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  “Thank you,” I said with sincere relief as I took the paper he offered. Delaying history cut my reading and writing in half.

  “I do have something to add as well, but more on that later,” Merram said. “Have you had any contact with Carthesia?”

  “Carthesia?” I looked up from the paper. “Are they still after me?”

  “We are keeping an eye on all our trainees,” Merram said. “As a blue, you are a very tempting target.”

  “Am I safe?” In my head I answered no, because why else would he bring it up?

  “At the Kyer, yes. I worry instead about Thorkel luring you from these mountains. Notify me if you receive any suspicious communications.”

  My spine tingled. Carthesia, lure me? Worse, I could guess how. Orrik had found me so quickly. This life, created in such little time. Orrik had explained my being a blue had encouraged such effort, but what if I had been, say, a yellow? What if Merram had taken interest in me for personal reasons?

  Even if Merram knows of my father, he’ll never tell me. And knowing Father’s identity won’t change anything. He can’t acknowledge my existence.

  Except, knowing my father’s identity would change everything to me. I wanted to know Father had loved Krysta and had helped her hide… just as much as I feared him being the reason for her hiding.

  All of that flitted through my mind in mere seconds… Or minutes. For the Dragonmaster was staring at me, and when I met his gaze, he cleared his throat.

  “I see there is something concerning you,” he said. “Has Carthesia already contacted you?”

  “No! No, it hasn’t, I just—” I shut my mouth before I began babbling. The babble broke out anyway. “Orrik found me so quickly, you know, so I thought maybe you—it’s wishful thinking, it does me no good to know—but maybe you…”

  On the desk, Merram’s fingers tightened ever so slightly. In my overexcited state, that was all I needed.

  “Do-you-know-my-father?”

  Tension released, and Merram unclasped his hands. “It is understandable that you wish—”

  A knock interrupted him. Merram muttered, he’s early, and called for the visitor to enter.

  Orrik stepped halfway inside. “Merram, I’m sorry to—Adara! How nice to see you. Merram, a moment?” He tilted his head to the waiting room and Merram excused himself.

  All my anxiety melted into a pool of embarrassment. I never should have asked. My own mother had never breathed my father’s name. It was better, safer, not to know. I should be grateful for my false title of Threepines and focus not on the past but on my Gift. On my future.

  As I stared blindly at some tapestry of dragons behind Merram’s desk, I realized I could hear Merram’s and Orrik’s voices. The door hadn’t properly closed.

  They’re keeping something from you, the insane part of my heart whispered. I told it to be quiet, but it just repeated itself. Full of guilt, I slid out of the chair and went to the cracked door.

  “… near the northern border,” came Orrik’s voice, “in the mountains, but there are countless places he could hide.”

  “Damn,” Merram said. “That’s too close. You are sure? The main force—”

  “I am sure. He must be flying high, during cloudy nights.”

  They had to be discussing the war. Did they talk of Thorkel himself? Both had made it seem that, without Thorkel, Carthesia would return to bickering tribes.

  “… her the truth?” came Orrik.

  I snapped back to attention. Her. Her, me? I held my breath.

  Orrik again. “It is best she hear it from you, rather than through… other avenues.”

  A chuckle laced with bitterness. “What avenues? It’s too risky, she’s too much of…” I cursed as a glass clunked against a table and water rushed. “… lose interest in her, let the poor child be.”

  “When has Thorkel given up on anything? Merram, you must—”

  “I told you, no. Promise me your silence and trust me on this.”

  A long pause. My own thoughts raced. Thorkel… and me. This is more than my being a blue mage.

  Finally, Orrik sighed. “Very well. I swear. But you are wrong in this.”

  Another pour of water, a clink of glasses. Then they were talking of dragon patrols, and I turned away.

  I found myself staring at a tapestry again, but this time I saw the picture. A dragon flew in the air, the shade of a sapphire, the same color as my eyes—as Krysta’s eyes. It soared over fields of golden wheat. Not mountains, not Dragonsridge. Fields. The tapestry hung directly in front of Merram’s desk. During peacetime, he’d see it every day.

