I stormed out of the throne room in a way that only I could. I just told Herald to hang on, and she did, and then I launched myself up and through the square opening in the ceiling. Which was stupid, since I was big enough now that I might have ground Herald into the stone if my aim had been off. Luckily I didn’t.

  Herald didn’t comment after she climbed off in the small lift chamber above the throne room. She just stayed close, one hand always on me, showing through touch that she was there for me. And angry as I was, I loved her for it.

  It was a stupid, useless anger, directed at a man who’d been dead for hundreds of years on behalf of a dragon I’d never known, and whom my draconic half had seen only as a fearsome figure to avoid. But be that as it may, he’d been one of my fathers, and this Sekteretesh had taken his hoard, his body, even his children — me and my siblings — as prizes. It was hard to say what had happened then, since at least parts of Night had remained here; I doubted that the valkin had found a second dead dragon to use for their staffs. But he’d gloated over the murder, the theft, the desecration and the abductions, and I’d never be able to punish him for it. For all I knew, he’d gotten away with it, living out his days as one of the wealthiest men in the world, and that was as offensive to me as his crimes themselves.

  Then there was the mystery of my own existence, which I’d hoped that Tavia and Ramban might have shed some light on. Sekteretesh claimed to have taken Night’s young, yet, there I was. I’d been upstairs, waiting for myself, and I couldn’t see why the murdering bastard would’ve left me there. But if not him, then who? Did someone put me in that enchantment circle while my father was still alive? Did they steal me back from Sekteretesh, then haul me up there?

  It didn’t make any difference in the end, but it would be nice to know. And it would be nice to drag Sekteretesh out of whatever hell he was in to tear his guts out and strangle him with them, but I couldn’t have everything.

  When we got to the pit, I realized that I’d been unfortunate in my planning — there was no way I was flying up there with Herald. We both looked up there in silence for a while. Then Herald looked at me, then back to the ledge, and said, “Draka, you are quite strong.”

  “I am,” I agreed.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Toss me,” she said. “But carefully, please.”

  “But what if—” I started

  “You will catch me, and I will be fine,” she insisted, and that was that. I made a stirrup of my hands, she got into position, and I tossed her. She flew, kicking and whooping, high enough that she dropped about five feet at the end and landed with an “Oof!”

  I Shifted and followed her up, made sure that she was all right — the way she was laughing she might have been in shock for all I knew — then headed out through the crevice. Once Herald calmed down, the silence from the tunnel followed us down the passage, and it wasn’t until we were curled up on my hoard that she asked, “What will you do?”

  “What can I do?” I replied. “He’s dead. Mother might want revenge, but she may well take it out on Tekeretek, so I can’t tell her. Say what you will, it’s a huge city full of people who had nothing to do with murdering Night. What can I do but seethe until I get over it?”

  “There must be a record of this Sekteretesh. If he claimed Night’s hoard, he would have been fabulously wealthy. Perhaps we can find what became of that wealth?”

  “Eh, four or five hundred years down the line? I doubt it. And we would probably need someone in Tekeretek to investigate, ‘cause where else would he have taken it?” I sighed. “Would be nice to reclaim it, though.”

  “We know his name, and we know when he lived,” Herald said, and her voice lost every hint of warmth or uncertainty. “We have time. We will figure it out, if at all possible.”

  “I believe you,” I said. And I really did. It might take a decade or two, but I really believed that she’d scour whatever histories and genealogies she could get her hands on to do this for me. “Thank you, Herald. Really. And I love you, you know that, yeah?”

  “I know,” she said, snuggling in. “And I love you.”

  “But right now there’s nothing we can do. I’ll just have to lie here, and remember that I have you and Mak and all kinds of other wonderful people and things in my life, until I don’t feel like flying south at top speed to tell Mother what we found. Because honestly, Herald? I say that I don’t want Tekeretek to burn, but I don’t feel it right now.”

  “I am in no rush,” she said, pulling gently on my wing until I covered her with it. “We can stay here for as long as you need. Old Mallin and the library will still be there in the morning.”

  “Yeah, they will, won’t they?”

  It was still before noon, but warm and comfortable as she was, Herald soon drifted off to sleep. I lay awake thinking for a few minutes longer. Then I followed her.

  It was a short nap, and I didn’t dream, but I felt better when I woke. I still felt willing to visit hell on a city for the sins of their distant forefather, but not with any urgency. I was even willing to listen to Conscience’s traitorous suggestions that maybe, perhaps, it was not outside the realms of possibility that Sekteretesh had some legitimate grievance against my father. I’d heard more than once that Mallin had “suffered” under a dragon in the legendary past, but I’d dismissed it as slander. I still didn't entertain the idea, but I didn’t shove Conscience down into the back of our shared consciousness the way I had before the nap.

