Page 17 of Magick and Lead (Dragons and Aces #2)

ESSA

T he rain was a blessing, a gift from the Earth Mother.

I’d wondered how I’d sneak a dragon into a city of over a million people.

But as we approached our enemy capital, visibility was so bad Othura’s silvery wings probably looked like just another fold of storm cloud—that is, if anyone bothered tilting their heads back to stare up into the pounding rain in the first place.

Because of the poor visibility, the city seemed to sneak up on me.

One minute, we were flying through a cloud-strewn gray sky, the next, a huge rectangular shadow loomed before us.

And as we came closer, I saw that it was a tower.

As we got closer, more shadows appeared, a whole forest of them, so tall they made the turrets of Charcain look like hedges in comparison.

A gust of wind blew aside a sheet of low cloud, and I caught sight of the streets below.

They were perfectly straight, and lined up on them were rows of motorcars, pedestrians with bobbing umbrellas, and a crisscrossing web of wires that I guessed, from what I’d learned of our enemies, must contain electricity.

It's amazing, I said to Othura.

It stinks of soot, s he sniffed. Let’s get this over with and get out of this place.

Back at the hatchery in Issastar, we had a room full of tattered old maps someone had smuggled out of Admar years before.

Like every other Skrathan trainee, I’d been forced to memorize those maps in case we ever decided to attack the enemy’s mainland.

Leadership had never ordered us to attack Ironberg, and I now saw why.

It would take the fire of ten thousand dragons to burn all this brick and steel to the ground.

But I remembered the map. And I had a plan.

Actually, I remembered a part of a hypothetical invasion plan I’d read once. It detailed a way one could smuggle a dragon into Ironberg. Whether the intelligence it was based on was accurate and whether it would work, I didn’t know, but it was the only plan I had.

So, Othura and I veered south, scanning down through the rain for a specific landmark on the shore—a fountain.

Our intelligence—probably from Prelate Kortoi’s whisper network or perhaps from Mother’s scrying—told of a park with a fountain in the center and a ferry boat docked there.

The place had been abandoned, closed for renovations and never reopened because the needed materials had been reallocated to the war effort.

We flew south for so long I was beginning to think we must have passed it. Yet the sprawling city continued, its breadth at least twice as large as Issastar’s.

This city… I thought to Othura.

I know, she agreed. It’s massive... There. Look!

We both spied it, a manmade spit of wood reaching out into the water, a pier. And further inland, a lichen-covered concrete statue of an elephant standing rampant in the middle of an empty basin. The fountain.

Here , I told Othura, and we swooped to a landing.

I saw immediately that the intelligence report had been correct.

Here was a broad green lawn left to go to weeds.

A long pier, sorely in need of repair, cut into the choppy water.

A curious round structure with painted horses and animals on it stood near the beach.

The painted beasts wore saddles, and I wondered if perhaps adults would push it around in a circle while children rode on it.

Although knowing these necromancers, it was probably run by one of their infernal machines.

Regardless, it was still and silent now. Everything here was.

This way, I told Othura, and she loped ahead down a weed-strewn path. If I remembered the map correctly, there should be— yes! Ahead, a dilapidated metal gate spanned the dark archway of a tunnel entrance.

In here, I said. Othura easily dashed the gate aside with one swipe of her tail.

Back in Maethalia, there were all manner of alarming creatures that might take up residence in a creepy abandoned tunnel.

Wisps. Wargs. Knockers. Echo folk… but here in this magick-depleted land, I doubted I’d find much except dust and cobwebs. At least, that’s what I hoped.

I took a glow stone from the inside pocket of my cloak, illuminating the way as I rode Othura down a set of musty-smelling stairs. We emerged onto a platform. Below us, a tunnel ran away into the darkness. At its bottom, a pair of metal rails spanned by wooden planks sat on a bed of gravel.

Othura sniffed. It smells of rats, she said approvingly.

You’ll have plenty of time to eat rats. I said. You’ll stay in these tunnels while I complete my mission.

I felt her irritation as she chuffed. How am I to help you if I stay in the tunnels?

