by Laurie McKay
She pursed her lips like she tasted something sour. “What proof is there of that?” she said. “That doesn’t sound like him.”
Caden pulled off his jacket and pointed to his wounded arm, which was freshly bleeding now that the stitches had been ripped out again. “He cut me with his blood dagger.”
She squinted at his arm. “Oh pish. That’s tiny.”
Whatever creature Ms. Primrose was, she was frustrating. He pulled back on his coat. “Are teachers allowed to steal and cut students?”
From her expression, he knew she wasn’t giving in so easily. “What would this heroic father of yours think if he heard you whining about minor injuries?” she said.
He met her gaze. “My father doesn’t like it when I bleed.”
“Well,” she said, “don’t drip anything on the floor on your way back to class.”
He could tell he was beginning to annoy her. At the moment, though, she seemed more like an irritated old lady than a dangerous other, and he needed to understand. If Rath Dunn was allowed to strike down those he wanted, he wouldn’t be handing out detentions and trips to the vice principal’s office. He wouldn’t have lured Caden into the woods as ice dragon food. If Rath Dunn was allowed to do as he wanted, the halls would run with blood and Caden would be dead.
He stood tall. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said.
Ms. Primrose straightened the bowl on her desk. She sighed long and loud like Caden was the worst of headaches. “No,” she said, “teachers aren’t allowed to wound students. Not in this enlightened time.”
As he’d expected. “I demand justice.”
For a moment she stared at him. Then, like it was the most tiring of tasks, she reached under her desk and pushed a button. “Mr. Creedly?”
The wiry secretary appeared immediately. “Yes,” he said.
“Call Mr. Rathis to my office, please.”
Two minutes later, Rath Dunn arrived. He’d buttoned his red velvet jacket shut. In the sun, with the scar splitting his face, he looked almost as dangerous as he was.
Ms. Primrose took a yellow sheet from her drawer. She scribbled away with the same red pen from before. “You’re not allowed to do harm to students, no exceptions. No corporal punishments and all. You know how ridiculous the city can be.”
Rath Dunn smiled. “It was just a nick,” he said.
Caden’s arm stung. With Rath Dunn so close, the wound reopened. “The veterinarian put in fifteen stitches.”
“Veterinarian? How appropriate,” Rath Dunn said. He turned to Ms. Primrose. “Is this necessary?”
Rosa had gone white when she’d seen Dr. Clara Jenkins sewing up the slash. Ms. Primrose seemed to find the wound trivial. “He leveled a complaint,” she said with a huff. “And rules are rules.”
Rath Dunn met Caden’s gaze. “His father was always a bit of a whiner, too,” he said.
The statement was so absurd Caden ignored it. He pointed to the math tyrant. “He’s involved in Jane Chan’s disappearance. Certainly, the school has rules against kidnapping.”
For his part, Rath Dunn gave him an odd, appraising look. Before Caden could read much into it, Ms. Primrose stood up.
“You can quit now, dear,” she said. “I’m already writing the reprimand.” She turned to Mr. Rathis and walked to a cabinet beside the window. “This is going in your employee file. Don’t harm the boy again.”
“Or my horse,” Caden said.
“Snow stallion is delicious,” Rath Dunn said.
For a moment, Caden was too shocked to react. Rath Dunn had threatened to eat Sir Horace. He swiveled to face Ms. Primrose. “I demand protection for my horse.”
“Lesser animals aren’t my concern, dear.”
“Sir Horace is no lesser animal.”
Rath Dunn chuckled and licked his lips, like he was thinking of the most scrumptious of foods. “See you in class, son of Axel.” He patted Caden on the shoulder and walked out.
Caden watched after him and turned back to Ms. Primrose. “That’s it?” he said.
“Child, I’ve done as you asked. The write-up goes in his employee file,” she said. “Permanently.”
Caden felt his cheeks heat, his blood rush. “He took Jane Chan.”
“Nonsense,” she said, and sat back behind her desk.
