“Anyway,” she says, holding it out to me, “I found something interesting in the library yesterday evening, while you were…ahem…resting platonicallyin the king’s bedroom.”
“Nothing happened,” I say again, snatching the paper. “Let’s focus on this, please? Whatever it is.”
“It’s a passage I copied from an old text,” she informs me. “One that might explain the weird way your dragon seemed to be able to read Commander Gareth’s disposition. I even drew the diagram that was alongside that passage—feel free to marvel at my brilliant artistic abilities.”
Herbrilliantart is a vaguely human-shaped figure with a flame where its heart would be, curved lines emanating from it and stretching toward a sad-looking, stick figure dragon.
“Did you flash the librarian in order to get access to this text?” I ask her, teasingly.
“No; the princess guided me to what I needed, as it were.”
“…Princess Kestrel helped you?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure it was really her?”
“She’s really not that bad once you get to know her.”
“You’ve only known her for a few days,” I point out.
She shrugs. “We’ve bonded.”
“Over what? Your love of drinking and lack of artistic talent?” I hold up her crude drawing.
“And the fact that we’re both left-handed, too. What are the odds?”
I shoot her an unamused look. But truthfully, I know it’s not theworstthing if she’s actually getting closer to another member of the royal family. It’s also not all that surprising; Briar has always been better at winning people over than I am.
“Also, for the record, she’s very artistically talented,” Briar says, lifting up the beaded necklace she’s wearing. “She made this.”
“Onlyyoucould get that cold-hearted witch to give you gifts,” I say, wryly.
“I bet I can get her to give you one, too.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” I grumble. “But, back to more important matters...”
Briar falls silent while I read over her notes several times. Notes that discuss a talent that all divine dragons throughout history have been known to possess:fire-reading, it’s called. In this case, the ‘fire’ in question refers to the soul of a living being. Apparently, all divine dragons—even those without the full, magical ability to read minds—can tell at a glimpse what a creature’s primal, driving emotion or energy is. They see them as flames of all different colors and intensities.
“Kind of similar to the flames that once burned in the different kingdoms, right?” Briar says. “Those fires were once an indication of the overall energy of the empire. This is like that, but on a smaller, individual scale.”
I look through a parting in the trees, where I can see a small corner of the arena where Blight is. It’s been nearly a full day since I’ve seen her. It feels like it’s been longer. Toolong, maybe. So I don’t hesitate to say, “…I’ll speak with Blight about it later.”
“Do you think she’ll give you any answers?”
Weeks ago, it would have been the last thing that ever occurred to me—going to a dragon for answers. Trying to get it to cooperatewith me.
Now, it seems like the only path forward.
And I’m surprised to realize it’s a path I’m not entirely reluctant to walk, even though I have no idea where it might lead.
I take a deep breath and give Briar a small smile, trying to appear much more confident than I actually feel. “I guess I’ll find out, won’t I?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
It feels different every time I approach Blight here lately. This time, I’m greeted with the tiniest bit of warmth, though it pulls back almost immediately after it hits—as if she’s happy to see me, but she doesn’t want to show it.
Maybe she missed the routine of our usual training.