You won’t be able to, I countered. But there’s no alternative. We can’t have a dragon spotted running around Ironberg. And the city extends for miles in all directions. There’s no cover, no forest for you to hide in. This is the safest place for you.

She gave a low growl, but I sensed her acceptance. Othura was stubborn, but she was no fool.

Now let’s go, I told her. I’d like to get into the city center as soon as possible. Just watch out for the machines that use this place as a road.

When we get there, are you really going to kill Kit?

The question caught me off guard. She was skeptical of my claim; I felt that.

No rider could keep any emotion from their dragon, no matter how hard they tried to bury it.

And maybe it was true that my feelings for Kit— Charlie —remained more complex than sheer hatred.

Maybe I would extract an explanation from him.

Maybe I’d make him apologize before I slit his throat.

Still, nothing would change what I had come here to do.

His name is Charlie, I said . And yes, I will kill him.

I sensed Othura’s resolve rising to meet mine, and we plunged ahead into the dark.

I emerged from what the signs called a subway station and stood in the middle of the walkway, turning a slow circle and staring up at the towering buildings all around me. Wonder almost overwhelmed me. It was like being at the bottom of a canyon, only the cliffs all had windows.

Motorcars rattled and rumbled and honked as they passed.

Necromancer technology, I thought with a frown.

The engines in those machines burned the remains of dead beings—a dark, forbidden sort of magick.

And yet, seeing how casually everyone treated it here—the man climbing into the backseat of a yellow car, the woman smiling from behind the wheel of a delivery truck—made it all feel less frightening, more ordinary.

The rain had stopped and the sun had come out, heating the flat, gray, stony surface that seemed to be everywhere and turning puddles to mist. The air smelled of excitement and possibility—with a hint of smoke and piss.

Signs hung from the buildings all around, painted in bright colors and emblazoned with strange words. Fizz-Fizz Cola. Pebbly Bites Breakfast Cereal. Bobby-O Athletic Shoes. Lava Motorcars.

People bustled everywhere. Men in Admite-style suits and shiny shoes walked fast, carrying rectangular bags—merchants, I guessed.

An elegant woman in a long, flowing dress and a wide-brimmed hat with flowers on top followed a silky-haired dog on a leash.

A man in suspenders with rolled-up shirt sleeves waved a handful of paper flyers, shouting:

“Big fight tonight! Micky the King versus Tree Trunk Louie!”

Another man with a burning stogie hanging out of the corner of his mouth winked at me. “Hey, toots. You lost? I could help you find your way.”

I glared at him, and he kept on walking.

A pair of young ladies strode arm-in-arm, talking excitedly to one another. One of them spotted me and giggled. “Bit early for All Hallows Eve, isn’t it, sweetie?” The other one cackled as they passed.

I looked down at myself. Those fool girls were right.

My blue cloak and flying leathers did look incredibly out of place.

Quickly, I ducked back down into the subway.

I found a dingy bathroom and took off my cloak and breeches.

Without them, my rider’s tunic looked at least somewhat like the short dresses the girls who mocked me had worn, though my knee-high fireproof riding boots would still stand out.

I bundled the breeches into the cloak and stuffed them both into my satchel, along with my dagger.

(My sword, I’d wisely left on my saddle with Othura. That would have really stood out.)

Soon, I was back on the street, moving fast among the crowd.

I drew less notice, but there were still far too many eyes lingering on me.

Dragon leather armor and long, braided hair were not the styles here in Admar.

And eyes were lingering on my missing arm, too.

I wasn’t sure how far my fame extended here in Admar, but when Charlie had first laid eyes on me back in Maethalia, he’d immediately guessed that I was the one-armed Princess Essaphine.

No one would expect to find me here, but between my subtle accent, my strange clothes, and my missing hand, people might start to wonder, and that was something I couldn’t have.

If I expected to get close enough to Charlie to kill him, I’d need to blend in.

I spied a young man with a book in his hand walking toward me and planted myself in his path.

“Excuse me.”

