Given Read online

  Yenni shrugged. “Who can say what goes on inside that strange mind of yours?”

  Weysh grunted his annoyance. “It’s a salt flat,” he said. “The salt and minerals are what give the water that mirror sheen. I didn’t think you’d want to ruin your uniform boots.”

  “Oh,” Yenni said, sheepish. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” sighed Weysh.

  They fell into silence again until at last Weysh said, “You’re the only person I’ve shown this place to.”

  “Oh?”

  Weysh nodded. “I was very much into cartography in first and second years. Whenever I’d fight with my—uh, I mean, whenever I had free time I would fly around looking for interesting places to map. If I found somewhere nice I’d take people back there. Harth and Zui, or . . .”—he cleared his throat—“women I wanted to impress. But I never took anyone to the best spots. Those I saved for my Given.” He turned to her. “For you.”

  Yenni had no good retort for that, so she simply turned back to the sparkling salt flat. After a moment she felt his big, warm hand close around her own, where she pressed it against the ground, leaning back to support herself.

  I should pull away, she thought. I must put a stop to this.

  But she didn’t.

  “What’s your family like?” asked Weysh at last, breaking the silence. “Do you get along?”

  “Yes,” said Yenni, not wanting to go into more detail.

  “That’s good,” he said, still looking out over the plane. “Family is important.”

  “Yes,” she said again, and then to her horror tears formed in her eyes. It was as if at that moment some dam within her had finally burst, and all the worry of the last week came pouring free.

  “En? What is it?” Weysh took her gently by the shoulders, his face alarmed. “Byen, what did I do now?” He cringed. “Your father.”

  “I worry for him,” Yenni admitted.

  He ran his thumbs in soothing circles over her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said, and looked away, troubled. “I suppose this is what it’s been like for Sylvie.”

  Yenni wiped her tears. “Who?”

  “My sister. Her papa is sick too.”

  “What do you mean ‘her papa’? Is he not your father as well?”

  Weysh dropped his hands. “No,” he said, and didn’t go into further detail than that. “But I’m truly sorry to hear about your father. Montpierre—my stepfather—is also sick. A mysterious illness called the wither-rot. It’s nasty business.”

  Yenni leaned back and stared at him. She would have laughed if she wasn’t already crying. All this time, these moonturns past, Weysh of all people was her connection to the illness killing her father? Somewhere in the realm of the Sha, Father Esh sat cackling at her, she was sure.

  “But this is the same illness that could be affecting my father! How is your stepfather treating it? Please, Weh-sheh, anything you can tell me will help.”

  “Fresh air, incense, and plenty of rest, for all the good it does. Forgive me, Yenni Ajani. I can’t say I know much about the wither-rot, no one does. But the moment I learn anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “I see.” So many frustrating false trails and only the barest hints of direction. It was a sobering reminder that she had much more work to do. The Sha were not appeased yet.

  “Please take me back to the academy now,” she told Weysh. She saw the disappointment cross his face but he only nodded.

  “Very well.”

  The night seemed more vibrant than usual.

  Weysh reveled in the warm air currents gliding across his wings. Yenni was perched firmly on his back, her presence a comforting heaviness. The clean, sweet, spice of her teased his nostrils from time to time. In that moment his dragon heart was swollen with contentment. As long as Yenni was near, he was happy.

  The flight back took them over the lights of Imperium Centre. Weysh ducked and weaved, avoiding the tallest towers with the help of the signal rings, halos of multicolored light that warned of the towers’ presence. At one point two other dragons came cutting through the air from the other direction—Rosh and Sween, by the scent of them. They were brothers from the province of Ouet, just to the west, and like all the dragons out there, their green scales were tinged with blue. They had been in pretty much all of Weysh’s classes growing up. They let out sharp cries of greeting as they approached, which Weysh returned.

  “Hello!” he heard Yenni yell from atop his back, and he could picture her waving frantically. Weysh wiggled his shoulders to warn her, and then angled his wings to let them descend, so the draft from the brothers wouldn’t buffet her.

