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  “But it’s more than that,” Jerroth said. His voice took on a sense of wonder. “The way she laughs, her wit. Tressa’s… dazzling. With the merest touch of her hand, I feel like I could do anything.”

  The rapture on his face sent prickles down my back. I wanted to be worshiped—every girl did—but I also wanted a comfortable friendship. Like the one I had with—

  “Excuse me,” I said, interrupting both his trance and my own thoughts. I took a step with the dung in my arms.

  “I—I’m sorry.” Jerroth turned bright red. “Here, allow me to—”

  “I have this one.” To my surprise, he followed me down the hallway again. A suspicion formed. Can he be spying for Tressa?

  “Anyway, Mother approves of the match,” Jerroth continued, returning to his practical self. “That’s the most important thing, isn’t it? That the women get along.”

  “Your father likes her?” I asked.

  “He would, I’m sure. He passed away when I was thirteen. Carriage accident.”

  “Oh! I’m sorry. I had forgotten…” I blushed, because it was something I had memorized after I’d met him: Jerroth, Count of Katier. A real noble would never forget that she knew someone titled. A lord at sixteen years of age—that was rare.

  “Father was a good man. With the First One’s favor, I’ll honor the kingdom as he did.”

  We stepped outside, the sunshine blinding, warm, and welcoming. Below us, the lake glittered as if covered with diamonds. A small smile entered my heart. I’d finally adjusted to the Kyer’s gray stone, but I still cherished the moments outside.

  “What about you?” Jerroth said. “Do you get along with your parents?”

  Pigshit. That was the problem with talking. I set the bag on a pile of others for the dragons to take to the small strip of farmland below. “Well, they’re… We’re not that close.” Think, think, think. “Not like Mother and Cari.”

  “Cari?”

  “Carielle. Cari’s my nickname for her.” My fortunate, predetermined nickname. I decided not to linger in the sunshine and hurried back to the caves.

  “Interesting,” Jerroth said as he kept pace with me. “I thought Carielle of Threepines went visiting her cousin because of a fight with her mother.”

  Buckets of pigshit. I’d been wrong about him. He played the Game better than Tressa. “You know how it can be. The more you love someone, the more you irritate them. Excuse me, but I do have a lot to do this afternoon.”

  “Forgive me.” He gave me a bow; I gave him a tight smile. He walked down the hall and I went the opposite direction.

  Pigshitting weasel snouts, he’s going to tell Tressa and—what? I didn’t know what Dragonsridge would do if Tressa exposed me, but none of my imaginings were pleasant. Force me to leave the Kyer, certain. Sanctions on Merram and Orrik, likely. Sterilize me so I wouldn’t pass on my tainted blood? Kill me? Maybe not that extreme, but what kind of life could I have, exposed, accepted by neither nobles nor peasants?

  I prayed Mother’s letters gave some hint as to my father’s identity—proof that anyone could see. I prayed for a Gift. If I were to ever confront Merram, I needed to be at the Kyer during his next return.

  The afternoon crept along. I completed each task, agitated as a chicken, my mind on the letters and occasionally on Jerroth. Finally, my stomach rumbled. Dinner. Or rather, the end of the torturous afternoon.

  I stopped by Shamino’s study on my way out. He kept a list of tasks posted by the door. To my surprise, Shamino sat behind his desk, scowling at some papers.

  “Orrik left already?” I asked with surprise as I began to cross off what I’d finished.

  His pen clacked on the desk. “I saw you walking with Jerroth earlier.”

  I paused mid-cross and glanced over my shoulder. Shamino scowled in full force. “Jerroth came to meet the dragons. He’s asking the Dragonmaster to bond early.”

  “I didn’t see him talking to dragons. I saw him walking with you. And he should have come to me for permission from the start. I’m the Seneschal, you know, the person who approves bonding?”

  Clearly, Shamino was in one of his moods. Some woman must have been pestering him. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d approve. Next time, I’ll send visitors to you.” I lifted the pen and paused. “He didn’t use the Summoning Globe.”

  “No, he didn’t.” A paper fluttered to the floor. “As long as you’re here, I expect you to work. Not entertain guests.”

