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  “No. Not now, and possibly never again.”

  Yenni ached for him, and at the same time she wanted to find that other dragon, Noriago, and drive a spear through his wings. “That . . . that . . .” She launched into a tirade about Noriago in Yirba, cursing him to the depthless shadows at the edges of the world, cursing his stones to shrivel up and fall off, so he could never bear children as horrible as him.

  “Whatever you said, I agree completely,” said Harth. “So you’ll visit Weysh?”

  Yenni paused “Har-tha, I cannot . . .”

  “All right, I don’t know what went on between you two, but”—Harth blew out a breath and ran his fingers through his green hair—“I’ve seen Weysh bounce back from a lot of things, but losing his sense of smell, as a dragon . . . this broke him.”

  Yenni put a hand to her chest, trying and failing to shake that image of Dragon flat to the earth, scales dull, deflated and depressed.

  “Beat him and berate him when he gets out of line—in fact, I recommend it regularly just to keep him in check—but don’t abandon him.”

  “Abandon him?” she repeated, her voice small.

  “He needs you. Even just the sound of your voice might, I don’t know, bring him back to life,” said Harth, throwing up his hands. “He’s like the living dead.”

  The ache within her grew and grew, until she had to swallow against the swell of it before she could speak. “He won’t want to see me. Not after what I said.”

  “He will,” Harth insisted.

  Yenni took a step back. “I’ll only make it worse.”

  “You won’t!”

  Another step back. “I must get to my class.” She pulled on her speed runes.

  “Yenni Ajani!” Harth shouted, as angry as she’d ever heard him. But how much angrier would he be if she led on his friend only to abandon him for the good of her tribe? How much worse would the pain be for Dragon? For Weysh?

  For her?

  “Good-bye, Har-tha,” she said and took off for runelore class.

  In attempting to forget about Weysh, Yenni focused on her father’s healing and what it meant for her Orire N’jem. She was ecstatic that her father had made a recovery; she just hadn’t expected it to be so sudden. She’d been abroad fewer than four moonturns—not even halfway into the complete year she’d promised the Sha. If her father was healed, could she return? Or did she need to stay the full year? Did she even want to leave yet? True, she missed home and wanted very much to see her family again, but she’d be returning to a marriage to a man she barely knew. And no matter what Natahi said, she’d be expected to give up the things she loved—hunting and sparring and possibly even heavy study of runelore—for propriety’s sake. Was it selfish to want just a few more months of exploration and study? Of excitement and novelty? Of freedom?

  “You seem quite distracted today, Yenni Ajani. Is everything all right?”

  Yenni glanced up from her seat at the chipped, rectangular table that served as Devon’s work desk. Both he and Diedre, who was sprawled out across from her on a chair at the front of the classroom, stared at her with expressions of mild concern.

  Her hand had stilled in whisking up the runepaint for the day. She must have been staring, lost in her thoughts.

  “I . . . oh! Yes. I’m fine, Professor.”

  Devon’s brow furrowed and he shot a quick glance at Diedre. He looked like he wanted to say more but held his tongue.

  Shortly after, students started to file into the room, greeting Yenni just as deferentially as Professor Devon. Once everyone was seated, Devon took his place behind his table and leaned forward, hands spread wide. He had the most curious, conspiratorial look on his face.

  “Now, class, we’re not far from midyear exams. I’m willing to bet you’re well and truly sick of all the review, en?”

  A number of students voiced their agreement, Diedre included.

  “Very well, why don’t I show you something new?”

  The smug smile spread along his face, and he even went so far as to wink at Yenni. Yenni blinked back at him, nonplussed. Just what could he be up to? He’d given her no indication they’d be introducing new material to the class.

  “What I’m about to show you today is something few people have seen. A rune I’ve been working to perfect all year. And I know I claimed you need a break from exam review, but in truth I’m so excited to demonstrate this new rune that I simply cannot wait until next term.

