Given Read online

  Not long after their interrogation Zui returned with a harried Captain Augustin in tow.

  “Captain Augustin!” Yenni called weakly.

  He crouched beside her bed, tsking his tongue. “What mess have you gotten yourself into here, Kayirba?”

  Now that Augustin was before her, his face inquisitive and expectant, the slow burn of shame heated Yenni’s cheeks, but she pushed past it. After everything she had been through, with everything that was riding on her staying in Cresh, she must follow through and seek his aid.

  “I failed my magic exams, Captain.”

  “Un!” he grunted. He crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Ah, curses, a shame that. A damn shame.”

  “Yes, I’ve been told I must leave the academy the day after tomorrow, but I had hoped you could help me find a way to stay.”

  He gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. “Would that I could, Mam’selle Kayirba. Truly, I mean it. But that’s not a ruling one such as myself can overturn, en? That’s the way of things at the illustrious Prevan Academy. But a damn shame, truly. You’ve a rare talent, you know.”

  All at once Yenni found she just didn’t have the strength to hold her head up any longer. She let it fall back against the scratchy pillow.

  “I see,” she all but whispered.

  Augustin put his hands on his knees and rose to his feet, tsking his tongue again. “I can tell you two have been on a glorious tour of the hells tonight. I’ll let you get some rest then. A damn shame,” he muttered to himself again as he exited their hospice room.

  “I’m sorry, Yenni,” Diedre said once Augustin had left. Yenni did not correct her about her name. Her friend had saved her from her own foolishness, after all. She could call her whatever she wanted, as far as Yenni was concerned.

  “I’m the one who’s sorry,” she told her. “You were injured because of me.”

  “Don’t act as if you wouldn’t do the same if our places were reversed. Is not long I know you for, Yenni, but I can tell you’re not one to leave back a friend.”

  Yenni turned her head to look at Diedre, who lay beside her on another small cot. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m very glad we met.”

  Diedre lay on her front, her head cradled on her arms, and she turned it to face Yenni. “Same.”

  “I really need to find a way to stay at Prevan,” Yenni said sadly.

  “But why? Write your folks for more funds and stay in the city.”

  “No, I must do this on my own. My father . . . I do not want to disappoint him.”

  “Ah,” said Diedre. “I know all about that. Typical Island parents, en? So easily disappointed. If mines only knew about me, Watch’Ahmighty.”

  “You mean about your study of runelore?” Yenni asked sleepily.

  “Oh. Yes, exactly.”

  “Hmm, if they really knew runelore they would come around.” Yenni yawned. “I’m going to rest now. Sleep well, Diedre.”

  “Call me Deedee. And good night, Yenni.”

  17

  Weysh’s mother kept up a stream of light, happy chatter, a valiant onslaught against the looming silence threatening to engulf the breakfast table. After a frustrating night of cruising the city, fairly straining his nostrils trying to sniff out Yenni’s robber, Weysh was able to locate Yenni’s stolen bag—discarded and empty on a quiet back street. Having failed Yenni once, he was determined to help her in whatever way he could, so he’d paid his family a morning visit. Now he took up his spot in their awkward milieu.

  Weysh was used to all of it—used to the careful dance they all did around the long, oak table to make sure he and Montpierre weren’t seated too closely; used to all the curtains being open to let in as much sunlight as possible (the sunlight is good for your condition, my heart, his maman would tell Montpierre); used to the strong, medicinal sting of cam-cam incense. His mother often burned it because it was known to open the passages of the body. Even so, Montpierre periodically held a handkerchief to his mouth and coughed into it, the sound hacking and dreadful.

  Whenever he did, both Sylvie and his maman leaned unconsciously toward him, even as they gave their quiche and croissants more attention than necessary.

  “It’s warming up,” Weysh offered after a particularly echoing bout of coughing. “The doctors say that should help the cough, en, Montpierre?”

  Montpierre grunted.

  “Why don’t we sit in the back garden for a while after breakfast, Papa?” said Sylvie. “The fresh air would be nice.”