  Mother had loved dragons. She told me all the stories of Father and Mother Dragon, stories never mentioned by the Speakers who visited to preach the First One. The dragon constellations were the only ones I could find in the night sky.

  The Dragonmaster could not father a halfblood and be so foolish as to keep her alive—unless he hid her. Now I had the Gift. I could blend in his world, living the life he never could give me. He may have been waiting this entire time with a false identity at the ready for my manifestation.

  Merram himself could be my father.

  But how does Thorkel fit in? Does he know? Does it matter? Yes, it mattered, if Thorkel had proof. I could ask Merram endless times if he was my father, and he could deny me endless times. But with an object, or a witness…

  You could do what, sheep-brain?

  Voices grew louder in the other room. Another person had joined, and Orrik was saying goodbye. I dove for my chair and tried to look as if I’d been there all along.

  “Forgive the interruption,” Merram said as he opened the door.

  Brown hair, like mine, but Mother’s was brown, too. It’s too short to tell if it curls. Surely there’s something of me in him?

  “May I introduce our Seneschal?” Merram continued as he moved to the side.

  All my suspicions—all coherent thinking, in fact—ceased as Shamino stepped into Merram’s study.

  Chapter Eight

  First One, he’s more handsome than I remembered. A dark green shirt brought out Shamino’s eyes, and the shirt and breeches were tight enough to show his muscles—I pictured the Kyer’s lake, calm and serene.

  “Adara!” Shamino said with a smile.

  My mental lake began to steam.

  “You’ve already met?” Merram asked. He sounded pleased.

  Shamino slid into the chair beside me. “Adara delivered a message to me. She met Raul, too. Handled it well.”

  I wanted to die at the memory. “I almost fainted.”

  “We discussed this.” Shamino gave me a level stare. “You. Did. Well. Last time Raul met someone, the man knocked himself unconscious when he ran into the wall.”

  “You’re making that up.”

  “I hate lies,” Shamino said.

  I almost smiled, but the severity of his expression told me he meant it. Shamino hated lies; a man had run into a wall. Which also meant Shamino genuinely believed I’d done well with Raul.

  Shamino caught sight of Merram. “You look amused. An amused Dragonmaster worries me.”

  Merram’s eyes did twinkle. He folded his hands and rested them on a pile of paper. “Maybe I’m pleased to see that you two get along so well.”

  “Merram, you’re not.” All of Shamino’s humor vanished. “We’ve talked about this.”

  Merram kept his smile fixed on Shamino as he spoke. “Adara, although many Dragon Mages spend their days honing their combat skills, others serve the Kyer in different ways. Since close proximity with Giftless humans physically discomforts the dragons, the Dragon Quarters is entirely staffed by mages.”

  Shamino leaned forward. “I said no.”

  I recoiled into my chair at the vehemence in his words.

  Merram didn’t flinch. “We are at war, and I am rarely here. Right now, you cannot juggle the Kyer in addition to your normal duties.”

  “I’m fine,” Shamino said through clenched
teeth.

  “A concerned colleague of yours says that with the last batch of wounded, you barely slept an entire week. You need more help.”

  Shamino crossed his arms and leaned back. “Very well. I get to pick my mage.”

  “Adara, I’m sure, is eager to integrate into the Kyer,” Merram said, this time with a glance to me. “Her background suggests she’ll fit in best at the Quarters, surrounded by dragons.”

  And away from humans who ask questions, Merram didn’t add.

  Shamino pointed at me. “She almost fainted. She cast Fire on Raul’s furniture.”

  Merram raised an eyebrow. “You said she handled Raul well.”

  “For someone meeting her first dragon!” Shamino said. He threw up his hands. “She’s a trainee. She knows nothing about dragons, nothing about the hard work we do. If I have so little time, why are you giving me someone who needs hand-holding?”

  Shamino’s words made my face prickle with embarrassed, slightly-angry heat. “I’m sorry about Raul. It won’t happen again.”

  I hope. I still didn’t know what triggered the visions, but I’d meditate fifty times a day if I needed to.

