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  “Your breathing has increased. You found it?”

  “Yes,” I responded, my eyes still tightly closed. The word came out a squeak.

  “Remember, the Gift is part of you. You control it.”

  I wanted to laugh. Control? What control? The hut had burned without my meaning it to, and so had the crate in the alley.

  “Lesson Two. The success of a spell depends on visualization and focus. You cannot afford distraction. A fight with your mother, a cut on your arm, a nearby battle. While casting a spell, none of these matters. If you lose focus and fail to properly visualize the spell, you will at best cast nothing. At worst, the spell will lash out and hurt all in its proximity. Understood?”

  What if it’s the magic itself that is scaring you? Instead of admitting my fear, I kept to the silent-nod plan. Orrik might hurl lightning bolts with ease now, but once he’d been sixteen, facing all that power inside himself. He’d conquered it.

  Zoland told me to use my hands as a focal point; a strategy used by new mages. I slowed my breathing then nudged my Gift and imagined it flowing down my arms into my cupped hands.

  “You should feel your Gift pooling in your palms,” Zoland said. He cupped his hands, a mirror image of me. “Visualize what you want the Gift to do. In this case, you want the magic to be visible, in the form of flame, but not hot.” Black flames burst into existence between his hands and swirled into a sphere. “Picture a glass globe containing the flames. Later, I will teach you how to tie off the spell so that it may exist outside of your concentration.”

  His hands fell; the spell vanished. “Whenever you are ready.”

  Panic squeezed my heart. A minute ago I had worried that I had too much magic. Now? Now the Gift stayed in my chest, bright and powerful and massive, and very definitely not moving. I held nothing in my palms. I tried casting the spell anyway, but no flames appeared.

  I tried the imagining part again. The casting part again. Finally, I faced the truth.

  “I can’t do it,” I murmured, opening my eyes.

  Zoland studied me intently. I may have shrunk back. “You felt the magic in your chest?”

  “Yes! But. It never left. I should have felt it in my hands, right?”

  “Ah. An error in visualization, perhaps, due to a poor explanation on my side.”

  Not my peasant blood’s fault? I relaxed as Zoland’s vague, I’m-thinking expression returned.

  “You should always feel magic in your chest. If you do not, then you have used the entirety of your Gift before it could replenish itself. That kills a mage.” He gestured to my hands. “This time, imagine your heart as an anchor as the Gift travels.”

  “Anchor?”

  “Right. Mountains.” He frowned. “Your heart as the root of a flowering tree.”

  That image I understood. I tried again, but the new visualization didn’t help. I admitted failure once more. By then, my lesson had ended. Only the thinnest sliver of the Time Sphere had yet to form.

  “Do not worry,” Zoland said as he stood. “Next session, we will try a different focal point. Not every beginning mage has success with her hands. Did Orrik teach you meditation?”

  He had. Every day I visualized the pasture near my old home in Stoneyfield. It had been pretty enough in the summer, covered in wildflowers. The village altar stood in its center. I knew it almost as well as my own home.

  “Meditate three times a day to strengthen your mind.” Zoland tapped his temple. “Most mages say the Gift’s color determines power, but they are wrong. It is the strength of the mind. Feel free to attempt Light on your own. It is a benign spell.”

  Zoland held out his hand to help me up, but I didn’t take it. “What happens if I never cast Light? Or anything?”

  “Then you don’t bond.”

  Simple. Clear. All this time, I’d worried about passing as a noble, but it was the magic that mattered. No bonding meant no home.

  “No one has left the Kyer due to their magic failing.” Zoland reached out again; my rough skin pulled at his soft palm as he helped me to standing.

  To my shock, my legs wobbled as if I’d just planted an entire field. I pulled my rough fingers from his and leaned against the stone chair to steady myself. “Why do trainees leave?”

  “Over half return home because Kyer life is… challenging. Our ways do not align with the rest of Drageria.” Zoland opened the door. Blurs of people zoomed by. “In rare cases, no dragon wishes to bond with a potential Dragon Mage.”

  Lovely. I decided not to worry about dragons liking me. My worry bucket already overflowed.

  “… if you don’t mind?”

  “Hm?” I snapped to attention.

