Page 27 of Dryad’s Treasure

“Kind of like my soil,” Martin answered.

My smile felt good. “Just like your soil. Just like when I was in your quarters. Its song was so loud it drowned out all others.” It had felt amazing also. Martin’s treasure didn’t feel neglected. It felt loved and appreciated. Martin’s soil was akin to a love ballad.

Instead of a verbal answer, Martin gave a single nod. I needed no further encouragement. Blue flames consumed me, diminishing my humanoid form until I was little more than cool fire. This treasure’s song sent stabbing pain into nearly every atom of my existence. The sooner it was found and dealt with, the better.

Cautiously heading into the firebox, I floated up the chimney. My flame lit the area enough for me to understand what was before me. Sliding up the sooty walls, I came to the space Martin had wondered about. My dryad was right. It was an alcove. I’d expected something dull and dank to be inside. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Deep plum and rich aquamarine filled the space with their oblong structures. There were two structures present—each glittering like the precious gems they were. Only these gems weren’t pulled from deep within the earth. These gems had been purposefully conceived and laid. These gems held the beginnings of life.

“Wyvern.”

“Wyvern?” Martin shouted.

“Wyvern eggs,” I mentally clarified, shocked beyond reason that Martin understood me in my wisp form.

“Gaia save us. How many?”

“Two.”

“Fuck. I’m calling Keir.”

I remained where I was, attempting to sooth the pulsing anger and hurt emanating from the eggs. Martin wasn’t wrong. If Huxley had taken the eggs… If he’d stolen wyvern spawn… The retribution could destroy what remained of the council and there wasn’t a species out there that would bat an eyelash. Such an act, such an atrocity was beyond comprehension.

Twelve

Martin

I don’t think I’d ever seen Keir’s skin so pallid and ghostly white. Currently, Elvira appeared more alive than my old friend.

“Alethia didn’t know.” Like the rest of us, Jima’s gaze was fixed on the eggs, now cradled within one of Alethia’s dark gray blankets. “She couldn’t have known.” Jima continued defending our friend.

“No one is accusing her of being complicit,” I answered when Keir remained quiet.

“Quite right,” Tabitha agreed. “Alethia and I visited many times in this very room with the fire roaring. She never once indicated there was more tucked within the flue.”

“Tabitha is correct.” Elvira’s ghostly visage hovered by the offending fireplace. Perhaps my earlier thought had been incorrect. Elvira’s form wasn’t as solid as usual, allowing the stone fireplace behind her to peek through.

“There’s one way to be certain, or as certain as we can be,” Grayson said. When all eyes focused on him, he held up a hand, fingers slightly splayed and blue flames dancing along his fingertips. “We can ask the eggs.”

Keir’s shoulders shook as if he were tossing away his past stupor. “You can do that?”

Grayson shrugged. “In a way.”

“Will it harm them?” Tabitha asked.

“Not a bit.” Grayson winced. “Although it might be a little headache-inducing for me.”

I immediately shifted closer, concern riding me hard. “What does that mean?”

Grayson patted my chest. “Nothing terrible and nothing worse than what I’ve already been through with them.” Holding his flaming hand toward the eggs, Grayson said a single name: “Alethia.”

My gaze flicked from the eggs, back to Grayson, unsure where to anticipate a response. The eggs did nothing, and Grayson’s facial expression remained relaxed. He waited for a few moments before he repeated the experiment, only this time, switching up the names. “Tenzen Hux—shit!” Grayson grabbed his head, immediately dousing his flame.

“Grayson!” I grabbed his shoulders, pulling Gray toward me. “What’s wrong? What⁠—”

“I’m fine.” Gray’s shaky voice didn’t inspire a lot of confidence. When my grip remained, Gray looked up and offered a tired smile. “Really, it’s okay. I expected a reaction, but that was more extreme than anticipated. I don’t suppose anyone has a pain charm handy?”

“Here.” Keir’s fingers slipped into his pocket, pulling out the charm. “It’s witch-made, not warlock, but should still do the trick.”