Chapter 14 #3
I bite a large chunk of my cheek, blood’s copper tang on my tongue before the mechanism finally, grudgingly gives way.
The classroom is an echoing mausoleum at night.
I taste the boredom of the students in the air and in the gentle touch of my finger against the walls.
I follow the line of stone toward the back wall and the bookshelves there, counting them out in my head and rising on tiptoes until I reach the right shelf.
I haven’t had a chance to look at the book for a few days. I halfway wonder if Daisy catching me is the reason for the locked door.
“Nice overactive imagination,” I chide out loud. Using my voice as a lodestone. “What’s next? Ghosts coming out of walls?”
Probably.
The title glitters even in the gloom, like it’s waiting for me.
I grab it and set it aside on the nearest desk. Squinting in the shadows, I grab a few other books from the shelf, heading into a quiet corner to read.
The corner is far from the door. Anyone who walks by won’t see me because of the podium, which will hopefully disguise the glow of a candle.
No, no candles.
I shift directions, the podium still a perfect shield. The moonlight in this area will let me read without ruining my vision.
I pry open the book, stopping at the title page this time with a rush of emotion. There’s a handwritten note there I hadn’t seen the first time.
Property of:
The owner’s information is left blank but the scrawl is big and bold and black.
Sharply, I turn to the shelves. Not shelves, I realize now with a low moan. Cubbies. Each of them is marked with a gold placard I’d been too distracted to note before. I must have glossed over it.
I tilt my head to the side and flip through the first chapter. “Well. Whoever you are, don’t you know it’s a sin to write in a book this way?”
I hunch down, careful to make myself as small as possible. The scents of wax and ink, old paper and dust, keep me company as I read.
I have no idea whose cubby I stole from but whoever it was, their copious notes in the margins speak to an active and open mind.
Fun fact about hydras—they like to cuddle when tired and adore chin scritches but you have to give all three chins equal attention.
I huff out a laugh. “How did you figure this one out?”
I never wanted to get close enough to a hydra to know that. Does that make the owner of this book a hydra rider?
Dragons can see the intent of their rider and will only choose one whose ambitions match their own. This comes into play during battle formation and strategy.
I tuck the information away for consideration later. I’d heard of dragons communicating telepathically with their riders but to choose based on the same moral code and future goals?
“Strategy is right,” I whisper to the book. “What does it mean for the hearts of the dragon riders?”
Like Kieran? He’d been chosen by the black dragon. What are Kieran’s goals and ambitions? What part does he play on the battlefield besides death personified?
He’s nothing compared to the white monstrosity who killed my village in one gulp.
I skip ahead several chapters. The notes are surprisingly insightful when I actually take the time to read through them, forcing me to think outside of the small box of my past. I’d been taught in the village the same as the rest of the people there and given to understand that unicorns had almost no offensive tactics against dragons once the lizards go airborne.
Pegasus exists. Research suggests maybe 1 in 50 unicorns born have wings.
I stop, head tilting to the side. It may change things, right? If more herds had access to a Pegasus in their midst? Maybe not as a leader but one to present their opinions on wind conditions.
The notes get me thinking about the wrong things. Instinct becomes almost secondary to my curiosity and I grab a pen from one of the desks, clicking it open.
Expand on this, please. Where are you getting your research? Are there other books on ground vs aerial battles?
The author probably won’t see the note and I want to kick myself the second I’ve committed it to paper. What am I doing?
“Morgan, you’re nothing but a fool.” I tap the pen against my lips.
Being a fool doesn’t stop me from completing my thought on paper.
This text diminishes the advantage of land creatures in favor of the airborne. For instance, dragons are touted as being the most powerful and formidable mount, yet they are unable to breathe fire until they reach a certain specific maturity. This puts them at a disadvantage for many years.
I flip to the next passage and scrawl a response.
Have you also considered the way a unicorn horn is able to break through dragon armor? Not to mention the weight of said armor, only for it to prove ineffective should they get too close to a rampaging herd?
My hand cramps by the time I reach the final chapter, but every word burns like rebellion.
The texts diminish the advantages of land creatures versus expanding on the many opportunities their position grants.
I stuff the pen back where it belongs. The note will probably get me caught, anyway, but scorch it. I need to learn.
It’s a risk. Life is a risk.
I do it anyway.