Blue Fire

by Amity Thompson

“Will it?” I asked without thinking. He flushed, and for the first time I felt glad about my request to leave. It was hard enough before, pretending to be friends. It’ll be worse when Tressa is his wife.

  In front of us, Rose tried to bury the ball among the bed-stones while Pelor hid his face with his wingtips. I cleared my throat. “I should have told you earlier, but I asked Merram to approve of my going to the front. He should get the request in a week or so.”

  Shamino jerked. “You asked to leave the Quarters? But I need you here.”

  Pelor came to search under my chair. “Silly. You can see nothing’s there.”

  “I understand things have been strained, but—”

  “I love the dragons,” I said. I gave Pelor a gentle shove with my foot. “I don’t want to leave. But the fact is, I’m the Kyer’s blue.”

  “Adara.” When I didn’t look at him, Shamino slipped his hand over mine. I recoiled, but he held fast. “Listen to me. You’ve seen what happens to those on the front.”

  “Anyone can do what I do here.” I began repeating what I’d written to Merram. “My Talent isn’t dragon healing. It’s Fire. My experience with so many dragons gives me an advantage as well.”

  “You can’t be ready for combat,” Shamino said. “You just started using your Gift.”

  “Zoland offered to come with me to continue my training.”

  He made a frustrated noise in his throat. “But—”

  “You can replace me when you take on an apprentice for Sylvia.”

  He released me. “Mettalise agrees?”

  I hesitated. Mettalise didn’t mind going to war—her draconian heart soared with fantasies of knocking Thorkel’s dragon out of the sky. She had, however, also accused me of using the war as a hiding place. “She does.”

  “Very well. When Mettalise is carried back here—Adara, if I lost you—” He took a deep breath. It rattled in his throat.

  I felt Tressa’s nails in my skin. “You never had me.”

  “Right.” He stood. “Right. I forgot.”

  He slammed the nursery door behind him.

  “That’s still too much,” Zoland said that evening as he surveyed the wall of flames I’d created. “Make it thinner, but hotter, and with much less Gift.”

  Hotter always made me nervous when we practiced in Zoland’s personal rooms. The Kyer had taken on many new trainees, and the practice rooms weren’t always available for my extra sessions. Thus, Zoland’s apartment. Which was very flammable. We shoved furniture and rugs to the side, but two walls of his living room were floor-to-ceiling books. I’d suggested meeting outside, which we did sometimes, but mostly I believed Zoland enjoyed putting me on edge. That, or Zoland’s version of thrill-seeking was to put a mage Talented in fire near his treasures.

  “You’re wasting Gift,” Zoland repeated.

  I mentally pulled on the thread of Gift that fueled the flames. As I did so, I imagined the wall growing thinner as its supply lessened.

  “Good, good. Hotter.”

  My jaw ached with tension. Intensifying spells while using less Gift gave me trouble. One or the other, fine, but both didn’t make sense to me. Because magic depended on visualization, it really needed to make sense. Or be intuitive.

  Zoland shook his head as nothing happened. “Efficiency, Adara. Every speck of your Gift must do two jobs, often ones that conflict. Pull back.”

  I brought in my Gift, another new technique. Instead of letting the magic dissipate, I recaptured as much as I could. It made me wonder if one person’s Gift could be absorbed by another person.

  “Let me see if I can find a better way to describe what I wish you to do,” Zoland said. He went to a bookshelf while I perched on the edge of our furniture-jumble.

  Zoland set a book on a pile and opened another. “If only I knew how Thorkel managed such massive energy conservation.”

  The sapphire hung heavy under my shirt. Zoland stressed magic conservation because Thorkel’s favorite tactic was to deplete an opponent’s magic before he himself ran out. Zoland didn’t know that Thorkel used strategies other than conservation.

  “Knowing your enemies, thinking like them, that is the key,” Zoland muttered. His furrowed brow relaxed and he tapped a page. “Here. Read this.”

  As I accepted the book, a small pressure appeared behind my eyes. I excused myself and let Mettalise mentally enter.

