Page 47 of Wings of Frost and Fury
While I’m writing and rewriting the spell, Fortunix returns, and Ashvelon goes off with him for a while to notify all the dragons that they should be on the ground or in their caves with their captives by sunset.
Sometime later, Ashvelon checks in with me, saying he’s heading out for a hunt. When he returns with his kill, he eats quietly near the entrance of the cave and shoves the bloody skeleton of the animal off the cliff when he’s done. He doesn’tattempt to converse. I love how he respects my wishes not to be disturbed when I’m deeply engrossed in my work.
As I’m crafting each part of the spell, I occasionally rummage through my bag to find the ingredients I need. I lay them out according to the applicable section of the spell. High-quality ingredients mean I have to spend less energy, but if I’m missing something, there’s always a workaround. No matter what’s available, I can make the magic function. My skills have grown astronomically since I was eighteen, and I know a million more shortcuts now.
“Ash, darling, I need your help prying this eclipse gem out of its setting,” I tell him. “I could do it myself, but I might break a nail. Your sharp claws or one of your teeth will do the job nicely.”
He prowls over, his sharp blue gaze angling first toward the ring I’m holding, then to my face. There’s a keen understanding in that look. Like he knows exactly what I plan to do.
He was paying attention when I cast the transformation spell in the stables. He recognizes the ring and its gemstone.
“Thelise,” he says, in that deep, rich voice of his. It’s a gentle rebuke, a resigned plea.
“You’ll still be a dragon,” I whisper. “Trust me.”
He opens his jaws, letting me use the tip of a tooth to warp the setting and pop out the gem. I return to the composition of the spell and the sorting of the necessary supplies, while he lies down across the cave entrance and dozes off like a giant scaly cat.
Once I’ve got the spell structure right, I read the words over and over, replacing one here and there, altering the phrasing slightly. When I can read the whole thing three times in a row without thinking of anything I need to change, I know it’s ready.
Carefully I write out a fresh, perfect copy and read it one last time to be sure everything is accurate. This is the spell I’ll have Ashvelon carve into the rear wall of the cave.
“I need you again, pet,” I call.
He lifts his head on his snakelike neck and yawns, the afternoon sunlight glittering on his teeth. “The spell is ready?”
“Yes. See that space beyond your nest, on the back wall? I need to stand on your foreleg so I can write the spell there, and then you’ll trace it.”
I ink the spell onto the stone in big block letters, and I hop off Ashvelon’s leg several times to make sure I’m keeping the lines straight. Neither of us enjoy the stress of the inking and engraving process. The spell is long, and it must be traced with perfect accuracy. By the end, Ashvelon and I are both weary and grouchy, but at least the work is done.
The spell covers the entire back wall of the cave. Ashvelon’s two front claws on his right forepaw are somewhat dulled from carving, a fact which seems to displease him. He heads for a flat black stone in the corner of his cave and begins sharping his claws with a grinding screech.
“By Fate and fuck, would you stop?” I exclaim. “I need to think, and you need to guard the door. Don’t let anyone see inside. If they can read the spell, they might try to stop me.”
Grumbling, Ashvelon heads to the cave entrance, but when he spreads his wings, he blocks too much of the light.
“Shit,” I mutter. “I can’t see properly when you do that.”
“I could light a few dyre-stones for you,” he says.
“What are those?”
“Stones we can heat, that provide light. I have three in the back that I could ignite for you.”
“That’s perfect. Good thinking, pet.”
He slithers past me, careful to keep his limbs and tail away from the ingredients I’ve laid out on the floor. With his claws he sets up the square stones near my work area and blows acontrolled stream of blue frost-fire on one of them until it begins to glow azure. Once he stops blowing on it, the stone’s light pales, then warms to a deep gold, almost orange. He does the same to the second and third stones.
“They’re like lanterns,” I say.
“They’re very hot to the touch,” he warns. “Be careful. Their light should last for several hours.”
“Thank you.” I reach out to him, and he meets my palm with his nose. A tremor runs through his giant frame at my touch.
“I need a few more things,” I confess, stroking his muzzle. “One of your scales, some of your saliva, and a few drops of your blood.”
He opens his jaws obediently, without asking why I require any of it. I take a sample of his saliva, and then he pinches his tongue between his own teeth until it bleeds, providing me with the blood. With that done, he digs a scale from his shoulder with his claws, leaving a small, raw wound.
Each act is done in silence, with complete confidence that I have his welfare and the best interest of his clan at heart. Not since Katlee has anyone trusted me so wholly with their body and their life.
