Page 7 of Heir of Autumn
Dr. Fang sighed. “Oh, you boys and your silly games. I suppose you expect me to go up to his room and give him a spanking until he surrenders it, hmm? Or will you deal with it on your own terms like adults? Gods, I should spank the both of you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I grumbled. “I’ll figure something out.”
“That you will, especially now that you have your Breath of the Wind. Theoretically, the gemstone on its own should have enough power to enable you to breathe. But only you alone. Sylvain and Satchel here will be coming with you, naturally? I imagine they enjoy breathing themselves.”
“Yep,” said the voice from inside the drawer.
“I do enjoy it very much,” Sylvain said. “Though in all seriousness, I do believe that time is of the essence here. The sooner we find a way to augment the Wispwell, the sooner we can begin distributing more Wispwater both here and in the Verdance.”
“And throughout the oriels as well,” Dr. Fang said, nodding. “The headmasters certainly acknowledge the threat of the Withering so close to home, as it were. I’d wager that your best chance at powering the Wispwell will involve collecting gemstones of elemental water. The Tears of the Ocean. The more, the better.”
“Hmm,” I said, running my thumb along the intricate grooves and bumps of Aphrodite’s medallion. “Is it really that simple? We just chuck all the Tears of the Ocean we can find into the Wispwell?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that, of course. Enchantments, to be sure, and some ritual magic, too. Support from several other disciplines, alchemy most of all, will also assist in reinforcing the Wispwell’s power. I understand Professor Hernandez will be involved in the effort herself.”
Sylvain nodded sagely. “A very talented woman, and a very kind friend.”
Gods, I did love how well he was getting along with my buddies, almost to the point of stealing them from me. “Then we’ve definitely got our work cut out for us.” I pounded my fist into my open hand. “Gonna go beat up some guardians.”
Dr. Fang cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t be so cocky, now. You’ve only fought a guardian at a time in the past, and even then with the aid of others.”
I pouted and lifted my chin. “But that was before I started collecting my own guardians.”
“Be that as it may, Lochlann. Pace yourself. Take the time to prepare for this excursion. Bring more allies if you can find them. Surely there are others in the Wispwood willing to help in such an important matter.” Dr. Fang spread her hands along her desk. “Those of us who won’t be busy making preparations for the Wispwell, that is. And you won’t be the only team assigned to harvest Tears of the Ocean. The Oriel of Water is big enough.”
Hopefully bigger than the Oriel of Air, at least, where Evander Skink still managed to snake a guardian kill out from under us.
Sylvain cracked his knuckles. “We’ll find others to journey with us, Doctor Fang. There will be others. I am sure of it. The Withering does affect us all, in the end.”
Dr. Fang tapped her finger on the end of her nose. “Precisely. I confess I had my own shortcomings in considering the Withering a serious matter. Of course, that was before it manifested in the Black Market.”
I shook my head. We still didn’t fully understand how the affliction had spread so far, taking over Sister Dolores of the Convent of Infinite Sorrow. Aphrodite had theorized — no, taunted that I’d been responsible for bringing the Withering with me. Somehow, she said, I’d infected Sister Dolores when I summoned my guardians in the fight to win my inheritance.
Except the sister wasn’t even in the vault at the time, huddled safely outside, away from the fiery breath of the dragon standing between me and my father’s money. Oh, sorry, old man. My money, now.
“So it’s settled,” I said, holding up my hand, counting off on my fingers. “Find a proper water-breathing spell, enter the oriel, collect our gemstones, and save a unicorn.”
“Aquatic unicorn,” Sylvain corrected. “A unicorn that can swim. The world truly is a marvelous place.”
Rustling and clattering came from the inside of Dr. Fang’s drawer. Muttered curses echoed from within, and then more scrabbling noises. Small hands emerged as Satchel pulled himself up to the edge of the desk. His teeth were clamped over several pins, his body loaded with fabric and thread, draped there like he was a tiny, living mannequin.
My brow furrowed. “What in the — Satchel, what are you doing? And why didn’t you just fly your way out of there?”
He slumped onto Dr. Fang’s desk, then rolled onto his back, arms stretched above his head, chest heaving as he huffed and puffed. He turned his head and spat out his mouthful of pins.
“Got my wings tangled in some thread. Um, a little help, please?”
Dr. Fang lowered her face toward him. “May I pick you up, Satchel? It’ll be easier that way.”
“Yes, please,” he mumbled sheepishly. “And thank you.”
Satchel flopped limply in Dr. Fang’s hands as she detangled the mess of thread and yarn that had somehow wrapped around his wings. She looked like she was playing with a tired and slightly sweaty little doll.
“Again, Satchel,” I said, “what were you even doing poking around in there?”
He crossed his arms and sulked. “Turns out I’m even lower on sewing supplies than I thought. I’m kind of working on something. Don’t worry about it.”
I gave Sylvain a questioning glance, but he only shook his head and shrugged.
