Hello folks! Here's another chapter starring a hunt, an unpleasant phone call, and Watts poking the dragon—metaphorically rather than literally, for a change.

69. Meanwhile

Sienna was almost as jumpy as Flux as she sat, feeling sick to her stomach as she waited for their hunters to return. The hybrid had given them no choice—they had to make it stop. She should have gone with them. It was her mess, as much as it was anyone's. But she knew she wouldn't be able to do what had to be done. So she sat there, disgusted with herself, trying not to hope that the hunters wouldn't find anything.

Beside her, the Lieutenant shifted slightly and let out a strained grunt. Gigas croaked and crawled into his lap, fluttering his tiny wings. The big man smiled at him and rubbed a pinky over his head, eliciting a deep purr.

His left arm hung uselessly. It was bandaged from shoulder to fingertips, and spots of red were already showing through. His palm was skinned raw—apparently he'd managed to grab the hybrid and had sorely regretted it. Otherwise, his injuries weren't serious. A few nasty scratches on his chest, red eyes and cracked skin, and a mottled bruise that covered most of his right side. Not the worst he'd ever been hurt... but close. She wasn't sure how much use he'd be able to get out of that arm once it was healed up, which could take months.

Somehow, she couldn't look at him without remembering the hybrid clinging to his forearm and staring eagerly into his mask, wanting to lick him but not quite sure how to go about it. And that made her think of Ilia, shining a light off her scroll for the hatchling to chase.

She still didn't know what had gone so wrong.

A whistle from the woods. Sienna shot to her feet. Flux squawked and wrapped her tail around her throat. A little tighter than necessary... and yet it felt strangely comforting. She petted the dragonet's head and hardly even winced when she was shocked.

Their hunters straggled out of the trees—several of them leaning heavily on others. One in a makeshift stretcher made from someone's tent. Sienna's throat tightened, but she managed to get out, "What happened?" There were only two uninjured hunters to stop and answer. The rest kept moving towards the camp's nurse.

They glanced at one another, clearly dreading whatever they were about to say. That didn't mean much. There was nothing they could tell her that would be good news.

"We found it," one grunted, "but it's quick. We got a few shots off, and I think Carmine nicked it's leg, but..." He trailed off. Shivered. "It's cat quiet, even when it's running. Kept popping out from behind us. Then it just vanished."

Sienna grimaced and squashed down the little flare of hope that stirred in her chest. "Well we can't just leave her out there. She's obviously capable of following us when we move."

"She can probably smell us," said a voice from behind her. Sienna whirled to face Hazel, her ears flattening against her skull.

"Thank you," she snarled, "for that useful contribution."

Hazel shrugged and walked away. Sienna glared at his back—she'd wanted to send Brand after the hybrid, but the dragon hadn't wanted to go. Hazel hadn't even tried to get him to obey.

And yet, somehow, the killer hybrid wasn't even their only problem. They needed to move, soon—it was only a matter of time before Ilia reached Vacuo, and once she did their position could easily be compromised. But if they didn't lose the hybrid before then, they'd be stuck in the same situation. If they could only injure her enough so that she couldn't follow...

But the hunters had failed. The Lieutenant was out of commission until further notice. Justice was gone, and Flux and Gigas were only babies. That left Harbinger. She was loathe to risk him if she could avoid it, and using him might cause problems with the Albains later... but there was no helping it.

She found Corsac and said, without preamble, "Do it."

Harbinger could smell her.

He walked slowly, swinging his head from side to side, more than half-hoping he would lose the trail. He didn't.

Eventually he came to a particularly dark patch of forest and stopped. Sniffed. Felt a pang as the familiar scent of sun-baked grass filled his nose. Justice had said she was a traitor, but now he'd run away too. Were they all traitors, then? He didn't want to be, but it was getting so hard to be good.

Harbinger smothered a whimper and padded in a slow circle, weaving between the trees. He still couldn't see her, but he knew she was here. A little shiver went down his spine. His riders thought he could beat her in a fight, but she'd hurt the Lieutenant, and Harbinger hadn't even thought he could bleed. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised. She'd had very sharp claws, even fresh out of the egg.

Finally he stopped, right in the place where the smell was strongest, and looked up.

She crouched in the upper boughs of an oak tree, her claws digging into the bark, her eyes shining in the shadows. Several seconds passed, with neither of them speaking. Harbinger didn't dare—he had the horrible feeling that if he did, the fight would start.

Harbinger wanted to curl up in a ball and cry. He hadn't seen her since she'd vanished—he realized suddenly that he hadn't believed it, before, hadn't thought that tiny little creature could have attacked the Lieutenant. Had assumed that something had happened to her that meant she couldn't come back to Sienna.

"You attack," she said. Not a question. The scales on her left hind leg were red. Harbinger's ears drooped with shame.

"I have to."

She hissed, "No."

Harbinger kneaded the ground with his forepaws. His whole body trembled under her stare, as he tried to make himself move. She wasn't really his sister—they weren't bonded, there was nothing stopping him, except that he didn't want to. And that didn't matter, because his riders needed him to do it. He had to.

