Silver Dragon Codex (20 page)

A weight landed on his shoulder, something light and gentle.

“Home.” The voice was thready and soft. A sigh tinkled like tiny silvery bells.

Jace tried not to jump at the sound of it. He turned his head slowly to look at the little being crouching on his shoulder. It was small, hardly as long as his forearm if it stood up straight. Gossamer wings flickered and trailed behind it like silk in the wind, and its face was beautiful, if filled with a keen sadness.

“Jace,” Cerisse muttered, “stand very still. You have a fairy on you.”

“I know.” He smiled. “What do I do?”

Cerisse rubbed her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. “Mom told me that you should feed fairies to show them you’re friendly. So … give it something to eat?”

“Food. Right.” Jace stared at her. On his shoulder, the
fairy shifted and moaned softly. A faint shimmery dust trickled down from its glistening wings. Jace dropped his voice to a whisper. “What does it eat?”

“I’m trying to remember.” Cerisse looked from Jace to Ebano, but for once, the usually placid mesmerist seemed as baffled as they. “Milk or honey?” she guessed. “Sweets?”

“I have some crackers left from breakfast. Maybe it’d like them.” Slowly, Jace pulled a cracker out of his belt pouch and held it up to the fairy. “Hey,” Jace said in as soothing a tone as he could muster. “Want a cracker?”

The fairy looked at it skeptically, wings fluttering with more little tinkling sounds. Jace held it between forefinger and thumb and pushed it closer to the little fairy balanced on his shoulder. Jace held his breath.

The tiny creature sniffed, peered, scrabbled forward, and finally reached out delicately and took it. “Thank you.” Its silvery voice was a bit stilted from underuse, but something in the incredibly polite tone reminded Jace of Belen.

“You’re very welcome,” Jace stammered.

Only after the pleasantries were done did the fairy eat—and it ate ravenously, stuffing its face with grunts and eager smacks as cracker crumbs dusted Jace’s tunic. A shiver ran through it and it gazed at Jace with tremendous gratitude, brushing a wingtip against his cheek.

Two more appeared in the air over the stone and a
third fluttered to a perch atop Cerisse’s auburn hair. They made soft noises and gestured toward Jace’s belt pouch with grasping little hands. “Are they all hungry?” Jace scrambled to pull out a few more crackers, offering one to each of the little creatures. “I only have a few crackers left. I hope it’s enough. These fairies act like they’re starving.”

“Pukah,” the one on Jace’s shoulder trilled. “We are pukah. Chislev’s friends. Servants of the stone.” It sounded intelligent, and even better, friendly.

“How many of you are there?”

“Six.”

Six little pukah? To do the chores and grunt work for an entire circus? “My name is Jace. These are my friends, Cerisse and Ebano. Oh … you’ve probably seen us before, since you work for Worver.”

At the sound of the ringmaster’s name, the fairies hissed and snarled, their wings buzzing like angry bees. Jace backpedaled. “We aren’t here for Worver. We’re here because we’re trying to help Belen. We went to the village of Angvale.”

Hearing the town’s name, the pukah calmed down, and the one on Jace’s shoulder sat back with a sigh.

“Home. We miss it. Please … can you take us home?”

Jace smiled. “We’d love to if we can. But first we
need to know more about the stone. Can you move it? Does Worver have a way to control it, or does he have power over it just because he ‘owns’ it?” He struggled to think of questions that had come so easily when he was thinking this plan up.

The pukah settled down all around the wagon, on windowsills, shoulders and other perches. The one on Cerisse’s shoulder was slowly unweaving her braid, letting the hair slide through her lithe fingers. The little fellow sitting on Jace’s shoulder appeared to be the leader, or at least, the most talkative, and it was the one to answer. “Where stone goes, we go. Who owns stone, owns us. So Chislev bound us, so we serve.”

“Owns it? So, if I pick it up and take it—”

The fey creature shook its head. “No.
Owns
it.” The pukah gestured toward its neck, scratching lightly at the luminescent skin. “Makes us come. Makes us do.”

“He’s got some sort of necklace? Something that ties him to the stone and makes him the one who can command you? All right, we can handle that. So all we’ve got to do is get that necklace and then take it and the stone back to Angvale. Simple.” Jace beamed, pleased with his logic.

Cerisse shook her head. “Plus, rescue Belen from Worver’s blackmail, free the pukah, and explain everything to the White Robe. Not so simple.”

She was right. Worver had Belen and whatever necklace controlled the pukah, and he was currently spinning Mysos whatever tale would get him the most benefit. As much as Jace wanted to take the stone and run, it wouldn’t do them any good. A hero would go and face Worver directly, fight him one on one, and then sweep Belen up and tell her that everything would be all right, everything would be wonderful. She’d be so happy, so excited that she might just—

Cerisse jabbed Jace in the side with her elbow, triggering a sharp surge of pain. Jace choked, coughing and clutching his injured ribcage. “Hey!” he yelped. The pukah leaped off Jace’s shoulder with a squeal. “That hurt!”

“Oh! You are hurt?” The pukah cocked its head, hovering up and down above Jace’s shoulder. “I fix.” It swooped down over the stone, landing on the rugged top with a gentle graze. It stood awkwardly atop the rough stone, reaching out for Jace’s hand with both of its small, delicate ones. Atop Cerisse’s head, the one that had been playing with her braid began squawking and tugging on her hair, gesturing for her to do the same. “Come here, I will fix all.”

