Page 21 of The Infirmary for Dragon Burns and Midair Mishaps

Trading in dragon scales or using them for unsanctioned activities had always been considered a breach of the High Law—something that could get you imprisoned. But it had never sat right with me.

Because what resisted fire better than dragon scales?

I couldn’t think of anything, and the thought of Zander turning dragon scales into some sort of royalty-reserved fashion statement when they should be used for their protective properties bewildered me. Actually, it infuriated me. Why should only the royal garments be laden with scales?

If the king insisted on prancing around in his finery, showing off his scales like some crown jewel instead of ordering them to be used to enhance rider armor, then I’d just sort it myself.

I didn’t exactly know what I was going to do about increasing my dragon scale supply in Ember Ridge. Compared to the rider academy, there were fewer officials around who might spot me, but collecting those scales now meant venturing into the mountains where the dragons rested during their migration. That didn’t seem wise.

While Gunther’s invitation to live and work in Ember Ridge provided me with the privacy to craft my creations without the threat of the kingsguard breathing down my neck, it did create supply chain issues. Of course, there was always the draconic market. Like all forbidden things, an illegal trade of dragon scales funneled through cities close to the borders. They were mostly traded to lands without dragons, to be used in magic we had no understanding of here. If I wanted to pay a pretty price, I could have secured myself a consistent stream of materials from one of those traders. But experimenting was expensive, and I certainly couldn’t afford draconic market prices on a burn nurse’s salary.

No, I’d have to gather my scales the old-fashioned way. One at a time. Plucked from mountain nests. It was a dangerous business. I knew that. Yet, every time I stared into those dragon flames, I couldn’t help wondering if my father would still be alive if he’d had better armor.

Sure, maybe it wouldn’t have saved him in the end. Maybe the fire had burned too hot.

But as I thought of all those trainees at the rider academy—some of them practically children—I knew the risk of being caught with dragon scales was worth it. I bent down next to the bed, dragging a cloth pack into the candlelight. I untied it carefully, producing a contraption of metal wire that had been strung together to form a chestplate. Across the wires, I’d laid a thin strip of leather. And from the leather hung dozens of dragon scales in varying colors, each one tied with more wire and carefully stitched side-by-side.

I’d used mostly small scales for the project. It had been easier to collect the odd dragon scale at the academy when I could quickly hide it away in the pocket of my apron, though my sketches often called for larger scales to be used as shoulder coverings.

Maybe I’d be lucky to find some after the migration.

I ran my hand over the chestplate, the scales smooth and cool to the touch, and a measure of determination filled me, chasing away the last of my exhaustion. I returned to the desk and lit a second candle, unearthing the bag of scales I’d hidden from Nisse. I dumped them into a pile on the desk, picked up the roll of wire, and set to the task of building something to fight the flames.

8

EDEN

I woke to the sound of birdsong.

A pair of goldfinches twittered just outside the window, picking their way through the blackberry brambles, and I groaned, lifting my head off the desk. It felt as heavy as a sack of flour.

I rubbed my eyes, and pain sparked across my forehead. The candles had melted down to nubs, and cold wax stuck to the desk. I’d clearly fallen asleep sometime during the night with my head pressed against a pile of metal wire. I winced, hoping to soothe the ache with a massage, and as I blinked away the pain and the sleep fog, realization dawned.

The chestplate was complete!

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, the ache in my head forgotten as I picked the chestplate up from the cloak stand where I’d propped it. I ran my thumb over the smoothness of the dragon scales, admiring their sheen in the daylight.

It wasn’t perfect by any means. There were gaps in the armor where I’d run out of scales, and my sewing job wasn’t great in places, but it was my first solid prototype. I’d actually finished it.

I stood, holding the chestplate aloft. It was heavy enough that the muscles in my arms twinged, and sturdier than anything I’d ever seen a dragon rider wear.

At least, I hoped it was.

For this to truly be a success, it had to withstand a flame. I needed to test the prototype. My eyes darted back to the window, to the almost-private grounds surrounding the cottage. It was still early enough that most townsfolk would be tucked away in their beds. Plus, no one was expecting me at the infirmary. Not yet.

Barring some sort of medical emergency, the likelihood of anyone walking down the path to Bramble Cottage was slim. I laid the chestplate on my bed and scrambled out of my nightwear into a clean blouse and a long, pleated skirt. Perhaps it would have been wiser to wait until later—to use the cover of darkness to conduct my testing—but excitement rattled through my veins.

I didn’t want to wait. I twisted my hair into a knot at the base of my neck and strung a shawl over my shoulders in case it was chilly. Then I gathered up the chestplate and a box of matches and headed outside. Across the meadow, beyond the growth of wildflowers, was an old tree stump. It rose up between the brambles, rotted wood blackened like it had fallen victim to some sort of lightning strike.

I carried the chestplate to the stump and propped it up. Then I pulled the box of matches from my pocket, hesitating over the strike paper. I turned back to the cottage and collected a bucket of water.

Now I was ready.

I returned to the tree stump and struck a match, tossing it onto the armor. If the prototype was going to work, the armor needed to resist the flame. And for a moment, it did.

My heart thudded as I watched the flame of the match fizzle out. I prepared a second match, my heart racing in my chest. Had I actually done it?

Before I could get too excited, a thin, gray tendril of smoke rose from the chestplate like a taunting finger. Oh… no. The smoke sparked into a flame, small at first, but quickly licking up the side of the leather. The smoke was sickly sweet, burning an odd purple color. The same color as dragon’s blood.