It was as if she read his mind. "You know," she said, her voice rasping like dead leaves. "You choose. I blame."

Choose.

Panic welled up. He didn't know what he was supposed to be choosing—didn't know, even though he could sense it like something looming behind him, right there if he only turned his head to look. Something so horrible and wrong that seeing it would ruin him. So he turned tail and ran, pelting through the forest like a horde of furious Grimm was chasing him, and told himself that this was the choice she meant.

"I'm calling it."

Cinder's head snapped around. When she spoke, her voice was deadly quiet. "I'm sorry Arthur... what did you just say to me? I must not have heard correctly."

Mercury didn't even dare breathe. Beside him, Emerald went just as deadly still, her eyes trained unblinkingly on Cinder. The way her shoulders tensed sent his heart racing—she was better at reading Cinder's moods than he was. This might be the explosion.

Watts, apparently unconcerned, waved a hand. "They have reinforcements. Altas military, and a couple old Riders. I might still be able to pick off a few of them, but what would really be the point? I couldn't kill all four full-grown dragons, even if I still had the big one."

Cinder gave him a look so venomous that Mercury was sure she was about to attack Watts, usefulness or no—but Emerald relaxed. "Yes," she gritted out. "The big one. Where is he now, exactly?"

"Hard to say, considering my device was melted into oblivion," Watts said dryly. "A vulnerability I'll have to correct in future... but I digress. I did look for the creature, and last I saw it was about sixty miles northwest of us."

"Why aren't you tailing him?" Cinder demanded.

"Because it kept attacking every dragon it could see." Watts made a face. "I doubt it will come back here. It was moving farther away, after all. And if it does, I have a replacement device ready."

Rudder whimpered and tried to hide under Mercury's arm, pushing his face into his side. He winced—the last thing he wanted right now was to attract Cinder's attention—but she ignored him. He patted the dragon's head soothingly.

"Fine, then," Cinder snapped. "What about the hybrids? How many eggs do you have for me?"

"Two that might be viable," Watts said. Nonchalant. Still pretending not to notice that Cinder was holding herself back from killing him by sheer force of will.

"I need more. There are still Riders waiting. At least one earth and fire, and one that isn't fire and lightning."

"Are you sure you don't want—"

"Don't. Finish that sentence."

Watts shrugged, as if it was no real concern of his. "Very well. If you'd rather trust those Riders..."

At that, Cinder actually smiled. "They're mine," she said, with utter certainty. "Now, and always. If you'd ever had a dragon, you'd understand."

"I'm sure I would," Watts replied. His tone suggested that he highly doubted it, but thought it best to humor her.

Mercury knew a thing or two about the fine art of irritating people—which meant he had a carefully honed sense of when you needed to stop before you got dead. He'd never met anyone who was willing to try it on Cinder.

She swept out of the room. Strike followed, after a last fiery glare. Emerald jumped to her feet and jogged after them. That meant Mercury had to follow—Rudder hated to be in the same room as the doctor without Jade or Strike there too.

Cinder stopped in the middle of Watts' compound, her mouth set in a grimace. "We're going to lose the students." Mercury wasn't sure it would be safe to agree, so he said nothing.

"More of our loyal riders will be arriving shortly. You two will need to handle supply runs until a few of them can fly. What Watts has stored up here will go quickly with this many people." They nodded. She stood in silence for a moment, radiating anger and frustration, then strode away without another word.

Mercury grimaced at the thought of more loyal riders. Tyrian had been bad enough. There was still only a handful of them, living in the cabin the students had vacated, all with baby hybrids clinging to their shoulders. All of them looked at Cinder with the same slavish devotion that frustrated him so much in Emerald.

They were also important to Cinder's cause. Important in the sense that without them, there was no question of her winning against the Council. Even with them...

The students wouldn't stick around for long. They'd lose dozens of dragons, and be left with... what? Less than ten? There weren't many riders who would jump to defend the Council, but there were enough that they would be completely outnumbered, even without taking the regular soldiers into account.

She was losing. They were losing.

He glanced sideways at Emerald. Abandoned the thought of telling her this before it even fully formed. He'd be wasting his breath.

Maybe he and Rudder could run, like Roman and Neo. They wouldn't have the protection of being in a big group, though... and he didn't fancy the thought of being hunted through the forest by Strike and an army of pit dragons.

So he could wait for an opportunity. The next mission, maybe. He had to get out of here before he got himself and Rudder killed.

Another glance at Emerald. She didn't notice, but Jade picked up her head and met his eyes with a strangely knowing look. He almost felt bad for her—she was stuck here, no matter what she wanted to do. It wasn't like she could just up and abandon Emerald, no matter how damn stubborn she was being.

...Fuck.