  “Here in Cresh, we’ve unfairly labeled Moonrise Islanders as being warlike and primitive. But today I’ll be showing you a rune native to the Watatzi, a small but engineering group confined to an island just southwest of the border of the Sunrise Isles.”

  The majority of the students around them gave Devon the awed and intrigued reaction he was looking for, but faint apprehension churned in Yenni’s stomach.

  “This rune was only recently discovered by a mentor of mine, Magus Gilles Desroches!”

  He paused, allowing for some of the class to react with noises of surprise. Yenni knew of this Magus Gilles Desroches, if only because when Devon wasn’t peppering her with questions about runelore, he was singing the praises of this man, who was apparently something of a rebel and an eccentric within Creshen magical society. He was the foremost Creshen expert on runelore, often taking research trips to the Northern Sha Islands—the ones like hers that had not succumbed to Cresh’s campaign of colonization three hundred years ago. And though Yenni had come to understand how little the average Creshen respected runelore, Desroches’s books were still incredibly popular. She attributed his success to the vivid pictures his works painted of life on the Islands, which Yenni had to admit were engaging.

  Or perhaps it was something more. Desroches’s most popular work, Runerise, was meant to be a manual on the basics of runelore, and the history of runes on the Islands. She’d noticed how her fellow students, Creshen and Islander alike, carried the book openly, like a badge. Perhaps reading the works of Desroches, and being labeled a radical by association, gave them some sort of thrill.

  But what did Devon mean when he said Desroches had discovered a rune? Expert or no, from what Yenni had read of Runerise, Desroches’s understanding of runelore was still quite basic. He might understand the forms and songs, but he didn’t grasp how runes were integrated into the very fabric of Island society, so she highly doubted the Sha had seen fit to bless him with their divine inspiration, thus allowing him to create a new rune.

  “Without further ado, I give you the deception rune!” Devon boomed.

  Yenni’s frown deepened. She had never heard of such a rune before. Perhaps this was a Creshen translation she didn’t understand.

  Devon lifted the shaggy, wheat-like hair that fell in waves to his ears, and Yenni gasped. On each of his temples he had painted a rune she had never seen.

  He pulled ach’e, and the runes on his temples blazed, but curiously his eyes blazed as well, like a Master infused with runelight.

  And then the room erupted into birds.

  Shouts and screams broke the tense silence as big, colorful jungle birds appeared all over the classroom—perching, flying, ruffling their feathers. But strangely, they made no sound. Yenni reached out to touch the large, bright blue bird that now blinked at her from on top of her desk, and her mouth dropped open as her hand passed right through it. Slowly, the bird faded. She glanced up at Devon. The runelight had left his eyes.

  The class jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering, and Devon gave a bow.

  “Teach us!”

  “Show us how to draw the rune!”

  “Come on, Professor!”

  As the rest of the class begged Devon to teach them the rune, a sinking feeling invaded Yenni’s stomach. No, no, this isn’t right.

  Devon held up his hands for silence. “Brilliant, isn’t it?” he said. “The Masters am
ong the Watatzi can create sound, smell, even the sensation of touch! It’s a step above Ibeena’s Sensory Illusion, wouldn’t you say? I’ve always found that having to speak a spell aloud to create an illusion took away from the overall effect. It removes that element of surprise. No matter how powerful the illusion, the intended target will always know they are in fact in the grip of something false. But this, walking into an illusion unawares . . .” He shook his head. “This rune alone may explain why the Watatzi, while so close to Cresh, escaped the worst atrocities of the Colonial War.

  “But regretfully, this particular rune is not a part of the curriculum, so legally I can’t teach you how to draw it yet. Even today’s demonstration might get me into some trouble. But I am, first and foremost, a proponent of knowledge, and I believe you, the bright minds of the future, have a right to know what’s on the horizon, magically speaking.”

  The others groaned their disappointment, but Yenni stood. “Professor Devon,” she said slowly, “how did your mentor come to learn this rune?”