  *It’s tonight,* Mettalise burst. Frustration, anger, and despair struck me. *Raul says he’s taking Tressa on a moonlight picnic and proposing. Shamino won’t tell Raul where they’re going for fear of Raul attacking them. I told Raul to be more subtle!*

  I sank into an overstuffed chair and stared blankly at the open book in my lap. *This morning, he did say it would end soon. We… shouldn’t be upset.*

  *I am upset and Raul’s upset and if you weren’t so fuzz-brained you’d be upset, too!* Mettalise’s agitation spiked, and I expected she had smashed her tail into something. *The person you care about most is about to ruin your life and his own, and you’re simply letting it happen!*

  “Is something the matter?” Zoland said in a soft voice. “If we need to continue tomorrow…”

  “Oh? Oh.” I blocked Mettalise and looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time. In reality, I saw nothing. “Just some… news.” At his patient silence, I added, “Shamino is proposing tonight to Tressa of Blackveil.”

  “Ah.” Zoland pulled a chair closer to mine and regarded me. “I hear both praise and an equal amount of protest for the match. Judging by your expression, I suspect you’re one of the latter.”

  “He’s made his choice.” I bent over the book.

  Zoland closed it in my lap. “No magic while emotions run high. I am guessing this is the reason for your sudden decision to take my advice regarding the war?”

  I flushed. My wrist throbbed every time I thought about that letter, and every time it throbbed I felt shame for giving in to Tressa’s demands. “The Quarters aren’t what they once were.”

  “They cannot be, when the Seneschal neglects his duties.”

  Little by little, Zoland drew me out. I told him about Shamino’s changed behavior, of the worries the humans and the dragons of Quarters had for him. As talking became easier, I added Shamino’s conflict with Raul. I never mentioned Shamino’s feelings for me, or mine for him, but Zoland surely guessed. As absent-minded as he appeared, he noticed everything. I even suspected he had pieced together my background.

  “You are right,” Zoland said when I’d finished, “Shamino makes his own choices and must live with the consequences. But I have one thing to say to you: Know your enemy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Tressa. Your enemy.”

  “She’s not—I mean, I really—”

  “Listen to yourself,” Zoland said. “You, and others, agree that Shamino is not acting himself. Love or desperation can indeed alter a man, but he is displaying signs of neither emotion. Therefore…”

  Long seconds passed as I tried to figure out where he was leading. “Magic? You think Tressa is using magic to manipulate him? That’s not possible.”

  Zoland’s eyebrow rose, which told me it was not only possible, but I should know how. It had to be a rare skill, and Zoland had made me read a book on—

  “A Jeweltongue,” I breathed. Suddenly everything made sense. “Tressa is a Jeweltongue.”

  I raised my wrist, displaying the lingering bruise. Jeweltongues worked through touch. A thousand images flashed through my mind: Tressa patting my arm to reassure me; her desperate attempts to touch me at the ball when I criticized her behavior toward Paige; the thousands of times she touched Jerroth when he disagreed…

  I rarely saw Tressa with Shamino, but every time I did, she hung on his arm.

  “He doesn’t even want to court her,” I said. “And tonight, he’s asking her to marry him.”

  Zoland raised a hand. “The precise working of the magic is a mystery, for Jeweltongues tend to hide thei
r abilities. It has been confirmed, however, that the seed of belief must be in the target for the magic to work. Thoughts and feelings are amplified by a Jeweltongue. Not created.”

  Thus Shamino’s impression—and my own—of Tressa being the perfect wife had been transformed into a certainty.

  “Shamino really is about to make the biggest mistake of his life.” I stood and the forgotten book tumbled to the ground. “I have to stop him.”

  “Do so carefully,” Zoland warned. He blocked my movements to the door until I paid attention. “Knowing about the magic is the only defense against persuasion. A person caught in its throes often exhibits withdrawal if the connection is severed abruptly.”

  Like Jerroth. Tressa hadn’t said goodbye to him in person; she’d done it through a note.

  “Shamino hasn’t been with her long,” I said, “but I’m sure she uses her magic on him constantly. I’ll be careful.”

