She smiles gratefully at that. “May I take your cloak, my lord?”
He hesitates, his eyes darting over to me, where I’m stuffing my coats into the closet near the door. It’s probably a bad idea, in case we need to make a quick getaway, but I’ll be way too hot with them on, and it’ll be easier to move around if I don’t have to carry them. Plus, this woman sounded pretty serious about me taking them off.
“Maybe I should hold onto it,” Amelrik says. “I might not be staying long.”
“Suit yourself. And you!” She whirls on me. “Put that apron on, girl! You’d think this was your first day!”
I consider whether or not I should tell her that it is in fact my first day, or maybe even that I don’t actually work here, but then I think better of it. “Sorry, um, ma’am?” I grab a food-stained apron off one of the hooks on the back wall.
“Sorry is right!” She rolls her eyes, giving Amelrik a knowing, conspiratorial look. “Lord Rosewood just has to throw a late-night dinner party after most of the staff have already gone home. In celebration.”
My ears perk up at that. “Because of the prisoner?”
Her eyes narrow. “Heard about that already? Word spreads fast. But it’s none of your concern. Get over there and start rolling out dough for those pastries.”
I ignore her. “Is he really a dragon? Maybe I could go see—”
“No! Lord Rosewood wouldn’t appreciate stupid girls wandering around his house, looking for trouble, and neither would the paladins he’s putting up. It’s their prisoner, after all. And even if he did, it wouldn’t matter, because you have work to do!”
I shrink back at her words and hurry over to the rolling pin and balls of dough, wondering how long I’ll have to actually do this before I can sneak out of here.
Amelrik flashes her a charming smile. I mean, I can really only see him out of the corner of my eye, since I’m too afraid to look up from rolling the dough, but I’m pretty sure it’s a charming smile. Especially judging from the way her face lights up in return. “I’d like to see the prisoner,” he says.
“Oh. Well, that’s… that’s different.” She glances around, then lowers her voice. “The paladins have got him in the cellar, but I wouldn’t go poking around there if I were you. You’ll have to speak to Lord Rosewood.”
“Of course. Actually, this is my first time at the manor. If you could loan me that kitchen girl for a moment, just to show me to the dining room… I’m sure she won’t be missed. Look at the mess she’s making of that dough.”
The woman suddenly glares at me, because he’s right, I am making a mess. The dough keeps sticking to the rolling pin, and instead of flattening out, it’s all just globbing up everywhere. “What are you doing?!” She puts a hand to her temple. “I ask Sally to round up a few of the daytime staff, and this is what she sends me. Must have been pulling from the bottom of the barrel when she dredged you up. Just go!” She waves me off, suddenly flailing her hand at me. “Show this gentleman to the dining room and come straight back. And don’t you dare speak a word to Lord Rosewood or his guests!”
“Y-yes, ma’am!” I take off my apron, wiping my hands on it as I toss it down on the counter. Which is probably not where I’m supposed to put it—the murderous look in her eyes confirms that—but I don’t care because, for one, I don’t actually work here. And second, I don’t plan on actually coming back. Well, except to get my coats, of course, but hopefully she’ll have forgotten about me by then. I look at Amelrik. “Um, right this way.”
He clears his throat and tilts his head, like I’m missing something.
“Um… right this way, my lord?” I say, glancing between them to see if I got it right.
Amelrik nods, trying not to laugh.
The woman lets out an exasperated sigh and mutters to herself about me being a good-for-nothing.
As soon as me and Amelrik are safely out of the room, I jab him in the back. “Come on, my lord. Right this way, my lord.” I scowl at him.
“It should actually be ‘your highness,’ but I wasn’t about to correct her. You, on the other hand…” He grins, looking way too pleased with himself.
“I am not going to call you that. And why did she immediately assume I was staff and you were one of the guests?” We’re dressed pretty similar, plus we hadn’t even taken our coats off when she made that assumption.
