Draconian Measures [Yuletide 2019]

“You’re still not ready.”

The kid looks – well, unreasonably upset. About what I expected, really. I’m angry myself; I hate to lose, even when it’s my job to, when I’ve pitched the battle to be just on the limits of what my challenger can handle and seen them come out on top. But I’m an adult and she’s not, and that means I have to stand here and take it.

“But I beat you,” she protests. “And I beat all the leaders, too! How can that not be enough?”

Everyone says that. Everyone knows I’m tough, so they save the Rising badge for last, and then when they get it they think, great, I’m ready for the big time. Then they get mad when I have the gall to suggest that maybe they might want to think that ambition through.

It’s fine. Or it’s not, not exactly – Chana at reception fields a lot of angry phone calls – but I’m used to being the bad guy of the Johto League. Nobody likes to be told they’re going to need to put in some more work before they’re ready to throw themselves at Will and his xatu.

“Look, kid. There’s a cave to the north of here. Dragon Shrine, Chana can give you directions. Go there, take the challenge. You clear that, fine. I’ll admit you’re worthy of this badge.”

The kid – Lana or Lola or something; it’s hard to remember all the challengers – looks like she might pop with rage. I get it, I really do. I hate when things don’t go my way as well. But someone’s got to teach these kids that self-belief will only get you so far.

“That’s not fair,” she cries. “I beat you!”

“I mean I guess you did,” I admit, with a grimace. “But that’s not enough. No buts. Head over to the shrine and tell them Clair sent you.”

She actually stamps her foot then, which would be funny if it wasn’t something that I know I did as a kid. And maybe also last week.

“Fine,” she huffs. “I’ll do your stupid test. But I hope you know I’m gonna crush it.”

I sigh.

“Yeah, whatever. See you later.”

She glares at me and storms out, her typhlosion scurrying after her with its unlit mane smoking and sparking.

I figure I should give her a good head start before I do the same.


No other challengers are booked in for today. I have the usual afternoon seminar, but wouldn’t you know it, Keir’s called up, and if I’m not mistaken, that means it’s probably time for me to get my hands dirty. Some good honest use of my strength, beyond crushing children’s dreams.

I pick up the phone – the clan one; I hate juggling these three different mobiles – and lean back in my chair, feet on the desk.

“Yo, Keir.”

“Blessings of the paledrake upon you, too,” he says sharply. Which, well, screw him, frankly. If the best goddamn dragonmaster in the clan can’t dispense with the formalities every now and then, who can? “Kind of an emergency here. All hands on deck sort of thing.”

“What?” I sit up, swing my feet down to the floor. Across the room, Lune perks up, lifting her from her pool. The dragon energies inside them let kingdra fly free from the water, just like dragonair, but she likes to stay wet as far as possible, and she spends most of the time between matches lurking underwater. “What’s happening?”

“Two tourists have turned up at the Sinjoh ruins and everything’s gone to hell,” he says. “Not a lot of details. Domnall – you know, he runs the cabin and keeps an eye on things? You met him at the last clan moot, he was the one who brought that godawful pickled herring – he’s pretty shaken up, wasn’t making a lot of sense.”

I scowl. Sinjoh is important; the clan used to live there, a long time ago. There’s some lore about why we stayed and why we left that I can’t actually remember right now, but I’m not about to admit to that in front of Keir.

“What rank is he?” I ask.

“Initiate.”

“The hell, Keir? Sinjoh is―”

“Look, there aren’t enough of us around to put a dragonmaster in every post, Clair. that’s why I’m calling you.” He sounds irritated. Not that uncommon, when people are talking to me. I’ve never been able to decide whether I like that or not. “These two people went in and then suddenly the weather’s gone weird, the place is shaking like it’s going to fall apart―”

“Right, right, I’m on my way.” I’m already up and moving, recalling Lune to her ball; she can’t fly as high or fast as Charon, and I’ll need her with me for whatever this might be. “Any more you can tell me?”

