Blue Fire

by Amity Thompson

  And now I knew how.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I excused myself from the Quarters, saying I needed extra magic practice. True. Zoland’s joy at my unlocked Gift had no bounds; he’d instruct me all day if I asked. As it was, that first day of being a real mage, I spent all my extra time using the power that seemed endless.

  The next day, I did the same.

  It’s not a full lie, I told myself the third day as I held a pen in my hands. Shamino had replied both days with short sentences of encouragement, for he still didn’t know. My acting Dragonmaster, my Seneschal, my friend, he didn’t know about my Gift. Merram knew. Zoland had sent him word via the dragon couriers, and he had already replied: Good. All lessons but magic are now canceled.

  I started scribbling the same sentence again, wavered. My magic seemed such a tiny lie compared to the rest of the lies I lived. Except, his former fiancée had lied. He hated lies, and wasn’t it best he found out from me? He’d know when I didn’t leave the Kyer, anyway.

  Just… how to tell him? Writing guess what, my magic works! when for so long it hadn’t…

  Such a minor lie, when I lived one.

  Why did he have to fall in love with me?

  I gave up on the note and penned a different one, to Zoland: No extra practice today. See you at the regular time. I braided my hair and dressed for a messy day at the Quarters.

  Half a Sphere later, I held my breath as I peeked through the Seneschal’s open door. His study was empty. I breathed out and checked the task sheet. A second piece of paper had been hung over it: Eggs Hatching.

  With a squeal I ran to the nursery.

  Shamino had told me we’d only get a few eggs a year. With the few number of blacks and skilled reds willing to adapt to Kyer life, and the few dragons available at any time to pair, the Kyer always struggled to grow. It made the recent deaths all the more tragic, and the soon-to-hatch eggs all the more important.

  There was nothing tragic in the nursery. Crystals cast rainbows on the two ivory shells at the center of the room. Two dragons—Mia and the father—hovered over the eggs with so much anticipation that the air nearly buzzed with telepathic spillover. The dragons’ mages stood not very far away, but I saw Shamino nowhere.

  He has to be here. The room was fairly empty to make it easier for the dragons; later, we’d drag toys and rocks and blankets out of the padlocked storerooms on the edge of the cave. Finally, I found him because the female mage kept glancing in one direction and blushing.

  Jealousy rose like an evil monster in my stomach. I squashed it, leaving behind a queasy feeling.

  But I didn’t need to be jealous. Shamino sat in a shadowed corner, his head perfectly tilted to see the eggs but not the simpering mage. I started toward him; he caught sight of me and a grin like the sun lit his face. I faltered, and the ill feeling grew. His grin wavered, then stayed. He gestured for me to sit beside him.

  The female mage made a strangled sound that echoed across the room. I didn’t acknowledge her but went to Shamino. I made sure I put some space between us as I lowered to the floor.

  “Glad to see you again,” Shamino whispered.

  Guilt squeezed my stomach. “I’m glad I came.”

  “You’re just in time. Listen.”

  Tapping. Both eggs quivered. Mia lowered her golden head until it rested on the ground. Had she been a dog, her tail would have been wagging in anticipation.

  The noise from the left egg grew more frantic. Cracks appeared. A section of shell skittered across the stone floor, and a rose-colored spike peeked out.

  “Nose-horn,” Shamino said. “It’ll fall off in a few days.” Across the room, the woman squealed.

  The horn appeared again, sending another piece of shell flying. Next, a tiny snout. A clawed hand felt around the edge of the broken shell. The hand shoved the shell again and again, flinging away pieces as they broke off. When the shell was half gone, a baby dragon tumbled out.

  “It’s adorable,” I said. A miniature dragon, and it squeaked. Its scales were a deep rose, dusted with gold… and coated in thick, clear slime. Mia leaned forward and breathed fire on her kit. Slime changed to black ash and fluttered to the ground.

  “A girl,” Shamino said. “Mothers breathe on girls, fathers on boys. A dragon’s first memory is always of fire.”