“Uh, I think that’s pretty obvious. It’s the way you slouch all the time.”
“I do not slouch.” I just don’t always stand up straight. And I really doubt that fixing my posture would make people start assuming I’m some upper-class lady who just wandered into the staff entrance by mistake. “And anyway, so do you.”
“But not in front of the kitchen staff.” He sniffs the air, pausing before turning down a long hallway. “This way. She said he was in the cellar.”
“Do you… do you smell Cedric?” I ask, half expecting this to be one of those times where I put my foot in my mouth about dragons and how they work, even though it seems like an innocent question.
But he just shakes his head. “No, just the dirt. And the damp.” He makes a face, probably picturing Cedric trapped in a dank hole, the paladins’ prisoner. His footsteps speed up.
I hurry to match him, which leaves me a little out of breath. “I still think I should have done this alone. It’s dangerous for you here.”
He slows a little, maybe because it’s obvious I’m having trouble keeping up. “I’ve done this before, you know.”
“That doesn’t count. That was all before I knew you.” Before I cared what happened to him.
“And if it wasn’t for me, you’d be stuck in the kitchen, rolling out pastry dough the rest of the night. Very badly, I might add.”
“And you know so much about it, do you? Your highness?”
“It’s easier if you cover everything in flour before you start rolling. What?” he says, when I give him an incredulous look. “I said I’d seen a kitchen before.”
“Did you work in one?”
“No,” he admits. “I just watched. But I’ve seen the cooks back home do it a million times.”
“While you were standing up straight in front of them.”
“Of course,” he says, but in a teasing way, so that I’m not sure if he means it.
We turn down another hallway. Amelrik frowns at the door at the end of it, so that at first I think we’ve gone the wrong way. “Are we lost?”
“No, it’s just…” He sniffs the air again. “There’s someone in there, but it’s not Cedric.”
A loud cry emanates from the room, followed by sobbing. It’s muffled, but it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“It’s not a dragon, either. Whoever they’ve got in there… they’re human.”
I open my mouth, ready to ask him about that, but not even sure where to start. But then we hear someone approaching. A man’s voice carries over from another hallway, coming closer.
“I want the prisoner’s head on the wall by morning! Whatever it takes—get the information from him. I’ve received word that Joanna’s just arrived in town and will be here soon, and then we’ll know for sure. I’ll be at Lord Rosewood’s dinner party until then. Either way, the scaly bastard’s not going anywhere. Get to it and then give me your full report. And tell Blackarrow to stop throwing my money away at the bar!”
There are some muttered agreements as his footsteps head off in the opposite direction from us, though it still sounds like there are at least several paladins nearby.
But that’s the least of my worries, because when I look over at Amelrik to see if he heard—well, I know he must have heard—there’s a look of pure terror on his face. He’s shaking all over. He’s actually shaking.
“What? What happened?” I ask.
His mouth drops open, but he doesn’t speak. His breathing is shallow and quick, like he can’t get enough air.
Panic spikes in my chest. My blood runs cold. I have no idea what�
�s happening. “Amelrik?”
“That man… His voice…” He cringes, practically gasping for air. Then there’s the sound of flesh tearing and rearranging itself as he suddenly transforms.
I gasp as Amelrik’s eyes turn yellow, his pupils turning to slits. Little black scales spread down the sides of his face and his neck. Leathery black wings with flashes of red underneath jut out from his back, tearing through his shirt and ripping his cloak, and his hands end in hooked claws.
There’s a hitch in my breathing. I haven’t seen him like this since… since six months ago, when he fought Lothar.
His transformation isn’t as loud or as dramatic as when one of the other dragons shifts, but I still hear one of the paladins down the hall say, “What was that?”
Amelrik stares in horror at his clawed hands. Then he looks at me, his eyes wild and his voice deadly serious. “He’s going to kill us.”
“Not if you change back!” Besides, he already left. It’s the other paladins who will kill us.