“I wish. Like I said, Domnall’s out of his depth.”

“Fine. I’ll grab Charon and be there in an hour.”

“See that you do. Oh, and one more thing?”

“Yeah?”

“Goes without saying, Clair, this is a clan matter. The elders have decided, and I agree, that the League doesn’t need to know about this unless things really go to hell. Got it?”

I pause, half out of my office. I know what’s going on here, and it makes my blood boil like a muk in high summer.

“So that’s why you’re calling me,” I say. “You want Lance, don’t you? But you know he’d make it a League issue.”

Of course. When you can’t have Lance, might as well settle for Clair, right? Oh sure, Clair’s more loyal, Clair uses her position to keep the League out of clan business and ensure we still get our say in governing the city we built – but still, Lance beat her that one time, so obviously he’s the best.

Look. I know I’m not the easiest person in the world to get on with. But you’d have to be some kind of goddamn saint to be able to take this with a smile.

“Clair, now is not the time,” says Keir, sounding tired. “You’re in charge here, all right? Just get your arse up to Sinjoh.”

I almost snap at him, but manage to catch myself at the last second.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter. “I’ll let you know what’s going on when I get there.”

“Good. Regular updates, please. I’m trying to coordinate here.”

“Mm. Fine.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” he says. “Keir out.”

I stare at my phone for a little while, jaw clenched so tight my teeth hurt. Then I slam the door and stalk off to delegate the afternoon seminar.


It’s hard to stay mad when you’re flying. Doubly so when you’re flying through the Silverblacks, the great claw of mountains that curl around north Johto like the hooked tip of a druddigon’s talon. The ground falls away, Blackthorn shrinks and dwindles, and suddenly there’s nobody around but me and Charon, cupped in the huge icy palm of the mountains. And in my heart I feel the heat of my anger being blasted away with the gusting of the frozen alpine wind.

The sky above, acid-blue; the peaks on either side, burning like white gold in the sunlight. Dark slash of the valleys below.

Beneath me, Charon lifts his heavy head and shrieks into the sky in exultation, the kind of scream that these mountains haven’t heard for sixty-five million years, when aerodactyl like him last flew among these cliffs. And I’ll be honest, it takes everything I have not to throw my own head back and join in.


Sinjoh. The walls are in ruins, the town completely gone; what’s left is mostly buried under the snow. Hideously bright in the summer sunlight, but that’s what sunglasses are for. Besides. Nothing like flying in on dragonback with your cloak billowing and your mirrored shades glittering in the sun.

No sign of the strange weather Keir mentioned. But Sinjoh’s a weird place, and it’s not impossible that things look different down on the ground.

“Down!” I yell, over the howling wind, and Charon dips a wing, cutting cleanly through the crisp air as he brings us down towards the little cabin on the mountainside that marks the edge of the old settlement. (Simple idea, really: if you want to keep an eye on the people who visit Sinjoh, run the only place to stay for miles around.) A couple of minutes later, I’m climbing down from his back – and there it is. The instant I set foot on the ground, black clouds roll in out of nowhere and a peal of thunder rumbles through the marrow of my bones, long and loud.

Charon hisses and lashes his tail, folding his wings back along his forearms. I don’t blame him. Not sure I like the way the lightning’s gone red all that much myself.

“Yeah,” I say, looking around. “This is … goddamn. Come on, let’s find Domnall.”

We don’t have far to look. He was clearly watching for me; I’ve barely even taken off my sunglasses when the cabin door flies open and Domnall comes rushing out, a weedy-looking dratini slithering through the air in his wake.

“Clair!” he cries. I suppose he remembers me, even if I have no recollection of ever meeting him before. “God, I’m so glad you’re here. I don’t even know what she did, I thought she was just a historian, I mean―”

Okay, I am not dealing with this. I grab him by the lapels, motion for Charon to get up close and personal with his fangs.

“Who, Domnall?” I ask, as he quails. “What’s happening?”

