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  I let her rattle on as I continued to herd. Jaya, the creamy dragon with the throat wound, lay still with glassy eyes. Blood already soaked the bandage Byron had wrestled around her neck. Between her and Grantham moaned a dragon with a spear in his belly and one in his chest. Grantham’s three spears clustered in his stomach, far from the vital fire chamber and heart.

  Shamino didn’t need me to pass my anatomy quiz. “Mage—what’s your name?”

  “Bree. Dragon Mage Bree, Flight 2, Wingtip. I’ve flown—”

  “Dragon Mage Bree,” I cut in, trying to keep my voice soothing. A small step. “You’re upset, for good reason. Grantham is badly wounded. But what will help him the most is if you stay calm at his side. Perhaps you could—”

  “Why am I even talking to you? Shamino—how did I get over here?”

  I blocked her as she tried to get past me. “If you won’t stay calm, you need to leave.”

  She shoved me. I regained my balance and locked my hands on her arm. “Come with me.”

  “Let go, trainee.” A wave of something hit me, something invisible, and I found myself sprawled on the floor. Bree blinked. “You didn’t shield.”

  Another invisible shove. I slid another foot. My Gift surged, but nothing happened. I tried to grasp it, tried to fling it at her, but instead of a spell—any spell—I sat there.

  “Fight back, damn you!” Tears slicked Bree’s cheeks. She raised her hands, and black fire glittered.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I pushed away my fear of the black fire dancing over Bree’s hands. She didn’t want to hurt me; it was desperation clouding her judgment. I needed to stay calm as the fire began to form a spherical shape. I needed a way to block. Where was the rain-forsaken dragon that was supposed to be protecting me?

  Fine. If Bree needs a fight.

  I rolled to standing and tackled her.

  My physical assault took her by surprise; I pinned her with ridiculous ease. Did nobles never scuffle as children? She made a pitiful attempt to throw me off, but I pressed harder into her back and held her hands still. “Bree, behave. You’re a Dragon Mage, not a child.”

  “Get off me, you brat! I swear I’ll—”

  A low rumble. Silver scales appeared beside us.

  Bree went limp. I climbed off her. “Mettalise, please escort Dragon Mage Bree from the Infirmary.”

  Mettalise smiled and opened her claws.

  “I’ll go on my own,” Bree spat. She pushed herself up and glared through tears. “The Dragonmaster will hear of this.”

  We watched her go. The second she disappeared through the hallway door, I rounded on Mettalise. “Where were you?”

  *Testing you.* She gave me a lazy blink that reminded me of a cat.

  “‘Testing’? She threw spells at me! You were supposed to be my shield!”

  *Yes, and when I didn’t rescue you, you took charge of the situation.* Mettalise tilted her head toward a human-dragon pair on the ‘healthier’ side. *Lian says his mage’s thoughts are sluggish. Convince him to go to the human infirmary?*

  This time, I managed to convince the mage without Mettalise’s help; he wasn’t as hostile as he was confused, and his head wound coated half his face with blood. While I asked one of the mages who’d made Lights to assist the injured man, Mettalise rushed over to Byron’s dragon. The two helped hold down a patient while Byron pulled out massive spears.

  *I’m needed here, and it looks like everyone’s behaving. Assist Shamino. And I am sorry about earlier. If it helps, I didn’t expect her to use anything lethal.*

  I sent her a glare across the room.

  Mettalise grinned. *Also. You passed.*

  Against my will, my glare turned into a smile.

  My pleasure at Mettalise’s words died as I approached Shamino. He’d mended the yellow’s wings. Now he was with Jaya, his hands pressed against her neck. Without the chaos of arrival, I saw how teeth had nearly ripped out her throat. That she’d flown herself to the Kyer was unbelievable.

  Shamino stepped backward. The dark green haze around Jaya’s throat faded, but the wound remained terrible as ever. New bubbles didn’t form. Her body didn’t move, not even her chest. Shamino’s shoulders shook.

  “Is she?” I said in a whisper.

