Chapter 30
Thirty
- LYRA -
While there is a small sense of peace now that I’ve partnered with Marcella—in knowing I have an ally bound to me by magic—I can’t ignore the rest of the impending terror competing for my attention.
I’m a Seer. And at that, seeing things that don’t fit into the conventional categories.
Devin spoke of knowing my “illness”, and yet I don't know his motives or why he’s keeping quiet about it. Or if he even realizes the truth of what that illness is.
On top of that, there are less than two weeks until the next trial.
After a breakfast, where Moe finally rejoins our group with a cane, Lady Bethany leads us to a lecture hall for a lesson on dragon studies.
Once we take our seats in the stadium-style room, Lady Bethany assumes her position at the front raised stage.
Long, skinny stained-glass windows frame the area, scattering bursts of color along the stone floors.
The wall behind her has sconces adorning it, their flames flickering with a flame that is mostly orange and yellow.
But a glimmer of blue flashes in it every so often, before the flame flicks back to normal.
In the center of the lights is a massive slab of slate on the wall.
Lady Bethany walks to one of the sconces. “Do you all know what this is?” After a moment of silence, she says, “Dragonfire. And do you know how to tell?”
Aelia raises her hand, and once she’s approved by Lady Bethany, answers, “The hint of blue in the flame?”
Lady Bethany tilts her head. “Yes. But…” she grabs a stool and climbs it, then puffs a breath out on the closest flame.
It dances, but doesn’t extinguish. “You see, dragonfire, when bottled in a container that’s dragonfused, will stay lit, even under the windiest conditions.
Similarly, if you doused it in water, it would not go out. ”
“Does that mean it would stay lit even underwater?” someone behind us blurts out.
Lady Bethany narrows her eyes. “Yes, indeed it would. But Moe, must I remind you that in our first week here you were taught to raise your hand and be called upon before you speak?”
“Sorry…Lady Bethany…” Moe mumbles behind us.
An awkward silence falls upon the room.
Lady Bethany comes down from the stool and turns to the slate, finding a piece of white chalk and sketching out on it.
“Most elements have an expiration date, a lifespan, if you will. Dragonfire itself wouldn’t endlessly blaze.
While it is stronger than regular fire, it will eventually fizzle out.
Similarly with the running water here throughout the castle grounds, it’s all powered and maintained by dragonfused architecture. The gardens, too.”
I lean forward a touch at the mention of gardens. Since Cyrus had told me, every time I’ve strolled about the gardens I haven’t been able to help my immense awe at the fact he’s maintained it all. But now to know it might be in part due to magic…I’m slightly disappointed.
Lady Bethany drones on, “Anything dragonfused acts as a sort of magical balance to dragonfire, dragonwater, and dragonflora. A never-ending system that feeds from one into the other.”
My face drops as she continues to sketch.
My grandparents had been deeply ingrained in the creation of dragonblades.
Kilamber was the largest forge in the Dragon Lands, and my grandparents had gone on to tell me the process as a child.
When dragons died, their bones still housed magic.
As did their blood. Which was why when a dragon died, it was important for us to harvest their bodies.
My grandparents would be notified, and they’d trek across the Dragon Lands to retrieve the remains.
There was much controversy around it, with one half claiming it was a barbaric practice.
That the creatures should be left to rest in one single piece.
And others claim that once their souls left the earth and joined the afterlife, their bodies should be repurposed.
But not for harm. Not to turn in on the creatures themselves. Yet, as King Aaric had taken the throne, he corrupted the production of dragonblade.
It’s why the forge was closed. Why production of the dragonblades had stopped. There was an ensuing arms race for all of the blades that had been created, and the secrets as to how to imbue the magic into swords.
It's why my grandparents were murdered. Why my parents refused to partake in the forge. We turned to something less controversial. Making bread.
And yet…as I got older and the visions swarmed me, it proved that the forge was the least of our problems. My mother and father had arguments that perhaps reopening the forge would have been the best idea.
Because at least if we ran it on the black market, it would have created enough coin for us to fund my medicine.
My mother refused despite my father’s desperate pleading.
But when my mother began to lose herself to her own sanity, it became abundantly clear: we would abide by the laws, and suffer for it.
It would be a hard life, but it would be a true one.
While I might have been taught some tidbits of dragonblade imbuing by my grandparents, it was truly my mother who was their protégé.
But as her sanity wavered, we couldn’t risk it interfering with the proper way of imbuing.
Not properly doing so could be catastrophic, and not just for the imbuer—but for the whole surrounding town if the magic were to implode.