James had a lot to do. He needed to talk to his students, figure out which ones were staying and which ones he would be sending home. Then he had to make sure the Dragonry's defenses were as strong as he could make them, and assign people to keep an eye out during the night—he hadn't forgotten what had happen at Beacon. And, of course, he had to make sure that he actually had the ace up his sleeve that his entire plan was resting on.

Instead, he found himself sitting at his console. Staring blankly at the screen. Waiting for a call.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Still no word from Winter, but that wasn't surprising. She and the students were in the middle of a dead zone. He'd have to leave them out of his plans for now... but he wasn't sure there would be much of a defense without them. Even if every single one of his students decided to stay—which was extremely unlikely, since none of them had dragons with defects that would be threatened by the Council—Winter's reinforcements would include fifteen dragons, four of them fully grown adults. Enough to make the Council think twice about attacking them directly.

But she wasn't going to call just because he stared at the console longer. Another massage at the bridge of his nose, as he tried to gather his thoughts. Start with the defenses. Most were automated, but if they were expecting an attack they should—

A ping came from his console, and his eyes snapped open. A call. Not from Winter—it was them.

He ran a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt to look a bit more presentable, fixed on a smile, and accepted the call. Nine familiar silhouettes appeared on his screen.

"General Ironwood," said the figure in the center. Gosling was polite as always, even though she must have guessed by now that he was moving against them.

"Councilors."

Several of them began to talk at once—Gosling cut through them, and they went silent. "We have sent six Riders to Atlas Dragonry, for your students' protection," she said. "They should arrive within the next four hours.

James stiffened. That was much too soon. If he could just keep them out until Winter returned... but if they realized he was stalling, they could easily invade Atlas as they had Beacon. Then again, as long as they thought he was grasping at straws, they'd be willing to let him delay here and there. They still thought time was on their side—the longer it took for the confrontation to happen, the more time they would have to build a legal case against him, and the better they'd be able to sell all this to the public.

"I see," he said, letting them see his nerves. "Unfortunately, I haven't received your warrant yet. I cannot allow any riders onto the grounds without one. Policy, you understand."

"Policy says no such thing," Pepon spat. "James, do you have any idea—"

The smallest of the silhouettes stirred. Pepon fell silent immediately, as the oldest member of the council, Councilman Aegolius, spoke. "I believe the law requires that students be given twenty-four hours notice," he said. "As it is currently eight twenty-six, those Riders will not legally be allowed to enter when they arrive."

There was a pause. James had to fight to keep the relief off his face—Aegolius often played devil's advocate, but he hadn't been sure he'd rise to the bait.

"We would have contacted you earlier," Pepon gritted out. "But there was some difficulty in reaching a consensus on who—"

Councilwoman Gosling cleared her throat. "Very well. They will begin patrolling the grounds at eight twenty-six tomorrow."

James grimaced apologetically. "Unfortunately, the curfew for my first-year students has now passed. I won't be able to inform them until tomorrow morning." His students didn't have a curfew, but the Council wouldn't have that information.

Aegolius cleared his throat. "While that is unfortunate," he said, "legally speaking, the purpose of giving students twenty-four hours is to ensure that they will have time to see the notice before changes go into effect. We will be seeing you again at—" he paused, probably glancing at the clock, "—eight twenty-eight tomorrow evening."

Ironwood didn't doubt they'd be counting the seconds.

He sent the message the Council was waiting for. Then he set off the fire alarm and strode out into the courtyard. His students came shuffling out of the dorms, looking around in some confusion for the smoke.

"The Council would like me to inform you that several of their riders will be arriving at this Dragonry tomorrow evening," he told them. He watched their faces, his stomach tightening into a hard knot as he tried to guess which way they would fall. Muttering started near the back of the small crowd.

James squared his shoulders. "There are other demands that they expect to be met by that time. Locked shutters on the barns. Tracking devices implanted in every dragon."

The whispering grew louder, and took on a harsher tone.

"Unfortunately, these changes would be extremely detrimental to the health and safety of our dragons." James caught a few of the students raising skeptical eyebrows. He'd be losing those, then. "As such, I will not be meeting them."

Dead silence.

He allowed himself a smile. "Anyone who wishes to leave, should do so now. There is no shame in abstaining. I suspect someone will be able to find you a place in Beacon Dragonry."

The eyebrow-raisers were first to go. More followed. Some shot him disgusted looks—others just looked frightened. When they had all swarmed towards the dormitories to collect their things, less than a quarter remained standing in the courtyard. It was better than James had expected.

He smiled at them, memorizing faces. Caught a flash of bright color that he recognized as Neon, and her teammate Flynt beside her. "You will not be fighting," he told them. Then, over a few protests, "I will assign all of you roles in defending the Dragonry. When they do arrive, I will do the talking. We will, as a group, peacefully refuse to allow them inside."

Neon raised her hand. "Yeah," she said, very loudly, before he could call on her. "Because that worked super well at Beacon."

"We'll have something Beacon didn't."

"What?" She looked around. "Half as many people?"

James looked her dead in the eyes, allowing the vicious smirk he'd been holding back to show. "The media," he said. "An army of them."