Amelrik’s still struggling to breathe normally, completely freaking out. I reach out to put a hand on his arm, but he jerks away from me. He stretches out his wings in a strange, desperate motion, then quickly pulls them in, like he can’t decide what to do with himself.
He’s panicking.
And the paladins are headed this way.
“Change back,” I whisper, pleading with him. “Right now.”
His eyes meet mine—his yellow dragon eyes that are both so familiar and so strange at the same time—and all I see is desperation and fear. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know he’s not going to change. He’s not going to be able to in time.
Maybe I should cast the binding spell, but there’s no time for that, either. There’s a door not far from us. I turn the knob, praying that it’s unlocked. Thankfully, it clicks open. I give the room a quick scan to make sure it’s empty, and then I shove Amelrik inside.
I get the door closed again right before the paladins turn the corner.
There’s two of them, two men, though neither one is old enough to have been the one that has Amelrik so freaked out. They’re not in full armor, but their insignias mark them as members of the Cartwright and Hathaway families. They glare at me.
“You!” The Cartwright puts a hand on his sword hilt. “What are you doing here?”
“And who were you talking to?” the Hathaway demands.
I consider pretending to be a kitchen maid who got lost trying to get a glimpse of the prisoner. That might be the easiest way out of this, but then they might search the hall and find Amelrik. “I was talking to myself about how angry I am at being kept waiting.” I stand up straight, keeping my shoulders back and my chin up. I feel ridiculous, but maybe Amelrik’s right about my posture making me look more like a servant than a… Well, a not servant. And right now, I need them to take me seriously.
“Kept waiting?”
“I’m here to see the prisoner.”
The Cartwright frowns, his hand still on his sword hilt, though he looks less ready to draw. “Are you one of the staff? You’re not supposed to be in this part of the manor.”
“No, I’m not part of the staff.” I scoff at that. “I’m a St. George.”
They blink in surprise, then look me over.
“She the boss’s daughter or something?” the Hathaway whispers.
“She is standing right here. And no, I’m not. I’m”—I hesitate, knowing better than to give them my real name—“Valencia St. George, and I was passing through East Westford when I heard you’d caught a dragon. I want to see him. It, I mean.”
They just stand there, stunned. Then the Cartwright, who’s completely forgotten all about drawing his sword—I guess he decided I’m not a threat—laughs and says, “You’re not a St. George.”
I clench my fists, anger burning inside me, but I force myself to stay calm. Valencia St. George is the kind of girl who stays calm when idiots are being insubordinate. I think. “Open that door and I’ll prove it.” I say that in my most commanding voice, trying to channel Celeste when she’s barking out orders to the other paladins.
They look at each other, still obviously not believing me. Then the Hathaway shrugs. “What harm could it do?”
“Unless the boss catches us.”
He waves that thought away. “He’s at the dinner party. He’ll never know, and I want to see this.”
They unlock the door. It swings open with a creak. The room is dark, and the air is cooler as I descend the stone stairs into the cellar. The walls are made of dirt, and it smells damp in here, just like Amelrik said.
The prisoner’s chained to the wall, an iron dragon ring around his neck. I have no idea who he is, but he’s older than us, at least thirty, so he couldn’t be Cedric. Besides, Amelrik already said it wasn’t him. He said he was human.
I let my anger show on my face and whirl around to face the paladins. “You idiots!”
“What?”
I point to the prisoner. “That man is human. You haven’t caught a dragon, and now you’re wasting my time!” People in charge are always complaining about other people wasting their time.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you,” the prisoner says, his voice a sob.
“Uh…” The Cartwright shares a look with the Hathaway. “You can’t tell that just by looking. I’m afraid you’re—”
“What kind of training have you had?! Do they not teach paladins anything up north?” I shake my head at them. “Of course you can tell.” I have no idea how to tell. I’m pretty sure it’s something only other dragons can figure out, actually.
