I shoot him a look. “I'm not deaf, Chad. Just efficient. What's the body count?”
“Minor injuries, no deaths. Gate wards held.”
I lean back. “Clearbloods are just poking at us. Testing reaction times, defenses. The top dogs obviously still suspect we’re hoardingtheir dragon, so they aren’t risking a full-on assault yet. They’ll keep picking at covens, but it’s all feints, not real warfare yet.”
He shakes his head. “We can’t bank on their ignorance forever. They’ll realize there’s no dragon stash soon. That’s why we need to hammer these trials.”
I set the mug down so hard it rattles the table. “Seriously? What’s so sacred about these trials when I’m busting my ass to crack Draethys’ gate? If I figure out how to get that dragon and drag Esme back, not even you will be talking about my ritual score.”
“The trials are nonnegotiable, with or without the dragon,” Chad says. “And even if we track him down, who says that’ll help us? He could be back in Draethys by now, with Esme just—” He stops himself.
The air between us crystallizes. His mouth forms an apology I don't believe.
“You think she's dead,” I whisper, the words like glass in my throat.
His fingers trace the stubble along his jaw. “Well, he didn't kill her immediately.”
My fingers clench the ceramic mug, blood draining from my knuckles as I imagine the satisfying arc the scalding liquid would make across his face. “Wow, Chad. Did you practice that little ray of sunshine in the mirror this morning? 'How to comfort the girl whose sister was kidnapped by a mythological flamebreather, chapter one.'”
He has the decency to wince. “Brynn, that's not what I meant.”
“Save it.” I snap my gaze back to the vague map I've been piecing together from a dozen different texts. “Esme's not dead. She's too stubborn to die. And unlike you, I'm actually doing something about it instead of quoting coven platitudes about trials and tradition.”
His silence is a heavy weight behind me. Good. Let him feel uncomfortable. It’s better than the gnawing emptiness of Esme’s absence. I jab a finger at a faded rune on the parchment. “She's alive. And I'm going to get her back.”
He nods at the ancient tomes. “So… any closer to Draethys?”
I let out a slow breath. “Not yet.”
Chad's teeth click together. “Not. Yet.” He sighs in that slow, condescending way that makes me want to stab him with my pen. “So when Corvin gets back here with zilch to show for it, I'm supposed to be like, 'Hey boss, good news, we've accomplished exactly nothing either.'”
“You hovering and bitching isn't exactly helping.”
“Like I haven't tried to help? Some of us aren't built for this dusty crap.”
“Got any better ideas, genius?”
Chad stretches, his uniform jacket pulling tight across shoulders that could probably bench-press me without breaking a sweat. Not that I notice. Much.
“Thought you'd never ask,” he says with that smug little half-smile. “Another training session. Cross off another ritual. Give Corvin one less thing to lose it over.”
“Counter-offer,” I say, pointing to a stack of ancient leather-bound journals that smell like death and secrets. “You could actually make yourself useful with those.”
His eyes follow my finger. “And those are...?”
“Hedder's diaries. The woman documented everything. Those cover the decade after the dragons ghosted everyone.”
“What have you been reading all this time?”
“The decade before. Hedder tracked dragons retreating from battles where they were getting their hides kicked. She sent scouts after them. I've got possible locations, but if you help with her later notes, we might actually find something concrete.”
Chad frowns. “Since when am I your research assistant?”
“I figured you could at least read,” I say. “Unless that's giving you too much credit? Because that would explain so much.”
“Cute.” His voice is flat, but I see that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Fine. What exactly am I looking for?”
I slide my notes across the table, trying not to look too damn pleased with myself. Anything beats going back to the training hall for a round of “let's-make-Brynn-experience-someone's-horrific-death-through-blood-magic.”Yeah, no. Already died emotionally this year.