  Though I had no idea how. Getting Shamino to leave Tressa’s side without her shouting my secrets might be more difficult than slaying Thorkel’s dragons. I told myself I’d figure it out on the way. First, I needed to find him, and I really should ask Mettalise if she had any ideas. I lowered the block—

  Mettalise burst in my head. *We need you in the Quarters. Rose is sick, and we can’t find Shamino.*

  I halted, jarred out of my own thoughts by her panic. *What? Sick? Um, can you get Sylvia to tend her, I need to—*

  *Sylvia’s unconscious. She brewed a potion for her cold, and her dragon says she won’t wake for hours. Byron’s with Rose, but he’s useless if he can’t use magic. You, however, have read all those healing books, and you grew up without a healer, right?*

  *I’ll come right away.* I wanted to shout a thank-you to the First One—we could interrupt the proposal with a reason that wouldn’t make Tressa attack me. *You dragons need to find Shamino fast, and not just for Rose. I’ll tell you on the way.*

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Byron and Mia, Rose’s mother, sat with the motionless kit in the nursery. Pelor had been taken away. The silence unnerved me. Usually Rose and Pelor romped about, shrieking and destroying most everything.

  “I’ve never seen her stay still,” I said as I knelt beside her and Byron. Rose regarded me with a dull eye. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Mia senses nausea and head pains,” Byron said. Baby dragons didn’t develop telepathy until six months of age; until then, the dragons and Shamino only got vague impressions.

  Mia nodded in confirmation.

  I touched Rose’s back. “She’s cool. Not cold, but her temperature isn’t right. Dull scales, tired… has she eaten recently? She ate breakfast.”

  “She ate a little at midday, nothing at dinner. I haven’t seen her drink much water, either.”

  “We’ll try to get her to eat and drink.” I addressed Mia. “We should transfer her to a small room with fewer drafts. Maybe one of the storage rooms.”

  Mia considered, then bowed her head. Byron and I hurried to the emptiest of the adjoining rooms and made a nest of blankets.

  “I can’t believe he left,” Byron said as he carried in a bucket of water.

  I paused as I dragged ‘toy’ logs into the main room. “You mean Shamino knew? And he still left?”

  Byron nodded. “It wasn’t serious then, but I told him she’d been acting odd.”

  “How did he react?”

  “He shrugged it off. Said she’d be fine for a few hours.” Byron frowned. “He was barely listening, like, I don’t know, like the way he is when he’s healed all night. Distant.”

  If I needed proof of Tressa’s influence, that was it. Shamino would never leave an ill kit. Anger surged at Tressa—how could she not at least pretend to care about the things he cared about?

  Byron went to fetch some meat while Mia carried her daughter to the storage room. Carefully she reached inside and settled Rose in the nest. I covered the kit with a blanket.

  “I’ll stay with her,” I told Byron when he handed me some steak. He looked exhausted. He’d taken most of my Spheres while I obeyed Tressa and stayed away. With Sylvia ill and Shamino irresponsible, he’d become Seneschal and more.

  “I’ll join the hunt,” he said. “Contact me via dragon if you need me.”

  Mia left as well, to search for Shamino from the air. I closed the door and settled by Rose.

  “I have some meat for you,” I said. Small blue flames appeared in the palm of my hand. With care I changed the tips to real, orange fire. With my other hand I dangled the steak so that it seared on both sides. Not too long. Dragons preferred barely cooked food. “Here. Eat what you can.”

  With effort, Rose lifted her head and chewed. She only ate half the meat. I coaxed her into drinking a little water from the bucket. When she finished, her head crashed into the blankets rather than lowered; I eased her head into my lap and stroked it. I whispered her stories from my childhood, figuring she was too little to know that nobles didn’t live in huts, or that the winter wind shouldn’t stab through threadbare clothing. Soon she fell asleep. It was almost nice, the sleeping baby in my lap, if not for the reasons that had placed her there.

  I reached for Mettalise. *She’s sleeping. Still no sign of Shamino?*

  *He’s not in the Kyer, that’s certain. Raul pointed out that picnics are outside…*

  I cringed. It could take hours to find them. Without Transportation spells, the surface of four mountains was huge.

  *For the first time, I hate these trees,* Mettalise said. *We can’t see him, and he likely can’t see us. Can you give Rose a potion to make her better? This is going to take a while.*

  Sylvia’s potions rarely lasted more than a few days after brewing, and even if I had one, I wouldn’t know the dose for a baby. I told Mettalise as much and asked her to keep looking.