  “Ah, well.” Devon suddenly looked uncomfortable. “He’s spent the last three years visiting the Watatzi, you see, practically living among them, learning their ways, until finally he was able to get close enough to observe their Masters in action as they painted their royalty.”

  “Able to . . .” Yenni stared at him, horrified. “Are you saying he spied on the Watatzi Masters and stole one of their hidden runes?”

  “Knowledge cannot be stolen, Yenni Ajani. It should be available to all.”

  Yenni simply stared at him. Professor Devon had always seemed so amicable—overzealous, yes, but he was one of the few Creshens who seemed to appreciate her culture. But perhaps it was because he was Creshen that he couldn’t understand the gravity of what his mentor had done. Very well, she would have to explain it to him.

  “Professor this—this is not how things are done! Each tribe has runes that are sacred, secret. They give economic leverage against the other tribes in times of peace, and protection in times of war. The Watatzi may well have been hiding that rune for thousands of years! It’s not right for your mentor to come along and steal it!”

  “I see. Well, you are, of course, entitled to your opinion.”

  “What? But, this is not my opinion, this is truth! There are things that are right and things that are wrong! I—” Her tirade spluttered out, and for once she was completely at a loss for words.

  “We’ll speak about this after class,” Devon said and turned his attention to the room. “For now, let’s continue our work with the life rune. Yenni Ajani?”

  As Yenni moved, trancelike, to attend Professor Devon, Diedre touched her on the wrist. “All right, mams?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  “I’m with you on this one. I did like Desroches, but this is just sneaky.”

  “Thank you,” Yenni whispered back and Diedre squeezed her hand before letting it go.

  Yenni helped hand out pots of dying flowers. Using the life rune, as it was translated in Creshen, the class would work on bringing the plants back to health. It was a useful rune, especially in times of bad harvest, and it was the base rune for many other runes as well, including healing runes.

  They spent the rest of the class working on the plants. Yenni somehow found the strength to push back her horror and disappointment. She flitted from student to student, giving advice on how to draw the life rune—the correct pressure with the brush, where to strengthen and soften the voice—until at last the hour was up, and they were left with flowers in varying states of health.

  Soon everyone was filing out of class, and a few threw Yenni guilty looks. Diedre was the last to file out, and she gave Yenni a glance heavy with meaning. Let him have it, her eyes seemed to say. Once everyone was gone Yenni rounded on Devon, but he spoke before she could.

  “I understand why you might be upset,” he said, moving around picking up plants. “Truly. But can’t you see that what Gilles has done is for the good of all mankind? Now the High Magus Council will have to take runelore seriously.”

  “What Desroches had done will be perceived as an act of betrayal, perhaps even an act of war,” said Yenni as she brushed up the remnants of the herbs used for runepaint.

  Devon paused, his eyes going wide. “But that’s a bit extreme, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No. Most of our wars have been fought over runes. That rune likely gave the Watatzi leverage and prestige with the other tribes in a way neither you nor your mentor understand.”

  “Oh. Well, suppose you were right, and the worst were to happen, the Watatzi tribe is tiny compared to the might of Cresh, and have no dragons besides.”

  Yenni threw down the brush she’d been using to sweep the table clean and put her hands on her hips. “And that makes it acceptable to steal from them?!”

  Devon cringed. “No, of course not. I’m only saying they would likely think twice before attacking. Listen,” he said in what he must have assumed was a soothing tone, “what about you, en? You’re here learning all about the magic and culture of Cresh. You have that right, as does anyone who visits our Empire. Why should runelore not be the same? The world grows smaller every day, and I predict that one day there will no longer be hidden runes, just as there are no hidden spells. Magic belongs to everyone, Yenni Ajani. Rich and poor. Islander or Creshen.”

  Yenni suddenly remembered what Natahi had said before she left. It is their nature to take what does not belong to them.