He looked up from the book, and his eyes snapped wide at the sight of me. Yes… a better disguise was definitely in order. He was too stunned by my appearance to even respond.

“Where does a person go to trade things for money in this city?” I asked.

He frowned. “Uh…”

“A merchant. You know. To sell things and get a bit of coin for them,” I clarified.

“A… pawn shop ?” He said the words slowly, as if speaking to an idiot. “There’s Mike’s around the corner. But the guy’s a prick.”

“Thank you!” I called over my shoulder, already hurrying on my way.

I found the place with little trouble. The storefront was dingy, with peeling paint and a crooked sign.

Inside, odds and ends seemed to be stuffed everywhere.

Musical instruments were suspended from the ceiling, musty clothes hung on racks, old books tilted on sagging shelves, and glass cases full of baubles glinted beneath a patina of dust.

A heavyset, balding man sat behind the counter on a stool that seemed barely able to hold his weight. The cigarette in his mouth had burned down to a nub of ash and filled the place with a haze of smoke.

“Well, well, well,” he said when he saw me. “Would you look at this pretty little?—”

I held out my hand to him.

“Take this ring off my finger,” I commanded.

He looked surprised, even pleased by the invitation to touch me. Still, he hesitated, as if my invitation might be some trick.

“I can’t take it off with only one hand,” I explained, holding up the stump of my right arm.

This time, he reached forward and wiggled the ring off my finger.

It was a precious thing, given to me by Auntie Dreya—another person whose whereabouts I didn’t know following the fall of Charcain.

She’d given me the ring on my thirteenth birthday, as a reward for flying the Three Isles on Othura.

But as much as I treasured it, my need now was greater.

And I certainly couldn’t go around spending coins with Kingdom of Maethalia stamped on them.

“How much for it?” I demanded as he held the ring up, inspecting it.

“This?” he snorted. “Two bucks.”

I glared at him.

“The gold isn’t real,” he said. “And this gem? Not a diamond, sweetie.”

I took the ring out of his hand, pressed the diamond against the glass top of his case, and traced a circle with it, leaving behind a scratched spiral.

“Hey!” the man exclaimed.

I put the ring in my mouth and bit, then held it out in front of his face.

“See the scratch in the glass? The dent in the gold? It’s real. Twenty-five.”

He took the ring out of my hand, then his beady eyes went to the dragon stone necklace I wore.

“How about we say fifteen and you throw in that necklace?” he asked, leaning forward and gazing at the swirling, faintly glowing sliver colored gem. “What is that, anyway?”

“No,” I said. “The necklace isn’t for sale.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, looking tiny and beady in his huge, pasty face.

“A cripple girl like you, in here all by yourself…” he grinned. “I could just reach out and snatch it off your neck, how about that?”

I knew I shouldn’t do it, but I couldn’t help myself. I called on the stone’s power. The air in the shop stirred, a small whirlwind, ruffling cloths, tipping books, jingling jewelry, and sending the ash from the man’s cigarette dusting through the air.

His eyes went wide with surprise, then terror. His cigarette fell to the floor as his mouth dropped open.

Abruptly, I stopped the wind.

“Try to take the necklace, and I’ll take your arms and legs off your body.

Then you’ll be a cripple , just like me.

Twenty for the ring. And you throw in a dress.

” I glanced to my right, where a white-painted wooden figure stood wearing a ball gown.

“And the arm of that statue. And... what do you call the things people wear to keep a broken arm in place?”

The man looked stunned. “A sling?” he asked.

“Do you have one?”

He nodded. “Actually, yeah.”

“Good. A sling. And a glove,” I said. “Black leather.”

I stood tall, shoulders back, doing my best impression of my queen mother.

“Please .”

For a moment, I thought Mike the Prick was going to balk. But then, slowly, he reached over to a contraption on the counter and pushed a button. The machine dinged, a drawer slid open, and the man took out a greenish slip of paper money and handed it over to me.

“I’ll get a screwdriver to take off the mannequin’s arm, Miss,” he said in a small voice. He rose from his stool with such deference, I almost expected him to bow.

It was all I could do to keep from smiling.