It was nice of the humans to offer them a place to sleep. At her most charitable, Beak put that down to kindness as well as scheming to use the four nonhumans to further their own ends. Either way, the floor strewn with pillows felt much like home. She was even woken by flapping and squawks, though she did spend a confused moment wondering which of the hatchlings was making noises like that.

Oh right, Beak thought groggily. It’s a bird. A small green bird in a large cage, with wings that worked perfectly well. That on top of waking with the thought that she was back home was a perfect recipe for a morose should-be-harpy.

Then the human children barreled in at top volume, and Beak had other things to think about.

“Good morning! Good morning! Are you awake?”

“Ugh. Yes,” Beak said.

“Huh? Bwut?” Twig and the others woke confused, recovering with varying levels of grace.

Three adults followed the children with shushing and apologies. Beak waved them off, saying she was already awake. The others followed suit: Twig sprang up to play with the children, Windmane unrolled the flying carpet, and Stomp helped her onto it. Beak wondered briefly how the dragons were doing. She got to her feet and asked the nearest adult when they expected their allies to arrive.

“Very soon,” the woman said. “We have a lot to do today, and this is the hub. We have workspace out back. I’ve already sent messages about you to those who weren’t here last night.”

Beak nodded. “How likely are they to know a searching spell that can find our friends?”

The woman winced. “We can ask? I don’t want to say no, but…”

“I’ll ask,” Beak said. “They’ll probably be interested in breaking the spell before the contest too. That would make your rivals look bad, right?”

“You bet it would. But first things first. How do you folks feel about cereal and toast for breakfast?”

“Toasted what?” Beak asked.

She learned a lot about human breakfast foods that day. The adults brought out everything they had on hand, and explained various aspects of it to their guests. Sliced fruits were added by popular request. Beak was disappointed by the lack of fish, but she kept that to herself.

“This is great!” Twig said around a mouthful of toasted bread. Both he and the bread were smeared with berry paste.

“I like this one,” Windmane declared, scooping up more nut paste out of a jar. “Stomp, you should try it.”

“Does it go on the bread or the cereal?” Stomp asked.

Children giggled from the other side of the table. “It goes on the toast! Milk goes in the cereal.”

“Right, milk.” Stomp took the jar of paste. “No thank you.”

“Why don’t you like milk?” asked the older child.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“The better question is why do you?” Stomp replied gently. “Where I’m from, only infants drink it. Perhaps you’re the strange ones here.”

The children insisted that no, nonsense, milk was good for everyone and surely that included weird guests who used to be different species. Their parents kept tactfully quiet, smiling as they ate. Beak and Windmane sided with Stomp.

“I think it’s good!” Twig said. “Especially when it’s this cold.”

Beak leaned her elbows on the table and gave him a look. “Of course you like it. Where do your people even get milk? Do you keep mice as livestock?”

Twig laughed. “No, that would be silly. But sometimes the animals of the forest have extra, like if a fox loses her kits or something.”

Beak’s expression didn’t change. “You get it from human farms, don’t you?”

“Well, sometimes,” Twig admitted. “Always honestly! Don’t look at me like that.”

“Twig’s the weird one at the table,” Beak announced.

Twig objected, but the children laughed so much that he let it go.

After breakfast, other humans started to arrive. Beak and the others were introduced to each one who walked in the door, and Beak forgot their names immediately. Far too many to keep track of. They didn’t even use proper descriptors for naming, just a variety of sounds mashed together. Who could be expected to keep that straight?

They all looked reasonably similar too, though Beak was pretty sure she could pick out the ones who would be presented as co-candidates the next day. There were nine of them, which sounded to Beak like a lot.

“It is on the high end,” admitted the gray-haired male she asked about it. “But the entire point of this movement is bringing power to the masses, out of the hands of an elite few. We could hardly do that with a single candidate.”

“But why nine?” Beak insisted. “Their debates will go on forever when a decision has to be made.”

“They have all worked together for years,” the man assured her. “They’ve had practice at this sort of thing. And there was a Council of Nine back in the early days, remembered fondly. We couldn’t pass up that comparison.”

“Good luck,” Beak said. “Do you at least have a designated tiebreaker, one to make decisions if all nine can’t be gathered?”

“Yes, we do. I can introduce you; she’s around somewhere. Probably in the workspace out back.”

Beak was sure that she’d already been introduced, but she went along anyway. This sounded like the right person to ask about tracking spells. In all the hubbub of preparations, more attention was being put to existing plans than to new ones.

Or so she thought, until she found most of the nine in a back room with Twig, gathered around a table of magical-looking objects. Everyone present was glowing with blue lines.

“Just think about channeling power,” one woman was saying, “And we’ll direct where it goes. Or would you prefer to say the rhyme again?”

“Yeah, that was much easier,” Twig said. “Remind me how it goes?”

As Beak and her escort watched from the doorway, the assembled group recited something that sounded like it was made for children about the age of the pair inside. Beak couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but when they finished, the woman who had spoken before held up a wizard’s staff with a crystal on the end. It glowed a piercing blue.

The woman grinned at Twig. “Well done. Fancy doing this one next?” She picked up something else from the pile.

“Sure!” Twig said. “This is fun. I could hardly get the magic to do anything before.” He caught sight of Beak. “Hey! Look, I get to help power their stuff!”

“I see that,” Beak said. “Well done. I don’t suppose you’ve talked about finding Razorscale and Silver?”

Twig’s face fell. “They can’t. The bad guys have them hidden somewhere, and they own like twenty houses, so there’s no way to know for sure. Especially when everyone is so busy. But! These guys are going to win the crown, and then they’ll be able to lock ‘em up for wrongdoing!”

“That’s the plan, anyway,” said the woman. “Care to help?”

“He’s the only one with magic,” Beak protested.

“But you all have insider knowledge. If you can recount your experiences with the spell, and with the contents of that workroom, then we would be very grateful.”

“Yes, I can do that.”

“I’ll see if there’s a notepad in the office,” the older man volunteered. “Right this way.”

Beak went with him toward the office, leaving Twig in the company of several delighted human magicians and a stack of objects to charge.

He probably won’t explode anything, she thought. Probably. And if he does, it’ll be their problem.