A Snap-Dragon Stolen Chapter 4: (part 1)

Land Serpents: the fastest dragons on land. Though they have a set of small wings, they cannot fly. Land serpents are born with scales and colors that match their surroundings, which can change over a long period of time. Due to their helmet-like crest and spiked tail, their bonded humans are often recruited as soldiers.

Lark merged with her body the second Dorian opened the door to her room. In the same moment, Cadence burst out with a flurry of golden wings and a storm of high, crying notes. She practically toppled Waverly to the ground, with Lark still groggily hanging off the alchemist’s back, before plopping on the floor, raising her head, and screaming even higher.

“Goodness!” Waverly exclaimed, readjusting Lark. “Are all song dragons like this?”

Lark managed to croak a “no” before growling at Dorian so he wouldn’t say something stupid. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Of course not,” Dorian said. He straightened his waistcoat before opening Lark’s door wider. “You’d never see Cantor get this riled up.”

Waverly rolled her eyes and strolled into Lark’s room. “True, but there are two things wrong with that statement. One, you don’t get riled up, and two, Cantor can’t scream. He’s a sentient pipe organ for all it matters.”

“Ha!” Lark rasped. “A pipe organ!” She was slightly disoriented still; her soul hadn’t been able to leave the interrogation room, and when she finally  returned to her own body, she was in a new place, a new conversation, and wasn’t processing her thoughts and words correctly.

Closing the door, Dorian grumbled something about girls being ridiculous and silly. As Waverly lowered Lark onto her bed, he closed his eyes and sighed.

“What?” Waverly asked, arranging Lark’s limbs so that they didn’t hang off the bed. It tickled when she used her left arm because Misty was slithering around it, and her scales occasionally brushed Lark’s skin.

Dorian sniffed and crinkled his nose. “This whole ordeal took over forty-five minutes. You have projects to work on, you know.”

“That’s not what you’re sighing about,” Waverly said, but then she shrugged and knelt to pat Cadence’s flat, scaly head. “But yeah, I have projects. Don’t you?”

“Of course not. Mages aren’t as nice to their apprentices as alchemists are. No one gave me a grand tour of the magery workrooms, or let me join their projects, or even asked me to do grunt work.”

“You didn’t try.”

It was vague, but Lark got the feeling that neither apprentice was aware that this was her room anymore. She coughed to let them know, but Dorian had already given his defeated-in-the-argument look, which meant he turned up his chin and tried to look haughty. He leaned on the door handle, letting a triangular beam of light stream into Lark’s room as the hinges squealed and the door opened.

Groaning, Waverly walked out. “I expect you to be nice,” she said. Then Dorian slammed the door behind her.

Why was he staying?

“So,” Dorian began, his back pressed again the door. His arms were crossed against his chest, and his cream-colored sleeves were rolled up and folded at his elbows. “I assume you have questions for me.”

Lark hadn’t really, not until he mentioned it, but she squeezed her eyes shut pretended to be asleep anyway. The sooner Dorian was out, the better. For several moments, Lark held her breath and waited for the whine of door hinges.

“I know you’re awake,” Dorian said. “Sleeping people actually breathe.”

Lark corrected herself and kept quiet. She wondered vaguely what Cadence was doing, since Dorian made no indication she was bothering him, and the little dragon hadn’t climbed onto Lark’s bed yet.

“I’m giving you a chance to talk, Lark,” Dorian said. His voice stayed completely even. It was smooth, calm, knowing, and she hated it.

“I’ll be asking one of the other apprentices if he needs help with a project today. We may not be able to speak for a while. Are you okay not knowing?”

No answer.

Dorian sighed and opened the door again. Wood groaned under his shifting weight, but he stopped a moment later and turned to face Lark’s bed.

“This is how you create misunderstandings, Lark.” And with that, he gently shut the door behind him.

Lark spent a long while lying awake and thinking about that. It was so long that Cadence fell asleep at the foot of the bed, warmth radiating from her scales. Three bells, including the somber, three o’clock waltz chimed by before Lark worked up the energy to violently sit up and face what was left of the day.

At five to four, Lark arrived at the giant library doors with Cadence trotting gleefully behind. They were early.

There was no harm in that, not for a maid, so quietly, Lark stepped into the library and looked around for the man who’d taken the tray yesterday.

He was not there. No lanky, mustachioed stranger sat at the long, wooden table by the entrance. There were piles of books stacked atop it, and scattered papers, pens, and a few half-burned candles, but no person.

Shrugging at Cadence, Lark figured it wouldn’t hurt to call out. Sure, it was a library, but as long as she wasn’t too loud it would be fine.

“Hello?” she called. “I’m the housekeeper. I’ve brought tea.”

Cadence whistled a set of two notes, the second one glissing up like Lark’s greeting. When the only response was silence, the little dragon flapped her wings and twittered dejectedly. She’d always hated silence, and the stagnant, musty air of the library was no help.