  “Good-bye!” his sweet Yenni called after them as they passed overhead. He made a small moan of disappointment as the spires of the academy crested the horizon. He didn’t want to let her down. Would she object if he took one more turn around the city?

  In the end he decided against it. She’d asked him to take her back, so he would do so. Too soon he was angling for the walkway to her residence, lined with lush green trees backlit by magic lamps. He let her off and changed.

  “There you are, lovely. Safe and sound.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She gave him a strange little bow where she touched her fingers under her chin and nodded to him. Some gesture from her homeland no doubt. “Good night, Weh-sheh.” She started for the gate.

  “Wait!” said Weysh. She turned, expectant.

  “I just wanted to say that . . . you’re . . . incredible,” he finished lamely. Ah Movay, what was wrong with him lately? When had it ever been this difficult to woo a woman? He should tell her how bright and pretty her eyes were, how beautiful and smooth her skin. How her competence and confidence made him want to kiss her and touch her until she forgot her own name. Yenni turned back to him. The gate creaked in the distance as a soft breeze rustled the trees, and that was when he caught it: a familiar scent that Weysh knew well. Sweet, musky, and rich like cocoa—desire.

  Emboldened, he stepped close to her, trapped her eyes with his. “You’re incredible,” he murmured again, stroking her silky cheek with his thumb. He leaned in and finally, finally claimed those enticing lips of hers.

  Watcher above, her kiss was so warm and soft. Her mouth on his sent lightning tingling up to the top of his head, to his fingertips, sparking through his chest. She clutched his shirt, arching into him. Weysh broke off the kiss, but only to bury his nose against her neck and breathe deeply of the maddening scent of her. It went straight to the base of his brain, stirring something primal and possessive.

  “You. Are. Mine,” he said, punctuating each word with a kiss along the column of her throat. He moved in for another taste of her mouth only to be shoved back. Hard.

  He blinked, stunned. “What—”

  “No,” Yenni said firmly.

  “But your scent—”

  “No,” she said again.

  “All right. I apologize.” He’d never been more confused. He knew he was not mistaken about her scent, and yet she clearly told him no, so how could he argue?

  “I am meant to marry, Weh-sheh.”

  “So you’ve told me,” said Weysh, annoyed. “But do you even want to—”

  “There you . . . are?”

  Yenni whipped her head to the gate and then quickly skipped back, widening the gap between them. Weysh followed her gaze and saw Carmenna standing on the lantern-lit path, her eyes darting from Yenni to him. Weysh let out a whooshing breath. Apparently a demon of mischief was plaguing him. Of all the awful timing.

  “I heard the news. About your exams,” she said to Yenni.

  “Oh,” said Yenni. Her chest heaved up and down with heavy breaths.

  “Yes,” said Carmenna, though she came no closer. “I came by to see you earlier, but you were out.”

  Yenni swallowed. “Thank yo
u for your concern.”

  “Good evening, Carmenna,” said Weysh. Things were awkward enough without them pretending they didn’t exist to each other.

  “Weysh,” she said, nodding back politely. She rubbed her upper arm. “Were you able to find a way to stay, Yenni Ajani?”

  “I was. I’m to be a teaching assistant.”

  “Oh! That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you!” And Weysh could tell by the soapy, clean scent of relief that she was—but also a little not if that quick, sour whiff of disappointment, like milk gone off, was any indication.

  “Well, I simply came by to see how you were. I have a lot do, so I’ll be on my way.” She curtsied to them. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Carmenna,” said Yenni.

  “Be well,” Weysh called after her as she hurried down the path so fast she was practically running.

  “Thank you for a beautiful evening, Weh-sheh, but I must go.” Yenni bowed and hurried away almost as fast as Carmenna, slipping through the gate and into her residence. Weysh sighed, tipping his head back to the night sky. He’d been so close! What, by all that was holy, could he do convince her, his own Given, that they were meant to be?

  “Kindly Watcher, why have you done this to me?” he muttered.