  Shamino jerked at my protest. By his brief flush, I guessed he’d forgotten I was in the room. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out in all directions. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yes, you did,” I said. Why did his reaction sting so much? “I’m not someone you want around you or your dragons.”

  “I’m saying you have no training. And I, well…” Shamino closed his mouth.

  Merram rapped on his desk. “Only a few minutes ago, you praised Adara’s meeting of Raul. Based on that single meeting, I ask you this: Do you believe she will love your dragons?”

  Shamino pressed his lips together and he stared at his lap. He resembled a five-year-old boy, and if the tension weren’t making me near-sick, I would have laughed.

  “I know your true reason for protesting,” Merram said quietly.

  Shamino turned his head so I couldn’t see his face. “She’s just like the others.”

  “The Quarters need help. You need help. I have confidence that Adara will make the Quarters a priority.”

  Merram met my gaze and raised an eyebrow as if to ask, Do you understand?

  I did. At the Dragon Quarters, there’d be few humans to notice my awkwardness or to ask difficult questions. I’d gain experience with dragons before the other trainees. I’d have a chance to become a needed part of the Kyer. A chance to belong.

  All I had to do was convince the Seneschal who, I suspected, didn’t mind hand-holding, so long as the trainee adored dragons.

  She’s just like the others, he had said.

  The Seneschal was a man. A very, very handsome man. One that made my heart flutter, and I didn’t even know his house or whatever else that might send a noblewoman panting after him. How many women had worked beside him, and not for the dragons? Every blush, every lingering gaze, every tongue-tied moment… He doesn’t want another besotted cow trailing behind him. He wants someone he can rely on. And, maybe, he needs a friend.

  I gave Merram a solemn nod.

  “You will keep up with your studies,” Merram added, putting his hand on his chest.

  Meaning, my Gift. Everything hinged on those blue fireballs. I nodded again, but my confidence had diminished.

  “Good,” Merram said. “Shamino, you will have Adara every afternoon in the Quarters. If after a week you are unsatisfied with her, you may send me word via courier. Both of you are dismissed.”

  I left first, and Shamino slammed the study’s door behind us.

  “Let’s get this week over with.” Shamino pointed at my chest. “Change into clothes you don’t care about. Be at the Quarters before the next Sphere. Don’t be late.”

  Rapid steps took him through the waiting room, and he didn’t look at me once. He slammed that door, too.

  I took a long, slow breath. What a fun afternoon I had in front of me. Briefly I glanced at Merram’s door, but if I went in, he’d deny anything I asked. Better to impress Shamino, earn my place. Better to figure out my Gift.

  Then, once I became a Dragon Mage, maybe Merram would tell me the truth.

  Chapter Nine

  Much earlier than the fated Sphere formed, I entered the Dragon Quarters wearing a boring, light blue shirt and some drab gray breeches. As farmer-Adara, I would have never dreamed of wearing such fine clothes to work in, but as noble-Adara they were the worst I owned. I’d pulled my hair into a severe braid, praying that no one ever told Tressa.

  No one waited for me in the foyer. Shamino’s study door hung open; he clearly spent little time there, or he cleaned obsessively. The desk was bare. The shelves held neatly labeled journals and alphabetized books. No decorations, just the bookshelves and a small wardrobe. I stepped outside to the Summoning Globe.

  The smooth glass fit in my palm, and the dark green sparkled through my fingers. I peered at the odd color. Is it because he’s a healer for dragons? I gave it a shake.

  A tingle shot up my arm. After several minutes, a blur grew larger in the hallway, and Shamino appeared. One look at him, and my carefully coached indifference wavered.

  That’s just not fair. Shamino had changed as well—into a shirt without sleeves. I’d seen bare-chested men before—farmers resting in the shade on the hottest days—but I’d never, you know, really looked. And I doubted nobles wore sleeveless shirts. Not even peasants did. It’s like Shamino’s begging me to offend him.

  I focused on his face.

  “You’re early,” he said without even a hello. Shamino flicked two fingers in a beckoning motion. I stayed close so the Transportation magic would catch me, as I didn’t know the Dragon Quarters’ waypoints. Yet.

  With his back turned, I snuck a look. First One above, if his arms look like that… My gaze crept from his perfectly shaped biceps to the way his shirt shifted against his strong back.