  “She shouldn’t have flown,” he said. “Stupid dragon. Her mage was injured, but someone else could have carried her. Jaya lost too much blood and I—if I had worked on her first…”

  I wiped a tear from my cheek and dried my hand on my breeches. Then, very gently, I touched his shoulder with my fingertips. The shaking stopped and I slid my hand so my palm molded the warm muscle under his shirt.

  Mere moments felt like eternity. I didn’t speak. I’d lost my mother; I knew words of comfort sounded hollow. Knowing that someone stood beside you, and would stay beside you, that was the closest anyone could come to comfort.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he turned. Briefly my hand slid over his shoulder, down his arm, and we were separate again. He raised his hand to wipe away tears, but paused when he saw the blood. “I’m washing up. Then I’m saving the others.”

  The next dragon’s eyes weren’t glassy, but they didn’t focus and his deep purple scales seemed pale. Aside from various claw wounds, he’d been struck by two spears as thick as my leg. One spear had been removed, but so much blood soaked the bandage that it sagged. The dragon’s mage sat beside the patient’s head, an untouched basin of water in his lap. He murmured soothingly, but the dragon gave no signs of hearing.

  Shamino joined us and did a quick survey of the dragon’s wounds. “I’ll heal the puncture first so he doesn’t bleed out. Then Raul and I will remove that spear. Adara, it’s right against the fire chamber. If I don’t heal as the spear’s removed, he’ll die. Make sure no one bothers us.”

  “Understood.”

  “While I see to that first wound, why don’t you—” He stopped. Once again, he’d been about to ask me to use my Gift. “There. Sylvia has fresh ointment for us. Smear it on anything that bleeds, nice and thick. I’ll… have Sylvia’s dragon come by to bandage.”

  I heard his reluctance. Dragons didn’t have the dexterity of a human with skilled Telekinesis. Sylvia’s dragon could likely bandage better than most, but someone would need to come by later and retie everything. Someone human and Gifted.

  I’m still doing something useful. I couldn’t lift the heavy bucket of pungent yellow sludge, so I scooped some into a bowl. For the briefest moment, the herby ointment masked the sulfuric scent of dragon blood, but it didn’t block the moans that had become as familiar as sheep bleating. I smeared ointment on the nearest gash.

  My hands grew wrinkled, my nose immune to the scent of both blood and ointment. Every time I emptied the bucket, a new one appeared on the cart. In the corner, surrounded by herbs and kettles and buckets, Sylvia grew haggard as she mixed and muttered.

  Time blurred. Shamino healed. I smeared. Once in a while I fetched hot water or held tools. I’m a table with hands, I thought bitterly. If dragons could have tolerated being near non-Gifted humans, I would have been completely unnecessary.

  We moved from dying to debilitating. Shamino fished around leg muscle with tweezers, aided by his magical sense of the dragon’s flesh. He removed one thin metal rod after another, placing each on the tray I held.

  “What did this?” Shamino asked the dragon’s mage. He could talk when he wasn’t using magic.

  “Some type of projectile,” she said. “A canister. I ignored it since Jerril usually knocks aside projectiles with his tail. The canister exploded midair, some type of delayed spell, and it was filled with those.”

  I handed Shamino a rag, and he wiped a swath of blood off the wound. “Make sure the Dragonmaster hears about it. I don’t want to see more of these. Adara, I’m healing now.”

  He slid his fingers into the wound and closed his eyes. Jerril the dragon tensed, despite the pain potion he’d drunk.

  “You can talk to me, but we must
leave Shamino to healing,” I said to the mage. I put down the tray and picked up ointment.

  “Can I help?” she asked. “It’s killing me to stand here.”

  “You can work Telekinesis?” She answered ‘of course,’ and my gut twisted. I explained how to bandage. I’d watched Byron doing it during my table moments.

  “How did so many dragons become injured?” I asked as we worked.

  “This is just those who could fly here,” she said. A large bolt of muslin sailed over our heads. She unraveled it, and an end floated toward a gash on the dragon’s front leg. Once it started wrapping, she spoke again. “There was an ambush. One minute we flew over sand. The next, a Flight appeared beneath us with at least two ranks of battle mages.”

  “What do you mean, appeared?”

  “We think they Illusioned themselves to look like the desert. They certainly didn’t hide under the sand.”