He was taken aback by her denial. Rath Dunn was a villain. He’d threatened to eat Sir Horace in front of her. She’d seen Caden’s bloodied arm. Caden placed his palms on her desk. “He’s a tyrant. He let loose ice dragons on the mountain. Innocent Ashevillians could have perished.”
Ms. Primrose fixed him with a chilling stare. “Dragons?” she said, and arched a brow.
Caden leaned forward. “I’m talking about magic, ice-breathing, mindless dragons.” He paused on the word “dragon,” giving it weight. “We were almost killed.”
Even before he finished speaking, he knew something was wrong. He felt the office grow cold. The window iced from the inside and blocked the breaking sun. Ms. Primrose’s expression shifted from impatient but charmed old lady into something much older and more dangerous.
She peered at him, the faded blue of her eyes unnatural looking, the pupil too small for the dim light. She sat statue still. Caden waited; he listened to his loud breaths as he inhaled and exhaled.
“It’s time you leave, dear,” she said, as cold and sharp as the ice outside.
Caden walked back down the long hall and listened to the echoing of his steps. The air tasted stale and damp. For the moment, he was alone in the hall. His father and brothers were a realm away. Whatever powerful beings and terrible forces had brought him here, his family was a realm away. He felt the unsettling and familiar feeling of being lost.
When he was seven turns, Caden’s cat had bounded into the dark catacombs of the Winter Castle. After waiting for her to return for long hours, Caden made his way to his father’s strategy room. Nine Elite Guards and three of Caden’s brothers—Jasan, the seventh-born; Chadwin, the sixth-born; and Maden, the second-born—were crowded into the small ornate room. He slinked around Paladin after Paladin until he found the Winterbird-embroidered, dusk-colored coat of his father, the king.
His father turned and frowned down at him. “You’re supposed to be asleep.”
“Windy is missing,” Caden said.
His father didn’t seem to recognize the name and looked to Jasan for clarification.
Jasan’s hair and eyes shone gold in the low light. His frown mirrored their father’s frown. “His wind cat, father.”
Caden nodded. “I came to notify the guard.”
His second-oldest brother, Maden, chuckled. Gifted in strength and the size of a small frost giant, he had a gentle broad face and hair the color of straw. “Caden’s pets often require assistance,” he said. “They are a troublesome group.”
Chadwin reached down and touched Caden’s shoulder. He had the same kind eyes as the portraits of the late queen and hair so light it could pass for white. “Wind cats can take care of themselves. She’ll be all right.”
One of the Elite Guards whispered above Caden and into the king’s ears. “The gnomes are refusing to attend the council. The people of Crimsen may also back out.” The king’s face became graver; his shoulders seemed to become heavier. He looked back down at Caden like an afterthought. “Your brothers and I have business. Go to bed. You can search in the morning.”
He said it in a low, firm voice, and there was no mistaking the order. The discussion was over; the king’s commands must be followed. Even at seven, Caden believed that. He lived that.
He stayed in bed until the late night bell tolled that signified the end of one day and the beginning of the next. With morning official, Caden went to the catacomb entrance.
The thick stone walls were cold to the touch; torches on them gave off faint light and fainter heat. He followed the sound of screaming winds and gentle breezes down stairs and around corners until he found Windy. She sat on a crumbling tomb, silver fur
whirling in her wind, fire rodent dead in her jaw like a piece of limp coal.
“I’ve come to save you,” he said, because that was what future Elite Paladins said.
With a slow, leisurely stretch, she dropped from the tomb and settled to eat on the stone floor. Only when she was done did she stand and rub against his shins like a gentle breeze.
With her cradled in his arms, he walked back, but the only stairs he found led down, deeper into the ground, and to darker passageways. Not knowing which way to go, Caden sat under a torch and closed his eyes.
He awoke to the sound of yelling. “He’s here!”
In moments, Caden was blinking up at his father’s stoic face. Jasan stood back, looking weary. Maden towered behind him and let out a soft sigh. Chadwin seemed relieved.
“He’ll be fine,” their father said, and wrapped Caden in his embroidered coat. “Keep this, and it will keep you warm.”
