Chapter Nine. When You Have to Pretend You’re Helpless
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN YOU HAVE TO PRETEND YOU’RE HELPLESS
FARREN
What have I done?
Bex shrieks, trainers bellow. Noise clashes in a screeching tangle until a crafter gets a silver needle in Bex’s neck.
My crafting eases in a whoosh of weight being discarded and I drop my hands in hopes I look like nothing more than a scared girl trying to cover her head.
My power hums, wanting that pressure again like a muscle needing to be stretched.
I just … I just can’t believe I stretched that muscle in public.
With a prickle on the back of my neck, I whirl around to find James Murphy—staring. As my eyes connect to his, I know with every fiber of my being, the shock on his face relates to me.
And that he knows. He knows.
One of the men pats him on the back, a congratulatory good job. Colm runs up, shaking him with the thrill of such a feat. I don’t catch a single word. James doesn’t even blink.
Familiar arms scoop me up and it’s Dad whispering in my ear, asking something. I nod, my gaze never leaving James’s. I feel like if I look away it’ll be admitting everything. That I held Bex, controlled her entire body, so easy it was reflex.
“Farren, talk to me.” Dad squeezes my shoulders. “Farren, are you okay?”
My surroundings, other than Murphy, knock back into focus. Dad worried in front of me. A new silence echoing without Bex’s cries. “Yes. I’m completely fine.” And I am, except for the fact I think I’ve blown our secret.
Hendrix groans and his pain tumbles back to the forefront. I dig my fingers into my dad’s jacket, begging for good news. “Were you able to persuade Mr. Murphy?”
“I told them with Hendrix paralyzed he won’t produce the silver they want. But … they are going to try.”
A misery akin to hopelessness grips my heart. “No.”
“It’s his dragon. Legally, he has the choice.” Dad’s hold tightens. “I’m going to do all I can to make it as painless as possible for Hendrix. I need you to leave here, far enough away…” Where I can’t hear Hendrix’s descaling.
“I know a place.” James suddenly stands in front of us. “I’ll take her there.”
“Please.” I don’t know if Dad is answering James or imploring me to listen, but either way I agree. If I can’t stop what’s about to happen, I refuse to watch.
I crouch in front of Hendrix one last time and brush my hands over his scales. Silver retreats under my fingertips. This is what real power feels like. “I’m sorry. It will be over soon.”
As three scalers stroll onto the dirt arena, James pulls me toward the stalls.
Bits of metal and various instruments hanging from the scalers’ belts jingle.
I spot a few obsidian daggers as well, sharp blades made of volcanic glass, not metal, so they can pierce through flesh after a dragon is descaled.
Can pierce through humans too since crafters can’t manipulate the glass. Terrifying.
Just as we’re passing the scalers, a lean man with a shock of bright blond hair cocks his head in James’s direction. “Young Murphy. Not staying for the show?” He chuckles, flipping a flat silver tool in his palm. “Figures.”
Beside me, James tenses, spine rigid. Yet, he says nothing and only picks up his pace.
I turn though. The way that scaler had said show like what was about to happen would be entertainment.
It’s everything wrong with the dragon industry.
My point proven when that man lifts his arms at the sight of Hendrix.
“Looks like we won’t have to tranquilize this one. What a lucky day.”
My stomach swivels in a sickening roll.
“Don’t look back,” James whispers and I face forward as we enter the stalls.
Light disappears like traversing a cave.
The smell of old hay infuses the air. It reminds me of home until we get to the cages.
Alcoves punched into the rock like the barn, but barred like a dungeon.
Flashes of bronze radiate from the nearest Sprinter to my right.
Scared because of all the noise or living in perpetual fear?
A low aggressive growl emits from another cell.
A different kind of coldness shivers down my back.
James’s confusion from yesterday holds new meaning. Because they are dragons.
We trudge forward. But when the cages become uninhabited slabs of stone moments later, I call out. “James, wait.”
He turns without question, solemn and blank-faced as ever.
How can he not show any of his feelings?
Particularly now. James wasn’t that far away from Hendrix.
Once Bex had torn through me she would have killed him as well.
We barely made it out alive, and he’s acting so nonchalant, the opposite of my toiling thoughts.
“I wanted to say thank you,” I stress, my voice so shaky it sounds shredded.
“No need.”
I pause. Is he really so conceited that he didn’t notice he wasn’t crafting, had zero control over Bex? “Okay. I still appreciate it.” I walk forward as if I know where we are going.
Better to not elaborate, to not let James dwell on what he felt out there. For once in my life, I’m more than willing to concede credit to him. In fact, I’m grateful he’s an arrogant prick.
“No need to thank me when we both know I did nothing,” he says to my back and it’s like a wave has sucked me under. I’m cold and breathless, drowning.
I slowly pivot, dreading every inch of facing him again with this lie I’m no good at. “What do you mean? You saved me.”