“This tourist,” he stammers, staring at Charon’s face, flashing red with the pulsing of the unnatural lightning. “She just turned up – I don’t know, she had this kid with her, they’re Sinnish, I think? Said she was a historian, wanted to look at the temple ruins―”

“She’s there now?”

“Yeah.” He just about manages to tear his eyes off Charon and give me a worried look. “She went in there a little while ago with the kid.”

“Names?”

“Uh, shoot, I don’t – I mean I can’t remember, I’d have to check the visitor’s book―”

“Oh, fantastic,” I sigh. “How’s your dratini in a fight?”

“A fight? Oh no, we can’t―”

“Then get back in there and stay on the line with Keir,” I tell him. “I’ll radio back to you, you relay to him. Understand?”

“Yeah, got it. I, um, I have a radio for you.”

“Cheers. Now get to work, we’ve got a crisis to resolve.”

“Um. Yes, ma’am.”

I don’t know when exactly I shifted from ‘Clair’ to ‘ma’am’, but I’m not complaining.

“Great,” I say, shoving him back in the direction of the cabin. “Charon?”

He growls and turns to face me, tail sweeping away the top of a snowdrift.

“Stay here. Keep a lookout. You’re best out here where there’s room to manoeuvre.”

He leans in and very gently bites my hand: that’s a yes.

“Good lad.” I pat him on the shoulder. “See you in a bit.”

A quick snap of his jaws, and he launches himself up into the air with a spray of snow, glinting bloodily in the flash from the crimson lightning.

“Right,” I mutter, unclipping Lune’s ball from my belt. “Let’s get going.”


It’s not a long walk. The cabin is built near the old gatehouse, close by the entrance to the valley; the main road of the old town is still here, now a thin trail scabbed with the odd remaining paving stone, and following it through the banks of snow and scraggly pines takes you straight to the remnants of the citadel.

I feel like it’s getting darker the further I go, less and less of the bright August sun making it through the clouds with every step I take. But the lightning is getting brighter, too: red forks that flash closer and closer, the thunder overhead almost deafening. Mostly I keep my eyes on the path – some dragonmaster I’d be if I slipped on some ice and broke my leg before I solved the problem – but every so often I look up at a flash and the smell of ozone and see another tree blazing with eerie crimson flames.

Paledrake preserve us. I can almost understand why Domnall was afraid.

Almost. You wouldn’t catch me feeling scared of some dumb thunderstorm.

“Clair to Domnall,” I say, raising the radio to my mouth. “You there?”

“I hear you,” he crackles. “What is it?”

“Approaching the citadel now. Lightning is” – BOOM: a red flash, and a snowdrift is suddenly a cloud of steam, gusting wetly across the path – “getting more intense. Have we seen anything like this before?”

“One moment, uh, Keir, I have a question …”

Another flash, and just for a moment I can see the temple itself, the central hall rising in a snowy hump amid a network of collapsed walls.

“… okay. Uh, right, so the red lightning thing was last recorded in 1789.”

I wait, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“And?” I ask. “What caused it?”

“The records don’t say.” He sounds nervous. “Sorry.”

“Goddamn it.” I shake my head. “I guess I’m about to find out, aren’t I? Coming up on the entrance.”

“Copy that,” he says, like he thinks he’s in some kind of action movie or something, the idiot. “Oh, I have the names of the people who went in, if you wanted that?”

“Please. It’d be nice to know you can do something right.”

“Uh, um, okay. So – the woman, her name’s Cynthia Mandeville, and the kid is … Dawn Ashen?”

Mandeville. I feel like I know that name from somewhere, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Was she at a conference, maybe? Can’t remember. I’ve got bigger problems right now, anyway: I’m close enough now that I can see the bulk of the temple towering over me, and a faint light shining out through the broken arch where the doors once were.

“Got it,” I say. “I’m heading in now. Clair out.”

I return the radio to my belt and send out Lune, who flops inelegantly in the snow for a moment before picking herself up and pulsing up into the air, gills spurting as she switches to her lungs.

