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Sophie would like it on the record that, when she accepted the job, she didn't know that the Librarian had to do so much bloody politics. She could be out healing the sick, like Natan in his day. She would love to be out healing the sick. Instead, she's in one of the innumerable studies of Hush House, searching for a book for Hokobald, even though she wishes dearly that she could toss him out on his shiny arse. She doesn't mind helping out Yvette, or Arun, or really most of the others. It's just Hokobald in particular who should really go fuck himself. But it is her duty to remain strictly neutral, and she takes that duty seriously. So she'll find his damned book, and watch like a hawk while he reads it. And should he happen to violate that neutrality himself, well, she might have a few things in her pockets to introduce him to. (Swaddled Thunder isn't casual to make, nor the Rubywise Ruin in case of violence. But she's made them enough to feel they're replaceable, at least.)
Ridaya follows, meekly, closing the door (it swings shut eerily easily), and then sits down on the far wall away from Luto, clutching her tisane.
Sip. She should - no, focus on the tea.
Sip. She wants - focus on the tea.
....turns out being silent is kind of excruciating even if she's a more than a little bit mad at Luto and a bit scared of Sophie!
"Sorry for leaving, I just, I needed -"
It comes out all in a rush. "Ridaya I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have said that, I didn't mean it, I know why you won't do it."
She sucks in a shaky breath. "It just feels wrong, to leave them there. My job, my purpose, is keeping all of you safe, so why should I-" be alive, when they aren't, why isn't it me dead back there and Zan or Uma or Vakt here with you, why why why
"It's o-" she catches herself, because it's not really okay, is it.
Sip. "...It wouldn't be better if you'd died, Luto. They wouldn't have wanted that, and I wouldn't've either. You know how much it scares us, when you jump into harm for us."
"Red dragon. An extremely powerful one. He would have beaten us all even if we were ready and well-rested." Though probably they would have all survived, in that case.
Siiip.
"Dragons. We do not have dragons. We have stories about dragons."
She considers.
"Can poison kill them? Can lightning? Can you make them drink?"
Ridaya shakes her head. "A dragon that big? It would take... so much lightning, to kill it. Maybe four bolts from a deadly storm, if it were standing still. Much more than that if it were magical lightning, or if it could move - a dragon's hide can shrug off many spells, and dragons that live to be that old can protect themselves from energy with magic." (She pauses, fills in the vocab gaps as best she can without her illusion, and then continues.) "And I do not think a poison would work, not unless your poisons are much much stronger than ours, much stronger than your lightening. Certainly I do not think we are likely to get him to drink it."
She slumps against the wall.
It dawns slowly upon Sophie that she might have the solution to this problem.
She does not want that to be the solution. It is, almost without exception, the wrong move, to use it in a way that is not prescribed, to use it frivolously – she might never find another – she doesn't know these people –
but that doesn't change the fact that she has a lead-sealed vial of Nillycant in her pocket, and it doesn't change the fact that she knows damned well that if an encaustum terminale can rewrite the very heavens, it can kill an overgrown lizard.
"I have a bad idea," she says quietly.
She looks at Sophie carefully. "...how bad of an idea?" Don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up, don't get your hopes up,
"Very bad. It –"
She breathes deeply, and puts her hands over her face.
"We have stories of dragons. Do you have stories of... magic doing too much? You ask for a broom that sweeps on its own, and it never stops, and in a thousand years it has swept your house into dust?"
She snaps taut with sudden anxiety. "...yes, we have that. If yours is like ours - it would be a very, very bad idea. I would not want that."
She takes in a deep breath. "Luto. You know I love you, love them, would do almost anything to get them back. Do you trust me? About magic?"
"This - if it is anything like what I am thinking of, magic that does too much, it could easily kill us all. If we were lucky, it would only kill us all. It is very very difficult to use safely, and when used unsafely..." she shudders.
That's all true.
(But she's the Librarian. Who cares what anyone else can do?)
She knows it'd be a bad idea.
(When has magic ever been a good idea? But she's built a life out of it.)
She is an idiot.
(She is not a coward.)
She takes out the little vial, and a sheet of Nivine parchment, and a steel-tipped quill.
"If either of you interrupts me, it will be worse."
And she punctures the seal and begins to write.
She could - no, it's too late, Sophie is already writing,
She casts message on Luto. "Don't move," she whispers urgently.
Luto's never seen Ridaya this scared, not when she was bound and bleeding about to die two months ago, not in the Abyss earlier today, not even when the dragon's claw was reaching out to her before Luto jumped in the way.
She's as still as a statue, praying. Please, she thinks desperately. Please, Kofusachi, don't let this go wrong, don't let whatever Ridaya is so afraid of come to pass, please, please, that cannot be the path to flourishing and abundance,
Hours of the Mansus, I beg thee heed my plea.
I call upon thee, Madrugad, cold grey light of dawn. Your gloaming brings the final sleep, and this is what I need.
I call upon thee, Sun-in-Rags, bloodied sunset-king. You are fallen from your throne, and this is what I need.
I call upon thee, Chiliarch, soldier without peer. You say the word and thousands die, and this is what I need.
I call upon thee, Lionsmith, on whom no shadow falls. You fight until the last man falls, and this is what I need.
I call upon thee, Double-Edge, final god from stone. You cleave what is from what is not, and this is what I need.
I call upon thee, Wolf Divided, death's begotten son. You love hate, and crave destruction; this is what I need.
Let that on which I lay my curse forever cease to be.
The room grows colder as she writes, and there's a smell of metal and stone. Then she rolls up the parchment and stands.
"We should use this quickly. They can see it."
She takes in a trembling breath. "How quickly - do I have time to make us less likely to get roasted alive when we arrive - is it too late to reconsider -"
She's already moving towards the bag, if they have to do this now they should be doing it invisibly, so she should head for the wand. (She's shaking, quite badly.)
"If you can do it in the space of a few minutes, it should be fine. It's... a matter of pacing."
Minutes. Okay. The pieces slot neatly into place in her mind.
"Okay. In case this does something worse than killing all three of us, I want to have said that I'm really very upset that you did that without at least" her voice becomes muffled as her head and arms disappear into the magic bag "talking to us about it more, this wasn't urgent on the scale of minutes or hours, and on our world the kind of magic I suspect you just used has ended civilizations."
Given the givens, her voice is remarkably level (which is to say, it is shaky but she's not, like, yelling about it or anything?)
"Luto, get your sword. On arrival, defend Sophie, not me, okay? She's our primarycaster, here. Both of you, get over here."