Chapter 15
In history class the following morning, I could barely keep my eyes open as Professor Enplencourt droned on about the advancement of early draconarian techniques.
“The two brothers, after some experimentation, discovered the method by which to sever the nerve that feeds the flame duct,” she said, a smile lighting her olive-toned skin. “The death rate of young dragons plummeted, and the rate at which dragons bonded with humans exploded.” She lifted her arms.
“But so many dragons had to die before they figured it out,” Yvonne pointed out, tapping her pen against her paper, half-filled with notes.
“Indeed,” Enplencourt agreed, “but without their efforts, none of you would be bonded today.”
Yvonne shrugged and scribbled something on her paper.
“After their technique was confirmed as effective, it spread rapidly, and dragons were no longer the threat to our lifestyle that they had been before. It was their efforts that made the entire continent a safer place to live, and it was their discovery that brought Cavaria its initial power.” Our professor completed a circle around the room and paused, welcoming any further comments by spreading her hands before her.
When no one said anything, she cleared her throat, disappointment evident on her face.
“You were not admitted to this school to simply act as sponges. Speak! Debate! Surely someone here besides Miss Martin has an opinion. Let no one attempt to convince you that history is solely comprised of facts.” She planted her hands on her wide hips, scanning our faces.
“Miro, what do you think? You never speak.”
I jerked in my chair a little. “Um, I…” Snickers fluttered around the room. Vanya shot Scarlett a narrow glare. Success is your best weapon against them, Fairfax had said. I straightened my spine. “I’m curious what made the brothers think of cutting the flame ducts in the first place.”
Enplencourt’s head tilted in an approving way, but she lifted her hand to indicate she wanted someone else to join the discussion.
A boy from Sapphire laughed as his reply spilled out. “Why cut the flame duct? The dragons were decimating villages. Burning everything. Destroying entire harvests.”
Murmurs of agreement.
A glance at Enplencourt told me I was on my own to respond.
“Yes, but then why not just kill the dragons? They were the enemy.” I hated the idea of killing dragons, but it was what humanity always did—we just killed the things that threatened us.
The two brothers credited with discovering the flame duct solution had taken a different approach. I wanted to know why.
Horrified gasps filled the room. Then Covington leaned forward from his slouched position. “Because they could see the value in having a dragon that didn’t torch them.”
A few chuckles and nods from the other students.
I spun, elbow over the back of my chair so I could face him. “Sure. But what made them think it was possible to have a dragon without his flame?”
Covington’s brows flashed upward. “You never tried something just to see if it was possible?”
Prescott, who was sitting next to him, muttered, “House Ruby!” to a few hushed giggles and smiles from our housemates.
I rolled my eyes and faced the front once more. “Even now, we just kill the dragons deemed dangerous.” My heart was pounding as I thought of Myth, but I hoped my nervousness only looked like insecurity at speaking in class.
“Because the Crenshaw brothers discovered that cutting a dragon’s flame duct too late kills them anyway,” Mabel said, as if I’d made the stupidest possible statement.
Enplencourt, who’d strolled down the length of the classroom, clipped back to the blackboard. “Right you are, Miss Davenport. To drive this point home, I’ve arranged for a bit of show-and-tell today.”
She walked to the door, opened it, and leaned into the hall. “You may come in.”
A man wearing a suit and a thick leather glove strode into the room, a tiny green dragon perched on his arm.
Everyone gasped.
My exhaustion evaporated as my eyes fixed on the tiny creature.
“Wait, wait,” Enplencourt shouted, waving us back to our seats. “This dragon hatched two days ago. I’ve invited draconarian Holmstadt here today to perform the nerve-severing procedure for you all.”
Scarlett gagged and clapped a hand over her mouth. I glanced at Vanya, who’d turned a shade paler.
“Boys, help him set up.”
There was a folding table, a white tablecloth—which gave me the shivers—and a small rolled bundle of tools. When the man had everything laid out, the silver tips of sharp things poking out of his tool carrier made my stomach drop.
“Gather round, don’t be shy,” said the man. His voice was raspy, and he smelled like antiseptic.
We gathered around the small table. The tiny dragon hopped off the man’s arm and spun in little circles on the white cloth. I wanted to snatch him up and save him, but that might not go over well.
Pressed close behind me was Covington, who peered easily over my shoulder. Beside me, Vanya looped her arm into mine.
