Chapter 86
MILLIE LOSES HER CUTLASS, A FROG AND HIS POTIONS, PERMISSION TO WHOOP SOME ASS GRANTED
“By all means, take all the time you need. Imminent danger is known for being patient,” Millie muttered as she cut left and right with her cutlass.
The sword had somehow become as heavy as a baby elephant—one she was slinging about by its trunk—and her arm, by the same twisted set of physics, had somehow dissolved into pudding.
While Bradley hovered all magically and mysteriously in the air above the raft, conversing in low tones with the almost-wyrm, she continued to race along the edge stabbing at the groupers.
“There is absolutely nothing about this situation that might encourage you to hurry the hells up! Crone’s Crooked Tits, if you delay any longer, even that spell will forget what it was meant to do!”
Silver magic burst from Bradley’s hands.
A gust of air followed, which normally would’ve rocked Millie back a small step to catch her balance, but which presently knocked her flat on her ass.
She bounced off the stone wall and slipped into the spring.
Mercifully, her hand tightened around the cutlass’s hilt so she wouldn’t lose it in the water.
The fish scattered, creating eddies in their wake that sucked at her legs and tried to pull her under.
She managed to catch hold of the wall and keep her head above the water where it belonged.
There, she stole a precious, awe-struck moment to witness the transformative power of the renovatio spell.
Blue scales and white feathers raced from all corners of the tower to converge on the little dragon.
The little dragon jerked as each scale and feather reattached itself, then again when his hide produced whatever it was missing to fill in the gaps.
His body regained its slink, and gold chased away the brown of his irises.
Horns and claws became like pearl once more, and silver ribbons of magic corkscrewed Dirk into the air for the final workings.
A grouper, unnoticed by human and dragon, launched out of the water. Its fat chin bashed the raft into the hovering sorcerer, catching him by surprise and knocking him out of the air. Lips parted and revealed serrated teeth poised to clamp down on Dirk’s tail and drag him below for luncheon.
With a cry, Millie kicked off the wall, leading with her cutlass. The blade slipped harmlessly through the fish’s gills, and her arm up to her elbow disappeared into the fish’s throat.
The giant fish panicked. Its gills snapped closed, and the fish dove to escape the threat.
Millie had enough sense to gulp a hasty breath before the fish yanked her below the surface.
“Millie!” Bradley shouted.
He sprang up from where he sprawled in the sand and raced over to the tower wall, chucking robe and spectacles as he went.
A magical blast could hurt her just as much as the fish, but a well-aimed strike of a harpoon would not.
The apprentice ripped the weapon out the stones and dove into the spring after her.
The princess thrashed like a worm on a hook, jabbing the grouper in the gills with her hairpin to release her arm.
Her unbound hair swished and swirled like kelp torn free of its roots during a storm.
Millie had once prided herself on her long, luscious locks, but if this inconvenience awaited her every time her hair got loose in the water, then she was making an appointment at the nearest salon posthaste.
Prick, prick, prick went her hairpin, tenacious like the bill of a woodpecker with a tasty morsel in sight.
The fish’s scales were too thick for her jabs to be considered any more than an annoyance, so she switched to her cinquedea letter opener.
That drew blood, but from the merest of scratches, and the grouper continued to dive.
Millie wasn’t one to waste her effort on a method that had proven itself inadequate, so she looked around for something that would make the grouper stop and pay attention. She spied Bradley through the swirling curtain of her hair, kicking furiously with the harpoon stretched out in front of him.
There was panic in his eyes, true fear. He hadn’t realized her arm was trapped in the fish’s gills.
If he killed it, the fish would sink in death and drag Millie down with it.
The only way to save her now was put on a burst of speed and get the harpoon in range for her to grab.
He’d have the strength to pull her free, he was sure of it.
Millie dropped the letter opener and snatched the harpoon’s hook.
And yanked it clean out of Bradley’s hand.
“No,” Bradley cried, a curtain of bubbles escaping from his mouth.
In one fluid motion, she rammed the harpoon into the fish’s eye.
The grouper went wild. It thrashed like its belly was full of stinging bees.
Fins flapped, lips labored, and gills gasped.
Millie jerked back her arm, but she couldn’t clear it and the cutlass.
The wriggling fish’s irregular gill rhythm made it impossible.