  It was only a bit past midday when we got down to Lady’s Rest to pick up Herald’s pack, and she had a chance to have a meal and freshen up before we left. Then it was a three hour flight north, and though the air was cold, it was a clear and sunny day. Herald certainly enjoyed herself as long as she was awake, but she was experienced enough, and I was stable enough, that she napped most of the way.

  It had been weeks since I was last in the north, and I’d almost forgotten how rich the air was. But as we closed in on Old Mallin, the level of ambient magic climbed steadily, and when we reached the cracked and crumbling walls, I was feeling light and energized.

  Herald woke, too, as we got closer.

  “Are we there?” she groaned loudly.

  “Almost!” I replied. “Can you feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  “The magic! The air’s thick with it!”

  “No,” she said, her voice full of disappointment. “Embers asked me the same thing, but I do not even know what to look for.”

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  “Wish you could. It’s pretty great.”

  “Yeah, rub it in, why not?” she grumbled. “Are we going to the temple?”

  “That’s the plan.” I was beelining for the place. With the doors torn out, we’d both been worried about what kind of state the temple might be in. If it was too bad, our backup plan was to just camp in the library — though Herald would very much prefer not to, since she refused to even entertain making a fire there and she’d prefer to have one close to where she slept.

  When we arrived at the temple, the doors were back up — sort of. Mother had taken the time to lift the doors off the ground where she’d discarded them and had propped them back up against the gaping entrance. She’d done a good enough job that Herald couldn’t squeeze past them — I probably could have if I Shifted, but it wasn’t any trouble to set the doors aside, leaving the entrance wide open.

  It was a good thing that Mother had put the doors up, because both weather and small animals had made it in as it was. Dirt and leaves had made their way in through the small openings, and I could smell rodents, though none were to be seen. It wasn’t too bad, though. Herald’s camp was still there, firepit and stump for seating and all, and all we needed to do was to sweep the floor a bit.

  Herald, of course, wanted to go straight to the library. I propped the doors back up to keep the wind out, and we were off.

  I quickly learned one difference between an avatar of power, such as my mother, and someone like myself, who was merely terribly strong. When I’d last been here, there had barely been a bug to be found. Now, with her gone, the place teemed with life.

  “Herald,” I said as I listened to the song of birds and took in the various new animal scents. “I don't want you going anywhere without me, yeah?”

  “All right,” she said. Cheerful and expectant, she didn't sound bothered at all. “I was not planning to. Why?”

  “No telling what kind of predators there may be now that we don't have my mother to scare them off. And I’ve seen a bear once that could sneak up on Rib and Pot; I’d rather you didn't go for a walk and disappear.”

  “What about when I need to visit the bushes?” she asked flippantly.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ll turn my back.”

  Nothing had made it into the library, owing to me not ripping the doors off their hinges. It was just as we had left it; the original primer Herald had copied still lay on the desk she’d used, along with the pen, ink, and remaining sheets of paper.

  “Thank you,” Herald whispered, and I wasn’t sure if she was talking to me, to the book she had her fingers on, or to whoever had created the enchantment that had preserved this library.

  I let her gaze at the shelves dreamily for a good while before asking, “So, is there a plan?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, returning to reality. “The primer is fantastic, but it is just that: a primer. I am really hoping to find some kind of vocabulary builder. The primer mentions that they exist, and even recommends one by author and title, but that is no guarantee that it exists in this collection. Failing that, I am hoping to find a dictionary, educational texts, anything like that. Books where you would expect to find explanations of what words mean.”

  “You’re that far along with the Old Mallinean?” I couldn’t hide my excitement at that. I knew that the books here were worth a boatload of gold, and that was what counted most to me, but I knew how important the prospect of discovering lost knowledge was to Herald. And not just her. I’d been told, and had seen evidence myself, that the Old Mallineans were far more advanced in pretty much everything, from paints to architecture and enchantments. The texts in this library could very well be game changing in any number of areas.

  “Not quite,” she admitted, “but I have become quite adept at using the primer and my notes and should be able to recognize interesting texts based on their titles and introductions.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Well…” she looked at me doubtfully. Then she brightened, and that brightness slowly grew into a kind of desperate excitement. “Does this mean anything to you?”

  She then said several words which unfortunately were complete gibberish to me.

  “Sorry, no.”

