Page 167 of The Discount Damsel

Pocket placed her hand on Millie’s shoulder, and the pirate princess covered it with her own. “You got this.”

“Of course we do.” Millie smiled. “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

“Nah, I don’t do water, remember?” The pickpocket grinned. “Besides, this place is a pickpocket’s dream. I can’t wait to explore some more. And then I’m going to teach that bookworm how to play strip poker.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Does Duncan know this?”

“Guess he’ll find out when we start playing.” Pocket winked.

Millie giggled, gave the cat one last snuggle, and set her down on the landing. The cat yawned and began her stately trot down the stairs, the plume of her white tail tall and important. The princess checked her person one last time to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything—hairpin, letter opener in her bosom, cutlass on her hip, sturdy boots, floral blouse, loose capri pants of lightweight linen, a sunhat threaded with a sunflower scarf knotted under her chin. Good to go.

Retrieving the knapsack and the massive suitcase she’d packed last night from their position beside the door, Millie set out for the kitchen.

Dirk was already there, rummaging through all the new supplies. “Aww, she brought me lychees!” He snacked on the succulent, sweet fruit as the two of them portioned out tea, rice, beans, salt, sachets of herbs, jam, cheese, scones, and other such staples, plus half the remaining teacakes, of course. They packaged it all into a picnic basket, along with plenty of rice paper and the edible ink.

The luck dragon carried the basket and the waterskins on the wind behind him and had the easy job of excavating both the dune skiff and Sir Eustace’s tent, which was buried under five feet of sand. Millie had the harder job of convincing the apprentice to abandon his sulk fest and join them.

She lifted the trapdoor and found the apprentice seated in the wreckage, shoulders slumped. Well, it was a far cry better than what he’d been last night—hollering loud enough for the stars to hear him and throwing everything he could get his hands on. In his lap, his hands rested on the gleaming lid of a cherrywood calligraphy case.

Millie dropped the suitcase and the knapsack on the only bare spot of floor remaining and perched her hands on her hips. “Time to go.”

He didn’t move. “Go where?”

“To the dragon library in Pierpont. Dirk’s getting the skiff ready so we can get to the edge of the desert all inconspicuous like, then he’ll fly us the rest of the way.”

Bradley looked up, the strands of sweaty, unwashed hair clinging to his face like seaweed. “What?”

Mutineer Millie wasn’t going to repeat herself. She was a woman of action, a woman who grabbed her bootstraps and yanked them up so fast and tight she risked giving herself tendonitis.

“I told you before: Dirk’s condition wasn’t something we were ignoring.”

“No, you two just chose to keep it from me.”

“Dirk made me promise to keep his secret, and you and I weren’t even friends, so I owe you nothing.”

“Not friends? Maybe when you made your promise, but we were after, and you still didn’t tell me. Not even after we almost—” He looked away.

The pull to drop her gaze to her feet was strong. As was the heat blooming on her cheeks. Everything had become so complicated.

Mutineer Millie swallowed and maintained her business-like attitude like it was armor. “I acknowledge you received a very raw deal, Mr. Donmarin⁠—”

They both winced.

“—which is why Dirk and I are inviting—insisting—you join us. Now is the best time to go to Pierpont, when the last surge of Heroes are still befuddled by the recent storms. Instead of waiting for them to arrive, we’ll put that time to good use in the library and find a way to fix his scales. And you need to come with us.”

“Need?” There was an edge to his voice, a little spark of the old Bradley who chafed at being pushed around or ordered to do anything.

“Yes, and I’ll tell you why. Dragons are magic, Mr. Donmarin. Magic made flesh. It’s a fact easily forgotten, but it’s still true. Dirk is too young to help you in the way you need. But in the dragon library, there’s someone who can. A sage.”

His face shuttered. “Why would another dragon help me when my own keeps secrets from me?”

She had to refrain from throwing up her hands. “Dirk is not your pet, Mr. Donmarin. He doesn’t have to share every thought in his head. And we’ll never know if a sage will help you unless we try. Remember, the Tisanes have excellent relations with the dragon community. There’s a good chance I can persuade the sage to assist you.”

“It’s a long shot.”

“Better a long shot than letting your ass rot on the floor.”

Miss Penelope had said something similar. Bradley glared up at the princess.