28. Invisible walls
28
INVISIBLE WALLS
Normally, the Silver Herald would’ve docked at a private berth used by the college, but the change in entry procedures had complicated matters. The liner had been forced to dock at the main port. A carriage transported each candidate to the college separately as they were cleared for entry.
It rained the entire time, this being a day when the never-ending storm surrounding Mount Yagra spilled over its borders. The lightning made a stunning introduction to the city. The thunder echoed, often mixed with dragon roars.
Yagra’hai was “the City of Dragons,” but it more realistically resembled a massive collection of palaces, towers, lairs, and warrens, each one stocked with its own draconic royalty. A thousand individual fiefs of various sizes, each ruled by its own dragon. The dragons themselves were ruled by a council of the oldest and wisest. Above them all, the First Dragon, a title handed down from one dragon to another since Eannis herself. Dragons often lived elsewhere—the crèches in each of the Seven Crests mountains, for example—but sooner or later, they all came back to Yagra’hai.
Unlike Seven Crests, whose cities nestled against mountainsides, Yagra’hai was built on top of the mountain itself, a gigantic, chaotic sculpture of ever-changing architectural elements and geographic features. There was no preparing a human for Yagra’hai—the scale of the place, the overwhelming clash of it.
And, of course, the dragons.
Dragons everywhere. You couldn’t look up at the sky or across the city or at any building in sight without spotting a dragon. Some wore the decorated and jeweled harnesses of dragons with riders, but many did not. They were all colors and sizes, which was also true of their lairs. Dragons preferred those larger and higher, except for those occasions where a dragon insisted on living in a cave with no view at all. Anahrod never had figured out how dragon logic worked.
Yagra’hai, its architecture, and its dragons had always made Anahrod feel small and vulnerable.
Now it also made her feel hate.
“Eannis.” Gwydinion watched the storm wall fade into the distance from the carriage window with wide eyes. “That takes my breath.”
“That’s not the view,” Anahrod said. She was squeezed in between Sicaryon and the staff cook, whose name she’d never caught and who was guaranteed to be a spy for Belsaor. “It’s the altitude. The air’s thinner here than Seven Crests. We’ll need a few weeks to acclimate.” She glanced over at Sicaryon. “Maybe more.”
The Scarsea king looked miserable.
“With feathered quilts upon the resting bed, soft whispers of the night’s serene reprieve, take refuge here as weary souls are led to find in comfort’s arms no will to leave,” Kaibren said.
Claw crossed her arms over her chest petulantly. “I guess.”
Kaibren gave her an annoyed look and shoved an elbow into her side.
“Oh, fuck off. Fine.” She rolled her eyes and then said to Sicaryon, “He has an inscription that will help with that.”
Sicaryon pressed his lips together in a tight, unhappy line. “This wasn’t something you could’ve shared while we were still aboard the cutter?”
Kaibren patted Sicaryon’s head like he was a young boy.
“Eannis!” Gwydinion gasped. “Is that Neveranimas?”
Anahrod pulled the boy away from the carriage window. She saw a dragon illuminated by lightning in the distance.
The dragon was violet, with bright silver slashes that reflected the lightning in quicksilver stripes down her back. Her violet wings faded to silver at the tips. Another lightning strike lit up the gemstones in her platinum jewelry; her eyes glowed a matching, vivid purple.
Anahrod ducked back quickly.
“Nobody look out the window again,” Anahrod ordered.
Sicaryon said, “If you’re worried about her seeing us, that’s going to be a problem once we reach the school and have to exit the carriage.”
“She’s unlikely to approach school grounds,” Anahrod said. “Unseemly. Dragons are always accusing each other of trying to snatch up candidates early. She wouldn’t be immune.”
“No,” Naeron said.
“Is that a ‘no, she wouldn’t be immune’ or a ‘no, she can do whatever the hell she wants because she’s rearranged all the security’?” Claw asked irritably.
“First one,” Naeron elaborated.
“Some traditions are hard to shake,” Anahrod explained. “School’s sacred to Eannis, so it falls under the First Dragon’s domain.”
“But Neveranimas—” Gwydinion said.
“—is not the First Dragon,” Anahrod sourly corrected. “Even if she were, she doesn’t have a rider. The school is run by a rider named Varriguhl, who is”—she made a face—“retired.”
“Dragonriders can retire?” Gwydinion asked.
“Yes, when their dragon is Ivarion. The school is technically part of Ivarion’s dominion, and dragons don’t invade each other’s territory without permission.”
“—which Ivarion can’t give, because he’s asleep,” Gwydinion finished.
“And Varriguhl won’t give because he’s not a fool. Keep the curtains closed and you’ll be fine. Dragon eyesight is weird, but they can’t see through solid objects.”
Ironically, there were benefits to Neveranimas’s security measures, although this mountain would crumble to dust before Anahrod ever admitted that.
Her own first day at school had been a scene of unmitigated chaos. Nearly a riot, as students and entourages fought with each other, sometimes literally, under the mistaken impression that arrival order mattered. If any had taken the time to think the matter over, they’d have realized the idea was ridiculous. The school didn’t hand out apartments on a first-come, first-served basis. They’d never risk a candidate with a single valet claiming a space meant for a dozen people.
This time, arrivals had been delayed, so by the time one group arrived, the one before was already settling into their new dwellings. Admittedly, it robbed the event of all its grandeur, but there were a lot fewer bruises and hurt feelings.
