Given Page 11

  Yenni nodded to Carmenna. “I will do what I can to steer him in your direction.”

  Carmenna leaned back in her chair and studied Yenni. “You don’t have to do this, you know. It’s a little strange, don’t you think? I mean, you’re his Given. Suppose you start to develop feelings for him?”

  Yenni shook her head. “That will not happen. It cannot happen. I must return home at the end of the school year whereas he would have me stay and tend his home. Don’t worry, I will fix this.”

  Carmenna crossed her arms, skeptical. “So you’re saying you’re positive you won’t fall for Weysh?”

  Yenni opened her mouth to confirm it, but the memory of her and Dragon sitting by the water’s edge, the sun setting, and the smell of wildflowers soft on the breeze halted the words in her throat, and she saw the skepticism on Carmenna’s face harden into pain.

  “I’m positive,” Yenni forced out, resolute. Carmenna could be a great help to her, and she must not let this silly dragon interfere with her plans. “You have my word, Carmenna.”

  11

  Weysh would have laughed at the dainty white cups of hot cocoa before himself and Sylvie if he hadn’t just paid four duvvies for them. Each. He scanned the decor of the café—the lacy white curtains, pink walls, and the flimsy white tables—with open disdain. He was actually afraid to put his full weight on his spindly little chair, but it was Sylvie’s favorite café, so what could he do?

  Still, he rolled his eyes as he grabbed the tiny cup handle between his thumb and two fingers. At least the cocoa smelled good—rich and chocolaty. “Byen, Sylvie, I feel like I’m back at one of your tea parties from when we were children.” He looked around. “I hope no one I know catches me in here,” he muttered.

  Sylvie just laughed, her face still flushed and pretty from the tram ride. “Their cocoa is the best in the city, Weysh. They import the beans all the way from Sainte Gregine. Go on, taste it and tell me I’m wrong.”

  Weysh squinted at his cup. “You’re assuming I’ll be able to taste anything. It’ll be gone before it even hits my tongue.”

  “You’re supposed to sip it, Weysh, not gulp it down like a barbarian. Normal people can’t finish a hot drink in one swig, you know.”

  Weysh made a mocking face at her; she mimicked him, and they both laughed. But as their laughter died a chorus of feminine giggles took its place. Weysh noticed a group of young girls standing shyly behind Sylvie. The one with blond twin-tails tapped Sylvie on the shoulder.

  “Hello, Sylvie,” she said as his sister turned.

  “Oh. Hello, Gabrielle,” said Sylvie cautiously.

  “Who is your friend?” Gabrielle’s eyes were glued to Weysh.

  “Oh, erm, this is my brother.”

  The girls gasped as one. “The one who’s dragonkind?” asked Gabrielle.

  “The very same,” Weysh said, and smiled cheerfully. “Hello, lovelies.”

  They tittered at him and drowned him in hellos, each watching him coyly from beneath their eyelashes.

  The main girl, Gabrielle, fanned herself with a piece of paper, pushing her scent in Weysh’s direction. “I’m having a soiree at my manse to celebrate the start of the new school year. I’d love for you to come.” She handed Sylvie the paper.

  “Of course. Thank you for the invite, Gabrielle,” said Sylvie quietly.

  “Your brother is more than welcome as well.”

  “I’ll do my best to make it,” said Weysh, and winked at her.

  Her face went red and she smiled wide. “Wonderful! Well then, see you at school tomorrow, Sylvie!”

  The girls said their good-byes and exited the café, setting the bell at the door tinkling. When Weysh looked back at Sylvie, her face was dark.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why do you always have to do that?” she grumped.

  “En? Do what?”

  “Flirt like that.”

  “I was being friendly!”

  She glared at him. “You have a Given now, you shouldn’t be flirting with other girls.”

  “One, I wasn’t flirting,” said Weysh. “And two, I haven’t seen my Given in days.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “It seems I haven’t made the best impression.” He recounted all that had happened between them in the past week and a half. “She seems to respond much better to me when I’m in dragon, though.” He took a sip of the cocoa. “This is incredible, by the way.”

  “I told you,” said Sylvie. “And Weysh, I say this with love, but you can be a bit much for people who don’t know you very well.”

  He was aware of that. This wasn’t the first time his mouth had gotten him into trouble and it wouldn’t be the last.

  “Yes, but she’s my Given.”

  “Well,” Sylvie said slowly, “if she’s not receptive to you, maybe you should leave her be.”

  “Sylvie!”

  “What?”

  “She’s my Given! I can’t just ‘leave her be’. ”

  “Well, what would you do if a boy was bothering me like that?”

  “I would sit the young man down and have a civilized conversation with him.” Sylvie let out a sharp peal of laughter that made Weysh scowl. “And anyway, this is different. We’re Given! I’m not bothering her . . . am I?”

  Sylvie took a sip of her cocoa and glanced at him over the rim of her cup, saying nothing.

  “Well, how am I supposed to win her over if I can’t even speak with her?” said Weysh.

  Sylvie shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll come around.”

  Weysh frowned at her. Something was wrong. A hint of bitter resentment wafted from her and stung his nose. “How was your first week of second school?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Are you making friends?”

