Silver looked in the opposite direction, to where the caves met the oasis lagoon. She imagined what would be beyond that: miles upon miles of underground twists and turns. Places where pinpricks of light would cut across stone walls. Places where the dark would be so deep that she’d wonder if she’d fallen asleep. Or worse. A shiver danced down her back.
Silver pressed her lips into a hard line and went to Nebekker’s supplies to begin filling her sack.
“What are you doing?” Nebekker waved her arms and crept back to Silver.
“Brajon, go back to Jaspaton. Return with more supplies for Nebekker. Keep an eye on her. I’ll be back from Calidia as soon as I can.”
Her cousin curled his hand around her wrist and gazed down on her with worried eyes. “Why do you have to go? Come back with me. Hiyyan can take Nebekker to Calidia…”
The thought of separating from Hiyyan made Silver’s head thrum. “I’m going, and you’re not going to talk me out of it.”
Brajon watched his cousin silently for a few beats. “You can’t do this.”
“I have to.” Silver looked at Hiyyan. The water dragon was miserable. She thought of how much she’d miss her own mother when she was gone, and felt the ache that filled Hiyyan’s heart. And then there were Kirja and Nebekker. They needed to be together, and they needed to be well. She couldn’t let Sagittaria race the Aquinder. She had to get to Calidia as fast as she could.
“No,” Brajon said. “I mean you can’t do it like this. Taking Nebekker’s supplies. You’ll need your own.”
As realization dawned on Silver, her mouth fell open.
“You’re going to help me?”
“It’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, but—”
Silver threw her arms around her cousin. “A dash to Jaspaton for supplies, then right back here?”
Brajon nodded.
“As soon as I drop you back home, I’m filling the opening to the caves with stones,” Nebekker grumbled as she began walking in the direction of Jaspaton again.
FIFTEEN
To exit the underground river system, Silver had to haul herself up a smooth granite slide with sporadic handholds, then slip through a narrow opening beneath a massive boulder near Herd Valley. She whacked her head on the boulder and sat for a moment, pressing her palm to the rapidly growing bump on her forehead.
Brajon snorted. “And you’re supposed to be rescuing a dragon?”
“Oh, go stuff sand in your mouth,” Silver said to him. “You get food from the kitchens. I’ll get lanterns and”—she swallowed a hard lump in her throat—“money.”
Brajon gave her a sidelong glance but didn’t ask any questions.
“We’ll meet back here when the foxes first appear.”
About an hour after full sunset. That was when the little desert creatures popped out of their burrows and began searching for food.
The cousins trudged all the way to Jaspaton proper. Silver pulled her scarves across her face and kept to the deepening shadows. Normally, her father’s workshop would be empty in the evening. But perhaps he would be up, working feverishly on the queen’s orders.
She picked her way down the stairs and paused at the workshop door. Voices made her sink back into the shadows.
“Of course he’s upset. Losing his daughter…” The voice belonged to Phila. Silver’s chest warmed. Her father missed her, perhaps was even out looking for her. Could she really leave Jaspaton without saying good-bye?
But then Phila went on: “It’s inconvenient. We have so much work to do, and that selfish brat went running off. I’d be furious, too…”
Silver went cold again. All her father cared about was his precious masterpiece. But it didn’t sound like he was in his workshop now. The voices came closer. Silver slithered around the corner. She heard Phila and another ele-jeweler leave the building, locking the door behind them. She peeked around and glared at their retreating backs, then tiptoed to the window at the back of the workshop—the one she knew had a wonky lock—and pounded her flat hand on the frame once, then twice, until the latch dropped. She opened the window and slipped inside. The workshop was empty.
Silver collected two small lanterns and enough oil-soaked wick to last a week. She rifled through the general jewelry-making supplies, grabbing anything that might be useful. A couple of files with pointed tips. A pair of magnifiers. A blanket and cloak draped over one of the chairs.
There was a sheaf of parchment splattered with ink. Designs for royal masterpieces were sketched all over it. Silver paused, chewing on her lip. Maybe her father cared only about his masterpiece, but her mother might feel differently.
Silver tore a piece of the parchment and scribbled a note on it. She began to leave it on the table but changed her mind. Instead, she folded the note, wrote her mother’s name across the center, and tucked it in her pocket.
Then her gaze fell over the locked drawers filled with raw materials. Precious metals. Gemstones. One key was with her father at all times.
But she also knew where there was a copy of the key.
With her heart racing, Silver lifted a corner of one of the rugs. There it was: a tiny, silver key. Her fingers shook as she took it and fitted it in the drawers, one by one. From each drawer, she took a few small things: an unmarked disc of gold, a finished ring, two pairs of earrings. Her hands reached for the plain wooden box that held the most perfect gemstones Rami Batal had ever collected. They were reserved for the queen, but Silver opened the lid and let her fingers hover over the jewels. Blood pounded in her ears. What if she stomped on his dreams the way he had stomped on hers?
“No.” She thumped the box shut and pushed it away quickly, before she could be tempted again.
Silver squeezed her eyes shut. She was a thief. “I’ll pay you back someday,” she said into the empty workshop.
She dashed outside and ran as fast as she could to the yarnsladies’ tents, empty now that the royals had left, where she left the note on her mother’s favorite cushion. Never once looking back over her shoulder, Silver sprinted out of Jaspaton and to the boulder near Herd Valley, slipping underground like a raindrop disappearing into sand.
SILVER WASTED NO words when Brajon appeared.
“Let’s go.”
They ran. There were tunnels that branched off here and there, but Silver didn’t wonder where they went. Her focus was on getting to Hiyyan. The water dragon met her partway to the lagoon cave. In one moment, Silver was running, and in the next, she was on her back, warm wetness across her face, her entire body covered with Hiyyan’s weight.
“Hiyyan! Stop it.” Silver laughed.
“Gross,” Brajon muttered, still jogging. “Hurry up, you two.”
Hiyyan took to the river, the current carrying him along. Silver sped up.
When they reached Nebekker’s camp, the old woman heaved a sigh. “I’d hoped you wouldn’t come back. But have it your way.” She pulled a garment from the bag at her side and held it up. “Come here, girl. Let’s see if it fits.”
“Oh!” Silver reached out to touch the silvery threads.
Nebekker had been working on a new riding suit. Every single minuscule scale was perfectly woven, impossibly thin, and in perfect proportion to the others. They were connected, not with clumsy bits of wool, like in the suit Silver had made, but with the silkiest threads, each part matched so that there were no holes, stubby parts, or extra edges popping out here and there. It was glistening, and it was magnificent.
And then Silver realized what the suit was made of.
“This is Kirja’s fur,” she whispered.