The greeting area was nothing but three wide banners hanging from the announcement poles. A sad-looking attendant had set up shop under an awning to protect himself from the inclement weather. Unfortunately, the windblown rain fell at such a steep angle that the poor man had retreated to the one small square kept dry by the awning. The table and chair with which he checked in students had been abandoned to the rain, along with a quill pen and an inkpot.
Gwydinion gave the man a cheerful wave and rushed over to the banners while Anahrod helped the others unload. Provisions made up the bulk of their cargo. The school fed its candidates, of course, but only its candidates—along with one personal chaperone. Any additional staff would be given shelter, but the school refused any responsibility for their feeding. The nature of Yagra’hai being what it was, human food was often at a premium.
Most groups brought their own.
Lifting a single barrel left her with a blooming headache and the sense that she shouldn’t push herself. She was about to suggest leaving the lifting to the locals when Gwydinion tugged on her arm.
“Um, there’s a… there’s a problem.” His voice hitched. Evidently, there was a big problem.
“What is it?” She pulled her mantle up to block out the rain.
“I better show you,” he said.
Which he did. The problem was the assignment banners, which comprised a long list of names next to letters, each corresponding to apartments on a large map hanging from the center metal pole. The first thing Anahrod noticed was that Kimat was indeed Kimat Kelnaor on the official records. The second thing she noticed was an absence: the name “Gwydinion Doreyl.”
She went back over the list three times, but no. His name wasn’t listed.
Yes, a very big problem.
Anahrod stalked over to the attendant, who gave her sword an uneasy glance.
“Excuse me,” she called out, “but Gwydinion Doreyl’s quarter assignments aren’t listed.”
The man stared at her blankly. “What do you mean, it’s not listed?”
“Exactly as I said. Look yourself and tell me if you see his name anywhere.”
After searching the names on the banners, the man gave Anahrod an accusing look, as if she could be held personally accountable for this mess. He then huddled back as far under the awning as possible and retrieved an inconveniently large leather-bound book from under his mantle. He thumbed through the pages one-handed, balancing the large tome on his other forearm. He seemed ready to instantly close the book and conceal it under the mantle if needed.
“What did you say the name was again?”
“Gwydinion Doreyl.”
He didn’t seem to recognize the name. “Right. Gwydinion Doreyl, Gwydinion Doreyl—” He stopped, his expression now one of extreme agitation. “There must be a mistake.”
“On this, you and I agree.”
She couldn’t help but wonder if whoever was ultimately behind Kimat’s sabotage attempt had been so certain Gwydinion would be shipped directly to a monastery that they simply hadn’t bothered to assign him quarters.
That only made sense if someone at the school itself was responsible, however.
The attendant looked stricken. He shut the book with a loud slapping sound, tucked the heavy volume under his mantle, and left the shelter of the awning to study the map. He evidently didn’t care about keeping his own head dry as long as he kept the book safe.
Anahrod watched as he studied the map for a time. He started to point, evidently decided there was too much chance he’d drop his book, and instead said, “There’s the problem. You see that space below assignment block G? That shouldn’t be blank.”
She raised an eyebrow at him. “Those are student apartments?”
“Not new ones, but—” He glanced over toward the buildings in question, although she doubted the offending dwellings were visible from this angle. They were located so far back that they had to be dug into the mountainside—but that wasn’t a reason to leave them off the lists.
Of course, if the apartments were in need of repair, unfurnished, and unclean, they might’ve been left off for good reason. They might have been damaged in a rampant dragon attack, rendered structurally unsafe. And given their unfortunate location, if they had been made ready, they would never have been assigned to the child of a Seven Crests mayor. Yagra’hai was under no obligation to give the elites of Seven Crests any special privileges, but in the interest of diplomacy usually did anyway.
“An unfortunate oversight?” Anahrod suggested, less because she thought it true than to throw the man a rope.
He was quick to catch it. “Must’ve been, yes.” He started to reach for the sopping-wet feather quill before common sense caught up to him. He audibly sighed. “I’m so sorry about this. I’m going to have to send the paperwork after you, but you’re assigned to G8 and I will mark that down. I will also send word to housekeeping that they need to make the quarters ready for tonight.”
Anahrod knew the man couldn’t see her scowl, but her body posture had still conveyed the basic idea. “And if someone gives us trouble?” If someone caused a problem—a certain someone named Kimat, for example—she’d have nothing to prove they weren’t interlopers.
“Tell them to talk to Administration. It’s that building there”—he pointed—“and speak to Madinagh Brower.”
Anahrod gave the man a terse nod. “Thank you.”
“Of course. I am so sorry about the confusion.”
As she turned to walk away, he suddenly yelled out, “Wait!”
She turned back. Everyone else raised their heads as well.
“I almost forgot!” The man shifted the book under his mantle in a nervous gesture. “Since everyone’s arriving at different times and there’s the whole dragon security thing, Headmaster Varriguhl has kindly agreed to move orientation until tomorrow.”
“Wondered about that. Nice of him.”
“Yes.” He smiled as brightly as she’d seen yet, which was to say, neither widely nor sincerely. “So. Tomorrow morning, at five bells, in the main lecture hall on campus. Attendance is mandatory.” He glanced past her, presumably toward everyone else. “Just the candidate and one guardian. Everyone else may sleep in.”
“Gracious of him,” Anahrod ground out. She’d forgotten the old bastard’s love of making everyone wake at unreasonable hours. She suspected he thought it was character-building. “Thanks for the warning.”
She rejoined the others and relayed instructions to have the hired local deliver their supplies. She wanted her people—
When had they become her people?
She shied from that thought. She wanted them out of the rain as soon as possible.
The last thing they needed was to delay the entire job because half the team had caught a damn cold.