Page 42 of The Last Slayer
“Does he want me to punish him again?” I asked, tilting my head to stare up at Ramiel.
He brushed his windblown hair from his face and nodded. “Look.”
Toshi was already on the floor, his snout glued to the carpet and his butt in the air, trembling. The sight was so pitiful I couldn’t help but laugh, which seemed to make him shake even more.
“Get up, Toshi.” I sat up. My head seemed to have stopped spinning. “Bring me some melon wine, would you?”
I didn’t have to say that twice. He was already gone. I managed to get to my feet. “Is there a place where Valerie can stay without contaminating anyone?”
“Of course,” Ramiel said.
Toshi reappeared with my wine. Now that was quick. I took the goblet and drank it in a long series of gulps. It tasted as nice as before although there was a sour aftertaste. Maybe it was a bit old. But I didn’t comment on it. I didn’t want another “punish me” speech. Ramiel held Valerie out at arm’s length to Toshi.
“Take her to the guest chamber. Handle her with caution. She’s been poisoned.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Toshi closed his hindclaws over Valerie’s shiny belt buckle and flew off with her. It looked strange, almost comical, to see a creature the size of my palm carrying a full-grown woman. But Toshi didn’t even blink. She could’ve been a flower petal.
Even though Valerie would be better off under Toshi’s care and it would be safer for both of us for me to stay away, I wanted to go with her to make sure she would be all right. It seemed wrong to leave her among dragons, no matter how friendly they appeared.
Then there was Jack. He wasn’t the warmest person in the world, and he’d never treated Valerie and me equally. She got the regular father—the one who praised or scolded as the occasion called for. I got the odd father—the one who swung between indulgence, emotional distance and the occasional reluctant lecture. But I owed it to him, the man who had gotten me out of the endless series of foster homes and paid for my education. There was no way I could face him and tell him I hadn’t done everything in my power to save his only child. No matter how much I hated working with others. No matter how much it galled me that I had to ally myself with a supernatural.
Had Jack known this could happen when he’d taken the job? There were rumors that he never accepted any assignment without first trying to ascertain the outcome. But divination isn’t an exact art, and people who try to live their lives according to their visions generally suffer.
“Let us go to my antechamber,” Ramiel said, dragging my attention back to him.
The halls hadn’t changed at all, except for a few bas-reliefs missing another limb or two. Some of them even lay dead. Thank god they couldn’t actually bleed—the entire dragonhold would have reeked.
This time no bas-relief was hiding inside the room. Ramiel shut the door, and I sat down and placed the empty goblet on the desk.
I got straight to the point. “How do I find Enmesaria?”
Ramiel sat across from me on a plush loveseat. “You want to visit her?”
“Well, yeah. You said she can help.”
“She can. But there is no guarantee that she will.”
I narrowed my eyes. If he thought she wouldn’t help me, why had he brought her up as an option? “Why not?”
“You’re not yet a dragonlady.”
So it came back to that. “That’s crazy. You have to be born a dragonlady to be one, and I was born mortal. I don’t have enough magic to be a dragonlady.”
“You performed draco perditio without a single heartstone to amplify your magic. Further, you survived. I believe that’s proof enough.”
“Then shouldn’t it be enough to persuade Enmesaria?”
“Her dragonhold would refuse you. Pray remember, our dragonholds are living things with feelings that reflect those of their masters. Enmesaria abhors…what is the term? Dragon groupies.”
So I had to beg help from someone who hated groupies, which in dragonlord-speak meant mortals. Even though, if Ramiel was right, I might not be mortal. But of course that wouldn’t be enough. I had to get the certification, so to speak, before other immortals—or at least their premises—would accept that I was also immortal…even if I really was.
I resisted the urge to bang my head against the tabletop.
“You’re going to be very powerful, Ashera.” He spoke without any inflection. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or what. “Just like your mother. But you must claim your dragonhold.”
I frowned. I didn’t have a mother as far as I was concerned, yet he was constantly bringing her up. It made my heart skip. Don’t all orphans dream of reuniting with their long-lost parents? And of course, the parents always turn out to be Euro royalty or something ridiculous like that. And all the people who were mean to you end up groveling at your feet, begging for forgiveness. You’re inclined to forgive and forget, naturally, but your wise parents throw them in a dungeon and let them rot. Literally.
