The equipment room behind the foyer was a blessing for Toothless in particular. There wasn’t much he needed to store away, which made it ideal for his poisons and working clothes. Toothless looked at the names for two of the cupboards above his own—good men, good warriors, now at the final rest. The guild had a tradition of leaving the names of their dead on their cupboards until they were replaced. A sort of grave in case they went missing or their bodies weren’t found.

  He got undressed, folding up his dirty work clothes before setting them aside. He let down his hair, felt them fall smooth over his shoulders. Fellow guildmates were storing their things as well, ultimately passing him by, as if they didn’t see him there. Well, except for one.

  “Think she’ll give me a chance?” Leek said with an eager grin, bouncing up and down on his heels. He did that a lot, particularly when he needed to muster up courage for something. “Not everyday you get to court a witch. What’dya think, Toothless?”

  He was about to answer, but Leek still didn’t have the best grip on signspeak. He really needed to get his lessons going again. Saying something like, “You just met her” couldn’t exactly be communicated with expressions and there weren’t any quills nearby, so Toothless shook his head instead.

  Leek deflated. “Really? I mean, you can’t know til you try?”

  You’ve never been mauled by a tiger, but I don’t see you seeking out the den. He liked Leek, but he wore his heart like a shirt, plain and vulnerable. So he shrugged, at best he could hope Leek took that as a “Do whatever you want.” But you’ll probably be kissing a fireball before her. Speaking of that, a witch that uses fire. But not this Silverflame the captain kept bringing up. So, normal fire.

  It almost seemed blasphemous. Probably not a forbidden magic, per se, but witches feared fire as much as they did silver. It was like a toxin that turned their blood black and consumed them from the inside out. The most torturous pain a witch could go through. And Margery was just slinging it around, letting it burn her arms. So why does she use it? More curiously, why is she so good at it?

  At first, he wanted to ask her, though Zunuha had advised against it. She wanted to ‘leave the bitch be’ as it were, while Captain Mazrur, for the first time in a while, looked pensive, confused, as he watched Margery go.

  Toothless lifted his hair back, wrapping it in a gray scarf. Then, threw on some old slacks and a dark tunic. They were itchy and poorly stitched, and the best he’d get for now. Better than his clothes back home though. But just barely.

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  He headed back to the foyer, cold air tickling his face from the light wind blowing in from the windows. He got a good look at the crown of the sun, peering over the edge of the dark buildings, Zunuha rocking on her heels at the door. “Ready to go?” she asked. He’d have joined her, but he spotted Margery at a table.

  She was putting her own things together, arms wrapped in bandages, struggling to grab things without wincing. He looked at Zunuha, the girl rolling her eyes before leaning against the wall. The light cast Toothless’s shadow over Margery once he approached, and a second later, her eyes found his.

  "What do you want?" she hedged.

  Oh believe me, if you weren’t a new addition on my team, I’d be glad to let you stew in your self-pitying misery. Helping her get her things together probably wouldn’t end well, so Toothless took some paper and a quill from the table, offering the kindest smile he could manage. And it is an effort. “Never seen a witch use fire like that,” he wrote. “It was impressive.”

  Margery didn’t say anything to that, but she had read it. As ripe a chance as any to continue. "I'm sorry for offending you before." Because of course I am. “I’d rather we don’t have to be uncomfortable around one another.”

  Margery huffed, not a tired one. More like she was losing patience. Toothless pressed on. “I am mute. Since we will be working together, I can teach you signspeak so that you can understand me. If that is alright with you.”

  He gave it to her, surprisingly elated that she took the time to read it. Most people didn’t. A moment passed, then Margery looked up at him with an expression Toothless couldn’t read. She made her feelings pretty evident by tearing the paper in half. “I have no patience for your impairment, nor is it my responsibility to accommodate it,” Margery hissed. “It is insulting enough to have to work with an Ishtarian, but a cripple? You think you deserve special treatment?”

  I didn’t know being treated decently was considered special. He’d tried. Best to walk away now. But he didn’t move, he banked on a glimmer of hope, convinced himself to try once more. He took one of the torn pieces and tried again. “I am very sorry. I want us all to work together. Wouldn’t that be better for you overall?”

  "Don't waste your time, I will have a new team soon enough. I did not come here to be lumped with a corpse, less one that I cannot communicate with.” Margery’s scowl was final. Her mind couldn’t be changed, wouldn’t be. “Is that clear? Or are you deaf as well?”

  Toothless thanked the Stranger Gods that his free hand was under the table, for it coiled so tightly that the nails bit into his palm.

  "Then there is not much else to say, is there?" Margery was the first to get up, leaving Toothless to watch as Zunuha and she met at the door. Margery moved right past her without another word. Left Toothless staring at the torn paper, the scribbles of his messy handwriting like wine on a cut. Stinging with a fury, burning with a vengeance.

  Hardly a new feeling.