  “That is not the same,” Yenni insisted. “Creshen knowledge is given freely, even forcefully, in some cases. And while spells may not be technically hidden, there are nonetheless advanced spells that it would take years of study, and many Creshen duvvies to access. It should be up to the Watatzi if and when they want to reveal their hidden runes.”

  Devon touched his finger to his chin and studied her. “You know, I wonder if perhaps you aren’t feeling some frustration that a Creshen has discovered a rune you knew nothing about.”

  Yenni’s eyebrows flew up. “One, your Desroches did not discover anything. The Watatzi have likely been using that rune for millennia. Two, my frustration is because you either cannot understand or do not care how awful a thing your mentor has done. What of the Watatzi? Once this rune is publicized they will lose much leverage with the other tribes.”

  “That is unfortunate,” Devon admitted.

  “Or suppose your emperor decides to try to claim the Islands again? The deception rune, as you put it, kept the Watatzi safe once, but they will have no protection in the event of a second attack.”

  “That will never happen,” Devon said with finality. “I speak for most Creshens when I say we reject and are deeply ashamed of our past as bloody conquerors.”

  “Well, perhaps your next campaign will be not to acquire more land. Perhaps it will be to acquire something more—the very soul of a people.”

  Devon’s mouth opened and closed, until he finally said. “There’s nothing to be done. Desroches presented the rune to the High Magus Council not two days ago. It’s up to them to decide what to do with it now.”

  Yenni closed her eyes and sighed.

  “Yenni Ajani,” Devon said, his voice pleading. “This is a good thing. I promise you.”

  Unbelievable. Here was, in his own way, a man more stubborn than Weysh. Clearly she was not getting through to him, and she was tired of wasting her breath. Yenni snatched her back-satchel up from her seat and shrugged it on.

  “I appreciate everything you have done for me, Professor Devon, but wrong is wrong.” She shook her head and left him spluttering after her.

  25

  Diedre was waiting for Yenni on the stone steps to Devon’s classroom.

  “Well?” she said as she stood.

  Yenni put her head in her hand. “Like trying to reason with a ram, as we say. Come, I need to get away from here
for now.”

  They set off for the campus proper, abandoning the scrubby, dry grass and dingy outbuildings for the whitestone path, manicured lawns, and distinguished spires of the academy.

  “Was only a matter of time, yes?” said Diedre. “Watch, in five years runes will be the latest fashion here.”

  “It’s just so infuriating!” Yenni cried. “What is wrong with Creshen men? It’s like I say one thing and they hear another!”

  “The women same way,” said Diedre. “But they have their charms.”

  “I’m so disappointed, Diedre. I have always thought of Devon as the opposite of Mainard, open headed instead of closed, but now I am not sure. A part of me wants to give up the class completely, but who knows what other sacrilege Devon will spread without me there to correct him? And I suppose I need the teaching stipend besides.”

  Yenni sighed and fell into a brooding silence as they walked. Coupled with her betrayal was a nagging sense of unease and guilt. Should she make the existence of this rune known to her family? The Creshens were about to expose it to the world anyway. But to do so would make her no better than that unscrupulous Gilles Desroches, would it not?

  “Well, if you go, I go. You’re the only reason I still take this class, mams. Devon does try, but he can’t teach me much I don’t already know or can’t learn in books. I know some of the others will feel the same.” Then, as if reading her mind, Diedre added, “You plan to tell your people about the rune?”

  Yenni bit her lip. “I don’t know. I am loyal to them, but if I tell them does that make me as bad as these two? Would you do it?”

  “I . . . am glad is not my problem, mams,” said Diedre.

  Yenni cut Diedre a glance from the side of her eye. “You are so incredibly helpful,” she said.

  The taller girl laughed and squeezed Yenni around the shoulder. “Ugh, this is depressing, yes? Let’s change the topic.” Her face turned sly. “Tell me why you have dragons droppin’ from the sky at your feet.”