at power, and that’s something everyone in the clan can get behind. Wait and see. They’ll come. By tomorrow, I should have the numbers I need.” He smiled at Julius. “You just have to make sure you stay alive that long. And speaking of, I’ve heard you’ve had some trouble in that department.”

  “Not really,” Justin said cockily. “Few curses, couple of explosives, nothing I can’t handle.”

  Ian looked thoroughly unconvinced of that. “Just make sure you keep your hand on that ace at your side,” he said, glancing pointedly at Julius’s sheathed Fang. “If you die, we’ll have to do this all over again.”

  “Fate worse than death,” Julius agreed tiredly. “But what I don’t understand is why everyone’s trying to assassinate me. The contest is between you and David. With the way the Council’s set up right now, if I die, my seat will just go to another Fang, and they don’t even want it.”

  “That’s actually part of the problem,” Ian said, taking a sip of the coffee a servant hurried to place in front of him. “As you just proved with that stirring speech, you’re the spearhead of this movement. If you go down, the dream of a Council goes down with you. It doesn’t hurt that you’re also the easiest target by far. You might have a sword that stops all attacks, but I’m the White Witch’s consort.”

  Justin snorted. “You really think Svena’s going to start a war over the loss of her boy toy?”

  Julius winced at his brother’s word choice, but Ian didn’t look insulted in the least. “Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat. “Have you ever met a dragoness who tolerates others breaking her toys?” He chuckled. “Trust me, I’m the best-protected dragon in this mountain. But you’re looking at this all wrong, Julius. Assassination attempts aren’t a threat. They’re a compliment. They’re the final strike, the last desperate move when every other plot has failed.” Ian winked at him. “When they try to kill you, that’s when you know you’re winning.”

  Julius had never considered that angle of attempted murder. It didn’t make him feel better about the chance of finding more plastic explosives hidden under his seat, but it was nice to be able to see the attempts on his life as something other than dragons simply hating him.

  “Well, I don’t care how desperate they are,” Justin said around a huge mouthful of the T-bone steak and eggs the servants set in front of him next. “Julius is under my protection. Anyone stupid enough to try and kill him knowing that deserves to lose their head, since they’re clearly not using it.”

  “Actually, I wouldn’t let you,” Julius said as the waiter came over with his own breakfast plate. “The entire point of a democracy is that power can change and no one has to die. I don’t care if they’re trying to kill me, I just want this revolution to stay bloodless.”

  “That will take a miracle,” Ian said. “Bloodless isn’t something dragons do well.”

  “But we will,” Julius said firmly. “We’re not animals.”

  Neither of his brothers seemed to buy that, but Julius actually felt a lot better. In fact, this whole breakfast had been a revelation simply because it had happened. For the first time ever, he’d watched a room full of ruthless dragons who didn’t agree work something out on their own—without resorting to threats, trying to trap each other in debts, or backstabbing each other into the floor. Granted, that was a low bar by human standards, but for Bethesda’s children, it was progress. Enormous progress, and Julius had never felt prouder. Even if it all came to nothing in the end, right now, right here, in this room, he’d watched a little piece of his clan change for the better, and it felt like the victory of a lifetime.

  That plus the giant plate of food in front of him was enough to put Julius in the best mood he’d been in since this whole thing started. He fell on his breakfast with gusto, pausing only to ask the staff to set aside a box for Marci to make sure there’d be food left when she finally woke up. Once he’d made sure she’d be taken care of, he asked for a second plate for himself. When it came, he ate that, too, his eyes closing in pleasure as he devoured his first properly dragon-sized meal in months.

  And outside in the hall, satisfied that the young idiot would be tied up for another hour at least, Gregory Heartstriker shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled toward the elevators to begin his hunt.

  ***

  Meanwhile, multiple dozens of floors down in the roots of the mountain itself, Marci woke up feeling like death.

  Technically, she knew that description was inaccurate. She’d felt death plenty of times since she’d bound Ghost, and it was much colder than this. It also involved way less nausea, an observation that led Marci to her final, inevitable conclusion.

  Being hungover was worse than death.

  “Never again,” she groaned, pressing her clammy hands against her face in a futile effort to make the room stop spinning. “Never drinking again.”

  I told you to stop, Ghost reminded her, his disapproving voice echoing far too loudly inside her aching head. What made you think you could keep up with a dragon?

  “The first three shots,” she replied grimly, rolling over to bury her head into…she wasn’t sure, actually.