“It won’t hurt him,” said Enplencourt, sensing our tension. She clasped her hands at her chest and smiled at the little creature.
“First, the wintercress.” The man lifted a bottle, tipped a few drops of the sharp-smelling liquid onto a cloth.
He then gently trapped the baby dragon with one hand and placed the cloth over the dragon’s throat.
Within seconds, the dragon slumped against the table.
“At this dosage, it has the dual benefit of numbing the area and putting the little guy to sleep. See?” He lifted his hand, and the dragon didn’t move, but its tiny side moved up and down rapidly. The man reached for a pair of pliers.
I crushed Vanya’s arm against my side and turned my face away.
“I can’t watch this,” Scarlett said, storming from the room.
I considered leaving too, but Covington blocked me in. So I settled for pinching my eyes shut. After an agonizingly long time, the man spoke.
“There. It’s done.”
My eyes popped open. The little dragon was still breathing quietly on the table. A tiny slit under his chin, no longer than my littlest fingernail, was the only sign anything had been done to him.
Vanya dry heaved and rushed from the room. Finally, I was able to step away from Covington’s looming presence.
“He’s fine,” Enplencourt said, a note of annoyance in her tone. She scooped up the limp green form and held it close to her chest, swaying gently.
I almost laughed. Her stern demeanor evaporated as she smiled down at the baby dragon.
“And now he will be able to bond with a human. He won’t be able to kill us, destroy farmland, or burn down neighborhoods. What took only minutes to perform, and did not harm him at all, makes this creature a friend rather than a foe,” said the draconarian.
“But if the procedure happens too late, it does kill the dragon,” I added, carefully. Behind me, Covington coughed quietly. Mabel and Yvonne had moved toward Enplencourt to coo over the sleeping dragon.
“That’s correct,” the draconarian replied as he cleaned his tool with alcohol and returned it to its place.
“The flame duct as well as the nerve that controls it run parallel to other important vasculature, including the jugular vein. After one week, the nerve fuses to the side of this vein, and after two weeks, the nerve itself is so intricately connected to the center in the brain where a dragon’s fire is controlled that to sever it is to render a dragon brain-dead. ”
My eyes were on the small, sleeping dragon, his long neck slumped over Enplencourt’s arm. “Interesting how their flame is woven so deeply into who they are that it kills them to take it from them.”
“Only if you wait too long,” mumbled Mabel, who looked at the draconarian like he’d just saved the little dragon’s life.
“It’s a fascinating thing, really,” he said, rolling up his tools. “After that point, the tools we currently have are simply not effective to perform the procedure. But research is being done to remedy this.”
“How?” Clarence asked.
The man continued packing up as he answered, “There are research labs working with older dragons.”
“Where do the older dragons come from?” Clarence pressed.
“They are bred for research, mostly. But occasionally we catch wild dragons to experiment on. Much harder, you see, to do proper research on them.”
I let out a dry laugh. The man snapped a wry look at me and strode over to Enplencourt.
“When will he wake up?” Mabel asked, stroking the little dragon’s back.
“Within the hour,” answered the man.
“Are you going to keep him?” Mabel asked Professor Enplencourt, her voice hopeful.
Enplencourt sputtered. “I…ah, well. I hadn’t thought…”
I’d never seen her flustered before. Mabel turned to the draconarian. “Can she, please? He could teach us so much about the life cycle of dragons.”
“Clever idea, but the little dragon has a life of research ahead of him. Well, he’ll be participating rather than conducting it.” He chuckled at his words, but no one else did. Research sounded a lot like a nice word for torture.
Enplencourt’s head snapped up from where she’d been staring at the dragon. She fixed her small dark eyes on the man. “Is a classroom full of students eager to learn about dragons not valid enough research for this handsome young creature to participate in?”
The man recoiled slightly at the venom in her words. “Well, if the school would like the dragon for study, I’d be happy to leave him with you,” said the draconarian with a firm nod. “He was bred for study, as it were.”
Enplencourt’s sour expression faded into a beguiling smile. “If it really isn’t too much to ask?”
“Not at all.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Back when I was a student here, the headmaster kept a pair of young dragons. They were always scampering down the halls and getting into trouble. Left a rat in the girls’ dormitory once.” He chuckled at old memories.