  Zoland still stood by the door, and he held out an envelope. “Kyer tradition. Trainees, when we can pin them down, deliver messages. It familiarizes you with the Kyer and introduces you to others.”

  I left the chair. The strange weakness had vanished. Still, I didn’t want to deliver anything. I wanted to eat dinner, alone, and get back to studying. But I reached for the envelope rather than tell Zoland no.

  My hands went clammy at the address: Seneschal. Dragon Quarters, Mountain 4.

  Zoland laughed at my apparent dread. “The Seneschal will barely notice you. All Shamino cares about is his dragons.”

  I couldn’t stop staring at the address. The Seneschal took care of all unbonded, ill, and newly hatched dragons; he oversaw the Kyer in the Dragonmaster’s absence. This Seneschal, Orrik had mentioned, possessed a rare Gift for dragon healing.

  I hadn’t even started my etiquette lessons. How was I supposed to—

  Smile and hold out an envelope? Stop being an ox-brain, Adara.

  Besides. Dragon Quarters. After days of being stuck in my rooms or the dining hall, I’d finally get to see a dragon.

  “I’ll deliver it,” I said, brightening. I entered the hall, recalled the waypoints I’d memorized since Orrik’s departure, and fixed Mountain Four in my mind. I took a step.

  Instantly, the world blurred. The Transportation spell had been sunk into the mountains long ago, and the precise workings were no longer understood. It worked for everyone, even the Giftless commoners. As long as a person had memorized the waypoints, he or she could get around the Kyer without walking for days. Mountain Four, the Dragon Quarters, was a waypoint in itself, and it was far from the practice room in Mountain Two. Within steps, the air became a soft breeze and colorful blurs of people whizzed by.

  Twenty minutes later, the blurs grew more distinct, and the breeze died down. Somehow the magic knew to stop right before I came to a large, stone door. It had also kept me from colliding into a single person on the way.

  I loved walking down the hallways.

  The door opened at a light touch, revealing a room for waiting. A gray rug, thick and slightly darker than the stone, covered the floor. Plush chairs of dark green and dark wood made small waiting spaces here and there. Enormous tapestries hid the walls, all of them bright with scenes of dragons flying in the sky.

  The waiting room was empty. I went to sit… But the chairs, had they ever been sat in? The room was beautiful, but there was no dust. No wrinkles in fabric. No fuzz from clothes. The space felt completely unused, and I didn’t want to leave an ass shape in the overstuffed chair.

  Instead I went to the open arch on the far side of the room. I peeked. The hall looked like all other halls in the Kyer, with Lights and doors evenly spaced. The closest door had a golden sign with a ball dangling from it. I crept closer.

  Seneschal, the sign said. Somehow fixed to the wall underneath, a note read in neat, even handwriting: Shake for Assistance.

  “Shake the ball?” I murmured and glanced down the hallway. No one. The dangling ball was made of glass, and dark green sparkles swirled inside. Magic? Orrik had never mentioned dark green magic.

  I knocked first. No answer. I reached for the globe. Hesitated. My insides surged with a panicky feeling that I was beginning to notice whenever I encountered, we
ll, anyone.

  “Do you need help?”

  I jumped at the sharp, no-nonsense voice. An elderly woman emerged from a blur in the hallway. Soft wrinkles covered her face instead of stiff folds. Her white hair a tight bun and not a braid. Stranger still was the straightness of her back. I realized that must be how someone would stand when they hadn’t bent over a field for decades…

  I was staring. “Um. I have a message. For the Seneschal.”

  “Just missed him. He went to dinner.”

  “Which dining hall?” I asked, my heart sinking. Delivering a message, nerve-wracking enough, but in front of other nobles? Not to mention I’d only memorized one of the three dining hall locations.

  “Shamino’s an odd one. He cooks for himself. Hand me that.” The woman reached for my message and pulled a slim pencil from her bun. “Here’s his address.”

  Great. I wouldn’t be interrupting him during a meal with others, I’d be disturbing his personal time at home. I glanced at the new address—at least he lived nearby—and within minutes I stood outside another door.

  Smile and hand over the envelope. Leave. It’s that simple. I pulled the cord that rang the bell inside the Seneschal’s rooms.

