Pennyroyal Academy by M. A. Larson

Author:M. A. Larson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2016-02-24T14:48:39+00:00

BEYOND THE GREEN RIPPLE of ferns, beyond the stand of bristlecone pines that marked the forest mouth, the towering shoulders of a mountain range loomed in the near distance. The peaks wore hoods of snow, and the trees were outlined in white nearly halfway down the valley.

Evie studied this swooping landscape of blacks and greens and whites as though she had never seen it before. But, of course, this was the same view she had woken to every morning of her life. She was home again, in the old familiar cave. Something about it seemed strange, though. It’s the sky, she thought. I haven’t seen a sky of blue in months.

She turned her head, wincing at a sharp ache that ringed her neck. Ignoring the pain, she saw that she was sitting on a mossy ledge. This had always been one of her favorite places to fall asleep as a girl. Here she would listen to her father tell stories of the great dragons of the past while the stars rolled slowly by. Her mind began to emerge from sleep, and the details of how she got back to the cave returned. Her sister had come out of the night to save her. She must have wrenched her neck running headlong into the dragon’s leg during her scramble from . . .

Oh yes . . . the witches. It was the second time she had narrowly evaded death at their hands. But this time she had escaped by entirely different means.

She glanced down at her hand, the one that had rescued the dragon scale from the cauldron, and found it wrapped in a huge, gray verbascum leaf. She peeled the wet layers away until the chill of mountain air bit her sensitive skin. With great care, she stretched her fingers, then balled them into a fist. The skin felt tight, the muscles stiff, but only the dull echo of her horrific burns remained. This was her sister’s work, she knew. Dragons were born with fire inside them, and as pups they learned to treat all manner of burns.

She uncurled her fingers once more. The sensation was dulled, as though her hand belonged to someone else. The skin was unnaturally smooth scar tissue, mottled with streaks of brown and red. It was worth it, she thought, to rescue . . .

Her other hand shot to her neck, and a moment of panic died away as quickly as it had come. The scale hung there, right where it belonged. She ran a thumb across its rough ridges and felt an immense sense of gratitude. If all she had to show for her encounter with the witches were some scars on her hand, then she would count herself lucky.

“You’ve been asleep two days,” came the dry rumble of her sister’s voice.

She wheeled and saw the great lizard curled in a trough of cool stone. “Sister!”

“It was all I could do to keep you on your perch,” she said, pulling her huge green body from the rock.

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