  Marci cracked her eyes open with a grimace, forcing herself to focus on the unknown surroundings. This didn’t actually tell her much since the room was very small with no identifying characteristics, but it looked like she was lying on a beaten-up couch in someone’s underground library. Probably still inside Heartstriker Mountain, given the ubiquitous reddish-brown stone. Whose library and where in the mountain, though, she had no idea. Her memories of last night were hazy after the fifth shot and gone completely to pieces by the tenth. In fact, the only thing she could remember from last night other than Amelia pushing shots into her hands was Julius taking her to his room.

  That sent her right back down to the couch. Of all the vital, important things she’d lost from last night, like where she was or who’d brought her here, her drunken brain couldn’t do her the courtesy of also forgetting the most embarrassing moment of her life. No, she just had to remem
ber every second of her failed seduction in perfect freaking detail. Including certain comments to Julius about dragon riding.

  “Please,” she whispered into the cushions. “Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”

  Oh, you said it, Ghost assured her. It was very amusing.

  “You’re not supposed to take pleasure in my suffering,” Marci grumbled, sinking deeper into the couch. Really, though, she couldn’t blame him for laughing. From what little she remembered of last night, Marci was sure she’d been hilarious. What other word was there for a drunken girl making a five-star idiot out of herself over a dragon? God, she was no better than the human groupies in the lounge. Worse, actually. At least the stuck-up beautiful people had managed to successfully seduce their dragons.

  That thought nearly crushed her to the floor, but even in the wallow of her self-pity, Marci knew she was being ridiculous. She might not remember much from last night, but she was reasonably certain that Julius had turned down her advances because she was drunk and he was being a decent human being. Well, dragon being, but the point still stood. She couldn’t even be too angry at her drunken self for being so forward. She’d had a crush on Julius since forever, and while he’d always been super handsome in that way-out-of-your-league-adorable-boy-next-door sort of way, with the feathers and the armor and the sword, he’d looked like a dragon. A big, handsome, dangerous, powerful dragon.

  For a girl who’d always had a thing for that, the result was a knockout combo. Given how amazing even her hazy memories of him were, Marci was reasonably sure she still would have gone for it sober. She certainly would have done a better job. In fact, if her memories of how he’d kissed her back were right, it wasn’t a stretch to say she’d probably be sleeping next to him right now if things had been different, but nooooooooooooooo. Instead of moderating herself like a sensible freaking person, she’d gotten sloshed like a college freshman at her first party and ended up dragonless and alone on an unknown couch.

  “Good job, Marci,” she muttered, rubbing her aching temples. “Way to show these dragons you’re a contender.”

  At this point, the only positive thing she could say for last night was that Amelia’s flame was still safe and sound. Even through the blanket of her hangover, she could feel it flickering in the hearth of her chest. The constant motion didn’t help her nausea, but it was comforting all the same because it meant there was at least one thing that had gone right yesterday. When she tried to pull a little magic out of it for an anti-hangover spell, though, her mental grasp found nothing. The fire was burning merrily, but the magic flowing from it—which should have been enough to fill her internal magic reserves to bursting after eight hours of inactivity—was suspiciously missing, and given how cold and lively the spirit sitting on her back was, Marci had a good idea why.

  “Ghost…” she said warningly, rolling over to glare at the transparent cat, who was now sitting on her stomach. “Did you eat Amelia’s magic while I was asleep?”

  Not all of it, he said innocently. I didn’t touch the fire itself. Just the power it put out. He licked his chops. It was delicious.

  Marci gaped at him. “Seriously?!”

  What? The cat turned up his transparent nose. I was hungry. The magic here is too thin to support me, and it’s not like you were using it.

  “That doesn’t mean you can just eat it without telling me like a…a cat stealing food off the counter!” Marci cried. “We’re supposed to be a balanced pair, remember?” And now that she was paying attention, she could already feel their equilibrium going out of whack. Ghost had been dim and sleepy yesterday, but now he was fully awake and glowing with power. Given how thin the ambient magic was here, he must have been gorging off Amelia’s fire all night to get that charged up. There didn’t seem to be any permanent damage—Amelia’s actual fire felt okay so far as Marci could tell—and Ghost did look much better, but even so, this was not a behavior she wanted to encourage.

  “Do not do this again,” she said sternly, sitting up. “Amelia gave me her fire for safekeeping, not for you to snack on. If you need power, tell me and I’ll happily get it for you, but you are not to eat magic behind my back again.”

  I don’t see why you’re so upset. I was hungry and there was extra magic. It’s not like you were feeding me. He lashed his tail angrily. You were too busy with dragons.

  “It’s the principle of the thing,” Marci said, and given the delicate balance of power between them, it was one she was very serious about. She trusted Ghost to a point, but she’d also seen what happened when he got the upper hand. That was not a fight she wanted to have again, but while she was not about to budge on this, she also couldn’t deny that her spirit had a point.

