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  I stared at my bandaged hand as warmth spread from my face to my toes. I’d earned my place. At the Kyer. With dragons. And over and over my silly self sang, Shamino praised me!

  I spoke to my hand. “What about my magic problem? I have the Gift, but it doesn’t do much.”

  “Yet you managed anyway, and had I been patient with you, I could have shown you how to clean up the spill without magic. Please, Adara. Stay.”

  When I looked up, a small smile ghosted his lips. He added, “Anyone who can face Maolmuire is someone I want beside me.”

  I melted inside. I nodded rather than speak.

  Shamino positively beamed at my nod. He reached into the bag he’d brought. “Here. I brought an ‘I’m an asshole’ gift.”

  I laughed as I accepted the tin. “I shouldn’t have called you that.”

  “I give you permission to be completely honest with me at all times. Though I must say, I’ve never been called sheep-brained before.”

  I fumbled with the lid. Because sheep-brained is a peasant curse.

  Shamino mistook the reason for my clumsiness. He reached for the latch. “Sorry. I forgot about your hand.”

  The lid sprang open to reveal dark lumps shaped into flowers. The most intoxicating smell wafted from the tin, making my stomach rumble.

  I had no clue what they were.

  “Thank you,” I said. A noble would know, so I dared not ask.

  “Mother always said chocolate could heal any wound. Let me see your hand.”

  I hesitated, but he insisted, so I slid my chair closer. He scooted forward at the same time. Our knees touched, and when he didn’t jerk away, my face heated. He didn’t see, for he was—First One, my hand was in his, and he was ever so gently removing my bandage.

  Breathe, Adara, breathe. Don’t go and ruin our peace.

  Shamino shook his head at the wound. “Spines? From his back? I’ll put salve on it, but you need to see the healers. Spines tear the flesh and the wounds don’t heal well on their own. Ask for Kira. She’s good.”

  He let go. Just as I began to relax—and plan a non-obvious way to stop touching his knees with mine—he opened a jar from the sack and dipped his fingers inside.

  “I can do that,” I squeaked.

  “After seeing how badly you tied that bandage? Give me your hand.”

  With a butterfly-light touch, Shamino applied the salve. Tears welled in my eyes. Never, ever, had Lily shown me such focused care when she’d tended my childhood cuts and scrapes.

  “There.” He expertly knotted a new bandage.

  “Thank you.” I pulled my hand from his and shifted my legs. The room cooled off immediately. “So, um, Maolmuire’s the worst?”

  “Dragon? By far.” Shamino leaned back on the sofa, making it look comfortable if not for the way it creaked. “I don’t expect Maol to ever bond. Which is unfortunate, since it means I’m stuck with him. Oiling isn’t that bad, by the way. Normal dragons like to help.”

  Talking about oiling made my sore muscles spring to life, especially my ass on the wooden chair. That would be an awkward moment at the healers.

  I must have winced again. Shamino winced in sympathy. “You’re sore? I really am a—First One, can I say I’m sorry again?”

  I smiled. “Maybe half a dozen more times.”

  “Then let me say I’m also sorry about your mother.”

  The blood drained from my face. I’d forgotten. I’d told him the truth in my anger. “You thirsty? I can get some water—”

  Shamino grabbed my good hand as I sprang to my feet. “Adara, you don’t have to be ashamed of being adopted.”

  What?

  “I know purists stress the bloodlines,” Shamino continued, his fingers tightening on mine, “but doesn’t it matter more that someone cares for you? Everyone knows how Threepines loves children. It makes sense they’d take you in.”

  I sank back onto my chair. Adopted made a good backup story. Throat thick, I answered with the image of Garth in my mind. “They… were very good to me.”

  Shamino still held my hand. “I lost my mother, too. The Sickness.”

  How many times was this boy going to surprise me? “Only peasants died in the Sickness.”

  He gave me a grim smile. “Mother was a bit fond of her people. She felt it her duty to serve them as they served us. When the Sickness came, she went to personally hand out food and medicine. The illness struck her so violently, the healers couldn’t help her.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. The loss in his eyes told me he’d been close to his mother. “Are you adopted, too?”