  22

  Four days had passed and second-term classes were in session, but Weysh hadn’t seen Yenni since the night they’d kissed. Part of him wanted to seek her out—he was sure of what he’d caught in her scent, tasted on her lips—but there was only so much rejection his bruised ego could take at once, especially after the fiasco with his family.

  He still hadn’t been to see his maman and Sylvie either. The presents he’d bought languished in his townhouse. He told himself it was because he was busy and tired from the start of the semester. Harth told him otherwise.

  “You’re stalling,” he said. The two of them lounged on the low roof of the lecture hall annex, the rough wall of the main lecture hall against their backs. It was one of their favorite spots to sit and people watch. The sun was setting on the campus below, the buildings making long shadows across the paths and lawns.

  Harth tossed an almond into the air and caught it in his mouth. “You know it’s not you Montpierre hates, right? It’s the idea of you,” he said around his chewing.

  “Thank you, Harth, that makes everything better.”

  Harth shrugged. “It’s the truth,” he said, and then he frowned. “And it’s not right.”

  “I could give a dog fart about Montpierre,” Weysh grumbled. “But Maman, Genie, and Sylvie, the way they looked at me—” Weysh sighed. “It was like they didn’t know who I was anymore.” He slammed his thigh with his fist. “Byen! I shouldn’t have let my temper get the better of me.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” asked Harth, incredulous. “Quite frankly I don’t think you’re the one who should have to apologize. It was foul, what Montpierre said, and low.”

  Now Weysh shrugged. “It’s not the worst.”

  Harth shook his head, and the two of them sat in amicable silence for a while, watching people pass by below. Weysh tossed a handful of almonds into his mouth, crunching away. “You’re right, though,” he said with his mouth full. “I need to see them soon—I think I’m starting to lose my mind. I could swear I see Sylvie down there right now.”

  Harth sat forward. “Weysh, I think that is Sylvie.”

  Weysh sat forward as well, dusting his hands on his pants. “En? What’s she doing here?”

  Weysh and Harth shared a worried glance, then jumped off the roof, changing to dragon in midair to glide to the ground below.

  “Sylvie!” Weysh called once he changed back. She started and turned around, then ran to him, throwing herself in his arms and enveloping him in the cloud of her scent, friendly and familiar. Weysh umphed as he caught her.

  Harth bent over and waved. “Um, hello, Sylvie.”

  “Hi, Harth.” Her reply was muffled by Weysh’s chest.

  “Sylvie, what is going on?” asked Weysh.

  She pulled back and fixed her ruffled brown-blond curls, her cheeks flushed. “Nothing, nothing, it’s just . . .”

  Weysh raised his eyebrows at her expectantly.

  “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said sheepishly. “It sounds silly when I say it now, doesn’t it? But after what happened—”

  “You’re not angry with me?” Weysh said softly.

  She sighed. “I was . . . am, maybe. But I’m also angry at Papa. It wasn’t right, what he said. You shouldn’t have grabbed him like a thug, but it wasn’t right—hey! Weysh!”

  Weysh had lifted her right off the ground in a crushing hug, spinning her around before setting her down. “I can make amends with Montpierre as long as you and Maman can forgive me.”

  “Oh,” Harth said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “That’s just beautiful.”

  Weysh and Sylvie turned to him. “Shut up, Harth,” they said in unison.

  “Hmph!” said Harth. “I take offense to this familial bonding at my expense. Shouldn’t you be out shopping for hair ribbons and petticoats and whatnot with your second-school friends?”

  Sylvie rolled her eyes. “Do you not know me at all?”

  Harth crossed his arms and smiled. “Better than you realize, which is why it’s so easy to get under your skin,” he said and winked.

  “Harth has a point,” Weysh said. “How did you get here?”

  “The tram, of course.”

  “This late?” The image and the sickly scent of Yenni lying in the alley accosted him. That had been enough to drive him half mad, but Sylvie in her place . . .

  “The sun hasn’t even set yet, Weysh.”

