Chapter 5 Lysa #2
“She wanted to know about your gift, about what you can do that others can’t.” Maren’s hands kept twisting. “She came into the Teapot today, very casual, very friendly, asking if I knew the ‘talented young woman’ who saved the book-dragon.”
My stomach dropped. “What did you tell her?”
“Nothing important. Only your name, that you work here.” Maren’s expression darkened. “I didn’t like the way she smiled when I mentioned your name, Lysa. Like she’d confirmed something she suspected. Like you were a problem or something.”
“A problem,” I said.
“Who’s a problem?” Briony appeared in the doorway, flour dusting her nose and a half-eaten scone in her hand. “Is it Father? Because I told him the investment scheme involving the sentient mushrooms was a terrible idea, but does anyone listen to me? No. They do not.”
“What sentient mushrooms?”my voice came out strangled.
“The ones that supposedly predict gold mining fluctuations based on soil acidity.” She took another bite of scone. “He met a man at the pub who swore they’d made him rich.”
“They made him rich in mushrooms,” Maren muttered. “Which he then tried to sell me for tea ingredients. They screamed when I touched them.”
“They what?”
“Screamed. Very unpleasantly.” She shuddered. “I’ve never heard a fungus make that sound before. I hope to never hear it again.”
The infirmary door creaked again, and my father shuffled in, looking rumpled and slightly guilty in the way that meant he’d been caught doing something financially inadvisable. His eyes darted between us.
“Ah,” he said. “You’ve heard about the mushrooms.”
“Father.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please tell me you didn’t actually purchase screaming mushrooms from a stranger at a pub.”
“I didn’t purchase them.” A pause. “I traded for them.”
“Traded what?”
“Nothing important.” Another pause, longer this time. “The good copper pot.”
“The—“ Briony’s scone froze halfway to her mouth. “Father. That pot belonged to Mother.”
“Which is why I traded it for something that would save the family business!” He drew himself up. “The mushrooms were guaranteed to—“
“Scream,” Maren supplied helpfully. “They were guaranteed to scream.”
“They were guaranteed to revolutionise our financial capabilities!” He said. “The screaming was an unexpected feature.”
My ceramic dragons watched me from their shelves.
All fifty-three of them, I had arranged by colour and then by size, their painted eyes catching the candlelight.
I’d named them all. Ember and Frost and Whisperscale and dozens more, each one a small comfort I’d collected over the years when human company felt too fraught with danger.
They couldn’t judge me, and couldn’t fear what I might do to them.
The letter trembled in my grip. My hands had steadied somewhat since this afternoon, but a fine tremor still ran through my fingers, making the parchment rustle.
I am dying.
Below me, the argument had been building for an hour.
”—absolute lunacy, Briony, and I won’t hear another word about it!”
“You won’t hear another word? You’re the one who gambled away Mother’s copper pot on fungus that screams when you touch it!”
“That is entirely beside the point!”
“The point is that you’ve driven us so deep into debt that my sister has to marry a cursed stranger to dig us out!” Briony said. “And you’re acting as though this is some grand sacrifice you’re making, when really it’s her sacrifice, isn’t it? It’s always her sacrifice!”
A long pause.
“You think I don’t know that?” Father said. “You think I wanted this for her? She’s my daughter. My firstborn. She was supposed to have choices, Briony. Real ones. Not... not this.”
“Then why didn’t you make better ones?” Briony wasn’t shouting anymore either. That was worse. “Why did you let it get this bad?”
“Because I’m a coward.” The words came out blunt. “Because after your mother died, I couldn’t... I couldn’t face any of it properly. The business, the debts, any of it. I just kept thinking if I could find one good investment, one lucky break, it would all sort itself out and I wouldn’t have to—“
“Wouldn’t have to what?”
“Wouldn’t have to admit I’d failed her. Failed both of you.”
I pressed my palm against the cool wall, feeling the old plaster beneath my fingers. The wyrmling shifted on my bed, his amber eyes tracking my movement.
“Do you think he’s handsome?” Briony’s voice drifted up. “Lord Stormgarde, I mean. The rumours say he was, before the curse. Dark hair, grey eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass, and a cock to match—“
“Briony!” Father sounded scandalised.
“What? If my sister is going to marry a mysterious cursed lord in a crumbling manor, I’d at least like to know if she’ll enjoy looking at him while he’s taking her to bed!”
“That is entirely inappropriate—“
“You know what’s inappropriate? Screaming mushrooms. That’s inappropriate.”
The wyrmling made a soft sound, almost like laughter. I looked at him properly for the first time since bringing him upstairs. His scales had lost some of their sickly undertone. The silver markings along his spine pulsed with gentle light.
Well, shit. If I don’t go, father loses everything. And also Briony.
The ceramic dragons offered no counsel. Ember’s painted smile remained fixed. Frost’s tiny wings stayed folded.
If I do go... I thought of the letter’s desperate handwriting.
The moonflower pressed between the pages.
The way he’d written I am dying without flourish or self-pity, a simple fact.
Something stirred beneath my ribs. Hunger, whispered a voice that couldn’t be mine.
I crossed to my small writing desk. I only wrote Yes and sealed the letter before I could change my mind.
A few miles away, the Stormgarde Manor shuddered. Every door swung open on its hinges. The wards blazed gold along the walls, and the stones groaned. In his study, Fenrik Stormgarde looked up from his research.