“Is anybody here?” Lark said, raising her voice a touch.

Five minutes wasn’t so early that no one was there, right? Taking a few tentative steps forward, Lark squinted at the darker corners of the library. The place wasn’t well lit, with only a few stained-glass windows near the top of high walls, and sparsely placed candles. High, domed ceilings absorbed most of the light that came in, and years of careless cleaning left the place drab and dusty.

Lark was about to try going to the librarian’s office when she heard a strong, baritone voice call out from beyond the first row of bookshelves.

“I’m back here, my dear.”

That wasn’t the librarian’s voice; Lark knew as much already. After a quick, surprised glance at Cadence, Lark stepped into the shadows that fell across the floor. She worked her way past two rows of towering bookshelves, each one taller than Cantor was long, and filled from sideboard to sideboard with books of every color and width. A set of four identical tables, with simple, matching chairs sat behind those rows, and sitting at far right table was a bespectacled, middle-aged man.

He was an interesting sight for the library. A thin, metal plate covered his chest, and his hair, just beginning to grey, was worn in a loose ponytail draped over one shoulder.

Still observing him, Lark set the tea on his table as gently as possible. She noticed a fur cloak hanging off the chair next to him, and could see a faint hint of gold gleam off his color. It was obvious, despite his simplistic fashion, that the man was rich. Maybe he was a scholarly knight.

“Sir?” Lark said, her voice timid as the words caught in her throat. “Um, i-if I may, who might you be?”

The man looked up, surprise just barely visible in his raised eyebrows. He blinked a few times before chuckling and placing a strip of blue ribbon in the crease of the open book in front of him.

“I am King Casper,” he said, smiling. A few wrinkles folded in his cheeks.

Wait a minute. Lark’s eyes bulged. Her vision flitted around the room and at his belongings, and her mind tried to deduce what obvious sign she must have missed. Dropping into the lowest curtsey she could manage, Lark lowered her gaze to her toes.

“Please, Your Majesty,” she said, “I beg pardon for my rudeness.” She was quivering all over, shaking like an orphan with too little clothing. This man was the king!

“Don’t worry about it, Miss,” the king said. He chortled, leaning back in his chair like he was with an old friend. “In fact, why don’t you sit down and we can speak for a bit? I always make a point of getting to know the head housekeepers.”

Lark felt her face burn and her cheeks flush. She was getting too flustered, and song dragons were famous for warbling at times like this. As Lark sat down, she heard Cadence coo very, very softly.

“Now then,” the king began, closing his book with only the slightest rustling of papers, “what might your name be?”

“Lark, Your Majesty.”

“What a lovely name. I imagine it has to do with this little dragon you have with you?”

Lark nodded, unsure of whether she was supposed to say more. Every sense she had was running on overdrive, making sure she didn’t mess this up, because maybe Porter had met with the king too, right before he... No. She couldn’t finish that thought.

“And what is her name?”

“Her name is Cadence.” Lark felt faint. Was she supposed to add “Your Majesty” to the end of that? No one had told her the proper etiquette for this.

The King seemed to mull over the names for a second, and Lark could practically see letters swirling behind his eyes.

“Well, Miss Lark,” he said, “I must say I’ve heard the name before. Is it common?”

It wasn’t common, and Lark knew where he’d heard her name. Six years ago, it would have appeared twice on his tax reduction list: once to help reduce what the lord of her town would pay, and once to explain why her family could not pay that year. And having a commoner’s name appear twice on that list was such an odd thing that the court accountant would have mentioned it.

“No, Your Majesty,” Lark said. She shot Cadence a harsh glare to make sure the dragon wouldn’t sing something indignant.

There was silence as the king put a finger to his chin in thought. “How odd,” he said, “I seem to remember hearing it. It was something trivial, but I know I’ve heard it before.”

Lark slipped her bottom lip under her teeth, hoping, praying he wouldn’t remember her. That occurrence six years ago was an embarrassment, an insult to her pride.

Then the king shrugged, leaving the subject in the dirt. He had said it was trivial after all. Eyes twinkling, the king met Lark’s stare and smiled, one side of his lips curling farther than the other. Despite the grey hair, Lark thought the man looked almost boyish that way.

“Well,” he said, “I’m sure I’ll remember it later.” He reached towards the tea set, taking the porcelain tea pot by its delicate, curlique handle. “I appreciated the company, Miss Lark. I’ll ring for someone else to bring the set back to the kitchen when I’m done, so you are dismissed.”

As quickly as she could, and without making too much noise, Lark stood and curtsied. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said, before beckoning Cadence to follow, and walking back to the library doors. Her shoes seemed to make the floor creak, even though a soft, patterned carpet lay between them.

When Lark reached the doors, she rested a hand on one brass handle and sighed in relief. Looking back at the bookshelves, she wondered why she'd been so afraid earlier.