“Ready?” I ask her. “We don’t know what’s in there. Could potentially be two targets.”

She flips a fin in a lazy, unconcerned kind of way.

“Yeah.” I grin. “Let’s be honest, they’re nothing we can’t handle. Come on. You take point.”

She bobs once, silently, and glides in through the archway, feeling carefully around with her tail for anything she can anchor to in a pinch. Ready to strike. To show everyone what it means to go up against a dragonmaster.

That makes two of us, I think, and loosen my knife in its sheath as I follow her into the dark.


We catch up soon enough. The antechamber is small enough, and beyond the bulk of the fallen columns, I can see a light. Figures silhouetted against it, one short, one tall.

I gesture at Lune: over there, on the left. She glides into position while I take up my own place on the right, boots silent on the damp stone. We pause – I glance around the rubble – see the two figures still there, facing away―

“Clair to Domnall,” I mutter, lifting the radio to my mouth. “I see them. Two targets. Silhouetted against some kind of light.”

“Do you see what they’re doing?”

“Gonna confront them now. Clair out.”

“Sure―”

Click. And I step out.

“You there! What’s the meaning of this?”

The figures turn, surprised. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lune rooting herself in the shadows, curling her tail into a fallen sculpture. Ready to Dragon Pulse or Hydro Pump on my word.

“Oh, hello,” says the tall one mildly. “I’m sorry if we’ve caused you any trouble. We didn’t know what was going to happen until it did, and now, well. You can sort of see.”

I have an answer. I need her to identify herself and her friend, figure out who’s who, find out what exactly they came here for and what’s happening now.

I have this answer. It’s right there. But what’s also right there is the creature standing behind these two, towering over them with their hooves set against thin air above the altar. Their hide glows with a kind of soft, rich light that can come from no flame I know of, and their flanks are speared through with the spokes of a golden wheel.

I’m good at this. I’m so goddamn good at this that I’m the first one they call. But even I find it hard to speak when I’m staring at the goddamn paledrake.

“Ah,” says the tall one, watching my face. “Yes, I anticipated this. Dawn here is partnered to Arceus.”

Partnered to …?

With an effort, I take my eyes off the paledrake and look at the two of them properly. The tall one – Cynthia, I guess – is dressed all in black, with impractically long blonde hair; the short one is an actual literal child. White beanie and dark hair framing a narrow face.

And she’s … the paledrake is …

“What the hell,” I say, as the paledrake stamps a hoof in midair, “is going on here?”

“It’s all very simple.” Cynthia smiles, steps forward with her hand out for me to shake. I leave it hanging there, keeping a tight grip on my knife instead. “Cynthia Mandeville. Champion Regent, Sinnoh League. Technically Dawn here is our Champion, but given her age, she just handles the battles while I take care of the rest. She also doesn’t speak any Johtoni, I’m afraid,” she adds. “Hence my speaking for the both of us.”

Sinnoh Champion! That’s where I remember her from. She’s a dragonmaster herself, or some kind of low Sinnish imitation; she has a garchomp, if not true clan blood. And Dawn … there was a news story about her earlier this year, wasn’t there? A kid Champion – like Red was, before he wandered off to find himself in the mountains. They said he partnered with a zapdos.

But still, there’s a world of difference between partnering with a legendary bird and partnering with the wellspring of all creation.

“And she’s partnered to the paledrake?” I ask, warily. Trying to get this right.

“We know them as Arceus,” replies Cynthia, with a surprisingly disarming smile. But yes. And you – from the cloak, and the kingdra you’ve hidden in the shadows, I’m assuming you’re part of the dragon clan?”

She noticed? Goddamn. She really is Champion material. A proper Champion, too – one of the ones that gets involved with League ops instead of sitting back and enjoying their ad money, one who has the knack of sizing up a situation at a glance.

I mean, technically Lance fits that description too. But he’s my asshole cousin, and Cynthia’s―

How long have I been standing here staring? Damn it, Clair, get it together.

