Page 31 of The Teacup Dragon Sanctuary

Portia had been intent on rebuilding the reputation of the Starlings.

But the Academy clearly had other ideas.

12

The official term was a suspension pending a further review. There was no sign when that review might take place. It wasn’t quite being sacked. It wasn’t really anything. It was a way of fobbing her off, of delaying things, of casting her into a purgatory where the only real way out of it was to resign and have done with them. That was clearly what they were hoping for. That she would give up and walk away.

Portia clenched her teeth as she read it again. The cover letter was painfully polite. The rest of it, all the documentation, the minutes of the meeting of the council, the statements from the crown representative, the accusation of wilful and careless use of magic, of turning it against another, the hints of assault and theft…

Milo had spoken on her behalf – a risk for him, she knew that all too well. He didn’t have the protection of being from a noble family. All he had to his name was his magical abilities and his skill at navigating academic politics. He had been using every ounce of that, she could tell.

But ultimately, they had told him to continue the research on his own and promised him full credit for everything so far. Her name would be removed from their papers but he would be allowed to continue, and he would take all the glory allotted to them both. Their work would become his. A bribe.

He didn’t have a choice but to agree, did he?

Portia chewed on her lower lip and tried to push down the sense of injustice. They had cornered him really. How far was he willing to go to support her? She would never have asked him to give up his entire career on her behalf. He needed this. If he failed, he’d ruin his parents.

Someone had known that and used it against them both.

His letter was altogether more sombre and every line bled devastation. He’d let her down, he said. He would try to keep fighting, or find some way to clear her name. He’d still send her their findings and try to get her the credit she deserved. He promised.

Milo was good at promises, Seb had once said. Not so much at following through. Portia had chided him at the time, called that unfair. But right now… maybe he was right.

‘Well,’ she said to Ophelia, once she had finished. ‘That’s that then.’

Her eyes were burning but there was nothing she could do about it. Absolutely nothing.

Ophelia wrapped her arms around Portia and held her, but didn’t speak. She had no idea how long they stayed there, in silence, and she wasn’t sure she really wanted it to end.

Finally, Portia pulled back. Later. She would deal with this later. She would lock herself away and weep until there were no tears to shed. But not in front of her little sister.

‘I have work to do,’ she said, and found her voice unexpectedly hoarse.

‘We’re here for you,’ said Ophelia. ‘You know that, don’t you? You don’t have to go through this alone.’

For a moment she started to wobble. But there wasn’t time for that, was there? She had never dealt with sympathy well, especially not from her siblings. Portia pasted her bravest smile on her face. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s better to know, isn’t it?’

For once, Ophelia didn’t sound entirely sure. ‘But maybe⁠—’

‘Maybe,’ she conceded before her sister could come up with more dreams that would never come true. Ophelia always wanted to believe the best. And for a while, so had Portia.

But she should have known. After her parents. After Seb.

She should have known.

She turned her attention to the book, trying to read her uncle’s scrawl as her vision blurred with unshed tears. Ophelia squeezed her shoulder and then slipped from the room.

Art’s book was an education and a frustration all rolled into one, but Portia had to admit, it was exactly what she needed to take her mind off her troubles. She lost herself in it and was grateful to do so. Because sooner or later she was going to have to pull her head out of it and face the rest of her family and the evidence of her abject failure.

Not only had she made a mess of the dragon-scale balm recipe, and endangered all the teacup dragons in the sanctuary, she’d lost the one thing she had strived for since she was a child, a chance to redeem their family name.

It might not matter to the others, but it had mattered to her. And now it was gone.

A knock at the door pulled her out of her thoughts and she realised that the sun had set and the room had grown dark. At some point she’d kindled a ball of witchlight by her shoulder but she didn’t really remember doing it. Just something to let her keep reading. Instinct.

And what had she found so far? Nothing of use.

Noah stood in the doorway, holding a covered tray like the most unlikely waiter imaginable.