“Farren.”
“Yes?”
“I did nothing.”
I pray my frown looks genuine; my open mouth shocked. “Are you saying I should thank Ditters?”
James shifts his weight. “Thank Ditters, and we’ll have a real problem.”
My confusion comes out in a laugh. I had no idea James disliked him as much as I do. “I won’t then. Must have been all of the trainers at once. I got lucky.”
In three strides James is right before me. I step back at the sudden approach. His eyes search mine.
“I don’t understand. Why is this a secret? You’re a silver-craft—”
“I’m not.” I’m forceful enough to seem steadfast. Because that’s what I’ll need to be. At least iron plated in my conviction.
He gets impossibly closer. It’s like the stairs up to the loft all over again, a push and pull of intense heat. “Tell me why it’s a secret and I’ll never breathe another word of this.”
“I … I can’t. Because I’m not—” I scan the hallway. “I’m not a silver-crafter.” I meant to sound insistent, but damn it, my voice comes out soft, malleable.
“Very convincing,” James further confirms.
“Well, it’s true. You’re not used to being wrong so that’s more of a you problem.”
James nods and for a moment I think he’ll drop it. “Then I guess I’ll go tell everyone you restrained Bex. While we are in town, we could go get you registered. I think you’ll find the test pretty easy.” He swivels.
No. No. I can’t. I can’t let James Murphy ruin everything. With only that thought I craft. A copper coin springs forth from my pocket and binds James’s free wrist. It jerks him enough to make him stumble backward.
His face is a wash of surprise at the link of metal between us. But with a clench of his fist he breaks the copper and then returns the favor. A cuff of metal wraps around my wrist in a cool embrace. I’m about to rip it away but freeze at the color. Even in the dim light pure silver shines.
A test.
I snap my attention back to James and notice where the other end of the metal leads. The silver not held in his hand but circling his own wrist. He’s cuffed us … together. “What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. You started this.”
At least he’s not running to tell everyone his theories. But I haven’t thought this through. “Let me go.”
“Craft the silver open yourself.”
“I’ve told you already. I can’t. If you feel like you couldn’t hold Bex by yourself, the trainers must have been helping you.”
“No.” He advances. “And you know how I know? Rohan is a bronze-crafter and Talia a copper. That’s why they were having such a hard time with her.” He glances down at the cuff between us before cutting to me. “So, stop lying, Walsh.”
I bite my lip. This is bad. This is so terribly bad. I’ll have to hold out though. Convince him he doesn’t want to be connected to me. In one fluid motion I sit, jerking James a step forward.
He relents and kneels beside me. “So, what’s your plan? We’re just going to sit here?”
“Better than your plan. You really think you could persuade your father I’m a silver-crafter?”
His dark eyes hook into mine, trying to pierce my resolve. “You’re not just a silver-crafter…”
My breath hitches.
“You’re the best silver-crafter I’ve ever seen,” he finishes.
I laugh out my relief. “You have no proof.”
When his eyes flicker to his arm, I notice his cast cracked down the middle, splintering multiple get-well messages. He truly tried to save me from Bex. His warning call did, but he also tried. And this is an important detail I didn’t realize until now—he attempted to do it without killing her.
James lets out a frustrated sigh. “Walsh, you know what this could mean for your family, the sanctuary. With your skill you could have any career. Revers Academy would accept you in a minute. Any future. Yours.”
He’s dreaming. I live in reality. A reality where protecting something matters more than my own ambitions. “Why do you care? Another silver family means competition.”
“It means more than competition.” There is something in his eyes when he stares at me.
I’d expect confusion, but that’s been replaced with determination and …
longing? I don’t know where that came from or how his hard features arranged in this new configuration.
But for the first time I’m seeing James Murphy soften.
When he leans forward, my mouth parts in a gasp. The closeness reminds me all too much of him drowning. Of me breathing for him, lips pressed to lips. For a second, I imagine that’s what he means to do. And I haven’t pulled away.
Then his eyes widen. “We’re too late. Cover your ears.” A low hollow vibration rumbles the ground. For a moment I forgot Hendrix, why we were walking. I can’t ignore that sound now though, pain enriched with agony.
James crafts the cuffs off our wrists and crumples the metal like paper. Then he throws the silver across the floor with a clang and he pulls me toward him, one ear pressed against his chest while his un-casted hand covers the other. “Just count,” he instructs. “Just think of anything else.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, not caring it’s James Murphy, that I’m crushed against him.
Because Hendrix’s cries are worse. A second passes and I realize James isn’t covering his own ears, that he must hear …
everything. So, I reach upward, until I find the side of his head and shield him from the terror of anguish quaking the loose stones around us.
He startles just a fraction before bowing his head, letting me help drown out the torture.
We sit together like that. Me counting the rapid beat of James’s heart for what feels like a lifetime.