  “Entertain?” I repeated. I let the pen swing on its tether as I spun. “I wasn’t entertaining; I was being polite. And I said it wouldn’t happen again, so stop attacking me.”

  “Attacking? I’m not—” He sprang from his desk, lunged across the room, and flicked the door shut. In a low voice, he added, “I’m just saying that personal matters need to be conducted outside the Quarters.”

  “Personal matters.” Sometimes Shamino had rocks for brains.

  “He shouldn’t be flirting with you,” Shamino burst as he stepped closer.

  I stood my ground and glared. “I. Wasn’t. Flirting.”

  “He was carrying things for you.”

  “You ox-brain, have you ever met Jerroth? He could teach the king manners. Besides, he—”

  “Is handsome, titled, and—I know what you’re trying to do, Dragonling.” At my stunned silence, Shamino seemed to swell and rushed on. “The Dragonmaster denied my request. You’ll be forced to leave, and—what I’m trying to say—there’s other… options. So don’t decide anything in a rush.”

  I gaped. Shamino—he thought I—if I married Jerroth, I could return to the Kyer and live as a spouse. I’d be a First-One-blessed countess. Except—

  “I don’t love Jerroth,” I blurted. Shamino made a quick nod of agreement. The ox-brain honestly thought I’d court Jerroth for gain. “I would never. How dare you think I’d flirt to get—Fine, if you’re as bright as the sun, do you know what Jerroth did?”

  Shamino turned red. The dolt probably thought Jerroth had kissed me or something.

  “He convinced Yuriah to avenge her mage by dying a useful death in battle. That’s what he was doing. Not flirting.”

  Shamino stepped backward. I would have laughed had I not been so offended.

  “So you owe him a letter of gratitude.” I spun to cross out my last task. The nib broke, but I left the pen dangling on its string; it’d annoy Shamino until he replaced it.

  “I’ll… do that.”

  “You should write me a letter while you’re at it. ‘Entertaining guests.’” I thrust a finger at him. “Which one of us has a line of strumpets interrupting our work?”

  Shamino flushed. “I don’t want—”

  “Maybe I didn’t want to be bothered, either, but I couldn’t dismiss Tressa’s beau when he had good reason to stay.”

  Shamino jerked. “He’s courting Tressa?”

  “Yes! Tressa captivated him the moment she saw him. You’re even more oblivious than me!”

  “So… he’s not courting you.”

  I poked him in the chest. “You. Are. An ox-brain. I’m going to dinner.”

  I squeezed past him, bumping his shoulder. Hard. I made sure to slam the door behind me.

  Courting Jerroth. Of all the idiotic ideas—

  Though it wasn’t. Shamino didn’t know of my fated spinsterhood.

  And that only made me angrier. I jogged to the dining hall in order to burn off my agitation, picked up some stuffed rolls, and headed to my rooms.

  It was time to be with my mother. Ten years was too long.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  By candlelight, lying on the moss-green quilt I finally considered mine, I read the letters. Once. Twice. Over and over, I read them and remembered.

  I can hear her laugh, her sadness, everything. I had never known that Mother had hated Stoneyfield—no. Not Stoneyfield. Where had we lived before? The Lady who owned the small town had taxed everyone beyond reason, even during the Sickness. Over half the residents had di
ed by the time Mother packed our belongings. We walked for days, sometimes on roads, sometimes over fields, and Mother had started to cough… She’d collapsed in front of Lily and Garth’s hut. That day I remembered clearly. They had taken her in—an ill stranger with a little girl—and they had nursed her the best they could. Krysta died within two weeks.

  I flipped to the last page, last paragraph.

  My love, I fear we must leave soon. People are dying, both from starvation and from illness. She is fine, I make sure she eats, but I cannot go much longer on so little. I will write again when we find somewhere better to live.

  Those had been Mother’s last words to Merram. Krysta had starved herself, for me, and while we searched for a better place, she had caught the Sickness. And died.

  Merram hadn’t known where to find me. I had become yet another orphan. I suspected he hadn’t even known my name… until my manifestation.

  My manifestation of a Gift that doesn’t work.

  “And since my magic doesn’t work,” I rolled to my stomach and fingered the pages spread out on the bed, “I’ll be forced to leave before I can show you to Merram.”