“Really? How?”
I scowl at them, like I’m too busy and important to possibly bother explaining such a simple fact to them and hold up my hands. “You want proof I’m a St. George? Here’s your proof.” I’ve only done this once, and not since I first met Amelrik, but I focus on the dragon ring around the man’s neck. I picture it breaking apart, releasing him. My heart’s pounding in my chest, because if this doesn’t work, they’re not just going to let me run back to the kitchen. And they’re going to kill the prisoner. I don’t know him, but I can’t let that happen to an innocent person if I can help it. And it could have just as easily been Cedric in here. Or Amelrik.
It still could be, if anyone finds him before he can change back.
There’s a flash of red light and the smell of sulfur as I cast the spell, and then a cracking sound as the metal collar splits apart and falls away from the man’s neck, landing on the dirt floor with a thunk.
He gasps with relief and starts crying, though he’s still chained to the wall and far from free.
Both paladins draw their swords with a shink.
“What were you thinking?!” the Hathaway shouts. “Joanna Carver’s going to be here any minute!”
Carver. The name fills me with dread. Their power is the opposite of ours—forcing dragons into dragon form.
The Cartwright clenches his jaw. “You shouldn’t have done that!”
I don’t know if they’re pointing their swords at me or at the prisoner, who they’re expecting to turn into a full-size dragon any second now, but I don’t move either way.
“I’m not a dragon,” the man says, fear and relief mixing in his voice. “I don’t know anything about them!”
The air in the room stays tense as the paladins keep their swords up, not believing him. Like the second they let their guard down, he’ll transform and murder us all.
I try really hard to keep my voice steady when I say, “If he was going to change, he would have done it by now.”
“He’s biding his time,” the Cartwright says, but he doesn’t sound super sure about it.
“I just want to go home.” The prisoner’s voice is small and very, very human.
Eventually, they lower their swords, though they make a point not to sheathe them. Both of them stare at me. Neither looks friendly.
“Well.” I swallow. “Since there’s cl
early no dragon here, I’d better be on my way. But if you need another paladin—”
“We don’t,” the Hathaway says. “We’ve got all the paladins we need.”
“Oh. Well, great, then. Great.”
“You’d better leave town,” the Cartwright says. At first I think it’s a threat, despite his casual tone, but then he adds, “Because if this isn’t the dragon, then we’ve run out of time. Now that the Carver’s here, the whole town’s going on lockdown.”
Lockdown. A chill runs down my spine. I’ve never witnessed it before, but I’ve heard Celeste and the others talk about it. I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “A lockdown?”
“A magical barrier’s going up around the whole city. No one’s getting in or out, dragon or human. If you don’t want to get stuck here, I’d get out tonight if I were you.” He hesitates, then says, “Quicker than that, actually. I’d get out as soon as possible.”
9
SOME HEIR YOU ARE
We race back to the inn to get our supplies—which we’ll need for our journey back home—after we escape the manor house. I say escape, but it’s not like anyone was chasing us or anything. The paladins never found out Amelrik was even there, let alone what he was. After I left the paladins in the cellar and ducked back into the room where I’d left Amelrik, he’d calmed down enough to return to human form. I had about a million questions to ask him, but we didn’t speak, for fear of the paladins hearing us. Instead, he jerked his head toward the kitchen, and I nodded. We retrieved my coats from the kitchen closet—to the dismay of the overworked cook, who was not happy that I was leaving so soon—and then ran out into the night.
What she thought a lord like him was doing running off with a kitchen girl like me, we’ll never know. I mean, she did look pretty shocked, but that might have been because his cloak was mysteriously torn and he looked like he’d seen a ghost.
We’re almost to the inn when I have to stop and catch my breath. It’s not easy trying to run in the snow. Well, if you can call it running, because that might be giving me too much credit. But either way, moving faster than normal in the snow is hard, and I’m out of breath and sweating underneath my winter coats.
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