Dragon's Isolation - Miranda Martin Page 0,41

Our future hangs by a thread as it is. There are barely enough survivors, Zmaj and human, for there to be future generations. I can’t put the future at risk for one or two people.”

Her shoulders are hunched, head bowed, and she grips her own hands tightly as she speaks, but she doesn’t shy away from the words. She’s saying what she knows, what she believes. I believe her too. I’ve seen the numbers, the projections—all of us that serve on the Council have.

Genetically we need a minimum number of contributors to the gene pool to keep our two races from breeding ourselves out of existence. If we fall below it, we wouldn’t even know while we’re alive. Our great-great grandchildren would be the ones who suffer for our mistakes. The projects have them being the first generation to develop signs of genetic flaws that would open them up to untold diseases and deformities. It would only grow worse from there.

I know it, yet I don’t care, not right now. Right now all I can think about is the idea of raising Malcolm on my own. What would I tell him? How do I explain to him that his dad went feral and we had to… what? Put him down? Banish him? Leave him to go live life in the desert on his own?

“What are we supposed to do?” I ask, voice cracking.

Rosalind sighs and shakes her head. “There are no easy answers. We need a cure, fast.”

“And if we don’t get Addison what she needs, we’ll never have one!”

Rosalind arches an eyebrow watching me lose my temper, again. I’ve worked really hard to control my temper. So much for all that work, but if there’s a time to lose your cool, then now is it.

“I understand,” Rosalind says at last. “That doesn’t change the facts. I cannot expose someone else, not until we know more.”

“Protective gear,” I burst out.

“What gear?” Rosalind asks. “Do you think I haven’t thought of that? If we had some kind of gear, I would have had someone out there after Ladon fell ill.”

“I’ll go,” I say. “I’m already infected, if humans can get it, so I’ll go. No one else will risk being exposed.”

“That would be too stupid to live, Amara,” Rosalind says shaking her head. “You can’t go into the desert of Tajss alone, and I can’t send a Zmaj with you. They might lose it while you’re out there, and I’d lose both of you.”

Rubbing the back of my neck, I come up with and discard a dozen ideas. There has to be an answer. Something.

“The Order,” I say. “Addison says they haven’t given her any definitive answers.”

“Go on,” Rosalind says.

“I’ll go to them,” I say. “I’ll get the answers, if they know them.”

Rosalind shakes her head. “And who would go to protect you?”

“I don’t need protection, I need Shidan!”

I slam my fists onto her desk. Stupid. My hands throb with pain, and Rosalind isn’t bothered in the least by my outburst.

“How bad is he?” Rosalind asks.

I drop back into the seat and lean back, rolling my shoulders and head to try and ease the tension headache.

“He’s not terrible, yet,” I say.

“That’s not an answer,” she says.

“He’s losing speech,” I say, meeting her gaze. “I don’t know how long it will take. Addison didn’t seem to know either. He fought with Melchior the moment he saw him. He’s becoming… primal.”

Rosalind nods. “That is the pattern.”

“The pattern,” I snort. “A pattern of three, but poor Amara happens to be part of the statistic.”

“No one thinks of you as ‘poor Amara,’” Rosalind says. “How many days since he showed signs?”

“Four? I think,” I say.

Rosalind frowns. “You’re right. We need to stop this, understand it, and handle it. I have no doubt a sample will help Addison immensely. There might be time.”

“Time for what?” I ask.

Rosalind drums her fingers on the desk. She’s considering something. I wait, letting her work it out for herself.

“To send him with you,” she says.

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Of course,” she says. “If the pattern holds, which admittedly our pattern pool is small, he’ll grow worse, but he should have four, maybe five days before he completely regresses. That’s enough time.”

“Where do I go?” I ask, grabbing the opportunity before she can change her mind.

She opens a cabinet behind her, pulls out a rough piece of paper, and spreads it across the desk.

“Here,” she says, pointing to a spot on the map.

“There’s nothing there. What big surprise was Ladon looking for there?