  Rose let out a sharp cry and bunched up in my lap.

  “Shhh, I’m here for you.” If only Shamino hadn’t blocked Raul. If only Tressa didn’t think solely of herself. If only I could heal. “Is it your stomach? Or—”

  The baby dragon retched.

  Raw meat and stomach acid spewed all over my clothing. The smell—I fought to keep myself from copying her as I patted her head. Her vomiting slowed to empty heaves; then, finally, Rose collapsed with a groan.

  “No more food. Got it.” I forced another gag into a smile. “I’m fine. I don’t like these breeches, anyway. Can I go clean up?”

  She blinked. When I stood, my breeches clung to my legs and my stomach rolled. I barely managed to Incinerate the mess on the stone floor, and that added an entirely new smell. I did the same to any puked-on blankets and ducked outside to the nursery.

  I wanted a bath. Instead, I went to Shamino’s study. He kept a set of spare clothes in the wardrobe. I brought them to the nearest washroom. There I peeled off my clothes, Incinerated them, vomited in a basin, sponged off my legs. I still reeked. I put the clothes on anyway, tying the waist with twine, and rushed back to the baby.

  She was sleeping again. My hand brushed against her as I sat on the floor. I stiffened. *Mettalise! She vomited maybe ten minutes ago, and now her temperature has plummeted. The room’s warm, she has a few blankets… what else can I do?*

  *How would I know? Let me get Mia.* I fidgeted as the dragons talked. *She can return and blow fire into the room?*

  That’d help, but dragons could only sustain fire for a short time. A team of dragons, in shifts? The nursery could hold two adults. It’d be a solution, but an awkward one, having dragons slip in and out of the nursery.

  *I’ll use my Gift.*

  *Burning what?*

  I thought of the spell I’d come up with to cook the steak. *Magic.*

  I hauled the bucket, the blankets, some cloths, anything flammable out of Rose’s supply room and into the nursery. The wooden shelves would have to burn. *I will put up a partial block so I can concentrate. Did you think of, I don’t know, roaring? To get Shamino’s attention?*

 
A wave of embarrassment. *Um. No. We forget we can make audible noise. We’ll try that.*

  Shamino had to notice a bunch of dragons terrifying the local animals. I wouldn’t need to work the spell very long.

  I settled on the floor far from Rose. I didn’t want to fall into her aura of magic resistance—she didn’t have much control over the barrier. I took several deep breaths and cleared my thoughts. First, a thin layer of magic, all around the room... A film of blue fire spread from my body over the floors, the walls, the shelves, the ceiling. I left a magic-free circle around the kit. I also doubled the thickness over my body. I didn’t want to cook myself.

  Weaving two spells was tricky, an advanced technique I was practicing. Just like with the steak, I fueled a layer of real fire with a layer of magic. It took several tries to get it in balance. Blue and orange blended in my vision into brown; sweat broke out on my skin so I thickened the blue layer.

  This uses too much Gift. I won’t last long at this rate. I pulled back. My head ached as I struggled to keep the spell stable. Once it evened out, I pulled back a little more…

  There. Fire roared around me. I couldn’t see Rose. I couldn’t see my own hand. All I could do was sit, work magic, and pray that any moment Mettalise would give me a mental tap with good news.

  Time passed. Gift seeped away.

  Where is he? I supposed they could have wandered farther than anyone suspected. Even if they’d heard the dragons, it’d take time to walk to the nearest Kyer entrance… unless they had taken a carriage. To the nearest town, to the nearest romantic mountain peak… how long had they been gone? My Gift, it was going too fast, but I doubted I could conserve any more of it.

  The sapphire hung heavy against my skin.

  If I use the gem, it’s another debt. I’ll owe Thorkel that much more.

  Worse, it was another secret.

  “I can’t let her die,” I whispered to myself. The vision’s echo—Don’t die, please don’t die. In the vision, I was coated in fire, just like this. But I held a man, not a dragon. Therefore, if I used the sapphire, it wouldn’t affect much. This couldn’t be a crossroads…