Maden, Jasan, and Chadwin looked surprised, envious even. Around Caden’s shoulders, the coat was warm and soft. As soon as his father said it was Caden’s, the fit became perfect; the fabric soothed his freezing skin.
After they were back to the castle proper and the medics and magicians had deemed Caden cold, foolish, but otherwise unharmed, his brothers returned to regarding him with—in order of birthright—amusement, sympathy, and irritation.
If their father noticed, he ignored them. He turned to Jasan. “Make sure your brother gets back to his room,” he said.
Once Jasan and Caden were beyond earshot, as Caden followed Jasan up the spiraling staircase of the western tower, Caden heard him mumble, “Half brother.”
Five years had passed since then, and the weight on his father’s shoulders seemed to get heavier and heavier; the strategic meetings more frequent; the whispered secrets among his brothers and guards increased. The country was in turmoil. No one had told Caden outright, but he knew. He’d seen his brothers increase drills with the Elite Paladins and castle guards. He’d watched men and women ride to the castle in the dead of night, wounded, and carrying important messages. He’d seen his brother die.
The memory of his home made his heart ache, but the memory of Chadwin felt like a chain squeezing his chest. What new problems would arise when Caden didn’t return home?
Caden tugged his coat tighter. The magic was strong: the fit was comforting and the wool always warm. It couldn’t, however, bring back his dead brother Chadwin. It couldn’t even reunite him with his surly brother Jasan or giant brother Maden. What it could do, however, was remind him he was the eighth-born son of King Axel. He was a future Elite Paladin. He must be brave and noble in the face of villainous teachers and powerful old ladies.
Caden scrubbed his locker until it shone. He forced away the memories of his home and his dead brother. Tito leaned against the adjacent locker, twelve-three.
“You’ve got some issues,” he was saying. He hadn’t stopped talking about the spaghetti incident since Caden had gotten back from Ms. Primrose’s office. “But, hey, if you weren’t nuts, you might not take down bullies with pasta.” For someone who’d prevented Caden from fighting the day before, Tito seemed thrilled with Caden’s spaghetti toss. “You should have smashed it into his face, though.”
Caden took out his math book. “The goal was to humiliate, not to injure.”
“Goal achieved,” Tito said. “But Rosa’s gonna kill you.” Caden felt his eyes grow wide, and Tito laughed. “Not literally. She just doesn’t believe in humiliating people.”
“He insulted us first,” Caden said, and shut the locker door.
“Rosa won’t care ’bout that, and I’ve met Derek’s mom. She’s totally scary. But, hey, it was worth it, right?”
“I wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t.”
In the math room, the students murmured quietly, some laughed, some flipped through their texts. The woody scent of pencil shavings mixed with the smell of wool that was still damp from the snow outside.
Caden sat and prepared to face his enemy.
Rath Dunn entered like he was walking onto a stage. With a flourish, he turned off the lights and flipped on the projector. Grisly scenes and bloody battlefields flashed on the board. It was a lightning storm of gore and death.
“Today, we learn to calculate percentage,” Rath Dunn said, and flipped back on the lights. “Case study—percentage dead from battle.”
The room filled with nervous energy and the sound of writing implements scratching paper. Caden sat and listened. He could not read this English nor write it, and there was nothing he wanted to learn from a tyrant who stole enchantresses and threatened to consume Galvanian snow stallions.
Halfway through the lesson, Rath Dunn stalked to Tito’s desk. “Out of five hundred fifty soldiers, one hundred twenty perished. Percent dead?”
Tito blinked. “Uh . . . like twenty-two percent?”
“To be exact twenty-one point eight one repeating. But close enough. Smart boy.”
Tito looked down and smiled. Caden kicked him. Tito must not forget that Rath Dunn was the enemy. Too many others had suffered horrible fates by letting down their guard, by letting the man use his keen insight to force his way into their trust.
Rath Dunn moved in front of Caden. “Caden, what percent survived?” His eyes took a curious glint and his voice a challenging lilt.
Despite fighting hard to learn nothing and keep Rath Dunn’s lesson from inching into his head, Caden knew the answer. All he was required to do was subtract Tito’s answer from one hundred. Seventy-eight tickled his tongue.