  “In this morning chill? No, child, I plan to retire to my study. I’ll leave the gallivanting to you three.”

  “Actually, Montpierre, I’d like to have a word with you, if I could,” said Weysh. He chanced a quick look at his mother and saw her eyebrows raise. Weysh had debated going to her, having her act as intermediary on his behalf, but in the end he decided he must face Montpierre man to man.

  Montpierre’s fork paused on the way to his mouth, the piece of melon there dangling dangerously. “You’d like to have a word with me,” he said flatly.

  Weysh met his eyes steadily. Gone were the days when he was a child and Montpierre could quell him with a look. “I would.”

  “Love,” said his mother softly. He wasn’t sure who she was talking to exactly, but Montpierre closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and shook it resignedly. “So be it. You’ll join me in the study after breakfast.”

  Weysh nodded. “Much appreciated.”

  Montpierre grunted again. “Well, at least you’re learning some manners at Prevan.”

  Weysh froze. I don’t see what it matters to you, en? It’s not like you’re paying, Weysh wanted to retort aloud, but he held his tongue. It was an effort, but for Yenni Ajani he held his tongue, simply giving Montpierre a tight smile. Sylvie caught his eye and shot him a quizzical look. Weysh shook his head in a gesture that said I’ll explain later.

  She gave a small shrug. “Oh! Speaking of Prevan, Weysh, how is your Given? Is she coming around?”

  His mother made small noise of concern. “Yes, Sylvie told me the two of you had not gotten off to the best of starts. I hope things have improved, I do want to meet her.”

  Weysh cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Yes, she’s . . . things are getting better. So, Sylvie, how is second school?” he asked, deflecting. “Did you ever go to the party?” That started his mother on another stream of cooing and gushing over Sylvie.

  No matter what Weysh told himself about his supposed immunity to Montpierre, a nervous energy ran through him for the duration of the meal until they were down to the final sips of their coffee. Weysh wasn’t sure if he wanted Montpierre to hurry up and finish or pour himself another cup.

  But Montpierre put his cup down with a clink against its saucer, and as if that was a cue their housekeeper, Genevieve, came humming into the dining room to collect the dishes.

  Weysh rose and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Wonderful as usual, Genie,” he said and pecked her on the cheek.

  She laughed and patted his shoulder as the rest of the family heaped her with praise. “You always did like my cooking. Maybe a taste of what you’ve been missing will tempt you to come around more often,” she said.

  Genevieve had been with their family for more than a decade. Tight guilt gripped Weysh’s chest as he remembered how sometimes, in his bed late at night as a child, he’d wish that Genevieve were his mother instead.

  Montpierre rose with a groan from the table and slid his eyes in Weysh’s direction. “All right, let’s get on with it.”

  Weysh nodded to Sylvie and his maman, pasting on a reassuring smile to combat the wariness in their eyes.

  Montpierre’s study was on the first floor, right under the twin curved staircases that led to the upper den and bedrooms. Weysh felt a small thrill as they approached the door. As a child it was always Stay out of Montpierre
’s study, and Don’t bother Montpierre in his study, and now here he was, about to enter Montpierre’s precious study. Montpierre opened the door and waved him inside. Mild disappointment hit Weysh as he surveyed the room. It was so ordinary. It wasn’t as if he expected an alchemists’ laboratory or some such, but the place had always been so mysterious and forbidden. Yet all it held was a large oak desk, two high-backed wing chairs, a dark carpet, and some shelves with books and ledgers. On the walls were portraits of Montpierre’s family—his parents, his siblings, Maman, Sylvie.

  Montpierre took a seat behind his desk and directed Weysh to one of the chairs.

  “Now then, what is all this about?”

  “Well, I find myself in need of your help.”

  Montpierre did not respond; he simply squinted at Weysh until he was forced to continue.

  Weysh took a fortifying breath. “Yenni Ajani—my Given—has been having some trouble with her magic classes. Despite her best, most valiant efforts, she’s failed her first quarter magic exams and as a result, she’s been asked to leave Prevan Academy tomorrow.”