  I sucked in a breath and tried to imagine a spell on such a scale. He’s a genius, the elderly woman at the ball had said of Thorkel. A genius at killing.

  I should have turned in that note. If Thorkel died, the war would end. The tribes had always fought among themselves, the dragons rogue and distrustful in the desert. They’d return to that without their leader.

  Of course, such guilt was also completely ox-brained. A genius would plan for an attack from the directions he had sent. If I had gone to Thorkel with others alongside me…

  The endless blood spoke for itself.

  Someone brought hot rolls stuffed with meat. My meal, and Shamino’s, had gone cold by the time we finished Jerril’s punctures. We ate together, leaning against the wall, and Shamino stared at the two empty beds as he chewed.

  He’s exhausted and he has three dragons left. He hadn’t fully healed the earlier nine, he’d just done enough to keep them alive. The last few wouldn’t require as much Gift, but… The deep bruises under Shamino’s eyes and his ashen sheen scared me.

  “Do you have enough?” I asked. He knew what I meant.

  “Yes.” He sounded defensive, like when Merram had assigned me to the Quarters.

  “Shamino…” I bit my lip. If he miscalculated and burned through his Gift, he’d die. I wasn’t sure that would bother him, if it meant saving a dragon. “I’ll be blunt. Those last three, they may not walk or fly if you keep back some Gift, but they will live. That’s certain. What’s also certain is that dragons will die tomorrow if you’re not here for them. Understood?”

  His mouth formed a firm line as he continued looking at the empty beds.

  “Besides,” I said as I brushed crumbs off my bloodstained shirt, “if you die, I’ll cry. I hate crying.”

  “What?”

  I shrugged. “My face gets all blotchy and I look terrible.”

  A heartbeat passed, then he chuckled. “Well. Can’t have that.”

  “Nope.” I smiled and nodded at the remaining dragons. “Ready?”

  His grin vanished and serious Shamino returned. He squeezed my shoulder. “Thank you.”

  I nodded, suddenly unable to make any more jokes.

  We returned to the dragons. I kept my eye on Shamino through every spell. It took longer for him to heal. His movements grew slow, his breathing labored. I bit my lip so often it became raw.

  *We need you to take Shamino to his rooms the moment he finishes.*

  Mettalise. How had I forgotten her? Across the room, the silver dragon helped one of the patients roll onto his side.

  *We’re too tired to fly him,* Mettalise continued. *I doubt he’ll be able to walk without help.*

  At her words, I noticed the exhaustion in my own body. My mind had been drifting, and my limbs were as heavy as sacks of seed. According to the Time Spheres, the Kyer was eating, or had eaten, breakfast. We’d been up all night.

  “There,” Shamino muttered as green fire faded. He stood from his crouch at the dragon’s leg and staggered before finding his balance.

  I might have been tired, but I wasn’t half-dead. And my Gift—still there, thrumming with energy. I hated it. It couldn’t heal, it couldn’t lift bandages, it lashed out without reason. And the First One mocked me with visions—no, with dreams. Fanciful dreams of having some type of power.

  Frustration and anger didn’t help Shamino. I took his elbow. “I’m helping you to bed.”

  “I’m fine, just give me a moment.” After several, he walked himself to the Infirmary door. Halfway down the hall he began to list. I gave him my arm, and this time he didn’t protest. We took the stairs, and my back began to strain from the effort of keeping him upright. When we reached the Quarter’s foyer, I stopped us.

  “New strategy,” I said. I ducked and put his arm over my shoulder. His sleeveless arm. A little flutter shivered in my stomach. Stop that. It’s a stinky arm covered with dried blood.

  “Dragonling, I can—”

  “Keep yourself from collapsing until you’re in bed.”

  “You can’t carry me to my apartment.”

  “If I can wrestle oil drums without Telekinesis, I can carry you to your rooms.” I barely stopped myself from yawning. “Let’s go.”

  This time of morning, constant blurs filled the halls. Although the magic worked for us, too, we crept at an agonizing pace. Shamino seemed to grow heavier with each step, and I was grateful he didn’t live far from the Quarters.

