Page 32 of The Discount Damsel

Apparently each of these things could be addressed in the workroom, since he’d disappeared through that trapdoor each time. From what she’d gleaned of Bradley Donmarin, Mister Prim, Proper, Pole Up His Ass, he was not in the habit of keeping snacks up there or allowing the dragon to fly willy nilly and risk breaking his master’s sorcerous bits and bobs, and he certainly wouldn’t let Dirk use a scrying bowl for a chamber pot, no matter how dire the circumstances. He was, apparently, in the habit of employing the little dragon as his spy, though.

Not that she blamed Dirk in the least. That, she reserved entirely for the sorcerer apprentice.

“Pfft.” Dirk flicked his tail and floated down to the next landing. “I think we can keep the discovery of the ivory comb between us. Now, if you happen to unearth another plaid skirt, then I will be ratting you out immediately. He seemed quite envious over that one. Mentioned something about missing kilts. Millie?”

Though she’d chuckled at his joke, she hadn’t followed him to the next room. In fact, she leaned against the tower wall and clutched the guide rope.

“I-I think I might be the one in need of a break,” she admitted and wiped at her brow again. Her fingers came away equally crusty and damp. “It’s come on quite suddenly, but I’m rather light-headed.”

And very hot. Her vision was a mite fuzzy around the edges, too. Dimly, she wondered if she’d stumbled so frequently in the last room as a result of the gloom or decreased motor function. Also dimly, she wondered if it wasn’t only her anger that had been making her so blasted hot.

The baby dragon was at her side in a moment, golden eyes wavering over her face. “You look really pale. We should get you upstairs. Bradley will know what to do.”

She meant to wave that awful suggestion away and pitched forward instead, her hand slipping free of the guide rope.

Dirk caught her, just barely, and manhandled her into the alcove of the nearest door. Then he flew up the tower as fast as he could, hollering, “Bradley! There’s something wrong with my princess!”

CHAPTER 14

LET’S NOT GET NAKED AND A SALTY ORANGE JUICE RESCUE

The sorcerer apprentice looked up from the three books he was reading simultaneously—including Small Magicks, which was once again in the safety of the workroom, lest the “war” the princess had announced they were embroiled in entailed property destruction as a tactic. Was that the cry of a desert hawk? Curious that, for they never flew close to the tower due to the dragon.

Bradley rose and padded over to the nearest balcony, glad for the distraction. Small Magicks was actually a compendium written by many different authors in three different languages—Commons, Tradertongue, and Sino. All had been required learning at the College, in addition to High Aetherial, but Bradley still found Sino rather tricky. A single character could have one of four meanings, and only its context within the sentence revealed to you which one it was. The reading was always slow, yet the Sino authors always wrote the most fantastical tales, so it was worth the time. Time that was not on the apprentice’s side.

Leaning over the balcony railing, Bradley strained his ears and eyes but caught no sight of the hawk or a griffin arriving ahead of schedule. A check on Sir Eustace Zonure found the little man in a striped bathing costume practicing some hot yoga. A glass that resembled a fish bowl on a stem was wedged into the sand nearby and filled with something orange and fragrant with citrus. Caelus’s Stars, were those ice cubes floating around in there? How did he get the ingredients for a margarita in the desert?

That faraway cry sounded again. Bradley lifted his gaze from the bemusing sight to the dunes and the heat specters writhing there. Small Magicks had just revealed to him the presence of djinn, and while sources couldn’t agree whether they were demonic spirits or tortured souls, they could agree they were anchored to purgatory in the sand with the ability to grant you your heart’s desire if they were freed from captivity. Until such a time, they would wail incessantly.

Was that what these heat specters truly were, just obscured from normal sight via mirage? And was your heart’s desire worth the cost of their freedom? Something had damned them for a reason, after all.

Bradley frowned. He couldn’t remember any facts concerning the nature of wishes, if he’d read about them at all. In fact, he couldn’t remember a third of what he’d read today because his mind kept wandering to a certain someone and what she was doing to his tower.

“All of this is yours for the next six months, my boy,” Master Excelsior had said with a grand sweep of his arm. “Except the tower itself and the shrimps. Leave the masonry and those little ones be. They’re older than you are and deserve some peace. You are to take care of both during your stay. Do whatever you must with anything else you find to help you break this curse, and good luck, dear boy.”

Take care of the tower. Take care of the shrimps. Break your curse.

Ugh, Bradley should be watching the princess to make sure she wasn’t sticking chewing gum in any of the crystal crevices. Or saturating the stones with her perfume or terrorizing the shrimps in the spring. Or stealing any one of the priceless, albeit dusty, treasures.

Except watching her meant changing his routine (the horror) and sacrificing his own study time. Which had already been sabotaged enough, thank you very much, with his thoughts wandering to the princess loose in his tower. What was the point of having Dirk spy on her for him if he then wasted all this extra time worrying about what they were doing?

It wasn’t just his future profession on the line here, it was his entire life. The College Board would not let someone with his raw potential leave without taking the appropriate measures to ensure he wouldn’t go rogue or find an alternate (and forbidden) conduit for his magic and become corrupt. If he failed his exam, they would march Bradley into the Deamplification Chamber and strip him of his wild magic, like castrating a stallion unfit for breeding before releasing it back into the herd.

“Bradleeeey!”

The sorcerer apprentice whirled as the trapdoor burst open and a blue dragon flew into the workroom.

Dirk slammed into him, knocking him back a step. The claws of all four feet tangled into the apprentice’s homespun robe and yanked. “My princess,” the dragon wailed. “Something’s wrong with her!”

At the sight of those big fat tears in those frightened golden eyes, Bradley forgot about the war. Forgot his revulsion of Millie’s birthright and chosen profession. Forgot his irritation when she used the coffee maker as her tea distiller. He forgot everything but the need to help his friend.

“Go,” the apprentice barked.

The baby dragon hurriedly led the way, spiraling halfway down the tower before halting in a hover by a darkened threshold. Something pink slumped in the corner.

Bradley crouched and found Millie’s wrist to take her pulse. He could already tell from her clammy skin, the rapid shallow breathing, and the heat radiating from every pore that she was suffering from heat exhaustion and dehydration. Salt crusted in the long hair at her temples. When he tapped her cheek, she wouldn’t rouse.

“She needs water,” he signed.