  Montpierre let out a long-suffering sigh. “And you are bringing this to my attention because . . . ?”

  Another fortifying breath to cool the anger rising within him at Montpierre’s tone. “Because, I know that your aunt is rectrice of Prevan Academy, which is how you received the contract to supply and repair some of the windows for the school. Clearly you have her ear, and if anyone can reverse this ruling, it’s the school’s director.”

  Montpierre chuckled bitterly. “Let me make sure I understand. You would like me to contact my aunt Mathilde, who is busy running the best martial and magical academy on the continent, to have her reverse her faculty’s decision to rightfully expel a student who failed her exams?”

  Weysh gripped the armrests on his chair and literally swallowed his frustration before answering. “Would you not do the same for Maman? Sylvie?”

  “I am not about to disturb Mathilde with something so trivial.”

  “This is not trivial,” Weysh said, letting a slight growl slip into his voice. It was the wrong thing to do, as Montpierre tensed and frowned at him.

  “If the school has decided she doesn’t belong, then she doesn’t belong.” He stood. “I will hear no more of this.”

  Weysh stood as well. “Montpierre, please—”

  Montpierre sighed loudly, cutting him off. “Do you know what I think? This woman may have failed her studies, but she’s smart enough to avoid you and your womanizing ways, and your pride will not allow you to let her go. Have some self-respect and leave her be. Let her find someone more suitable.”

  Montpierre’s words hit a nerve, and Weysh’s lips were moving before he could stop them.

  “I suppose you’d be just as willing to step aside if Maman were to find someone more suitable, en?”

  “You ungrateful bastard!” Montpierre thundered.

  Weysh jerked back, shocked. The man’s face was the red of king crab, and he shook.

  “I have gritted my teeth and tolerated you for twenty years,” Montpierre said through teeth that were even at that moment clenched in rage. “To think you would have the audacity to ask me for a single thing. I have been forced to raise another man’s son, clothe and feed you, bequeath you my estate, and this is what I get for my trouble. A disrespectful, womanizing beast of a stepson who plans to abandon his family and run off to the Islands.” He fell into a fit of coughing just as Weysh’s maman, Sylvie, and Genevieve ran into the study. Weysh hadn’t noticed, but Montpierre had left the door wide open.

  Weysh could only stare, wide eyed, as his maman crouched down next to her husband. He’d always felt a dull resentment radiating from Montpierre, but never had he experienced this kind of passionate disgust.

  Montpierre regained control of himself and stood, his dark eyes hard. “Who says dragonkind are Byen’s most noble creatures, en? You are living proof that mating is just for show, so pick a more suitable woman and settle with her. You never seemed to have any qualms about who you dallied with before.” Montpierre shook his head. “Just like your sire.”

  Weysh took a menacing step forward. “Take that back,” he said, his voice low and warning.

  “Weysh!” cried Maman.

  “No!” snapped Montpierre. “You will not intimidate me in my own house! It’s no wonder this woman wants nothing to do with you. You are an animal who knows only how to eat and fornicate. Better she run long and far than end up abused and cast aside like your father’s Given, Dominique Pain.”

  He didn’t know how he got there, but suddenly Weysh had lifted Montpierre clean off the ground by his shirt lapels. He stared into Montpierre’s wide, white eyes.

  “Take. That. Back,” Weysh snarled.

  Genevieve and Sylvie tugged at his arms, screaming. “Weysh! Stop, Weysh!”

  “Weysh, lovely, please,” his mother begged.

  He turned to her, his face contorted in anger. “Do you agree? Am I just like Guste Pain?”

  She backed away, almost tripping over the hem of her dress, tears making tracks in the powder on her face, and the terror in her eyes made Weysh’s heart ache.

  He let go of Montpierre, who collapsed in another fit of coughs.

  “Maman,” said Weysh, his voice practically a growl. “Why do you always TAKE HIS SIDE?”

  His voice had risen to a roar against his will.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, shaking. “I’m sorry.”