  “I’m taking you home,” Weysh said. “I’ll likely take the blame for this, too, but that’s life I suppose. And it’s probably time I faced Montpierre, en?”

  “Actually”—Sylvie’s shoulders slumped—“I doubt he’s there. He and Maman had a big fight about you, and now he’s always out surveying his warehouses or in meetings when he should be resting at home.”

  Weysh froze. “They fought about me?”

  Sylvie nodded sadly. “Yes.”

  “Oh. And, erm, what did Maman have to say?”

  “You can ask her yourself when you take me home,” she said and smiled sweetly.

  Weysh narrowed his eyes at her. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?”

  She bit her lip and looked away. “If you’re busy I’m happy to take the tram home. You know how I love the tram. And the walk from the stop is only about twenty minutes, and reasonably well lit. Except that one stretch where—”

  “I should hire a carriage and charge it to the house,” Weysh said sternly.

  Her face fell.

  “But I miss you, conductor,” said Weysh.

  “You know I hate that nickname,” she groaned. He’d given it to her due to her strange enthusiasm for riding the trams. He often asked why she was wasting time in school when she was just going to end up as a tram conductor someday.

  “Yup,” Weysh agreed and tweaked her nose while Harth laughed in the background. “Besides, you riding dragonback will annoy Montpierre. I’ll fly you home. Do you remember the signals?”

  She clapped her hands together and squealed. “Yes!”

  “Good.”

  “And you’ll talk to Maman? She hasn’t said it, but I can tell she wants to see you.”

  Weysh flicked his eyes to Harth, who gave him a shallow nod.

  He sighed a soul-deep sigh. “All right, I’ll talk to Maman.”

  After a quick stop at his townhouse to grab the presents (I love it! Sylvie had exclaimed at the dragon charm with amethysts for eyes), Weysh was now bearing down on his family’s red-bricked manse with Sylvie perched on his back.

  As always, Weysh gave a screeching cry to let eve
ryone know he was there, then he jerked his shoulders to let Sylvie know he was planning to descend.

  “Got it! I’m holding on!” she yelled. As Weysh dove in Sylvie whooped in glee. He touched down a little rougher than usual, just enough so the bump would give Sylvie a jolt. “Whoa!” she exclaimed excitedly.

  He bent to let her down, and she surrounded him in endless excited chatter. “That was so much fun! I missed flying with you, Weysh—I wish we could do this more often! Maybe I can convince Papa. Byen, the world looks so different from above! We need to—”

  “Weysh? Sylvie?”

  Their mother stood at the door with Genevieve, frowning with confusion. “What is going on?”

  Weysh changed and hastened over to her. “I picked Sylvie up from school, Maman,” he said quickly. “I bought her a present from Dame Dubois. You and Genie as well.”

  Weysh reached into his hip bag for his mother’s earrings. They were beautiful cascading diamond drops, the kind of thing she loved. He held his breath as she studied the earrings, turning them this way and that to make them sparkle in the light of the lantern by the door. Her expression was curiously sad.

  “Come inside, Weysh,” she said at last, and turned to lead him in.

  As Weysh passed Genevieve in the hallway he slipped her an ivory comb studded with pearls. She gasped, her pale cheeks went rosy, and she pulled him into a tight embrace.

  “Welcome home, Weysh.”

  He threw his other arm around her neck in a one-armed hug.

  “Thank you, Genie,” he said by her ear. “I’m sorry if I upset you the other day.”

  She simply patted his back. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it, love. You’ve always been a good boy. A bit of a handful growing up, but good. I do wish my Martin was more like you.”

  Weysh frowned at the scent of bitter regret and the sickly stink of shame, like something dying. Genevieve’s son Martin had a bad gambling habit, and hadn’t been able to shrug free of it in all the years she’d been with them. Weysh gave her one final squeeze. “Be well, Genie,” he said before following his mother to the sitting room. The fire was already blazing cheerily, but his mother went to work lighting the candelabras on the walls.