  The most handsome man alive opened the door.

  He stood a hand’s-breadth taller than I, with dark, tousled auburn hair that curled slightly. Muscles pulled at his shirt, and as he leaned against the doorway his eyes met mine. I may have forgotten how to breathe. Dark green, the color of deep forests and fantastic. Laugh lines ghosted the corners, but as I gaped, his eyes narrowed.

  “Can I help you?” Even annoyed, his voice both warmed me and sent a shiver down my spine.

  A heartbeat more, and consciousness slammed into me. Stop staring as if you were a besotted cow!

  “Oh, I… have a message.” I fumbled, dropped the envelope, scooped it up. “I must have the wrong door, I’m so sorry to bother you. I—”

  He grabbed my arm before I formed a thought clear enough to whisk me away. Warmth jolted through me again, and when I didn’t release the envelope, he pried it from my fingers.

  “You have the right door.”

  “You… you’re the Seneschal?” I blurted. He couldn’t be more than twenty. He was so, so…

  There is no word to describe him.

  The annoyance returned. “You’re a trainee, aren’t you? I wish everyone outside the Kyer would hear that Ramiel retired. Yes, I’m the Seneschal, yes, I’m nineteen, and yes, the dragons seem quite happy with their choice.”

  He ripped open the envelope and began to read.

  I wanted the floor to swallow me. Or my Gift to turn me to ash. Or a dragon to gobble me up. “I’m sorry, I—I was just surprised, you’re not much older than me and…”

  Stop talking, Adara, STOP TALKING.

  The paper fluttered as he sighed. “Long day. I shouldn’t snap.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Come inside? I need to send a reply.”

  Go into a noble’s apartment? A boy’s apartment…

  “I do mean it. I am sorry for snapping. Merram’s always telling me I’m too quick to anger.” Shamino gave me the slightest of smiles.

  The giddy feeling returned. “I’ve had a long day, too.”

  Shamino broke into a real smile and I nearly melted into the floor. He rolled his eyes as he turned away.

  I tiptoed after him, reminding myself that Shamino didn’t need drool on his furniture. He was just a man. A gorgeous man.

  Shamino gestured to the sofa on his way to his desk. I perched on the edge and tried to distract myself by looking at everything that wasn’t him.

  In many ways, Shamino’s room resembled the foyer in the Dragon Quarters. He’d decorated it with the same dark greens. Yet, Shamino’s rooms felt… cozy. Maybe it was the smell of fresh bread baking in the kitchen, or the dents in the fabric of the chairs that meant people often sat in them. The tapestries weren’t bold and majestic, either; the dragons in them seemed amused.

  Yet, something felt off. I fiddled with the seam of the sofa’s cushion as I tried to figure it out. Meanwhile, Shamino adjusted a candle and scribbled at the desk.

  Candles. He didn’t use Lights. That’s why the room felt cozy to me.

  “Where are you from?” Shamino asked as he folded his letter.

  Great. My favorite topic. “Threepines.”

  “Oh? You should adjust easier than most. Half the folk from Dragonsridge go home the first month. Not enough servants, and the commoners at the Kyer speak their minds.” He dribbled wax on the paper. “Not to mention, we expect Dragon Mages to work.”

  I decided to respond with silence. Adara of Threepines knew very little of Dragonsridge, the capitol.

  Shamino examined the seal and mumbled something else, but I didn’t catch what because a faint, airy sound had caught my attention. Not wind, not in a mountain. Something more regular, more…

  Breathing? Breathing from something large.

  Tense alertness shot through my body. There’s one more thing wrong with Shamino’s room. It has too many doors.

  Very slowly, I turned my head. There, its face filling the entire doorway, a dark green dragon blinked at me.

  Chapter Five

  “Done,” Shamino said as he stood with the sealed envelope. “If you could take—Raul! How many times must I tell you to ask before sticking your head in? Stop staring, you big oaf.”

  To my shock, Shamino rushed across the room and yanked on the dragon’s snout. The big topaz eye shifted and I began to shake as human and dragon scowled at each other. Could a dragon scowl? Raul’s eyebrows—eye ridges?—furrowed.

  “That’s not an excuse,” Shamino said. His frown deepened, then he snorted. “Raul apologizes for frightening you. And—oh, please. He says he’s honored to meet a maiden so fair.”

