of my anger and I was realizing that wasn’t quite fair. He was always the one to vocalize the things I didn’t like, but that didn’t mean they all disagreed with him.
“You’ll make a great Councilor, gorgeous,” Seff chuckled eventually, breaking the silence.
Hiram flopped back against the couch with a groan. “Well, we'd certainly make a splash with the Council if we brought the Scribe back from the brink of death.”
“And it's the right thing to do,” I reminded him.
“And it's the right thing to do,” Levi agreed reluctantly.
“Alright, then we follow Shira’s plan. First stop, the Records Keep to make sure the Scribe isn’t dead yet. Then we'll pay the fae a visit,” Ezra announced.
✽✽✽
The Records Keep was unlike any building I’d ever seen. If we weren’t in such a hurry, I’d have badgered Ezra into hanging around and letting me explore. The main Records room was circular and so high in the sky; it felt like it was floating in the clouds.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have time, so Ezra rushed us straight through the fascinating dark room with floor to ceiling shelves and narrow drawers, right through to a miserable-looking apartment through a door at the back.
I surveyed the Scribe’s accommodations in dismay. All the furniture was in various states of disrepair, and the entire space was hardly big enough to be a bedroom, let alone an entire apartment.
A narrow bed sat at the middle of the room with a groaning, pallid male lying in the center, covered by a fraying sheet.
The Scribe was probably a handsome man usually. He should be in the prime of his life, even without a flight. Instead, his skin was an alarming shade of gray, his black hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and his bones protruded uncomfortably through his papery skin. This was not a healthy male.
“Who are you?” he moaned, squinting at us through bleary eyes.
“Flight Galon,” Ezra announced, pulling himself together faster than the rest of us. “Remember us? We were Enforcers. We are here to help you.”
“Why?” the Scribe laughed but ended up coughing. It was a wet, hacking sound that made me shudder. “Am I taking too long to die? Does the Council require my quarters sooner?”
Seff winced at the accurate assessment. He'd spent his whole life around the Council of Dragons, but I don’t think he’d truly appreciated their callousness until now.
“The Council said you are suffering from Queen’s Fever,” I said in my most soothing voice, stepping up next to Ezra. “We think we can help you if you let us.”
“You could help me by getting yourself an obsidian dagger and plunging it through my heart.”
If only he knew. However, I was more of a throat slitter than a heart stabber if we were being accurate.
“Or,” I suggested lightly. “We could track down the ingredients for Tonic of the Forest. Perhaps we try that first?”
“Are you toying with me, gold? Here to tease me with the prospect of living? Blood saffron is difficult to find—” A coughing fit interrupted his speech and the six of us sat quietly as he recovered and caught his breath again. “To say nothing of dusk oak bark. Your suggestion is nice — likely the only hope I have to beat this — but it cannot be done.”
“My mate is running for a Council position alongside the rest of this flight. I assure you, she can do anything,” Ezra growled.
“Such ingredients cost. I have no coin,” the Scribe wheezed.
“This job does not pay. It gives me somewhere to live. And somewhere to die, it appears.”
“It doesn't pay?” Seff muttered, outraged. “We'll see about that.”
“Don't worry yourself with the details,” Ezra replied, waving his hand dismissively. “Are you up to travel? You'd be more comfortable in our den.”
My head whipped around in surprise. It was an unusually generous offer coming from Ezra. Then again, this place was a hovel, and he probably felt bad for the Scribe.
“No. I don't think so,” he replied hoarsely, his eyes looking breathtakingly sad. “I will never leave this room again. This is where I will die.”
“That is unacceptable to me,” Ezra replied, moving back from the bed as if he held authority over death itself. “We will get you the tonic. Our families will stay with you while we arrange it.”
Seff appeared out of nowhere with a glass of water. He and Levi helped the Scribe sit up and drink while I picked through the sad excuse for a kitchen, finding some old, dry bread