  I hurried so I walked beside him.

  In silence, we came to a shelf-lined room of labeled crates, bolts of cloth, and other supplies. On the floor sat a crate half-full of ropes and bizarre slats of wood. Shamino tossed more slats inside, along with a few hand-size hooks.

  I eyed the crate. “So… this is for…”

  “Dredging the dragons’ sulfur spring. Dirt collects on the bottom and has to be removed twice a year.”

  Now his clothes made sense. It’d be hot, humid work. But it’d be no worse than harvest. “Do you need me to—”

  “I do this. You get to oil Maolmuire.” He looked over his shoulder at me, and for a fleeting moment I thought I saw guilt. He turned back to his task. “You know we care for the unbonded dragons? What a Dragon Mage does for his dragon, we do for all the dragons in the Quarters. One of their physical needs is oiling—cleaning the dragon and keeping his scales from drying out.”

  I tried to imagine that. Cleaning… a dragon. With what, a sponge? Dragons were huge; how would I even reach all of it? Shamino took another glance, likely to catch my dismay. He didn’t see any. Puzzlement, maybe.

  “Dirty, time-consuming work,” I summarized. Fine, as long as it didn’t need magic. “What do I need to start?”

  Shamino’s eyebrows raised. I was certain the Tressas and Anastasis would have left already. He covered his surprise with a frown. “Second shelf on the right, you’ll find two boxes of oddly shaped sticks. Take five from each. Below—see those massive cloths? You need at least an armful. Those are oil drums in the corner. Two are in the cave already, but you’ll have to come back later for two more.”

  I hurried to gather my supplies. Once I clutched everything I needed, Shamino hefted his crate and I kept my gaze away from those tempting arms. He led me down the hallway—no Transportation spell—past three closed doors. Three widely spaced doors. I suspected a dragon behind each.

  At the fourth door, Shamino set down his crate. He paused with his hand on the handle. “A little over half of the trainees leave becaus
e they hate oiling.”

  You can’t run me off. I have nowhere to go. “If I am to start, you have to open the door.”

  Shamino ran a hand through his hair. “Regarding Maolmuire…”

  “Yes?”

  “He’s… Do you know the fireproofing spell yet?”

  “Nooo…” Uneasiness crept up my neck. Dragon Mages worked in the Quarters. What was Shamino getting me into?

  “Just a precaution.” Shamino gave me an intense frown. Shimmering dark-green fire flowed over my skin before vanishing. I didn’t feel a thing. “There. It only works for dragonfire, by the way, so don’t jump in a fireplace or anything. Here we go.”

  We entered the dragon’s cave.

  Maolmuire’s home couldn’t have been more different than Raul’s. There were no seats for human visitors. There were no decorations. A water trough, a bed of blockish rocks. That was it. That and a dirty floor. The only hopeful thing in the room was the sunlight streaming from the open double doors.

  There was no dragon.

  “Fire and Smoke, I told him to be here,” Shamino growled. “And I swear he makes a mess on purpose.”

  His eyes unfocused. After a moment, he told me to fetch two brooms.

  It only took a few minutes for me to sprint down the hall and return. Shamino began to sweep the mess, muttering how they’d just cleaned the cave, and the dragon knew he couldn’t be oiled in filth. Wordlessly, I swept as well.

  The dirt’s strange. I crouched to take a closer look. Aside from the regular brown dirt I knew, there were hundreds of tiny, tan rocks. Tiny. Just a bit bigger than grains of soil. Maybe that was why no one farmed the mountainside. The dirt looked as if it’d starve plants.

  Shamino was watching me. I hurried back to work. There was no way I was going to comment on the soil. Nobles never noticed dirt, I was sure, unless it dusted their shoes.

  We swept the mess to the wall. Shamino set aside his broom. “I’ll sweep it over the edge later—he’s about to land.”

  I braced myself.

  A dragon darker than a moonless night didn’t so much land on the platform; he slammed into it. I jumped backward and may have squeaked. Shamino didn’t flinch; his folded arms tightened and his mouth became a thin line.