  “No. Father is, unfortunately, very much alive.” He dropped my hand and stood. “It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  An alarming thought occurred to me. “You won’t tell? About my… parents.”

  Shamino softly squeezed my upper arm. “We all have secrets. I’ll not tell a soul.”

  My arm tingled as his fingers slipped away, and my stomach clenched. This wasn’t the accidental brushing of a knee, or the necessary touch when bandaging.

  Lily and Garth stopped touching me long ago. Tressa’s touched me, but it’s so casual, and she touches everyone.

  I swallowed. “Thank you.”

  He gave me that kind smile again as I bid him goodbye and shut the door. I pressed my forehead against the wood and took a slow, even breath.

  Forget Thorkel. The fact that I’d even considered it filled me with shame. For centuries, Carthesian tribes had slaughtered each other and raided our villages, and now they attacked in full. How could I have thought that all the death didn’t matter? Merely because someone promised to tell me some vague truth?

  Because someone had known Krysta…

  Who had died in a hut as two strangers promised to watch over her daughter.

  I wedged my chair under my front door’s handle before I started snuffing the candles. No more visitors for me. No more doubts. I’d make my Gift work; I’d bond with a dragon. Shamino approved of me, and that certainly was rare. If I didn’t mess anything up, I could belong at the Kyer.

  Yet, in the morning, the box stayed inside my boot.

  Chapter Eleven

  I can’t believe I agreed to go, I said over and over to myself as I dressed for Tressa’s party a few days later. This won’t be a bunch of trainees at mealtime. These people matter. Tressa has a specific reason for every person she invited.

  Of all the people to pity, why had Tressa pitied me?

  I prayed my clothes were right; they’d cost enough. The dark-blue vest fit snug at the waist and flared ever so slightly to mid-thigh. The hems each had a strip of yellow. Underneath, my cream shirt and breeches continued with accents of yellow. The girl who fretted in the mirror… so not me.

  I misremembered one waypoint in Mountain One before I found the room Tressa had reserved. She flung open the door with a gasp of delight.

  “You came!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think the Dragonmaster had whisked you off to war. The Queen’s Diamonds—look at that.” Tressa lifted the hem of the vest’s flare. “I may cry. You look wonderful, Adara.”

  I flushed with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. Tressa slid her arm in mine. My confidence increased; if Tressa approved, then everyone would. I wouldn’t stand out, I’d be normal, I’d be Tressa’s quiet but fashionable friend.

  But would she be my friend if I wore the clothes I liked? At the seamstress’s, there had been a green gown I desperately wanted to buy. It was worlds different from the style of Tressa’s gown: light pink with bold, diagonal black accents. The dress looked good on her—everything looked good on her—but I would never wear such a thing.

  Or would I?

  “About half of us have arrived,” Tressa said as she glided me across rugs so plush my shoes sank a little with each step. “Over there we have a table of games started—no gambling, horrid habit—and here, have a seat. I’ve ordered Jerroth to care for you until you’re comfortable with the others.”
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  Jerroth rose to help me into a seat at the empty table. He wore all black, as usual, but this time he had small pink accents at the hems to match Tressa’s dress. It should have looked stupid, but Jerroth never, ever, looked stupid.

  I surveyed the room. Three other girls wore vests like mine. Two wore heavily embroidered shirts with breeches. Most everyone wore dark clothes with light accents—evening colors. Only Tressa broke rules with tasteful flair.

  I’m looking at people and not seeing people, I realized. I’m seeing clothes. That’s… terrible.

  Jerroth snapped his fingers and a simply dressed man in solid Kyer green appeared. The server displayed a tray of cakes and a choice of water, tea, or diluted wine. I took water and a few cakes. The server walked away. I hadn’t even glanced at his face.

  “It’s nice to have fresh air, isn’t it?” Jerroth said.

  “Fresh air? Oh. I didn’t notice.” I’d been too busy examining people to notice a window, the first window I’d seen in the Kyer. An evening breeze haunted the room, and a golden sunset softened the Lights.

  Jerroth chuckled. “I know. A hole in the wall? What a novel idea.”