  What am I willing to do to stay?

  Using Thorkel’s instructions didn’t mean I’d have to go to him. What if the sapphire vision meant I should accept his help? And the dragon vision, what if it meant the First One wanted me to stop Thorkel?

  I laughed, hollow, and my breath fluttered Mother’s letters. I could lie to myself and imagine all sorts of heroic deeds. In the end, using the sapphire meant I’d feel like I owed Thorkel, dragon-slaying genius or no.

  I have a week.

  A hopeless week.

  I pushed off the bed and gathered the pages, taking care to keep them in order. I stuffed them into my empty boot and went to the living room, determined to practice without end. One week. One week to succeed.

  If I didn’t, I’d use the sapphire.

  Because, for the first time in my life, I felt accepted. I loved the Dragon Quarters. Kits would hatch any day now, and I wanted to see a baby dragon grow. I wanted a dragon of my own. Paige was beginning to believe I wouldn’t abandon our friendship, and Shamino—

  A lump formed in my throat. Shamino. Ox-brained idiot. I still couldn’t believe he thought I’d use Jerroth, even out of desperation. Shamino’s reaction almost suggested he—

  The bell rang by the door. No one ever rang my bell. I checked the Spheres—early evening. The bell began to jingle again, so I pulled the door open.

  “Hello,” Shamino said. He tried a smile, then spoke to the floor. “I’ve, um, come to apologize. May I come in?”

  The lump filling my throat began to soften. Damn him, looking all pathetic. But… should I even be angry at him?

  Yes. He had only been thinking like a noble. Which I never act. And he had spoken out of concern, because he cared for me and didn’t want me to ruin my life.

  “Sure.” I followed him to the creaky sofa and tried for, if not a reassuring smile, a less-disgusted frown. “It’s a bit early for you to leave the Quarters.”

  “Yeah, well, I needed to apologize, and the dragons were exasperated with me, and Sylvia said—anyway.” He ran a hand through his hair, still not looking at me.

  He does that when he’s nervous. It always gave him a bewildered, boyish appearance, one I loved. My annoyance vanished entirely. “I forgive you. You were concerned and… cranky. Sometimes I’m cranky, too.”

  He laughed, looking up. “Perhaps, but you’re not—what did you call me? An ox-brain? I should add that to my growing list.”

  I gritted my teeth. Pigshitting peasant curse.

  “I deserved it,” Shamino said. “In fact, as an apology… seeing as I’m not allowed back at the Quarters tonight… If you’re not busy, that is, would you like to go to the theater?”

  Surprised excitement wiped away every negative thought in my head. “A play?”

  “I’m buying the tickets as my apology. Unless, of course, you demand a Letter of Groveling instead.”

  “First time, you apologized with chocolate, and now you’re buying me theater tickets.” I grinned. “We need to fight more often.”

  “That’s a yes, then?” Before I could nod, he rambled on. “If not, I understand. The play starts in three-quarters of a Sphere and I know that’s not much time to get ready but—something is wrong.”

  I rubbed the sofa’s cushion where the fabric had thinned. The theater. A noble thing. “This getting ready… What do I wear?”

  “Whatever you want.” He tilted his head. “Have you never gone?”

  “Not here, at the Kyer,” I said in a rush, as if saying things quickly made a lie foolproof. Adara of Threepines surely had seen plays. Even backwater nobles paid unskilled troupes for entertainment. “I’ll change.”

  He leaned back. “I’d say you look fine, but something a tad more formal might be appropriate.”

  I laughed again, an uncomfortable laugh this time. When I answered the door, I hadn’t given thought to my clothes—stained breeches and a dingy white shirt with a hole in the elbow. Which is what I wear at the Quarters when I oil. Why am I feeling self-conscious? And how many fire-blasted emotions can I go through in one Sphere?

  “One moment.” I hurried to my dressing room to sift through my options. I didn’t have many. Did nobles wear the same clothes over and over? There was the outfit I’d worn to Tressa’s party, which I hated. The gown for the ball, even I knew that was too fancy.