  Despite my care, our shoulders touched as he spoke. He blushed; by the prickles sweeping across my cheeks, I knew I blushed as well. For an agonizing heartbeat our eyes met, and the desire to tackle him with a hug or a kiss or anything nearly overwhelmed me.

  I turned away first. The woman was no longer watching Mia nuzzle her baby. Instead, she looked like she wanted to Incinerate me on the spot.

  The tapping from the second egg grew rapid. This time, the baby dragon didn’t neatly pick apart its egg. Instead, the egg shook like a miniature earthquake. With a resounding crack, bits of shell exploded outward. The golden baby shook its head and gave an almost goose-like honk. The father leaned over and coated the boy with fire.

  “Our turn.” Shamino pushed to his feet and held out his hands. I hesitated, then put my palms in his. He helped me up and dropped my hands immediately. “I’ll check the kits. Sweep up the ash? Make sure to keep the shells separate.”

  I began gathering the disgusting shell bits, wondering how best to clean them. The father dragon tapped the floor; after watching his gestures, I laid out the shell bits. He blew fire, orange and white and hot, and the smell of something burning filled the air. The slime had turned black. I cautiously nudged one with my foot; ash fluttered away, revealing a creamy, pristine shell. When I dared, the bumpy surface was merely warm to the touch.

  “Thank you,” I told him. I hurried to lay out the rest of the bits. As he burned away slime, I found a box in the storeroom big enough for the shell pieces.

  By the time I had finished sweeping ash, Shamino had declared both kits healthy. He lifted the box of shells before I could. “Time to let everyone cuddle. Come with me to my study?”

  I clutched the broom as we entered the hallway, grateful to get away from the mage’s glare but anxious about what Shamino needed to discuss. Silence pressed on us as we walked together. I’d noticed earlier that he’d been careful with every word he’d spoken. So many words kept back.

  I licked my lips as we climbed stairs. “So… what are the shells for?”

  “Eh?” He glanced at the box in his arms. “Oh. Armor. For the lucky few.”

  Silence again. I didn’t see how we could go back to being friends. “What changes? With the kits.”

  “That’s what I need to talk to you about.” He paused as I held the stairwell door open. “Since you only have a few days left, do you want to—what’s wrong?”

  Guilt flamed in my chest. I should have told him. I should have run to him that very night with blue ash cupped in my hands.

  I didn’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I rested the broom against the wall, closed the stairwell door, and held up my palm. With as much effort as a sigh, blue flames swirled into a perfect Light.

  Shamino startled, looked at my face, gaped at the Light again. Then he half-dropped the box and scooped me into his arms, spinning me around with a whoop.

  “That’s wonderful! Wonderful!” He set me on the ground with a fierce hug. “How did you figure out—when did you figure out—it was the past few days, wasn’t it?”

  The forced smile made my cheeks hurt. “I didn’t want to leave.”

  “Merram’s plan worked, then,” he whispered. “He’s still a steaming pile of dragon dung, but you’re staying.”

  “Yes.” I swallowed. He still held me close. If I only lifted my heels, I could kiss him. But he also held me close enough that the sapphire bit into my chest, reminding me of what I’d done to stay. “Where do the shells go?”

  “Right.” Shamino flushed and released me for the shells. “I’m happy that you’re staying… especially with the kits here.”

  “Oh?” I timed
my step with him; the magic took us toward the hall’s end.

  “For the next three months, someone needs to be with the kits night and day.”

  That surprised me. “The parents don’t care for them?”

  “They do… and don’t. Kits are rambunctious little things. They injure easily and sicken quickly. They cram themselves into small places. They don’t sleep through the night. Most of all, they’re exhausting for the parents.” We entered his study and he set the box by the wall. “You’ve seen how older dragons spend the day sunning themselves? We get to be the kits’ playmates.”

  That sounded like fun, and I said so.

  “It is fun, in an aggravating way,” he said with a laugh. He opened his study’s door and set the box against the wall. “Anyway… I could use you here more often. I’m trying to convince Paige to help out, at least for a while. But I want us with the kits.”

  Paige. She’d been sharp and silent the past few meals. She likely burned with curiosity, maybe frustration.