  “He said that?” Good. I managed not to squeak. Much.

  “If it’s flowery or poetic, it came from him.”

  “How?” I asked. The trembling lessened as my curiosity grew. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  “No one told you?” Shamino asked, losing the glare. “Dragons are telepathic. Usually I use telepathy with him as well, but I try to speak aloud with newcomers.”

  “Oh.” The tapestries of dragons no longer looked just amused. They unquestionably smirked. “He can hear my thoughts. Both of you.”

  Raul shook his head as best he could inside a doorway, and the thumping sent me quivering again.

  Shamino gave him a halfhearted bop. “Oh, no. Humans aren’t telepathic at all. But dragons are, and it’s the bond that allows me to speak with my mind.” Shamino fell silent again, and his dreamy eyes unfocused. “Raul says he would never enter your thoughts without your permission.”

  “Thank you.” I gave the dragon a weak smile.

  “Dragons rarely form a connection without a bond, and a dragon only bonds with one human.” Shamino stroked the ridge of Raul’s snout, and the dragon slitted his eyes like a content cat. “All dragons keep a surface touch with the Dragonmaster, and the unbonded with me, but mostly they keep to dragonkind. So don’t worry.”

  Raul’s nostrils flared and Shamino suddenly blushed. “Um. What’s your name?”

  I almost laughed. Almost. “Adara.”

  Shamino smiled. Which made me promptly forget how to breathe. And the smile promptly vanished.

  “Um…” I turned my gaze to Raul. Fortunately, my wonder at the dragon was stronger than the fluffheaded idiocy that Shamino stirred in me. As I looked at the dragon, my heart began to beat quicker in a normal, excited way. “Can I touch you?”

  Raul did his best at nodding within the doorframe, and I tensed again.

  Shamino’s eyebrow raised. “You sure? I mean, Raul would be honored, but this is clearly your first dragon meeting. We usually go slow with trainees.”

  I forced myself to stand. Giddiness bubbled in my chest. I was going to touch a dragon. Yet, my entire body screamed with the this-can-flame-and-eat-you-so-run-away inst
inct. I made it to the end of the sofa. Closer. An arm’s-length from Raul, my sheep-brained legs stopped working.

  A soft smile ghosted Shamino’s lips. Slowly, he slid his hand behind my back and, ever so gently, brought me forward. Then his other hand took mine and placed it upon Raul’s snout.

  First One, I’m touching a dragon, and the most handsome man in Drageria is touching me.

  “There,” Shamino whispered. “Not so bad, eh?”

  I laughed, emotions making me dizzy. The thrill of touching a dragon; disbelief that I, Adara, was even at the Kyer; hyperawareness of Shamino’s fingers on my back, of his breath stirring my hair. And wonder for Raul, the dragon’s heat washing over us both.

  Timidly, I shifted my hand. Shamino stepped away but Raul continued to capture my amazement. The palm-sized scales on his snout interlocked, forming a sort of smooth skin. Heat made him almost unbearable to touch. He stayed absolutely still and watched me through his massive topaz eyes. Two horns curled from his forehead and ended somewhere behind the doorway, and his chin stopped near my knees.

  “How big are you?” I whispered. “Can I see?”

  Raul grinned, exposing teeth the length of my hand. My knees trembled, and I heard Shamino sigh. “Raul? Please? Get ready, Adara, he’s going to move.”

  I braced myself. Raul’s head backed through the door. Shamino and I stepped inside Raul’s cave.

  This. I want this.

  Raul was glorious. So glorious, I blinked away tears so I could take him all in. He stood almost as tall as three men, making the massive cavern feel comfortably sized. A tail nearly the length of his body snaked on the floor. Spiky ridges lined his back down to his tail, ending in a barbed knot. Scales larger than plates covered his belly, and two enormous wings folded against his sides. He was a deep, deep green—the same shade as Shamino’s eyes.

  “He’s beautiful,” I said. “I saw dragons flying sometimes as a child, and Mother used to tell me stories of Daranathon—you know, the constellation. But in person—Raul, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” Then, in case male dragons hated being called beautiful, I added, “And dangerous.”