  Maybe… I pulled out my secret purchase: the green dress. It couldn’t be fashionable; it had been too cheap, for a gown. But I’d wanted it so much when I bought my outfit for Tressa’s party. It had still been at the seamstress’s when I’d purchased my ballgown. I couldn’t resist.

  Silky-smooth fabric whispered over my skin as I pulled it on. It hugged my body, except for flares at the skirt and sleeves, and it felt like a dream. I surveyed myself in the mirror. The dress was absolutely lovely.

  The rest of me? My braid was fine for the Quarters, bad for public. I pulled it out and finger-combed, hoping the waves didn’t go frizzy as they gradually returned to curls. I didn’t have colors for my face. My throat, bare. When I lowered my hand, the calluses on my palm brushed against my hip, tugging the delicate fabric. Then there was the tan, thanks to many hours in the sunshine with dragons. It left a line mid-throat and on my upper arms.

  It’s only a play with Shamino. I don’t have to be spectacular. It’s not like it’s a—

  My chest tightened. It couldn’t be. Shamino didn’t date. Anyone.

  And yet… I sank onto the stool in my dressing room. On a date, a boy and a girl dressed up and went somewhere everyone could see them. Somewhere like the theater. Hadn’t Shamino been nervous when he asked me?

  It’s an apology, I told myself. An apology…

  For accusing me of flirting with Jerroth.

  I crept through my rooms and cracked open the door to the main room. Shamino fidgeted on my shabby sofa, his profile to me. He wore a fine creamy shirt, over which hung a deep crimson tunic that very much complemented his hair and figure. Dark breeches. He was still—always had been—so meltingly handsome. I didn’t notice it as often as I once did, but oh, I noticed it now.

  He glanced at the door and I pulled back. Deep breaths, Adara. He’s dressed nice because it’s the Theater. Boys and girls can be friends. As for handsome, you can’t be female and not feel a little giddy around Shamino.

  Convinced, I opened the door. “I’m ready.”

  “That was quick,” he said. His eyes widened as he caught sight of me. “You are beautiful.”

  I looked down at myself. “I love this dress.”

  He laughed—a warm, familiar sound. “The dress? Dragonling, you are a beautiful young woman, and if being trapped in the Quarters has made you unaware of that fact, then I need to take you out more.” He swept a bow. “My lady?”

  This I could do. I’d taken classes. I dipped a curtsy before taking his arm.
“My lord.”

  We walked in silence for a while, him linked to the magic and me caught in the wake. Occasionally we passed blurs of color.

  “So you’ve never seen a play?” he asked when we were almost there.

  I stiffened. “I didn’t say that. I said, ‘not here.’”

  Shamino frowned. When he spoke, he sounded both concerned and perplexed. “Did they not let you watch, merely because you were adopted? That doesn’t go with my impression of Threepines.”

  Was there any good excuse? “Let’s, um, just say I’ve never seen one.”

  “Then I’m glad I thought of it, before…” His sentence trailed away.

  Before you leave.

  Shamino doubted I’d succeed with my Gift, and I couldn’t blame him. But his words reassured me that the theater was not a date. Shamino was merely being thoughtful…

  I needed to change the subject before I did something silly, like cry for no reason. “Did you speak to Yuriah?”

  “I did,” he said. Instantly his steps grew lighter. “She’s flying out as soon as she regains her strength. I’m hoping her time on the front will heal her heart. Raul suggested we expose her to as many of the king’s battle mages as possible, on chance a friendship forms.”

  Crisis averted, I relaxed on his arm and listened with true interest. When he finished about Yuriah, I asked about the eggs soon to hatch, though that brought up the awkwardness again. The eggs might hatch after Merram’s deadline.

  I nearly shouted with joy when the streaks around us became visible people.

  We were far from the first to arrive at the theater. Dozens of people filled the entryway, talking or trying to pass through the crowd. The number of people made me lightheaded with anxiety. I’d managed Tressa’s party, and the ball, but I’d had her to guide me—to eclipse me. Here, all I saw were gems and silks and elegantly curved shoes—my skirt hid my boots.

  Shamino must have noticed my death-grip on his arm, because he halted and raised an eyebrow.

  I swallowed. “I dressed wrong.”

  He pulled me to the edge of the room. “You’re fine.”