“Yeah,” I say, probably too late. “That’s, uh, that’s right.”

Cynthia raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you share your faith with the seven Sinnish tribes,” she says, waving at the paledrake. They lower their head a little as if curious; I get the feeling they might snuffle at her hand if she didn’t take it away again. Like a horse. Is that a blasphemous comparison? But there it is, right in front of me. “Our tribes came together with yours to build this place, to the glory of the all-maker.”

The kid, Dawn, grins at me. Absolutely fearless. She has that look on her face that I see on my least favourite challengers: that supreme confidence, that certainty that no matter what happens, she’ll come out on top.

Worst thing is, she’s probably right.

“I know,” I say brusquely, although in fact I’d forgotten one or two of the details. “I’m clan, like you said. Clair Serris. Their best dragonmaster.”

Dawn says something in Sinnish, all harsh sounds and glottal stops, and Cynthia says something back to her. Behind them, the paledrake tosses their head impatiently, eager to get on with whatever it was I just interrupted.

“Excuse us,” says Cynthia, turning back to me. “We thought that was Lance Serris.”

Paledrake judge them. Except, well, they probably already did, and it looks like they both came out of it okay.

“Yeah, lots of people seem to think that for some reason,” I snap. “Look, what are you doing here? Haven’t you seen what’s going on outside – the storm and all?”

“Ah. Yes. Sorry about that.” Cynthia glances at the paledrake for a moment, as if to ask them to hold on for a moment. Dawn follows her lead and starts to talk to them in Sinnish. “You’ve probably seen the news. We’ve had a lot of temporal anomalies crop up in Sinnoh since everything with Team Galactic. Five localised time-stops last month. And just the other day, a plane from New Tenochtitlan arrived in our airspace two weeks before it took off.”

Team Galactic. Name rings a bell, but I guess I didn’t think it was important. Something to Google when I get back to the gym.

“Yeah, I’m aware of all that,” I say, with all the authority I can muster. “It was big news.”

Cynthia gives me an amused smile. Somehow, I don’t think I fooled her. And worse, I think I might be blushing.

“What’s that – uh, you know, what’s that got to do with all this?” I ask, folding my arms defensively.

She raises her eyebrows.

“We thought Arceus could help.” We both look at the paledrake, their massive head bent down towards Dawn’s hand. The sight makes my stomach turn in a weird, excited-fearful way: that’s a god, that’s the origin of all things, and she’s whispering to them and stroking their neck like they’re a skittish ponyta. “It’s difficult to get in contact with them. After the spacetime disturbances at Spear Pillar, Dawn found she couldn’t get back to the Hall of Origin, and, well. This is the only other place where Arceus has ever been known to manifest. We came here, Dawn called, and they answered.”

I’m still staring at the paledrake, at how they bow their head to Dawn and lean into her petting. It takes me a little while to realise that Cynthia’s done speaking.

“Right,” I say, trying to gather my thoughts. “So, uh … what … happens now?”

“We wait and see what Arceus does,” says Cynthia. “Would you like to join us? It only seems appropriate. Sinnoh and Johto, tribe and clan. Back in Sinjoh together.”

I glance into the corner at Lune, who bobs in relief as if she’s been trying to get my attention for a while. I don’t think she knows what we’re looking at, but she doesn’t seem to know why I’m not doing anything, either.

I’m not sure I know why I’m not doing anything. There’s the paledrake. And this kid, and this weird, mild woman who is nothing at all like my idea of a Champion. Who’s looking at me with a kind of frank, open friendliness that I have no idea what to do with.

You know, I’m starting to get the feeling that she might be something of a different breed to Lance. And hell, she does have God on her side.

“C’mere,” I say, waving Lune over. “I want you with me for this.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

I’m about to answer when the radio squawks on my belt.

“Clair? Domnall to Clair. What’s your situation?”

