“All right,” I heard her whisper. “If this is the only way I can get you to trust me…
“I work for the Archivist,” she said, sending a jolt of shock up my spine. The Archivist? Mist’s mysterious employer, the one who’d ordered the ex-Basilisk to rescue us from Talon, travel with us and aid us where she could, was the freaking Archivist? “I believe you have already met him,” Mist continued, glancing up at me. “In Chicago. Do you remember?”
“You mean the Wyrm that guards the Vault below the library?” I rasped out. “Yeah, I remember.” How could I not? You did not just forget a meeting with the third-oldest dragon in the known world. No wonder Mist could provide us with seemingly impossible-to-get information; the Archivist was the literal guardian of all the organization’s dirty secrets. He had access to knowledge I could only dream of.
There was just one small problem.
“Mist,” I began, “correct me if I’m wrong, but the Archivist works for Talon.”
A flicker of a smile crossed the girl’s face. “Yes and no,” she said in that cryptic way that made me want to strangle something. “Yes, the Archivist guards the Vault and protects Talon’s secrets. No, he will not openly oppose the Elder Wyrm. But he keeps his own network of spies and Basilisks, a handful of dragons whom he trusts will not betray him to the organization. We are his eyes and ears within Talon, accessing secrets where he cannot.”
“Why?” I asked. “Is he planning a coup against the Elder Wyrm?” That would be interesting, to say the least. As the second-oldest dragon within Talon, the Archivist could command a lot of respect. He might have the support to at least challenge the hierarchy and the Elder Wyrm. Though I wasn’t certain what kind of leader he would be. For all I knew, he might be just as corrupt and power-hungry as the current CEO.
But Mist shook her head. “No, the Archivist has no interest in ruling Talon,” she said to my vague disappointment. “And even if he did, the Elder Wyrm has far too many resources and is still far too powerful for him to take down alone. He’s made that very clear.”
“Then what the hell does he want?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” Mist shrugged as I frowned at her. “I don’t question orders,” she said calmly. “I just do my job. That’s how it’s always been.”
I snorted. “So he’s no different than Talon. Protecting his interests and expecting everyone beneath him to do their job, no questions asked.”
“Perhaps,” Mist said, unconcerned. “But he has always been a neutral observer. This is the first time he has offered aid to a cause directly opposing the Elder Wyrm.” Her lips quirked as she met my gaze. “Maybe he actually thinks you can change something.”
I smirked back. “Well, we’ll try not to disappoint him.”
Mist shook her head, rose and walked to where the black case lay, forgotten when the fight began. I stood, as well, a little slower due to at least one bruised rib, and maybe a broken nose. Damn, the girl hit hard. My face felt like a dagger had been jammed below my eyes.
“So are you going to tell me what’s in that thing, or do I have to steal it from you later?” I asked as Mist walked back with the case in hand. She gave me a resigned look, put the case on the ground and clicked it open.
“I’m not certain myself,” the Basilisk admitted, pushing back the top. “I was just told it was important, and that it could greatly aid us in our upcoming mission…”
She trailed off, her eyes widening. Even more curious, I walked around to her back, just as the girl reached into the case and pulled out a dark piece of clothing. Pitch-black, it sucked in the light and looked like it was made out of ink. I drew in an awed breath as I realized what it was.
“Well, damn. He sent you a Viper suit.”
I stifled a tiny flutter of envy that went through me as I stared at the fabric. Ember might not have realized it back when she’d had one of her own, but it was a high honor to possess a suit, as only a few dragons were ever given the infamous black outfit that let you change between forms without the suit tearing or being destroyed. Only the top agents in the organization were gifted with Viper suits. They were reserved for the fearsome assassins, though I’d heard of a couple exceptional Basilisks who were given them, as well. But they were stupidly hard to get ahold of, and the process of making them was a heavily guarded secret. Knowing what I did now, it made sense that Ember, the daughter of the Elder Wyrm, had been given a Viper suit. I had never gotten one while I was in Talon, despite being the best Basilisk in the organization at that time.
Not that I was bitter or anything.
I gazed at the slinky fabric in Mist’s hands and forced a grin. “Guess the Archivist wants us to succeed, after all,” I said. “That, or he doesn’t want his favorite spy getting killed. Must be nice, working for someone who can give you fun toys like that.”
“I would think so,” Mist said, and pulled an identical suit out of the case. “Because there are three of them here.”
Holy shit. Three Viper suits? I stared at her to make sure she wasn’t joking, then looked down at the open case. It was hard to tell them apart, but there were indeed two more folded Viper suits in the case. Three suits, three dragons. Me, Ember and Mist.
And the second most powerful dragon in Talon backing us up.
“Okay,” I said, nodding as Mist watched me with that knowing smile. “So, you’re working for the Archivist, and he wants us to take down that island. This might not be such a bad thing, after all.”
EMBER
I should’ve seen this coming.
I mean, I’d known it could happen. Tensions were running high, and from what I could tell, there was a silent battle going on between the soldiers of the Western Chapterhouse, and the soldiers of the Eastern Chapterhouse. Nothing overt; the soldiers had been told that fighting would not be tolerated, and if nothing else, they were disciplined and followed orders well. But within the church walls, the enmity and mistrust between both dragons and soldiers was palpable. Ward’s men, the soldiers of the Eastern Chapterhouse, condemned the other soldiers for sympathizing with dragons, and their contempt was obvious. For their part, the men of the Western Chapterhouse seemed balanced on a razor’s edge. They had seen us, a few had even talked to us, but the vitriol and hatred toward dragons from their peers, and from Lieutenant Ward in particular, made them uncertain and confused. Having two lieutenants so at odds with each other was throwing everything they knew into chaos.
We dragons kept our heads down and remained mostly out of sight, not engaging the soldiers unless we absolutely had to. Personally, I didn’t like the idea of hiding from our supposed allies, especially since we could be trying to convince them that dragons weren’t evil. It seemed like a wasted opportunity. Still, I understood that it was a lot to ask of the Order—allying with their ancient enemies when their Code, their very religion, told them that dragons were soulless monsters that must be destroyed. It wasn’t a good time to convince them otherwise. Especially since some of the soldiers were more vehement in their hatred than others.
“Where ya going, dragon?”
I stared at the soldiers who were leaning against the wall in the middle of the corridor. They were big and muscular, with buzzed heads and matching smirks. The one who had spoken was none other than Peter Matthews, Garret’s old rival. His blue eyes were hard as he glared at me.
I tensed, feeling the heat start to rise in my veins. Inside the church, the stone hallways were tight and narrow, with little room to maneuver and no other ways around. If I wanted to get where I was going, I would have to pass these two. Beneath my clothes, the slick material of my new Viper suit flattened to my skin, sensing hostility, anticipating a sudden, violent change of body. I took a deep breath to cool my lungs.
“I’m just looking for someone. Excuse me.”