Chapter Thirteen: Upriver | Part 6
“What do you think Rhea and Benn are doing now?” Seerla redirected.
The boat was now as bumpy as Thirtyx’s thoughts, but he tried his best to anchor himself. “Well, if I had to guess, Benn is cramming for tomorrow’s practical, despite not having the brainpower for it to do him any good. And Rhea will know cramming is useless, but the fact that Benn is trying will make her feel lazy or inferior, so she’ll be doing everything in her power to distract him.”
Seerla giggled. “That sounds about right. How do you think they did today with the written portion?”
“Oh, setting records, as per usual.” Thirtyx relaxed against the side of the boat. He had to remember that his mixed-up emotions and the sneers of some Dragonfolk were nothing compared to the inquisition he’d be facing had he stayed at Wydewood. But those Dragonfolk were more glowering than sneering now, and Thirtyx suspected that had something to do with Seerla’s ill-concealed smirk.
“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” she continued. “I mean, nearly anyone can do magic, but the way those two do it is really remarkable.”
Thirtyx finally caught on. The impish Verith instincts he’d only recently rediscovered emerged in full force. “Yeah, Rhea and Benn used to feel bad for the Dragonfolk, since they usually hold all the top sorcery rankings. Then, a pair of kids from off-world excelled seemingly without trying.” Their companions’ deepening scowls confirmed he was on the right track—Dragonfolk who pursued careers other than magic were often viewed as failures. But Thirtyx knew how to dig the knife in even deeper. “You know, Seerla, I’m really interested in your thoughts as a Dragonfolk.”
Seerla looked impressed and a little terrified by his audacity. She chanced a glance at their classmates before bearing her pointed, draconic teeth in something akin to a grimace. “I think the Dragonfolk claiming the royal twins have an unfair advantage should renounce their—our—species’ claim to any magic awards. Is our natural acumen for magic not a similarly unfair advantage in comparison to other species?”
The boat gave another jolt as it bumped into the river’s rapids, but this time, Seerla braced herself properly, much to Thirtyx’s disappointment. “We really have no right to contest the Grimmary twins’ success. If magic is truly an even playing field, that means we’ve had every opportunity to unseat Benn and Rhea. But if the field isn’t even, we need to admit it isn’t fair when we’re winning either.”
At first, Thirtyx thought the guttural hiss from the other end of the boat was just the rushing of the rapids, but the way Seerla stiffened indicated she’d heard it too—an Ancient Draconic word so vile it had been considered crass even when mixed-species relationships were forbidden.
Thirtyx felt an anger so powerful it briefly dissociated him from his body. When he regained his senses, he was already speaking. “Hey, Seerla, did you know the Dragonfolk have been misappropriating that word for centuries?”
Her set jaw suggested she was fighting to keep her own anger under control. “Oh? Tell me more.”
“Many scholars understand that word to be how the last few eras of dragons referred to the first few eras of Dragonfolk.”
Seerla was clearly searching his face for the lie. “Well, that seems counterintuitive.”
“Sure does. But while most of the last dragons realized their species wouldn’t survive in the environment created by the Infernal Rift, and that mating with the demi-infernals was the only way to keep their heritage alive, not all the dragons were on board. It caused a big political schism that has mostly been erased from the history books.”
“Yeah, and what’s your source on that, Venmy?” Krelliam, the yellow-scaled Dragonfolk, finally addressed him directly.
Thirtyx knew it wasn’t wise to smirk, but he couldn’t help himself. “Any upper-level history professor who isn’t a Dragonfolk will tell—”
“I’m sorry,” Seerla cut in. “I don’t think Krelliam was talking to you. I don’t know anyone here by the name Venmy.”
Calley Jones 