Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

32.

Precocious

As soon as we stepped inside the doors of the MudWing palace, something came over me: a strange sense of foreboding as the massive wooden door shut behind us.

Since that point, my intuition has been confirmed. There's no getting out of this place once you get in without the King's permission.

We've been inside the Mud Palace for a few days now. Finally, Lord Landslide, one of the King's ministers has carved out a few minutes for us in his busy schedule. He looks a lot like the portraits of King Salamander we've seen around the castle–but his face is sharper, narrower, and his eyes are a deep green rather than Salamander's gentle brown.

"Hello, I believe you are–"

"I'm Precocious," Way says.

"And I'm Wayfinder," I say.

Landslide raises his eyebrows. "Hmm. You've both travelled a very long way. I'm told that you're an animus, Wayfinder, is that right?"

He seems so... amicable, in a way I know from experience not to trust.

"Yep. That's me," I say, cracking my most charming smile.

We're sat beside a crackling fire, surrounded by blankets and cushions in a beautiful sunlit room. The rain has let up for just a moment, and the sunset streams through the windowpanes, illuminating the dust in the air.

"So, tell me your story," Landslide prompts. "How did you get here?"

I start to speak, the same way you catch the wind while you're flying–unable to stop, unsure where it's going to carry you.

"Well, we were both imprisoned by Sharp-eyes, when he took over. He took my parents prisoner, and he stole their powers–that's how he got so strong. But I was, like, a really important hostage. And he decided not to take my powers, because, um–" I clear my throat. Why would he leave me be? Why would he ever do that? I had days to plan out this story, why didn't I– "I convinced him not to, and then I used my magic to help us escape, and then we ended up in your refugee camps, and now we're here. Basically."

"Can we see the king?" Way asks impatiently. "This is really important. I'm not doubting your expertise at all, I swear, I just think that, um... we have some stuff, about Wayfinder's magic that maybe we need to talk to the dragon in charge here about."

"He's been in isolation from the general public for his own safety," Landslide explains. "You know, with the plague going on, and all."

"Do you think Sharp-eyes is causing it?" Way asks. "I, um–I was wondering that. But I guess, it would also make sense if it was just caused by a bunch of dragons from all over the place moving around the continent."

Landslide hesitates. Sips his tea. "Can I ask you two a favour?"

"Of–of course," I say, eager to please.

"Can you not mention this Sharp-eyes situation? Especially not to the king," Landslide adds. "He doesn't need to hear about these things. It stresses him unnecessarily."

Way looks at Landslide strangely, but doesn't say a thing.

"We can do that," I promise, taking Way's talon in mine. "No problem."

Landslide pats me on the back. "That would be amazing, Prince Wayfinder. Thank you so much."

He makes small talk; asks us if we've been enjoying our rooms, asks what it was like growing up an animus, the son of Darkstalker. I tell him what he wants to hear. I try to be charming. He's so sweet, so friendly, so willing to forgive the momentary lapses in my storytelling. I think I've done this all before.