Given Page 4

“They do, but”—Yenni glanced at the sky again—“I am in a hurry. I will tell you about my runes on the way to admissions. Please lead the way.”

  “Oh! Of course.”

  As they walked Yenni took in the hard lines of the strength rune painted on her right bicep. She’d never thought of runes as being striking, but she supposed the white paint did contrast highly with her dark skin.

  “These are runes, for pulling ach’e—no. What is the word? Magic,” she explained. “These ones are for strength, speed, and wards against pain,” she said, touching the designs painted on her upper arms, calves, and spine respectively.

  “Incredible! Things are quite different on the Moonrise Isles. I was born in Minato myself, but I moved here when I was just a baby.”

  So that was it! Zui wasn’t actually Creshen, but from the Minato Empire to the east. Yenni smiled, glad she no longer had to come up with a way to ask the woman why she was blue. She did, however, want to know more about dragons.

  “Welcome to Prevan Academy for Battle and Magical Arts,” Zui continued. “You’re right to be in a hurry, I’m sure there’ll be quite a line.”

  “Oh?” Sharp anxiety pierced Yenni’s chest. “That many are vying for entrance to the academy?”

  “Why yes!” said Zui. “It’s like this every season.”

  “And will everyone be let in?”

  Zui put a delicate hand to her chest and laughed. “Not even close! A quarter, if that. Come, it’s this way.”

  Yenni followed Zui, all thoughts of the dragon wiped away. She had not expected such competition, and anxiety slowly unfurled in the depths of her belly.

  Stop it, she chided herself. I will gain entrance to these Creshens’ academy. I’m top of my class, I speak five languages, and I am a princess of the Yirba. I will not fail. She squeezed her left hand shut, encompassing the rune there. I cannot fail.

  The bell tower rang out twice in the time Yenni spent standing, then sitting, then standing in the line that snaked out of Bertrand’s East. The other applicants chattered and whispered around her, though none engaged her directly. Yenni ignored them, letting her thoughts drift back to home. At last it came her turn to show her writ of passage and to answer a few questions. She exchanged her paper for two tokens, one carved with a flame, the other with a sword. They would grant her entrance to the battle aptitude and magical aptitude tests in the following days.

  At last Yenni jogged down the wide flight of steps and moved off the path to the grass. Free of the crush and noise, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her next move was to secure lodging at the guest residences for prospective students.

  Yenni’s stomach rumbled, bringing her back to the present. As she rummaged around in her bag for the dried plantain she’d bought in Sainte Ventas, someone called her name. Zui Duval weaved through the sea of students, followed by someone just as colorful. Yenni smiled and returned the blue woman’s frantic waving with a casual flash of her hand.

  “Hi, Yenni!” Zui called. Yenni flinched at Zui’s casual address, but met her palm.

  “To be honest, my name is Yenni Aja-Nifemi,” she said. “Though Yenni Ajani will do. I know that in Cresh you are used to shorter names, but on the Moonrise Isles those are somewhat informal, reserved for family and close friends.”

  “Oh! I apologize, Yenni Ajani. This is my husband, Harth.” Zui gestured to the man beside her.

  “Only?” It wouldn’t do to call him by a name with just one sound. One-sound names were reserved for the Sha. “Do you have any other names?”

  “Well, my full name is Harth Raynee Duval,” he said, and stuck out a hand. Yenni remembered just in time that men in Cresh greeted each other, and women they weren’t familiar with, by clasping the forearm. She grabbed his arm loosely.

  He was tall, and she had to look way up to meet his eye. “I am happy to meet you, Harth Raynee Duval,” she said, emphasizing each name.

  Her mouth stayed parted for a moment more, a question heavy on her tongue, but she shut her lips and swallowed the words. This was a new place with many new customs to learn and people to meet. Yenni didn’t want to seem rude or ignorant, so she was having a hard time coming up with a way to ask Harth Raynee Duval why his skin was green.

  He wasn’t a vivid green, only greenish, darker at spots like his elbows and knuckles. His hair, now that was vivid green, and pulled back in a short horsetail. His eyes were friendly and shone like polished jade.

  “Back at you, en?” he said. “So, Yenni Ajani, you are easily the most interesting person I’ve seen in a while. Where are you from?”

  “The Moonrise Isles!” cried Zui. “Isn’t that something?”

  “Oho! So it is. What brings you all this way?”

  “I—I wanted to be the first woman of the Moonrise Isles to study in Cresh,” she said. It was best not to tell people about Orire N’jem, should they inadvertently intervene in a way the Sha deemed unfit.

  Harth looked impressed. “A pioneer! I must ask, what are these white markings? They’re very striking.”

  Yenni laughed. “Your wife said that exactly.” She briefly explained her runes. “And I could say the same for you. Are you also from Minato?”

  He looked astonished. “Of course not! I’m Creshen through and through. What would give you that idea?”

  Yenni faltered. “You look similar, so I thought . . .”

  They looked at each other and spoke as one. “We do?”

  “Yes. Your coloring . . .”

  “But I’m blue and Harth is green,” said Zui, as if one just happened upon blue and green people as a matter of course.

  “We’re both dragons, if that’s what you mean,” said Harth.

  Yenni stared at him. Blinked. “I’m so sorry, but my Creshen is not very good. I thought I heard you say you were dragons.”

  “Your Creshen seems fine to me, and yes, I did.”

  Yenni’s mouth worked as she tried to form a sentence. “I—I didn’t realize . . .”

  Harth burst out laughing. “But how could you? We blend in so naturally with everyone else, en?”