Remembering how Ebano’s terrible wound had been restored, Jace lifted his hand and reached out three fingers to the pukah. Cerisse did the same, following his lead. Ebano smiled. The pukah grabbed Jace’s fingers in one hand, and Cerisse’s in the other, and closed its eyes. With a swoosh,
everything turned as white as snow. Brilliant, flaming light blinded Jace, turning the world pale and glittery. He didn’t remember Ebano’s healing causing this much glare, but then again, perhaps this was how healing looked from the inside. He heard Cerisse gasp as warmth flooded over them, wrapping them in comfort and joy. The stone radiated life and love as much as a mother’s hug or his father’s smile. Jace laughed out loud, feeling it deep in his bones, and somehow he knew that everything was going to be all right.

When the light faded, the chief of the pukah was on his shoulder, smiling blissfully at him. Jace’s ribs didn’t hurt anymore, and he didn’t even feel hungry. Jace grinned and then realized his hand was still outstretched—and his fingers were entwined with Cerisse’s over the stone. Her hand was warm and sturdy, calloused from juggling but still soft to the touch. It felt … nice.

Jace jerked his hand away and blushed. Cerisse flexed her fingers, untying the bandage that bound her forearm. The wound where the chimera had hurt her was nothing more than a thin red line tracing the contour of her bone. Her fingers moved freely without any sign of poison or stiffness. “Amazing.”

“Hang on!” Startled, Jace waved his hand at the little creature, causing it to do loops in the air around his fingers. “You healed us!”

The pukah stared at him as if Jace had suddenly turned into cheese. It avoided Jace’s swoops with a cheerful trill, flipping between his palms and doing backflips in the air. Jace felt a weight lift off his conscience. “Now we have to stop Worver from enslaving Belen the same way he’s enslaved the pukah,” he said.

Cerisse frowned. “We’ve got to stop her from signing that document.”

“That won’t be easy,” Jace mused. “Belen promised to sign the contract. She going to go through with her promise because she gave her word. We have to stop
Mysos
from signing it!”

The juggler’s eyes widened. “You’re right. Either way, though, we’ve got to get there fast and … and … uh… fix the … uh, fight the … uh … help me out here.”

“Do something.” Jace finished her sentence. “Yeah, that’s the hard part. Still, we may be working without a net again, but this time I’m not afraid.” He grinned at her. “I’m also not alone.”

“I’m not afraid either, Jace.” She beamed. “Let’s go.”

ace and Cerisse crept up to the ringmaster’s red wagon with Ebano in tow, darting from hiding spot to hiding spot along the way. When they got there, they hid beneath the window as they’d done before, listening carefully and peering in to watch those inside. Jace hushed Cerisse again, wishing that she could just calm down for once in her life, and kept an eye on the proceedings. In order for their plan to work, they had to wait until Belen had fulfilled her word—or else she’d work against them out of honor.

“Ebano needs a moment to rest,” Cerisse told him. “His wounds and that fight against Mysos took a lot out of him.”

“All right. He can sit here behind these barrels. I’ll keep an eye on what’s going on inside, and we’ll go in as soon as he’s ready.”

Ebano nodded and tried to catch his breath. The mystic’s dark skin was sallow, his steps weary. If this
turned into a fight—and knowing Worver it would—Jace would need Ebano to be as rested as possible. Cerisse had picked up a few throwing darts along the way, and now tested their tips with a steady smile.

“Don’t take too long,” Jace told them. “We have to get Belen out of there before the contract is fully signed.”

Ebano sat back, crossing his arms and legs. Within a moment, his eyes were closed, his lips moving in breathless prayer. Whatever he was doing, his color was improving, and the shaking in his hands was beginning to ease. Jace risked another peep into Worver’s wagon, trying to gauge how long they had before it was too late.

“Now, Master Mysos, if you will simply sign this official contract certifying that I am Belen’s guardian and completely in charge of her rehabilitation, we can consider the matter resolved.” Worver took the quill from Belen’s hand and blew on her signature, scattering a bit of sand over the paper to dry the ink. The mage was tapping his fingers on the table top, staring at Belen intently and ignoring Worver’s fumbling hands. The ringmaster placed the contract, ink, and quill directly in front of the mage.

Belen sat quietly, hands folded in her lap, head bowed. She hadn’t argued even once during the entire procedure, from Worver’s wheedling to Mysos’s stoic recitation of her crimes against the village of Angvale. When Worver
announced the deal he had been hoping for, Mysos had expected to hear her either approve or disapprove—but she’d sat there in silence. “When I sign this,” Mysos informed her once more, “you will be magically bound. You will be tied to its terms. You will remain here among the circus folk, and you will work off your debt to society as we see fit, through giving away your salary, assisting Worver with his charity performances, and the like. Beyond that, you will have no freedoms. You will have no independence. Should you leave the circus or fail to provide payment for your crimes, you will be hunted down and destroyed by all of the White Robes of Palanthas.”

“Exactly how long did you say this contract would be good, master mage?” Worver sidled up to him with the pen and ink.

“One year for every resident of that tragic, lost village.”

“And, er, how long is that, if you don’t mind?”

“There were seventy-three residents lost when the village of Angvale was attacked.” Mysos asserted.

“Seventy-three years, you say!” Worver pressed the quill into Mysos’s hand and then sat forward in his leather-covered traveling chair. “Plenty of time, plenty of time. The circus will be rich!” Worver was practically glowing. “I mean, rich at heart!” he amended quickly under Mysos’s
glare. “With a great deal of money given to the poor and homeless in Palanthas, of course.”

“Hmph. Of course.” Mysos tapped the quill against the parchment, scraping the surface slightly. “Belen, you are agreed?”

She nodded.

Mysos hesitated, and Worver wheedled, “Is something wrong, my dear wizard?”