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I blinked at him before I dropped my gaze to my hand. “I. . .I’m not sure, but I can try.”
I focused all my attention on my palm, but nothing happened. Not a spark or even a flicker of a flame. After a half minute of concentration, I let out a breath and my shoulders slumped.
Will set a hand on my drooping shoulder. “There’s no need to be disappointed. New magic doesn’t always come easily.”
I flexed my fingers and frowned. “I was hoping it would.”
“It may, but we’ll need to investigate further.”
I looked up at him. “By going to that one place you mentioned? The Godthingy?”
He smiled down at me. “Gottspake. She has a great deal of knowledge of magical items. However, there’s someone I would like to see first. Her name is the Arbiter.”
The title tickled a memory in my mind. “The Arbiter? I think Helen mentioned her. Isn’t she some sort of a sage?”
Will nodded. “And ancient even to us dragons. I haven’t been able to decipher how old or all that she knows, but she’ll be able to tell us what we want to know about your powers.”
I raised one hand and studied the palm as I flexed my fingers. “Iwouldlike to know what’s going on and how I’m supposed to control it.”
“Then let’s be off to her,” Will suggested as he rapped his knuckles against the roof of the carriage. He spoke in a loud, clear voice. “Arbiter!”
The carriage turned sharply and I yelped as I was flung against Will. He caught me in his arms and smiled down at me. I sheepishly smiled up at him. “Sorry. I guess I still don’t have my carriage legs. They’re not exactly common in my world.”
He chuckled as he righted me. “No need to apologize. I enjoyed the catch.”
I tried to scoot over but I noticed a problem. His arms were still wrapped around me. “I think I can sit up on my own.”
His eyes twinkled as he drew my back against his side. “I’m only trying to avoid another mishap.”
I tilted my head back to look up at him. “Is that what you call it?”
“More or less.”
I didn’t have any further desire to remove myself from his warm embrace. The catacombs had left more than a mental impression on me. Their cold and dank interiors had chilled my bones and I was glad for Will’s warmth.
Our bliss was interrupted by the jostling of the carriage. I was lifted off the seat and dropped back down with all the grace of abelly flop. Will glanced out the window and furrowed his brow. “The street is worse than I remember.”
“Are you sure we’re still on a street?” I wondered as I scooted across his lap and looked out the glass.
The buildings were still as ancient as those around the Grimton but there were more of them huddled together like beggars on a cold winter’s eve. The number of floors varied with most having but one with a single sloped roof that ran front to back so that all the rainwater dropped into an open sewer. Dusty windows stared at us like black-eyed villains. Many of the windows sported broken glass and rotten wood boards. The reasons for the bumpy ride were the many potholes and loose stones that littered the road.
Everything just screamed destitution. I turned my head to the right where Will looked out the window with me. “The Arbiter lives here?”
“More or less.”
My face drooped and an eyebrow twitched. “You’re getting very vague.”
He smiled. “The Arbiter doesn’t so much live as exist and I suspect the form she shows to us isn’t her true one.”
My heart skipped another beat. This world was going to drive me into an early grave. “Then nobody knows who or what she really is?”
He shook his head. “Not at all.” I wrung my hands together as I pondered the coming interview. Will set a hand over mine and I looked up to find him smiling down at me. “There’s no need to worry. The Arbiter and I are old friends and I can’t think of any reason why she won’t be the same to you.”
His words soothed my frayed nerves. The carriage rolled to a stop a few minutes later and Will stepped out. He turned and offered me his hand which I accepted. I stepped down and found us standing in front of-
“A shack?” I wondered as I looked over the decrepit building.
The building, if it could be described that, was only about ten feet square with leaning walls and a matted roof so old the moss was stacked in layers. One could have figured out the age just by counting the strata of flora. A mess of rocks and weeds choked the patch between the street and the door. Calling it a lawn was too kind. The front had a single dirty window that faced us and the interior was hidden by a ragged curtain. A soft light shone through the thin cloth.