  Sylvie gestured back at the door. “You saw.”

  “I saw you get invited to a party.”

  “Yes, because of you.”

  “Nonsense. They invited you, Sylvie. I was an afterthought.”

  She dropped her head down on her crossed arms, sending up a plume of bitter annoyance. “By Byen, but you can be dense, Weysh.” She looked up at him bleakly. “It’s hard to make friends, real friends, when your brother is dragonkind.” She dropped her eyes. “And now even you’re leaving me.”

  “Sylvie, what are you taking about?”

  “I barely see you now, and I’ll never see you again once you move to the Moonrise Isles with your Given.” A cloud of heartbreaking sadness emanated from her like cloying perfume.

  He took her small hand in his. “Listen,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “You promise?” she whispered, and sniffled. Where had she gotten such an idea? Weysh already had everything planned out. He would join the army, rank up, build a manse, and live there peacefully with his Given and dragonling. He would be the father he’d never had, and have the harmonious family he’d always wanted.

  He nodded, resolute. “You have my word, Sylvie.”

  Weysh breathed deeply and let out a contented grumble. His Given was here.

  For two weeks he’d occupied himself with work, ferrying packages and people across the Empire. He’d occupied himself with classes, pushing himself to his physical limits so that he would be too tired to think about his Given at night. And he’d even taken up cartography again, creating his own maps featuring all his favorite interesting spots outside the city. But in two weeks Yenni Ajani had made no effort to see him or contact him.

  He had taken everyone’s advice, leaving her to her own devices and trusting in the Watcher. Today he’d flown to the training sands, and was waiting nearby in dragon for the current class to let out. He planned to change and get in some melee practice, as it was important to get sufficient training as a man as well.
Dragons were often tempted to rely on their dragon form and neglected training their human muscles. But catching his Given’s spicy-sweet scent from inside the wide open doors was a welcome surprise.

  Weysh lay on the grass hill to the right of the training sands, eyes closed as the noonday sun warmed his scales. At last the class let out, her scent getting stronger as he saw her exit. She wore the battle uniform: tight leather pants dyed green, knee-high boots, gloves, and arm bracers. Very suitable for flying. She spotted him and frowned, marching up to him amid curious glances from her classmates.

  “What are you doing here, Dragon?” she demanded. He rose, then sank into a respectful bow and her scent changed, the eggy wariness fading to something mild and sweet, like toffee. It wasn’t his imagination: she was definitely more receptive to him in dragon. His chest went warm inside and a low purr escaped him at the thought of how she’d stroked his face and kissed him the last time they’d met.

  I missed you.

  “What?” she said, uncertain. “Change to a man.”

  Weysh switched. “Hello, Yenni Ajani. It’s been too long.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked again, and the smelly wariness began creeping into her scent again.

  “I simply came to get in some melee training,” Weysh said quickly. “How have your first couple of weeks been at Prevan?”

  “I have been very busy,” she said.

  “No doubt. First year is usually the most demanding. How go your magic classes?”

  She sighed, and he caught a quick, metallic hint of frustration. “Difficult, to be honest. I need to speak with Professor Mainard about something, but he refuses to meet with me until I can produce a perfect magic lantern.”

  “Well, that’s not right,” Weysh said, sensing an opening. “It sounds like you could use some help. You have an hour or two free now, en? I usually did around this time as a first year.”

  “Yes,” she said slowly.

  “Then let’s head to the library. You can practice with me.”

  He could see the wheels turning in her head.

  “It’s true that Carmenna could not meet with me today,” she said, more to herself than him. Weysh wasn’t thrilled about Carmenna being her tutor at all, but he couldn’t very well forbid Yenni to see her. He knew exactly how that would turn out, so he pressed his lips firmly shut and awaited her decision.

  “All right, Dragon. You will show me what you know about creating a magic lantern.”

  “Excellent,” he said. He put out his arm, intending to escort her, but she sighed, shook her head, and went on ahead of him.

  Magus Helene Duvictoire Memorial Library was a masterpiece of architectural achievement. Domed ceilings painted with famous scenes from Creshen history reigned over tall stained-glass windows, which spilled colorful patches of light on the bowed heads of students and the cold, marbled stone of the tables below. But most notably, here and there white trees curved up and out, spreading branches of green leaves overhead and giving the place the feel of a forest. It was mostly quiet, except for the steady hushed whispers of the other students.

  “Now, what’s giving you trouble?” asked Weysh. He sat across from Yenni at a small, marbled table.

  “I have a practical exam tomorrow in Foundations of Magical Theory. I know that Mainard will call on me to create and house a magic lantern, but I still haven’t mastered it.”

  “En? Queyor’s Magic Lantern? But that’s easy. Source to light and here remain,” he said, pulling on source energy. A blue orb of mage light sprang to life in his hand.

  “Yes, but then how to get it off your hand? To make it stay in one place?”

  “Source’s light by source attached,” said Weysh, focusing on the tabletop. He moved his hand and the light stayed behind, hovering above the table.

  “I just don’t understand,” said Yenni, and Weysh once again caught the rusty tang of frustration. “I’ve memorized the spells inside and out, exactly as Professor Mainard says them, and still my spells fail.”