  I laughed, mostly because it was polite. Truth be told, after working at the Dragon Quarters for a few days, my longing for the outside world had diminished. The dragons kept their platform doors open unless it rained. I didn’t mention it, though. A female trainee at the Dragon Quarters would certainly cause gossip.

  Jerroth commented on the sunset, the food, and all sorts of safe but meaningless topics. Tressa continued to bring people to the table. Every time, Jerroth led the introductions, and if for a moment I seemed awkward, Jerroth steered the conversation away from me. He took care of me, as promised.

  It’s not so bad. Smile. Nod. Smile. My cheeks began to hurt.

  Anastasi arrived last, the only guest wearing a dress. She blinked as Jerroth seated her across from me. “I’m surprised to see you.”

  “Why wouldn’t she come?” Jerroth asked. His tone had gone slightly icy.

  “Oh, well…” She seemed to notice the rest of the table listening. “You’re right, this is a night for Tressa’s particular friends.”

  Everyone seemed to like that answer, but I caught several glances my way. The sympathy friend? The only guests my age were Jerroth, Tressa’s beau, and Anastasi, the obligation. The other twelve, maybe thirteen guests ranged from several years older to ancient, and none of them were familiar to me. All were Dragon Mages, of course. All, I suspected, were connected somehow to Dragonsridge.

  Tressa left the door for our table and began a game. To my relief, a few people declined, so I did likewise.

  “Tressa, dear, I beg you to give us the latest from the palace,” a younger woman in green said. “I swear, every year I’m here, I feel more removed from civilization.”

  Tressa delicately snorted and pushed a red stone across the playing board. “Sometimes, I’m not sure court is civilized. The Duke of Evenspire found his heir in bed with a maid. Again.”

  The woman gasped. “Really.”

  Anastasi piped up. “She is secluded, of course, especially since he got that first maid with child.”

  “Why he would even touch one of them, I don’t know,” a young man said, voice thick with disgust. He slid his stone to the star beside Tressa’s circle.

  “It is revolting,” Anastasi said with a laugh.

  That baby’s dead by now, and they’re laughing. I stared, hard, at the lingering pink in the clouds through the window.

  “We need to change our attitude,” Jerroth said with more disapproval than I’d ever heard from him before. The game paused and Jerroth frowned at everyone, especially Anastasi and the younger Dragon Mages. “We’re Dragon Mages, or will be. Without the commoners, the Kyer wouldn’t function during wartime. We need to see them as human.”

  The woman in green snatched her stone. “You’re a radical to even suggest—”

  “I’m not,” Jerroth said as he lifted a hand. “Evenspire needs to learn some control. But—” He turned his ice-blue gaze upon the man who had been so disgusted. “Commoners are not animals, and at the Kyer, they are our peers. By the King’s Orb, the Dragonmaster’s own steward is a commoner.”

  Silence fell, horrible silence. I wanted to agree aloud with Jerroth; it sickened me that no one cared about the baby’s death. But I dared not speak. Not on this topic.

  Tressa frowned as if she’d bit into a lemon. The grimace vanished and she spoke quietly. “I didn’t know you had contacts in the duchies, dear Anastasi.”

  “Oh, my cousin just moved to the Towers,” Anastasi said in a sweet voice.

  Jerroth quickly spoke up. “Speaking of cousins, how is yours, Tristian?”

  Had Anastasi made Tressa angry, or had Tressa made Anastasi? And why? My puzzlement meant I missed the next topic. Words flew across the table as quickly as colored stones, and I understood neither the game nor the words. Stone to circle, star, off board, on again but to the square. Cousin married, marquess courting, heir born, child manifested.

  Oiling dragons, I can do that. But this verbal dance…

  Tressa laughed as colored Lights made her glitter like a gem herself. Try as I might, I couldn’t imagine her crawling all over a dragon, dirty and sweating for hours. Yet everyone else here had been a part of her world, and they had bonded. They could do the dance and oil a dragon.

  Someone mentioned the war. Everyone at the table knew someone at the front: Dragon Mage, Battle Mage, army officer. I perked as news was shared.

  They might know something to link Thorkel to Merram. How could I ask? Even a Threepines should know about the most powerful men in the kingdoms.

