Page 72 of The Infirmary for Dragon Burns and Midair Mishaps

“I can’t say I’m surprised, but it still sounds awful,” I said, trying not to pry into the details. He would tell me when he was ready. If he even wanted to talk about it. “I’m sorry.”

Trystan stared at his roll, and I knew for a split second it probably tasted like ash. “He doesn’t want to continue until there’s an adequate number to get us back to the capital.”

I rubbed my face. Perfect. So the Wretch was officially our new neighbor. “How long does he expect that to take?”

Trystan shrugged. “Could be a few days, could be a few weeks. Depends on how fast the messenger rides.”

I released a breath that rattled my lips.

“What has you worried?” he asked.

“Besides the monstrous beast you have caged in a field right next to my town?” I quipped.

A puff of air escaped his lips. It wasn’t a laugh, simply an acknowledgment.

“It’s already turning into the wrong kind of tourist attraction,” I said. “We can’t have people this close. The children are poking around like it’s something to be explored. And I’m worried word will spread to neighboring towns. Pretty soon, we’ll have even more tourists flooding Ember Ridge, looking to see the Wretch for themselves.”

He released a heavy sigh. “I know it’s not ideal.”

“Ideal?” I snorted. “You need to set up some kind of perimeter. Now. Keep people from riling up the dragon. I think the last thing any of us wants is the Wretch actually testing its bindings.”

He nodded, stuffing the rest of the roll in his mouth. “I’ll talk to the captain about tightening security,” he said. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“Me neither.”

“Heard you had your own close call not long ago.”

I frowned at him. “How’d you already hear about that?”

“The town likes to talk about their favorite wrangler.”

“I’m their only wrangler.”

He shot me a grin. “Good thing you’re still their favorite then.”

I shoved at him, rolling my eyes. My hand slid against the metal of his armor, and he snickered. For a beat, it felt like we were kids again. Right down to the laughter.

Laughter?

I whipped around. The children from earlier had returned, now heckling the soldier Trystan had sent off on a perimeter check. He gestured in the direction of the Wretch, and the kids cheered, making their way toward the dragon.

“Stars above!” I swore, already moving in their direction. “What does he think he’s doing?”

“Grady!” Trystan bellowed across the field. “Get them back!”

But the soldier couldn’t hear us clearly as he led the boys toward the beast. Instead, he unsheathed his sword, giving one massive, scaly limb a poke through the bars of the cage.

The boys jumped up and down with excitement.

I started running. Trystan was faster.

Grady prodded the Wretch again to the encouragement of the boys, and suddenly a flash of blinding fire spiraled out the side of the dragon’s muzzle. It was red hot, like looking directly into the sun, and I threw my hands up to shield my eyes.

“Gah!” Trystan cried, doing the same.

The Wretch wheezed, a strangled screech dying in its throat. The muzzle choked it, keeping it at bay, but not fully. It had still managed to summon a scalding fireball.

I dropped my hands, and a gut-roiling smell filled the air. Grady. He’d been too close to the blast.