I clench my shaking hands into fists on my desk. The pounding returns to my head once more. Rather than stopping the shakes, they slip free. Spreading to my arms, my legs, my whole body. Flashes overtake me.
The river with two crosses.
I rest my brow onto my fists, closing my eyes as I work to retain my grip on this reality.
Birds flit through the canopy of leaves overhead. But everything turns darker. Something creeps through the shadowed forest beyond. Then that voice, “You cannot run from me.”
Stop, I beg. Stop, please.
“Lyra,” Marcella whispers, nudging my rib.
“Lyra?” Lady Bethany calls loudly, stopping in the middle of whatever she was saying.
I lift my pounding head, snapped back into this room as I force my eyes open to look at Lady Bethany.
“Were you saying something?” Her tone is accusatory. “As I told Moe, if you have something to say, you must wait until you’re called upon. This is the last interruption I’ll take today.”
Blinking, I shake my head, and she drops her hand to her side. “You were muttering something. What was it? Share it with us now.”
Swallowing under everyone’s attention, I grasp for the nearest innocent thing I can share. “But dragonblades can kill a dragon too, right?”
Lady Bethany’s eyes narrow. “Yes. Or weaken it. Depending on multiple factors, with the main one being if the dragon is part of a mated pair. Do you know why that is?”
I shake my head, and almost sigh in relief when she turns her back to resume sketching on the black slate with her chalk.
“Because mated pairs can exchange magic between them.” She draws a looping infinity sign on the wall and turns back to face us.
“It’s essential when it comes to mating dragons.
The males will usually funnel their magic into the females once breeding has begun, in order to ensure their offspring have the best chance at survival.
During and after the mating process is when males are usually most weak, and females at their strongest. Some of the dragon studies have led us to believe that females can even harbor this magic long after the eggs have hatched.
Some wild male dragons are left with only a fraction of their magic, or sometimes completely depleted, if their females don’t return it.
Which is why females tend to be the strongest, most magical of the species.
The more magic they harbor…” she slams a finger up to the dragon sketch on the wall. “…the harder they are to kill.”
“She studied dragon breeding,” Aelia whispers out the side of her mouth to me.
I flick her a quick look. “How do you know?”
When Aelia looks at me, Lady Bethany begins to walk down the stage steps to where we sit, and we all straighten. “Yes, Willow?”
We turn to look back at Willow, who lowers her hand. “How do you know if a dragon is mated or not?”
Lady Bethany walks back up to the slate.
Her chalk scratches lightly as she works.
When she finishes, she turns to us and points at marks on the nape.
“Mating marks are typically found on the back of the neck, though they can sometimes be lower down the spine. Once the female has been bitten, it takes some time for the wound to scar over. But once it’s there, it won’t disappear.
It creates a deep bond for the males, down to their souls.
Out of both sexes, the males tend to attach to their mates for life.
But the females tend to be a bit more finicky.
It’s not unheard of for females to mate with multiple males, amassing magic.
In turn, it makes the males more cautious to breed.
This is why dragon populations over the last several centuries have dwindled, then plummeted when Aaric took the southern half of the realm and put a kill order out on dragons. ”
I glance over at the sound of scrawling and do a double take when I see Marcella scribbling something.
Too afraid if Lady Bethany catches my attention elsewhere, I only allow myself quick side glances to try and make out what she’s writing.
Then, awkwardly, I pick up my own pen and begin to take notes on the paper we’ve been provided.
Partially wondering if I should have been taking some all along.
Marcella raises her hand, and after Lady Bethany nods, she asks, “So what you mean to say, is if a male dragon is mated and has transferred his magic, it’s easy to kill him with dragonblade? But if it’s a female post-mating, it’s likely even harder to kill her?”
“Precisely,” Lady Bethany answers, distaste only a frown away in her expression.
“But once the mating process has begun and the mated pairs’ pheromones and scents change, it’s best you not come between them.
Or challenge either of them. Males in particular are quite territorial as they greatly fixate on their partners.
They’re even more aggressive over their females than they are with their young, and the females more aggressive over their young than their males.
So your best bet at killing a dragon would be praying to the Gods it isn’t mated. ”
Marcella dips her head in conclusion and is back to scribbling something on her paper.
Lady Bethany’s eyes narrow. “Right then. Time for your test. Everyone will have an hour to complete…” she trails on as she moves about the stage, but I get lost on the drawing of the dragon behind her.
Specifically, the slitted pupils that seem to be staring back at me.