  “I’m sorry I got drunk and left you hungry,” she said, reaching out to pet his freezing fur. “That was wrong of me, and I won’t do it again. But this is serious, Ghost. I meant what I said about being your partner and supporting you, but that goes both ways. If this is going to work, you have to trust me, too, which means no sneaking magic behind my back. If you need more power, just tell me. I’ll take care of you, I swear it, but don’t do this again, okay?”

  The spirit flattened his ears. For a long moment, Marci didn’t think he was going to answer at all, and then she felt him sigh in her mind. Agreed, he said at last, looking at her with his glowing eyes. I am placing a great deal of trust in you, Marci Novalli. More than our bond requires. Don’t make me regret it.

  “Right back at’cha,” she said with a grin. “Who’s letting who live in her body again?”

  That was your idea, the spirit said, flicking his ears as he turned toward the doorway. Someone’s coming.

  “Is it Julius?” she said hopefully.

  No, Ghost said, his furry brows furrowed in a look that would have been confusion on a human. It’s a bird.

  That should have made no sense, but one thing Marci did remember about yesterday was the giant bird she’d seen watching her from the bar after Amelia had picked them up. Sure enough, when she stood up to see what Ghost was talking about, an enormous, black bird was waiting for her in the tiny hall, twisting its head back and forth to look at her with each of its beady eyes as its beak opened in delight.

  “Foooooound you.”

  The words came out in a hoarse croak, and Marci began to sweat. A giant bird was one thing. Since the return of magic sixty years ago, mutations of common animals into magical varieties were everywhere, not just in the DFZ. But a giant talking bird? That was another matter altogether.

  Spirit, Ghost agreed, his ears going flat against his head as he jumped up onto her shoulder. Be cautious.

  He didn’t have to warn her twice. Marci had already sent what magic she had down to her bracelets. Since Ghost had eaten everything already, it wasn’t much, but it was still enough to make the slightly warped plastic loops glow menacingly as she raised her arm and pointed it like a gun at the spirit in the doorway. “Who are you?”

  “Who am I?” the bird squawked, clearly offended as it hopped through the door to perch on the low trunk-turned-coffee-table in front of her. “That’s a silly question to ask a spirit.” It spread its wings. “Can’t you guess?”

  Marci bit her lip. Not including Ghost, who, as a Mortal Spirit, seemed to do his own thing, spirits were usually physically representative of their domain. Since she was dealing with a giant bird, it was clearly an animal spirit of some sort. A big one, too, given its obvious intelligence. Unfortunately, not being a shaman and thus never formally studying spirits, Marci couldn’t tell much more than that. She wasn’t even sure if the giant bird was a crow, a raven, or some other variety of big black bird, and she didn’t want to offend the spirit by guessing wrong. She was going to have to pick something, though, so in the end, Marci just went with what felt most impressive to her.

  “Raven?”

  The bird hunched its wings sulkily. “Lucky guess.”

  “I’m a Thaumaturge, not an ornithologist,” she said defensiv
ely. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you work for Algonquin?”

  The raven began to squawk in a way that sounded very much like laughter. “I should hope not! What kind of spy comes in and introduces himself to the enemy? Algonquin’s got some real idiots in her fan club, but no one’s that dumb.”

  “Well, if you’re not here to spy for Algonquin, what are you doing here?” Marci asked, lowering her admittedly useless bracelets.

  “What do you think?” Raven asked. “I’m Raven. Haven’t you heard the stories?”

  Marci was about to shake her head when she suddenly remembered a high school reading assignment on Native American myths. She wasn’t sure if it was right, but at this point, a little flattery couldn’t hurt.

  “Wait,” she said slowly, giving the bird her best smile. “Are you saying you’re the Raven? As in the trickster god?”

  “Now you’re getting the hang of this,” the spirit said happily. “I knew you’d catch on eventually. Even after a thousand years of sleep, legends like myself live on.” He winked a black eye at her. “We’re the closest you mortals get to true eternity.”

  Gag.

  Marci shushed Ghost in her head, keeping her smile plastered as she wracked her poor, hungover brain to figure out what she was going to do. But while Ghost’s commentary had been meant for her, Raven looked up sharply, as if the spirit had spoken out loud.

  “I see you have a cat,” he said, hopping up onto the arm of the couch, causing Ghost to hiss. “How fascinating. I have a friend who loves cats. He’s human, too. Maybe you know him?”

  “I doubt that,” Marci said, scooping Ghost into her arms before he could take a swipe at the bird. “We’re all mortals, but that doesn’t mean we all know each—”

  “His name is Myron Rollins.”

  Her mouth went dry. “Sir Myron Rollins?”

  “See?” Raven said with a sly look. “You do know him.”

  “Who doesn’t?” Marci cried. “He’s one of the most famous mages in the world!”