  Shamino went to his desk, bare except for a slim notebook. He handed it to me. “I want two people here during the day, one at night. I haven’t asked Sylvia or Byron yet. You can have first pick of times.”

  So I can avoid you or work with you as I wish. I opened the book at the ribbon. He’d made a chart of the week. Days had been broken into Spheres, and our names were written during our regular times. Shamino’s name had already been written everywhere.

  “You live here,” I said.

  “I am the Seneschal. I don’t have a life.”

  Because the only woman you like won’t let you court her. I wanted to write my name beside his in every slot; I wanted to never be in the Quarters at the same time as him. Finally I settled for half of each desire.

  Shamino glanced over my times. His face didn’t show elation or disappointment. “That much?”

  I almost said I didn’t have a life, either. Instead, “Merram canceled my classes.”

  “I see. Well, new times start tomorrow.” He snapped the book shut.

  Awkward stolen glances from both of us. I wanted to be friends, but I didn’t want him to hope.

  Finally, I flourished the broom I’d carried. “I’ll put this back. See you later.”

  A step carried me away. My first meeting with Shamino had ended; after a thousand more, maybe we could go back to being just friends.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It turned out I couldn’t mope while dodging lightning.

  “Ow!” I cried. Black smoke curled from my sleeve. I rubbed it. “You’re not supposed to hurt me.”

  “Why not?” Zoland asked. My dreamy philosopher had changed into a precise weapon. Today he wore tight-fitting clothing, much like the Kyer’s uniform, because—unlike my shirt—the tight fabric gave the opposing mage a narrower target. “The enemy won’t hold back. The enemy wants you dead.”

  Zoland had decided that I, as the blue, was to learn everything, even basic healing. Moreover, I was to learn it now. We met in an advanced practice room for a minimum of two Spheres every day. Shelves full of balls, feathers, ropes, buckets, anything we could ever want, ran along one wall. Scorch marks from this lesson covered the floor between us and the bare wall behind Zoland.

  There were only two marks on the wall behind me. Zoland didn’t miss as often.

  “Moreover, why are you dodging?” Zoland continued. “You need to think like a mage. Failure to use magic will kill you.”

  I am sure there are some situations where magic’s not the answer. I gave my shoulder one last rub. “I still feel like it’s too early to be playing with real lightning.”

  “Shield,” Zoland said. I’d made the complaint before, and he’d replied I’d been too competent with the easy spells. Thus. Lightning.

  I gritted my teeth, formed the spell in my mind, and let go of my Gift. Before me, an invisible shield of air formed. Sweat trickled down my back. I hated air spells, but they were useful. A bright-blue shield of fire drew the enemy’s attention at night. Or day. Fire was visible; air was not.

  “Ready,” I gasped.

  Zoland moved much like a man throwing a ball, except the ball formed out of nothing and flickered with black lightning. This time I didn’t jerk out of the way. A tendril of lightning broke through my shield anyway, smoking the knee of my breeches.

  At least it hadn’t gotten flesh. Unlike four other spots—two because I’d dodged out of habit.

  “New strategy,” Zoland said. “Try a different visualization.”

  I dropped the air spell with pleasure and thought for a moment. We’d been using hardened air, and Zoland would want another air-based spell. “Wind?”

  Zoland created another ball and casually tossed it up a few times as he waited for me to shape a shield. This time, I moved the air in front of me into a swirling disk. Zoland’s graying hair fluttered and he raised an eyebrow. I concentrated harder, found the escaping tendrils of magic… there. The moment I reined it in, Zoland hurled the ball—

  “Got it!” I cried as lightning dissipated in a swirl before me. I canceled the spell and checked my stores. Half-empty. We’d been tossing and blocking lightning orbs for a Sphere. A fire spell would have barely taken any of my magic. Or time.

  “In two days we’ll try blocking without preparing the shield first.”

  I made a mental note to wear tight clothing I never wanted to see again. Zoland went to the shelves and removed a bucket of physical, non-magical balls. I groaned.