  “Well, there’s your problem. It’s not just about memorizing the spells, you have to believe, en? Have faith in the laws and principles. And then you anchor source energy with spells.”

  “This is very different from runelore,” she said.

  “Yes, runelore is . . . something else.” He tried not to think about the rumors around runelore, but Yenni squinted at him.

  “What? What is that?” she said pointing at his face. “Why do people act so strange when I mention runelore?”

  “Well,” Weysh began.

  “Well, what?”

  “There are some who believe Moonrise Islanders use the blood of animals or . . . or infants to make runepaint,” he said, and cringed as he waited for her response. But at her crestfallen look of horror he spluttered. “Of course, I know that can’t be true—”

  “People really think that about us?” she whispered.

  “It’s just an ignorant rumor,” he said soothingly. “I never once believed it.”

  She stared off in the distance, her eyebrows drawn together in distress. “In ancient times, Masters would use some of their own blood in runepaint, but we no longer do that,” she said.

  “Of course not,” Weysh said softly. “Show me a rune,” he said, desperate to clear the air of that terrible, rotten-sweet scent of despair. “Do you have your paint?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Yenni.

  “What does go into runepaint then?” asked Weysh as she pulled her jar and brush out of her back-satchel.

  “A special type of flower, crushed and dried, sap from a certain tree, a crushed mineral that we mine, a certain powdered root, and dragon eyes.”

  “I see . . . wait, what?”

  She grinned at him. “Just kidding.”

  He blinked and grinned back. She’d never smiled at him like that before. It made him want to drag her across the table and kiss her breathless. “Aren’t you funny,” he said instead.

  “Put out your hand,” she said. He did, and she dipped her brush in her paint, then began to paint his palm. Weysh suppressed a shiver at the tickle of the brush across his skin. She sang as she worked, low and wordless. Her voice was beautiful—trilling and smooth, and thick with magic. Something about her song reminded him of the comforting heat of an open fire.

  “There,” she said. “Now pull ac—pull source to that spot, and it should become fire. You might not be able to do it, but—”

  Weysh concentrated, drawing on source, and a small flame flickered to life in his palm, without any incantation at all. “Look at that!” he cried.

  “Very good!” Yenni said happily. “Many of the students in my runelore class have trouble. It must be easier for you due to your Island blood.”

  “How do I stop it?”

  “Just stop pulling ach’e, of course.”

  “Ah-chey?”

  “Ah, magic. Source.”

  He stopped and the flame went away, leaving a faded rune. He wiped at it. “It’s not coming off.”

  “No, the rune won’t disappear until it’s used up.”

  Weysh started as a sudden thought occurred to him. “Runelore requires no spellcasting,” he said. “Theoretically, I could use runelore while in dragon.”

  “I suppose so,” said Yenni.

  “So why aren’t we doing this?” he said, incredulous. Imagine being able to use magic in dragon—he’d be practically unstoppable!

  “Your people don’t seem to put much stock in runelore,” said Yenni.

  Weysh frowned. “Well, we should,” he said.

  “Weh-sheh, please show me again how to attach a magic lantern to one spot.”

  “Of course. Give me your hand, lovely.”

  She hesitated, but held a hand out palm up, and he cupped it in his own.

  “Good. Now, you remember
what I told you? Do you believe it can be done? You just saw me do it.”

  She glanced at the orb, still floating beside them. “Yes.”

  “Good, keep the principles fixed firmly in your mind, and repeat after me: Source to light and here remain.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Source to light and here remain,” she said. A nice-sized lantern formed in her palm.

  “Good, now the next spell?”

  “Source’s light by source attached,” she said, glaring at the table. She slowly moved her hand, then he moved his, and the lantern stayed in place. She let out a happy gasp.

  “Well done, my heart,” Weysh said, and smiled at her.

  “Why did you hold my hand? Are you able to somehow pass energy to me to make it easier?”

  He half smiled. “No. Consider it moral support.”

  She scowled.

  “My heart—” Weysh began, but she cut him off.

  “You cannot continue to pursue me, Weh-sheh. You should turn your attention back to Carmenna.”

  Why did she keep trying to match him with Carmenna? He scowled. “Did she tell you to say that?”

  “No one tells me to say anything,” she said simply, and Weysh believed her. “I’m to be married when I return home and—”

  “You WHAT?” Weysh’s loud voice echoed throughout the quiet library, and the students around them whipped their heads in his direction, startled.

  “Weh-sheh!” Yenni hissed. “You’re making a scene!”

  “Married? What married? You’re my Given! You’ll marry no one but me!”

  Yenni stood and thrust her chin at him. “I am not your anything!” She put a hand on her hip and looked up her nose at him. “Honestly, Weh-sheh, what reason would I have to marry you, other than being your Given, as you say?”

  “What other reason is there?” he exclaimed, utterly perplexed. “I—”

  I love you, he went to say. But the words shriveled and turned to dust in his mouth. He stared at her in horror.

  She angrily snatched up her back-satchel. “Presumptuous ass!” she hissed at him, and marched out of the library.