“Hang on,” I say, as Lune glides over. “Clair here. Hold off on any backup. Keep the temple clear.”

“What? Are you sure?”

I look at the paledrake, drawing themself back up to their full height, gleaming in the dark. At Dawn, stepping away with their light still sticking to her fingers.

At Cynthia. Who has, somehow, managed to upstage the goddamn divine dragon at the heart of the universe.

“Yeah,” I say, scratching between Lune’s horns. “Clair out.”


In the beginning, there was nothing. And from nothing came the paledrake; and the paledrake reached out their thousand arms and wove the world into being. They made time and space and the void between. They made the royal dragons that head the three houses of the clan. They made humanity.

And today, it seems, they’re making something new.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. The paledrake rears up on their hind legs, a thousand thousand unown peeling themselves out of the carvings on the walls and thronging around them in great ribbons of swarming letters that fill the air with black fluttering and the smell of spilled ink.

They keep rising, up and up, their unown-tendrils forming into arms, working the space between them with hands that twist and pull at the fabric of space itself, tearing little pieces of the air away, ramming them together, working rags and shreds of air like clay―

The paledrake falls, slams their hooves down with a boom my ears can’t hear but which vibrates through all the bones in my skull – and turns to stalk away, their unown-arms dissolving back into the walls all around them. They seem to be walking down a corridor somewhere high up in the air, receding through more distance than this room contains, and the temple is shaking itself apart and the floor is a yawning black abyss and I lunge to grab Lune as we fall―


“Well, I’m flattered, but you should probably buy a girl a drink first before you go trying to hold her hand like that.”

“What?”

I blink: it’s all back. Just as it was before. The temple, the unown carved into the wall. The paledrake’s gone; the eerie light has faded. But other than that, it’s all just the same.

Also, I seem to have missed Lune and ended up clinging to Cynthia instead.

“Ah!” I jump away smartly, busy myself tugging my cloak back into place. “I, ah, sorry about that, I didn’t – I thought I was grabbing―”

Lune floats up alongside me, a perfect picture of serenity.

“―Lune,” I finish, weakly.

She flicks a fin, gives me a look down her snout. Sometimes I really wish her eyes were a little less … evil.

“Oh, my,” says Cynthia, not even trying to hide her smile. “I seem to have touched a nerve.”

“No!” I protest. “I mean, ah, no, of course not. All in good, uh, good … fun.”

Paledrake judge her, I can’t look at her right now. I turn away – and immediately forget all about her, because now I can see what the paledrake was making with those arms.

They’re small; I’ve seen arcanine that were bigger. Their horns and armour plates are barely little nubs of steel in their armoured hide. But they are, unmistakeably―

“Dialga,” I breathe. “Hell of a day for gods, huh.”

The baby dialga totters forward on their clawed feet, peering around with bleary eyes. Reminds of a newborn goat I saw once, up on one of the farms the more traditional branches of the clan run. They have the same kind of winsome defencelessness, though I’m sure if I annoyed them enough, they could stamp their foot and rewrite history so I was never born.

Not that anyone seems to have told Dawn that. She squeals and rushes over to hug them with that special enthusiasm that only kids seem to have, chattering away in Sinnish while they bleat and bump their head happily against her shoulder.

“Is … is she for real?” I ask, glancing at Cynthia.

She laughs.

“Yes,” she replies. “How d’you think she partnered with Arceus? She’s a kid. Just a kid. And that means she has―”

“―grace,” I finish. “Yeah, I know.”

She gives me a look. An I’ve-just-realised-something kind of look.

“Hey,” she says slowly. “Clair Serris, you said? Which would make you leader of―”

“―the Blackthorn pokémon gym.” I shrug briefly. “I know kids.”

I do. Despite everything. Despite the fact that I keep sending them to the Dragon Shrine, despite the fact that my insides seethe whenever I lose to them – I know. There’s a reason that we send them off on trainer journeys, after all. Kids can do things that even the best dragonmaster in the clan might have a little difficulty with.

