Chapter 14

Military grade, presumably.

Setting the dangerous blue blade down, Mary picked up the smooth flat heating device and examined it.

Because, compared to a twenty-meter living fire-breathing range, Mary firmly believed a portable induction plate to be considerably safer and more reliable.

Having been restrained by those fine electrode leads back in the crystal display case, Mary knew perfectly well that electricity existed on this planet.

Earth had entered the electrical age back in the twentieth century. On technologically advanced Thorne, Mary obviously didn't have to rely on primitive flame to cook things.

Although — what exactly had this heating plate originally been?

Looking closely, the back of it appeared to have small raised nodes and some engraved marks resembling symbols.

As though reading her confusion, Mark explained, expressionless: "That is the motherboard of my personal computer."

Mary nearly fell over.

Patricia added, unbothered, "That item almost certainly lacks sufficient wattage to reach the temperature you described for cooking food through."

"Which is why, after I removed the motherboard, I asked Mr. Mark to make certain modifications. I didn't expect it to be done so efficiently. Mark really is the finest mechanic in Evernight."

Mark, whose computer motherboard had been removed by other people and who had then been obliged to convert it personally into a kitchen appliance, was visibly darkening around the face, but complained about none of it. He simply went, silently, to connect the modified plate to a power source.

For a moment Mary seemed to be watching a film about a capricious queen and her long-suffering, unfailingly loyal retainer.

She shook her head, set down the strange hot plate, and started sampling the row of colored liquids in the test tubes.

Having worked through all of them, Mary arrived at a profound appreciation of the hardship and heroism involved in becoming a flavor tester.

Apart from a handful she could just about identify as cloying, sour, or metallically wrong, the majority of the samples tasted terrible past the outer limit of human imagination.

They were frequently so surreal that Mary couldn't produce a single word, and just looked up silently at the laboratory's fluorescent lights while two lines of tears ran soundlessly down into the sick bag she was holding.

...

Everything was ready. All that remained was the ingredient.

Mary looked hopefully at Patricia, who appeared to have considerable combat capability.

Patricia shook her head instantly. "I'm not killing a dragon. Dragons are adorable. Dragons are good companions to the Blood."

The twenty-meter beast, as though corroborating this, threw its head back and produced an enormous gout of flame, then lowered its skull and looked at Patricia out of two huge and somewhat innocent eyes, sweeping its thick spined tail across the ground a couple of times.

Mark the butler cleared his throat and offered a practical suggestion. "Ahem. The Gakadragon is a comparatively rare breed and expensive at market. Killing one for meat would be wasteful. I'd suggest considering the gray Draywing, which breeds in far greater numbers and is much more common."

Mary, expressionless, silently went on testing the blue-lit knife.

However, before Mary could get an opportunity to put that knife into the Gakadragon, a crowd burst in and interrupted the whole thing.

Several clear cries came out of the air, the kind only a Draywing makes.

Mark the butler was plainly used to this sort of thing, and opened the great doors facing the cliff with practiced ease.

Which was how Mary learned for the first time that one whole face of Prince Anthony's castle was built directly onto the sheer rock.

A formation of gray Draywings beat their wings and came down on the clifftop.

The black dragon at the head of them used the momentum of its glide, folded its wings with precision, and flew straight in through the open doors into the absurdly spacious hall.

It halted in front of everyone in a way that looked genuinely dangerous, without so much as clipping a table, a chair, or one crystal chandelier — the whole movement fluid, efficient, and thoroughly intimidating. Frankly, it was magnificent.

Watching that, Mary understood something instantly.

In this place the vehicle of choice was not a car. It was a dragon.

Those gray Draywings were presumably the equivalent of ordinary family sedans running around on any street. And the black dragon in front of her was a high-performance luxury sports car.

What its rider had just performed was, in effect, a demonstration of the model's handling, along with his own parallel-parking technique, which was at professional racing standard.

General Michael dropped off the dragon's back with no expression at all, glanced once across the distance at Mary, who was staring at him, then turned his face away and walked toward Mark, who had come forward to receive him.

Mark laid one hand flat over his chest and inclined slightly. "My lord. You've come in daylight. Is something urgent?"

The general raised a hand. "The Sixth Division armory register is short one Gakadragon. The duty ordnance officer reports it was requisitioned by Prince Anthony's people. With no senior officer present he had no authority to recall it himself, so he had to ask me to handle it personally." His gaze swept the hall and his tone cooled. "How is it that court personnel are requisitioning military assets at will? I didn't believe it. Apparently it's true."

Every eye in the room went, silently, to the enormous dragon still snorting periodically in the center of the hall, waiting to be cooked.

Mark coughed, mildly embarrassed. "Ah. The situation is as follows. Because this valuable Earth human has been unable to eat for an extended period, Lord Anthony merely wished to find her some equipment capable of producing Earth food."

The general's expression did not move a millimeter. "Unauthorized requisition of military assets. Misuse of military equipment. The Earth human being valuable is not a reason that renders this behavior legitimate."

Mark was momentarily without a reply. "This—"

"Michael. You've still got no flexibility in you at all." A clear, cold voice came out of the inner hall and cut across them.

Along the wide corridor leading in, one carved door after another slid automatically aside.

The decorative sconces along both walls lit in sequence, far to near.

Prince Anthony walked in across the corridor's velvet carpet with the faint irritation of a man whose sleep has been interrupted, and with considerable elegance.

"Hah. Elder Matthew's protégé, unmistakably. Not yet five hundred years old and already this rigid." Anthony gathered his loose silver hair back lazily, accepted a crystal glass from an attendant and drank a little, then made an inviting gesture toward Michael, who was standing at attention. "Will you have one? A rarity out of the Dilish cellars. There are times I find it more delicious than blood."

Michael's face was thunderous. He shook his head and remained obstinately where he was.