  “You haven’t been practicing,” Zoland said as he brought the balls to the center of the room.

  “We haven’t started yet! You can’t know if—”

  “If you had been practicing, you wouldn’t groan.”

  I snapped my mouth shut. I couldn’t tell him that Telekinesis triggered the vision and so I avoided it. For the next half Sphere, Zoland threw wooden balls at me. Hard. And fast, and in rapid succession. I always caught the first one. After that…

  “If you don’t practice, I’ll tell the healers to stop giving you free salve for injuries,” Zoland said as we took a break. Two stools sat in the corner. He handed me a glass of water and sat beside me.

  I took several swallows, grimacing. Every time I lifted the glass to my mouth, my sleeve brushed my burns and bruises. “I don’t know why Air and Telekinesis are so hard. They’re not Fire’s opposite, like Water.”

  “Air and Telekinesis are both subtle. Hidden. You excel at spells that are out in the open.”

  He had a point. The spells I could do, the ones I enjoyed anyway, let the enemy know he was about to die.

  Zoland tapped the bucket of balls with a foot. “The more you know, the better equipped you are, and the better prepared you are to face your enemy. Did you finish the book on rare Talents?”

  “I did.” I’d read the section on dragon healing more than once. I’d learned that although most magic didn’t follow bloodlines, dragon healing tended to appear only in the very highborn. It was certainly what had disinherited Shamino. Dukes and marquises wanted their heirs at court.

  Dukes and marquises would notice with whom their sons—disinherited or no—fell in love.

  Zoland didn’t pick up on my melancholy but kept talking about the book. “It’s doubtful you’ll ever meet a Jeweltongue or a Necromancer, but knowledge is power.”

  “That’s what Thorkel would say,” I whispered.

  Zoland drew back and almost fell off his stool. “I believe you’re right. Well. Madness and brilliance walk a fine line. Speaking of Thorkel…”

  My grip tightened on my empty glass.

  “I want to talk to you about your future.”

  My breath caught in my throat. No. It can’t be. Zoland, a spy? I’d learned Zoland’s dragon had died trying to capture Thorkel all those years ago. He couldn’t possibly ally with his dragon’s murderer, could he? And yet, the notes I’d received, they’d always stressed my future and my Gift. Thorkel craved power; Zoland studied all the time, the perfect man
for researching new spells—

  “I know you work at the Quarters, but have you considered other avenues?”

  “No…”

  “You should,” Zoland said, either not noticing my discomfort or ignoring it. “You’re young, and very behind in your education, but in terms of raw power you’re unmatched. In a short time you’ve advanced beyond expectations. You’re hardworking, creative, breathtaking.”

  It was like hearing a letter from Thorkel spoken aloud.

  “Please, Adara, the moment you bond, I beg you join the Dragonmaster. He needs you on the front.”

  I breathed out a half laugh.

  “I’m serious. I’m even offering to go with you, to continue your training.”

  I sobered. Zoland, leave his research? That was quite an offer. “Thank you. I’m honored, I just—” I tried to gather my thoughts. I’d never thought past bonding. “Not long ago, I was nobody. Now… everyone seems to want me.”

  “Desirability: The curse of those who live with determination.” Zoland picked up the bucket. One more round.

  I put my glass in a bin. My entire body ached. Worse, I’d been lucky this session—no vision yet—and I dreaded tempting the First One with another chance for torment.

  Zoland had only thrown one ball when the door burst open. A green-banded messenger from the Quarters ran in, breathing hard.

  “Adara?” He put his hands on his knees as he panted. “Wanted immediately.”

  The wooden ball I’d been holding aloft clattered to the stone floor. “The kits?”

  The boy shrugged, gulping air.

  “Wounded?”

  “Don’t think so. He’s right angry, though.”

  I ran out of the room. By the time I arrived at the Quarters, I’d imagined endless scenarios where an irate Shamino hadn’t had time to tell the messenger what he needed me for. I skidded to a stop at his study, yanked the Summoning Globe from its hook and—

  Banging came from behind the closed door. I re-hooked the globe and burst in. “What is it? What’s wrong?”