Chapter Eleven Claire
Too timid for a classroom, let alone a dragon. Needs more at-home instruction.
—Proctor’s remarks regarding slayer aptitude examinee Micah Estellio
Chapter Eleven
Claire
Abel’s expression shutters.
“No,” he protests. “The prospect of a cure didn’t get Madame Afi kidnapped.”
“You said it yourself. Why murder a town full of slayers only to pass a lead to you?” I reply. “Because it’s not about killing Hanna’s dragon. It’s about finding you. The extortion is meant to ensure your next location. They want to stop your knowledge from spreading.”
Abel and Lyle fall quiet. I cross my arms, pretending to surveil Jordes again. The less I say, the more likely Abel is to fill the silence with facts about his findings—and whether curing Hanna’s dragon is feasible.
Lyle points to the dragon-skull helmet.
“Is that Micah’s?” he asks quietly.
I nearly faint.
“It is,” Abel replies. A cold look befalls his face, and in a horrifying instant I see him in a newer, darker light.
Micah—his brother—isn’t cured, nor waiting for Abel to find a cure.
Abel is hunting again because Micah is dead.
That’s what awaits me if there’s no cure. I wouldn’t get a proper burial. I’d be a tally on Abel’s record, bones on display to restore dignity to the Estellio name. My skull would be the legacy he passes down to his children. It’s the slayer way.
Vomit burns my throat as Abel offers the skull to Lyle, who places a palm between the horns and releases a mournful sigh.
“My sincerest condolences,” he says. He tilts the skull to one side so the hairline fracture running up from the left eye socket is clear. “How did you cause this fracture? Dragon bones are nearly impossible to break. Ma has to grind them down.”
“All I know is that my experiments made him weak,” Abel replies.
Lyle frowns. “What’s in that journal, Abel?”
He stares with icy eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
This confirms he made breakthroughs with his research, but to what extent? If he was on the brink of a cure when his brother died, there’s still hope for me. I need to read that journal for myself—before my competition gets their hands on it.
Lyle’s predicament can help me do that.
I lift Lucy to stop her from gnawing at my boots. “I have some thoughts on how to rescue your mother.”
“You do?” Lyle brightens with anticipation.
“You do?” Abel echoes skeptically.
“The bottom line is that Madame Afi’s abductors want Abel to hunt a dragon to Jardincourt. Whatever their ultimate goal for the journal is, my money says it’s an ambush,” I declare. “I suggest we go.”
“You want me to fall for their trap?” Abel asks.
“To a point.” I lift an instructing finger. “Unlike Ravinfort, Jardincourt is a big city with a large population. The culprits will use it to blend into the crowd, but it’s also the perfect place to use witnesses as our defense.”
“How does that help Ma?” Lyle asks.
“It buys time to inform the Gendarmerie and pass along the evidence. Put yourself in their shoes. If we travel separately, your mother’s abductors will assume their threat is working and Abel is none the wiser.”
“That will keep Madame Afi alive,” Abel realizes, “while I consult with the local marshal. I have to go to the station with Hanna’s information to locate the dragon anyway, so it’s a good cover.”
Better yet, while we’re in the city, I’m sure I can find a moment to read that journal. Not to mention it’s a promising place to find a sleep powder dealer, just in case my plan gets delayed through the next Ignition.
“We can rescue Ma, hunt the dragon, and get the gendarmes to investigate the assassins all at once!” Lyle slaps his knees. “Your girl is a genius, Abel.”
“More like a criminal mastermind,” Abel mumbles.
“Genius. Mastermind.” I stroke Lucy with a villainous grin. “Is there a difference?”
I’m just pleased that my criminal history can help someone besides myself for once. Papa would be proud of me.
“Let me take your mother’s hand,” Abel offers gently. “I’ll pass it along to the Gendarmerie.”
Lyle swallows hard but nods. His grip on the box lingers for a beat that tugs my heartstrings as I remember Papa’s broken body. He blinks rapidly as he lets go.
“I’m so sorry for lying,” Lyle says, glancing between us. “Will you forgive me?”
“Your mother’s life is at risk. I can’t blame you for panicking,” Abel replies. “What matters now is that we can rescue her.”
Lyle nods, sagging with relief.
“One last thing before we part.” Abel withdraws the mask and sickle from his pack. “I took this weapon”—he glances at me, then Lyle—“from an otherwise occupied attacker. Do you recognize the handiwork?”
The reminder of attacking that woman makes me squirm inside, but hugging Lucy helps me hide it.
“Looks just like the one they held to my throat.” Lyle turns the sickle over in his callused hands. “There’s no smith’s brand, so I can’t tell you who made it. I don’t even know how to forge this style of weapon.”
“You haven’t forged anything similar?” I ask.
“Dragon hide is too thick for weapons swung with flicking motions. My designs puncture. But if I had to guess, I’d say this weapon is designed to disembowel or behead humans.”
“Another clue for the Gendarmerie, then,” Abel replies.
“I’ll send a dove to Abigail Payen,” Lyle says, confidence returning to his posture. “She’s the marshal in Varsonne. Ma was abducted there, so she’ll want to know everything we’ve discovered.”
“Send a dove to the station in Jardincourt, too. That way their marshal will expect us.”
“Consider it done.”
“Then we’re finished here,” I say, eager to move on. “Find transportation to Jardincourt as soon as you can. We’ll find a way to reestablish communication there.”
Cradling Lucy like the impatient baby she is, I start for the river, where the fisherman appears to be packing up to leave.
“Mademoiselle?” Lyle prompts.
I turn, dreading another complication. “Yes?”
“Thank you for helping me. You’ve given Ma a fighting chance.”
I blink, then nod. “Of course, monsieur. Safe travels.”
We bid Lyle farewell. He enters the aviary, where through the window, I watch him scrawl out the messages. The yawning postman moves too slowly for my comfort, but he eventually releases the doves.
With all of that out of the way—and Lucy warm in my arms—the tension in my shoulders eases. I’m back in control of my con.
“Let’s talk to the fisherman.” I wink at Abel. “I imagine I can sweet-talk him into a ride.”
“You don’t have to accompany me for this. Like I said before, I can send a dove once I’m finished.”
“Please. As if you’d last without me.” I lean close to his ear and whisper, “Maybe you’ll need another bout of survival.”
He clears his throat, nice and properly flustered.
I need the act. I need the bravado. I need him to trust me enough to protect him until that journal can tell me whether a cure is worth pursuing, once and for all.
“You were right,” he says suddenly.
I pause mid-wave at the fisherman. “What?”
“You were right to suspect something was off with Lyle.”
“Obviously. What did he do that made you believe me?”
“Lyle is a cutthroat businessman. He doesn’t give out his work for free. If it hadn’t been for you, that interaction could’ve sent me into a trap unawares.” The icy stare returns to his blue eyes. “Lesson learned. I won’t dismiss your warnings anymore.”