  “We’re here,” I said. Shamino jolted—he’d been half asleep. He waved his hand in front of the lock once, twice. Finally, it clicked.

  “I can go from here,” he mumbled.

  Reluctantly, I eased his arm from my neck. He stumbled into the door’s frame and I lunged to catch him. We wobbled together as I felt for the candle and flint just inside the door; Shamino couldn’t even hold the candle steady for me. I pulled the door shut with my foot.

  We made our way through his main room to his dressing room. As I reached for his bedroom’s handle, he made some sort of grumble.

  “You want to clean up first?” I wouldn’t want to wake with dried blood on my face, arms, and clothes.

  “No, I—well, yes… First One, I’m tired.”

  I spotted a chair in his dressing room and lowered him into it. “I’ll get a cloth.”

  I found a second candle and hurried to the kitchen, where I started a fire and heated a small amount of water. I hated to ruin his dishcloths, but they were all I could find. I brought a handful and a basin of water back to the dressing room.

  He slept in the chair, his head lolled to the side. He’d wake with a wicked headache if I left him there. I gently shook him semi-awake and wiped what grime I could off his face and arms. The worst bits wouldn’t come off until I moistened them first.

  Should he change his clothes? I didn’t think he could on his own, but everything he wore was disgusting and ruined. I can remove his shirt, but his pants… Friendship had limits. I searched through his drawer of neatly folded shirts and picked one that was worn and soft.

  “Shamino?” He’d fallen asleep again. “Shamino, I have a shirt.”

  He stared at me, stared at the shirt. Looked at himself. Grimaced. “Yeah.”

  My face hotter than dragon flame, I lifted the crusty, stiff cloth that had once been a shirt. As it peeled away, I may have stopped breathing. His chest matched his arms, muscular and perfect—almost. Some of the blood had soaked through the shirt, and I really should have wet the cloth and run it along—

  I grabbed the clean shirt and held it in front of me so it blocked the sight of his chest. When he took it, I turned my head.

  Hopefully he didn’t notice that. My breathing had returned—too fast. I heard him fumbling with the cloth, but I didn’t hear the rustle of fabric against skin. I checked; his naked chest still shone at me. I snatched the shirt from his hands and shoved it on him as if trying to put out flame.

  “There. Good. Right.” I held out my hand. “Bed.”

  “I’ll sleep here.”

  “Will you just accept my help and climb into bed? I
promise I’ll leave the moment you hit the pillow.”

  The stubborn spark entered his eyes. Then he put his hand in mine.

  My nerves jumbled in my stomach as I opened the door. I’d never seen a man’s bedroom. But it was merely a room, clean and simple—It smells like him. First One above, I never realized he had a smell. Dragon and soap and… man.

  I was a fluffhead all over again.

  I wrestled him onto the bed. The mattress sank in such a comfy-looking way, the dark cover hinting that it’d be soft against my skin. The bed looked so comfortable, I really wanted to sleep except there he was, stretching out—

  Thank the First One, there’s something to look at. A portrait hung on the wall, and I studied it instead of him. Then I found myself entranced. The most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, even lovelier than Tressa, smiled at the room. She had deep auburn hair, green eyes that sparkled. It wasn’t her features that made her lovely, however, but her life. It seemed as if at any moment she’d twirl the boy at her side through the air. And the boy…

  Chubby cheeks, carrot-colored hair, maybe five or six years of age. His eyes were the same as they were now, and I had seen variations of that adoring smile. My Shamino.

  “Your mother,” I said.

  “Yes.” Shamino sounded… afraid?

  “She’s amazing,” I said, trying to reassure him yet also meaning it. “You can tell she loved you. And you adored her, didn’t you?”

  “You don’t know who she is.”

  It wasn’t a question. And by the way he said it, I should have known.

  My face prickled. “I don’t.”

  “I’m glad.” His tension seeped away. I barely heard him whisper, “She was amazing. Like you.”

  “Excuse me?” I said softly, certain I’d heard wrong. But he was asleep.

  I watched him by candlelight. In sleep, Shamino looked a bit like that carefree boy. Maybe he was relieved I didn’t know who his mother had been, but it was more proof. I’d never be a noble. I’d never belong.

  Chapter Eighteen