Page 165 of The Discount Damsel

When Bradley spoke, his voice was barely audible over the sandstorm. “I need to be alone.”

“Bradley,” the luck dragon began.

“No, Dirk,” Millie said, voice hushed. “Not now. Let’s all go.” She shooed them down into the stairwell. She paused with her forearm bracing the trapdoor open above her head. “We’ll save you some dinner, Bradley. For after. And I won’t let Pocket or Dirk eat all of the teacakes.”

Then she shut the door and left the apprentice to his grief.

CHAPTER 68

THE CRUCIBLE, AN ANGRY WIFE . . . PERHAPS MITHRIL MIGHT SAVE YOU?

In the morning, Miss Penelope Shrewsbury discovered her husband’s apprentice sitting in the midst of the destroyed workroom, his arm in a sling across his chest. The sorcerous bits and bobs were everywhere, most of them broken or at the very least dented, and the hardwood floors, which were of a rare mahogany-ironwood hybrid, looked like they’d been attacked by a colony of griffins.

Zora, who usually only paid attention to her rider’s mood, was somber as she alighted on the northern balcony. Her four kits, who had made the crossing with them, were not so emotionally mature. Squealing, they bombarded the apprentice. When they received no response, not even a swat to keep them from nipping his fingers or trying to make a nest out of his hair, they quickly flew off in search of something entertaining.

Miss Penelope entered the workroom on silent feet. “Bradley.”

The apprentice didn’t unfold from his hunch. “I failed.”

“I don’t understand, darling. What happened?”

He thrust his good arm out towards the stone frog, which the griffin kits were using as a jungle gym. “If I fed that Tianzi Toad enough magical artifacts, it would grant me a wish.”

“Oh.” Her mind flittered back to the discussion she’d had with Excelsior and his blackboard with the eighty different ways Bradley could break his curse.

“But I mistranslated the passage. I fed it something cursed, not enchanted, and it attacked.”

The Tianzi Twist Treasure Hunt had definitely twisted on him. I’m going to kill my husband, Penelope vowed.

He swallowed. “I didn’t get my wish.”

The leather of her riding boots creaked as she crouched in front of him, but she didn’t touch him. “Would you like me to take a look at your arm?”

“It’s fine. I dislocated my shoulder, but it’s back in now.”

“Ah.” She swallowed. “Darling, I’d still like to look at you.”

He said nothing, so she removed one of her riding gloves, leaned forward, and parted the curtain of long black hair. His handsome face was so drawn, his blue eyes so lifeless, that she instinctively recoiled.

“I-I’m sorry,” she immediately apologized. Flushing, she opened a pouch on her belt and withdrew a small vial. She broke off the wax seal with her teeth and offered it. “Take this. It’s a healing potion we riders keep on hand if we or our mounts are injured in the field. It’ll make short work of your recovery period, and it’ll numb the pain, too. This isn’t a request.”

Bradley sluiced the green liquid into the back of his throat, swallowed, let his hand fall limply into his lap.

Miss Penelope remained in her crouch, hands resting on her knees. “Bradley, what would you like to do?”

His dead blue eyes flicked up to hers, questioning.

“You have two weeks left⁠—”

“Thirteen days and sixteen hours, give or take a minute.” His voice was flat, void of everything but despair.

“Of course. I-I could take you home now, or you could stay. I brought provisions, so at least you and Lung Shang would have nourishment. Where is the little luck dragon, by the way? I didn’t see him with his tornado outside today.”

“I don’t know.”

“But . . . he’s your Designated Sorcerer Companion.”

“I’m no sorcerer.” His eyes lowered, and he became unmoving and statuesque once more.