Cynthia smiles. Beyond us, the baby dialga is climbing in Dawn’s lap, half crushing her with their heavy feet.

“Well, then,” she says. “You know. Now, Dawn and I had better get this dialga somewhere safe. Figure out how they can help us with our time problems.”

“I’ll assist,” I say, maybe too quickly. “I mean. As a clan representative. Dialga is one of our gods too; we have a stake in this as well.”

“Sure,” says Cynthia, raising a knowing eyebrow. “That sounds like a good idea.”

My heart – treacherous little thing – quickens.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You seem very well qualified. As, ah, the best dragonmaster in the clan, of course. And perhaps as someone who knows where I could get a decent drink in Blackthorn. I feel like I might need one, after all this.”

Lune hisses quietly, curls her tail briefly around my calf.

“Hrmmph,” I grunt, feeling the blood rush to my cheeks. “No idea what you’re talking about, Lune. Hey, why don’t you head back in your ball. Moisten your gills.”

Kingdra don’t have the most expressive faces out there, but I swear she gives me an innocent look as she disappears.

“Right, then.” I clap my hands together. Decisiveness, that’s the key. I am a woman of great purpose and moment. “Let’s get the dialga back to Blackthorn. The clan can provide assistance there.”

Cynthia inclines her head, holds out a hand to encompass Dawn and the dialga.

“Lead on, Clair,” she says.

And I go tch and shake my head, and I do.


“Ms Clair! Ms Clair!”

Great. Just when I finally got a moment to myself. I’ve been all over this afternoon: up to Sinjoh and back, then the clan meeting hall, brokering a deal between Cynthia, Dawn and the elders, then on the phone to the League, trying to explain how no, actually nothing at all happened out there at the ruins, and there aren’t any secret legendary pokémon that need to be taken into secure custody. I was really, really looking forward to getting back behind my desk and taking the weight off my feet for five minutes. Get my head together, maybe text Cynthia about that drink.

But no. Here’s that kid again. Lisa or Lana or whatever her name is, with the pigtails and the exhausting enthusiasm.

“Yeah?” I ask, turning around and leaning wearily against the wall by my office door. “What is it, uh …?”

“Lyra,” she says, brandishing a little scroll of parchment. “And here! Look! I got certified!”

“Right, Lyra, I knew that.” I take the scroll and open it up. There’s the elder’s seal, all right. “Yeah. Looks like you did.”

“Yeah!” Ugh. The energy this kid has. It should be illegal for kids to be this energetic. “And he gave me a dratini and everything, so―”

“He what?”

Lyra pauses to rummage around in her bag, and comes out with one of the silvery apricorn balls that only the clan use. A flash of light, and there’s a dratini at her feet, twisting and turning like Lune trying to root herself for an attack. I look, and see the spray of silver scales around his eyes. Yeah. That’s one of ours, all right. Question is, why on earth did the elder give him to this kid?

“He gave this guy to you?” I ask, scowling.

“Yeah!” She beams at me. “I guess I was just that good. Aced the challenge, you know? He said he’d never seen anyone like me.”

“… huh.”

I’m very good at what I do. And I know kids, too. But maybe, maybe, I don’t know absolutely everything just yet.

“Well,” I sigh, feeling around in my pockets for badges, “I guess that means you’re good to go, kid. Congratulations.”

I put the badge in her hand, and her face lights up in pure, incandescent delight.

Paledrake preserve us. I actually think I might be smiling.

“Yes!” she cries. “I saved Blackthorn till last ’cause I knew it was gonna be hard, but I won! That’s all of them! Thank you, thank you!”

“Uh, sure, whatev―”

She jumps forward and hugs me suddenly, which I’ll admit is absolutely awful, and then she rockets away down the hall, her dratini slithering purposefully after her.

I stare, reeling. All eight badges, huh? That’s rare. Usually only a handful make it all the way each year.

“Well,” I say, to the space where she was. “I guess you’re welcome, kid.”