  Montpierre collected himself and scrambled over to his wife, taking her in his arms. She held his face in her hands, checking him over while Montpierre glared at Weysh, defiant, a trickle of blood staining his brown beard and flecks of blood dotting his white cravat.

  Weysh turned to find Sylvie crying behind him, clutching Genevieve, who held a hand to her chest and stared at him in horror.

  Byen divine, they were right. He was an animal.

  “You should go, Weysh,” said Genevieve, her voice breathy.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Just go!” Sylvie shouted.

  Weysh looked at Sylvie and Genevieve pleadingly. “Not you too. Please.”

  “GO, Weysh!” Sylvie yelled again, and then, softer, “How could you do this?”

  Cursed Movay, he couldn’t face her. Them. Weysh stumbled out of the study and through the house like a drunk, the horror and terror on the faces of the people he loved most burned into his mind’s eye. He let himself out, his steps turned to a jog, and then he took off into the sky.

  18

  When Weysh first took off he flew aimlessly, with no goal other than to let the wind and open sky cleanse the images of his mother’s frightened gaze, Genie’s shock, and Sylvie’s tear-stained face from his mind. Eventually he ended up circling the streets of West Castle West, where all the jewelers and goldsmiths took up shop. Notwithstanding that morning’s disaster, he would eventually have to face Yenni Ajani and tell her he’d failed her. Not once, but twice. He’d let the thief who’d wronged her get away, and he’d let his temper get the best of him, dashing any hope of help from Montpierre. For once, he was not eager to see his Given.

  He swooped in and changed before touching down on the white cobbled streets of West Castle West. There was Beaumont’s Fine Timepieces, with its large gold-plated gear clock ticking over the door, the iconic sky-blue awning of Olivier’s Appraisers, and the slim white mannequins bedecked in glittering gems in the window of Dame Dubois. Across the street, a large, tacky ring with a giant diamond made of glass marked Nicolas & Nicolas. Weysh had never been inside. It was known that while their prices were cheaper, so were their wares, with gems that were cloudy and cuts that were basic.

  Weysh crossed his arms and nodded to himself.

  Presents.

  They wouldn’t make everything right, or erase what he’d said and done, and failed to do
, but that had always been his instinct. Dragons were known for their penchant for giving presents—the shinier the better. In fact, the streets of West Castle West were just as wide as those in Sir Lamontanya, in anticipation of all the dragon traffic.

  It wouldn’t fix everything, but jewelry was something tangible, something concrete to demonstrate his remorse. Byen, this was turning out to be an expensive year. Nothing less than Dame Dubois would do. He started for the shop, already eying an ivystone necklace dripping from the neck of one of the mannequins. Perhaps Yenni Ajani would like that one. The glittering veins of green in the pearly stone would suit her, and match her uniform besides. He could get earrings for Maman, some charms for Sylvie’s bracelets, perhaps a bejeweled comb for Genie, and a box of dried pig shit for Montpierre.

  He ducked in and perused the impressive displays. His pockets, as well as his credit balance with the bank, were much heavier once he set the door tinkling with his exit. As he stepped into the street again, someone called his name.

  “Weysh?”

  Carmenna stood across the street, right outside Nicolas & Nicolas, with one hand covering her mouth, as if she’d spoken without thinking, and the other hand wrapped around the arm of Luiz Noriago.

  Weysh wanted to groan aloud. This was the absolute last thing he needed, but Carmenna was looking right at him—it would be rude to ignore her. And besides, what was she doing with Noriago of all people?

  He crossed over to them. “Hello, Carmenna, you’re looking well.”

  “Weysh.” Carmenna nodded at him and stood straighter, the picture of civility. She clung tighter to Noriago, who smirked at him, a strange, eager glint in his eyes.

  “Messer Nolan, fancy meeting you here.”

  “Erm, yes,” said Weysh, glancing between Noriago and Carmenna. He suspected it wasn’t his place to say anything, but he’d never been good at keeping his mouth shut. “Carmenna, could I have a word?”