  This Threepines did know something about them. If I could exchange it…

  I waited for a lull. Then, my focus on the Stones game in front of me, I tried to speak as nonchalantly as the rest. “I heard that while the battle is in the northeast, Thorkel is hiding in the northern Karpak mountains.”

  Thunderous silence. Even the other table stopped playing.

  So much for staying invisible.

  “She can speak!” cried Anastasi. “Imagine that—a Threepines, with news.”

  Tressa’s shock turned into a cool glare at Anastasi. “A surprise, indeed. On a par with a wealthy Riversbend. Yet, obviously, it does happen.”

  Several at the table inhaled, and Anastasi turned scarlet.

  I was lost. Again.

  A middle-aged man at the other table cleared his throat. “If Thorkel had forces in the Karpak, we’d be there.”

  “It’s just him,” I said. I sounded so small. “He moves between locations.”

  “Poor Adara, she is not used to such attention,” Tressa said. She gently slipped a hand across my back to hug my shoulders. “But that is how she knows things others do not. She listens. Go on, tell them more.”

  Vaguely I caught on that she was pretending I’d already told her, but relief strengthened me. Tressa wouldn’t turn on me. I cleared my throat, grateful for her touch.

  “When the Dragonmaster met with me—to welcome me, you know—he stepped out to speak to—a man. I overheard.” Oh, First One, what was I doing? Not thinking, that was for sure. If Merram wanted the information known, he’d have announced it. “Thorkel is in the mountains, and the Dragonmaster is hunting him. That’s all, really. It sounded almost… personal.”

  I bit my lip, waited, and hoped. The woman in Kyer green burst out laughing. “Oh, Tressa, she is a dear, sweet thing.”

  Several of the others began to chuckle. Tressa’s grip tightened, and I tried to stay calm, but my insides fluttered like chickens. Jerroth didn’t laugh. He smiled, slightly, but he also shook his head. Tressa smiled, too. Tightly. And Anastasi positively frowned.

  “I’m sorry,” the green-vested woman said. “You know of the assassination of the previous Dragonmaster?”

  “Of course,” I said. Sylvia had mentioned it. Once.

  “Thorkel didn’t do it out of i
nsanity.” She leaned forward with glee. “He was wildly jealous.”

  “Merram and Thorkel were childhood friends,” Jerroth said quietly. He studied my every twitch. To help me? Or to keep as a weapon? Tressa sat so stiff, maybe I was no longer her friend. Jerroth went on. “Merram’s family served Thorkel’s, a viscounty to a county. They joined the Kyer together. Thorkel made himself known for innovation, Merram for his ability to diffuse conflict. When the previous Dragonmaster began to ail—”

  “Merram was the next choice,” I said before anyone else could. See. Threepines. Uninformed, not stupid.

  Jerroth nodded. “That’s when Thorkel killed the Dragonmaster in an attempted coup. When he was discovered, he fled to Carthesia.”

  “Now Merram hunts his once friend,” Tressa summarized. “Tristian, please play that stone before breakfast is served?”

  The group broke into smaller conversations, but people shot me glances. Tried to include me. I returned to my silence.

  I am a complete sheep-brain. I’d learned my history, but at what cost? At the cost of invisibility. At the risk of Merram finding out I’d told his secret. I wanted to justify my actions by saying they had kept my father’s identity from me, but concealing the truth of a girl’s parentage was one level of secret. Concealing the movements of a known enemy as part of war strategy—that was an entirely different kind of secret.

  Secrets.

  Merram and Thorkel. Friends. Friends knew secrets.

  “Adara, would you do the honors?” Tressa asked.

  I jerked back to the party. Tressa carried a large teapot toward me. My etiquette teacher had mentioned the tea ritual in passing. The hostess of the party, singling one guest. To honor. By letting her warm the teapot.

  With her Gift.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Oh, Tressa, I…” I had no idea how to decline. What sane person refused such an honor?

  “And here’s the moment where you show off your friendship with the blue mage,” Anastasi muttered with bitterness. It was the first time she’d spoken since Tressa’s comment on her sudden wealth.