First she’d lost her letter opener for the harpoon, and now she was forced to relinquish her cutlass.
Cursing the fish, she released the hilt and made a panicked swim for the surface.
Piss and plagues, she was so far down she’d never make it.
Bradley caught hold of her wrist and pulled her close.
Millie fought, panicked that her movement was lateral and not vertical towards the sweet, life-giving air.
The apprentice avoided her strike and swept in close.
One arm snaked around her waist, the other hand cradled the back of her head.
His lips sealed against hers, firm and insistent.
At another time, she would have tangled her fingers into his hair and teased him with her tongue.
At such a time, he would have pulled her close and returned her teasing with an intensity that would’ve rendered her senseless.
As it happened, a rush of pleasure and relief flooded through her as Bradley donated some of the air out of his fisherman lungs.
It was a chivalrous gesture, but it wasn’t enough.
Millie felt his hands on her waist, pushing her up, but her consciousness started to flicker. Black spots peppered her vision. Her desperate stokes became sluggish even as her burning lungs urged to make one more effort for the surface. One more! One . . .
Something seized her legs.
Millie’s mind sharpened for an instant, hand jerking for her shiv hairpin. That fucking fish—
There was a shove, then the pressure of water moving fast around her threatened to knock her unconscious. Just as her lungs betrayed her, forcing her to gasp for breath or die, air poured into her.
Hot and tasting faintly of grit, it was the most glorious air she had ever inhaled. Full consciousness returned as she was laid softly into the sand.
“Millie?” came Dirk’s fearful but wonderfully youthful voice.
Coughing, Millie pushed back onto her knees and found the little luck dragon, whole and feathered and beautifully blue, hovering nearby. She yanked him into her arms. Almost as quickly, she pushed him away so she could look at him again. “Oh, Dirk! Oh you positively splen— But Bradley!”
His voice came from her left, hoarse and gravelly. “You were supposed to hold on to the harpoon and let me pull you free, Tula.”
She whirled towards his voice, long auburn tresses slinging whips of water.
Bradley, kneeling nearby in the sand, slitted his eyes against the liquidly assault. Then he gave her a shaky smile.
In a carefully curated, aloof tone, she replied, “I prefer rescuing myself.”
The apprentice’s smile was brief and fierce—a victory over the terror they had overcome. “Like no princess pirate I’ve ever seen.”
“Precisely.”
His gaze held hers, intensifying with something electric.
The moment vanished with a loud whoosh of air and a flash of multicolored light.
“It wasn’t me,” Dirk cried, flinging up his paws to shield his eyes.
It wasn’t anybody. The portal had appeared on its own. It resembled a simple doorway, arched at the top, and the air within it shimmered like sunlight caught in the dew of a spiderweb. If Bradley squinted, he could make out what looked like an amphitheater-style classroom on the other side.
“It will activate the moment your curse is lifted and bring you to the exam chamber,” Bradley whispered, recalling Miss Penelope’s words.
Millie crawled over the sand to his side, lifting one of his large hands with her own and turning it over as if the answers she sought were in his palm. “How is this possible? I thought you used the renovatio spell on Dirk.”
“I did.”
“But the incantation was in High Aetherial.” The baby dragon swirled close. “How did you speak it if you’re cursed?”
Bradley floundered for an answer. “I just did. It wasn’t like the time I leaked magic and rescued Millie from falling or roused you from your nap.
This was . . . existential. I had to speak High Aetherial, because there was no other choice.
Gladstone— Gladstone!” The apprentice rocketed to his feet.
“Gladstone?” Dirk’s muzzle crinkled like he’d just eaten a stinkbug. “What’s that festering turd got to do with any of this?”
“He’s the dark mage out there trying to break into this tower with Damascus steel crossbolts and steal your heart!”
As if cued, the tower shook again from another strike from the Skybreaker.
“That son of a swamp witch!” Dirk’s feathers bristled like the ruff of a fractious cat. “He’s gonna regret making that life choice when I’m through with him.”
“Master Dirk, no!” Millie jumped up and seized the little dragon’s shoulders. “You are not Dirk the Dangerous anymore. You can never go back.”
He smiled at her, soft and genuine. “I know. It will not be Lung Shang or Dirk the Dangerous who goes out there to defend his friends. Just Dirk.”
“You’re not going out there alone,” Bradley said firmly. “We are doing this together, Dirk.”