  Her face fell, but only a little, and only for a second. “Perhaps I am not saying it right, or I am missing something. You have come along quite well with your reading, have you not?”

  “Sure, yeah!” I replied, with no small measure of pride. I occasionally had to sound a word out rather than reading it fluently, but I’d made my way through most of her small library of adventure stories and sappy romances. The biggest problem for me now was rolling the scrolls — scrolling? — and turning pages.

  “My notes are in Karakani! I have transcribed most of the Old Mallinean words in the primer, along with their translations. Here!”

  She’d left her pack at the temple, but she’d brought a smaller bag with her now, which she rummaged through until she brought out a leather folder full of papers. She held them out to me, urging me to take them with a small shake. “Please, read through this! Sound the words out, see if any of them mean anything to you.”

  “Pretty sure I only know living languages,” I said, but I took the folder.

  “I know, I know, but we cannot afford not to try. Please?”

  “Yeah, of course! If nothing else I might learn to recognize some words.”

  “Thank you,” she said, then stared at me expectantly for a few long moments. I was about to ask if she wanted to watch me read when she said, “Sorry, I should get to it. And I may need to reference those notes now and again. But thank you!”

  With that, practically vibrating in place with excitement and with no idea what to do, she put her hands on my cheeks. Then she grinned, squeaked with excitement, and gave me a good squeeze before running off toward the shelves.

  I settled in on the floor with the papers in front of me. There was plenty of light for me to read by, but I barely paid attention to the words. It was far more entertaining to watch Herald run around like Relatable Disney Princess Number Three, barely even glancing at the books she passed.

  The library part of the building was built in two levels, with the entrance part being a sort of mezzanine with stairs up and down. From where I lay, I could see her go from one end of the bottom floor to the opposite end of the top one — something I assumed that she’d been itching to do ever since our first visit, when she’d been distracted by finding the primer. Now I could enjoy watching her geek out to her heart’s content, and it was a wonderful thing to see her so happy. I didn’t really get to reading until she noticed me watching, gave me an adorably embarrassed grin, and started really studying the books. At that point she was still adorable but far less entertaining, and I figured I might as well do the same.

  Studying Old Mallinean words was not fun. Interesting, sure, but I’d never had much of a head for studying. I’d been surrounded by academics and other clever people all my human life, from my parents to my best friend, but I’d never had a knack for it. Even draconic patience didn’t help; doing nothing was far easier than memorizing words. It didn’t help that I concluded pretty early on that me reading the words made no difference; I still didn’t understand a single one of them except from Herald’s translations.

  I chose not to tell Herald that just yet. I’d rather let her enjoy her hope that there was a quick and easy way to translate the dead language. Instead I soldiered on, doggedly repeating each word to myself and recruiting Conscience to help me. You’d think that sharing a brain would mean that we knew the exact same things, but my experience with Instinct, both before and after I became what I was, told me that wasn’t the case. Instinct had always known things I didn’t, and even after I got access to her — our — memories, she was far better at Draconic than I was. With any luck, putting two minds on the task of learning Old Mallinean would lead to learning it twice as fast. Or at least a little faster; I’d take what I could get.

  We spent the rest of the day like that. I studied Herald’s word lists, and she slowly checked the title and introduction of as many books as she had time for. She returned to her notes every so often, and even when the books weren’t what she was looking for she still noted down their titles and what they were about, which gave me an idea.

  “So,” she said as we were packing up. She was smiling with an apparent hope that I could tell wasn’t really there. “Is there any chance that you figured out the language, and simply failed to tell me?”

  “Afraid not. But I’ve learned some of the words.”

  Herald sighed. “Well, that is something, at least.”

  “I suppose it is. I had a thought, though.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve been noting down all the books you’ve looked at, yeah? And what they’re about?”

  “I have,” she said, raising the top paper of the small pile on which she’d been doing just that. “I thought it might be useful in the future.”

  “And that’s a good thought, but what if someone already did that for you?”

  She blinked at me. Then she got that intense look of someone who just heard that they may have wasted hours of work. “How do you mean?” she asked. “Exactly.”

  “Well, there could be a register here somewhere, or an inventory. Whoever maintained this place had sheets and sheets prepared with rules for the library, yeah? That strikes me as the kind of people who’d keep a detailed list of all the books they have.”

  “Oh, gods and Mercies,” she said, drawing her hand over her face. Then she laughed, because what the hell else was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like she could get mad at me. “I wish either of us had thought of that before I got started. Yes, that does sound like something they might have.” She looked at the shelves once more, then at the additional shelves and cabinets in the reception area, and said, “I think that can wait until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” I agreed.

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