Caden swallowed down the number and hardened his gaze. “Too few,” he said.
“Interesting.” Rath Dunn leaned close. Caden braced for the stretching of stiches, the sharp pain of a cut, but his wound remained intact. The stitches didn’t pull. “Although, that depends on your perspective. Mathematically, though, it would be seventy-eight point one eight”—he punched to the air and raised his voice dramatically—“repeating!”
When the freedom bell rang, Rath Dunn blocked Caden and Tito’s escape. Caden scowled at him and at the place under his velvet jacket where Caden knew he’d had the blood dagger earlier.
“Why don’t you have your weapon?” Caden said.
At that, Rath Dunn curled his lip. He looked like the largest of the Winter Castle wind cats, the smug cat that came to Caden’s knees and had fur the same silver as steel. All he lacked was the giant fire rodent wriggling in his teeth.
“I put it away, as a reward.”
“For what?” Caden said.
Rath Dunn chuckled. “For humiliating your enemy and showing no mercy for a boy you know nothing about.”
Whatever this was about, it was not Derek. “I know he started it,” Caden said.
“And you finished it, then quite adeptly charmed Ms. Primrose,” Rath Dunn said, and motioned to Caden’s hurt arm. “Hence, I decided to spare your arm my blade. Ms. Primrose does approve of rewards. Best to keep her happy.”
Tito moved closer and, for a brief moment, reminded Caden of the hovering presence of the Elite Guard—alert and ready to protect. “C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go.”
As they stepped through the doorway, Rath Dunn called out. “It was my impression,” he said, and Caden could hear the knowing grin curl his lip, “that you boys wanted to find dear little Jane Chan.”
Caden stopped, surprised but not. No matter what Ms. Primrose believed and said, Rath Dunn was connected to Jane’s disappearance. Something between validation and despair battled within him. He feared what might have happened to her.
Tito spun around. “Where is she?”
The rage in his voice was new. Caden had heard his friend annoyed and frustrated—the normal emotions people seemed to express before they gave in and did what Caden wanted. This was the first time he’d heard Tito sound dangerous.
Six months prior, Chadwin had been slain. Caden thought of the pain and guilt he felt for not being there to save Chadwin, for the pain and gui
lt he knew his brothers and father felt, too.
For Tito, this wasn’t about honor or about proving he was brave and capable, it was about saving someone. “Where is she?” he repeated.
Caden could do nothing to bring back Chadwin, but he could help Tito find his friend. “Tell us,” Caden said.
Rath Dunn motioned to them like they were hissing kittens. “In a few years, you two might be threatening,” he said, and shrugged. “I don’t have her.”
Tito’s face remained stretched in a snarl. His fist was clenched at his side. He inhaled deeply like he was on the edge of control. “Then who does?”
“Good question. Like I said, smart boy. I might know something.”
Tito remained furious. “What do you want from us?”
Rath Dunn nodded slightly, like he approved of the question. “That’s why you’re good at math. You’re good at getting to the point. I have no use for you, though. I already possess that skill.”
Caden snorted. “You are hardly getting to the point.”
“You, though, son of Axel,” Rath Dunn said, and turned all his attention to Caden, “you may yet be useful. You have talents and information I don’t.”
“I must decline.”
Rath Dunn’s gaze lingered on Caden’s wounded arm. For a second, he seemed to be disappointed, and Caden again thought of how carefully Rath Dunn had saved his blood before encouraging him to die on the mountain.
Rath Dunn paced the room. “Axel would have had you gifted like your brothers. Let’s see,” he said. “Valon in leadership, Maden in strength.” He paused after each name like he was cataloging Caden’s response, like he was seeking answers to some question. He continued. “Lucian in stealth, Martin in accuracy, Landon in fortitude, Chadwin in agility.”
Caden flinched at Chadwin’s name, at the memory of him pale and lifeless on a stone bier, and his throat felt tight. “My brothers are none of your business,” he forced out.
Rath Dunn continued as if he’d learned what he needed. “And Jasan—favored seventh son—gifted in speed . . . and more.”