  Yenni narrowed her eyes at him, anger rising up her throat like bile. She did not like being ridiculed, made to feel ignorant. After all, it wasn’t her fault there were no dragons left on the Sha Islands.

  Zui glanced at her face and smacked her husband on the arm.

  “Ow!”

  “Don’t mind him,” she said. “There aren’t any dragons on the Islands are there?”

  “Not for three hundred years,” said Yenni. She cut her eyes at Harth. “Our dragons were exterminated by Cresh during the Colonial War, after all, so I have never met a dragon in person.”

  Harth cleared his throat. “Ah. Yes. Then you couldn’t have known. Understandable.”

  Yenni frowned in thought. “To be honest, I did meet a dragon earlier, but perhaps meet is not the most accurate word. He accosted me.”

  “En? Truly?” said Harth. At last, someone was having a reasonable reaction.

  “Yes, a big violet-black one.”

  “Ooooh,” they said together. “Weysh.”

  “He’s . . . mostly harmless,” said Harth.

  “Well, he licked me.”

  “What?” said Zui. “He licked you? With his tongue? That is uncivilized, even for Weysh.”

  “Oh, speak and the spoken appear,” said Harth. He waved at someone behind her. “Ho! Weysh!”

  The same man who’d stared her down earlier strode toward them, his pace eating up swaths of the green grass. Up close he was tall, perhaps even taller than Harth Raynee Duval. He still wore his shirt open, and Yenni saw he had the build of a warrior, the muscles of his abdomen plainly sculpted. His hair still hung in that braid over his shoulder, and his dark eyebrows were drawn down over violet eyes that bore into hers shamelessly.

  “Weysh!
” called Harth. “I hear you’re going around licking unsuspecting women now.”

  The man ignored him and came to stand right before Yenni.

  “What’s your name?” His voice was deep, resonant. Was this really the dragon who had cornered her earlier? Yes, Yenni could believe it. There was something powerful about him, almost as if he radiated heat. And sections of his hair shone violet in the sunlight. Yenni stood straighter.

  “I am Yenni Aja-Nifemi ka Yirba,” she answered. “I’m from the Sha . . . no. Moonrise—”

  She gasped as the man lifted her up like she was a clay doll, buried his warm face against her neck, and sniffed. She was too shocked to stop him. He put her down and stared, like he’d taken a blow to the head and lost his wits. Yenni could only stare back, utterly lost for words.

  “It’s really you,” he murmured at last, and reached for her again.

  Yenni struck out like a hood snake, kicking his arm away.

  “For the blessing of Byen!” he roared. Zui gasped beside her.

  She yanked her spring-spear from the holder on her back, twisting the mechanism to make it extend, and pointed it at him. “Understand that if you touch me again I will run you through.”

  Harth glanced back and forth between the two of them, his mouth agape.

  The dragon cradled his arm to his chest and had the audacity to look at her like she was at fault. “En?”

  “Stay away from me, Dragon.”

  He looked absolutely perplexed. “But . . . you’re my Given!”

  4

  The Island girl—his Given—pointed the sharp tip of her metal spear right at his throat. Weysh blinked at it, bewildered.

  “What does this mean, Given?” she demanded.

  “En? It means we’re bonded through the will of Byen.”

  How could she not know that? He took her in, not only the heady scent of her, but her stance and her attire. White paint made strange marks all over her body, and her shirt was nothing more than a swath of yellow material that wrapped around her middle and looped over each shoulder, leaving her arms bare and showing a tantalizing hint of her midriff. A brown leather skirt hugged her hips. It was far more skin than he was used to seeing a woman show in polite society, not that he was complaining. She didn’t look like any Islander he knew, certainly not like his cousins. Where had she said she was from? Weysh’s eyebrows shot up. Did she say the Moonrise Isles? Well, that would be why she had no concept of Given. In fact, she continued to glare at him in obvious confusion.

  “It means we’ll be married soon,” he clarified.

  Her eyes went wide, then angry. “Lunacy,” she said. “I refuse to wed you, Dragon.”

  “What? You can’t say that.” Weysh turned to Harth. “Can she say that?”

  Harth shrugged. “Apparently so.”

  Weysh turned back to Yenni. “Look, lovely, I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to offend you, but we’re Given—it’s natural that we should be familiar with each other, en?”

  “What do you not understand? Stay away from me!”

  “Oho!” shouted Harth, that ass boil. He was probably enjoying every second of this mess. Weysh tuned him out.

  “Don’t you have a mouth on you,” he said, and then he was distracted by her mouth. A small mouth with full lips he very much wanted to kiss.

  “I am leaving. Follow me and you will regret it.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “All right, lovely. As you say.”

  She jerked her spear away and marched off, her hips swaying hypnotically as she disappeared down the whitestone path, bound for the sharp spires of Lelond Hall.

  “Watcher above, Weysh!” cried Zui, and took off after his Given. Weysh wanted to run after her, too, but it was best to give females space when they got like that. For now he’d make do with the scent of her. It still clung to his nostrils like perfume on his sheets the morning after he’d taken a woman home. He wasn’t even in dragon form and he’d been able to catch her scent from yards away. She smelled like flowers. No, soil! No. Sun? Meat? Grass? Hmm . . . no. She smelled like . . . forever.

  A goofy grin spread across his face. He’d resigned himself to his fate, sure that due to the circumstances of his birth, he was a severed dragon, Givenless. But then here she was, like a summer squall. He wanted to shout it across the square. He’d met his Given!

  Slow clapping brought his mind back from among the clouds.

  “I must say, well done, Weysh.”

  As was often the case with Harth, Weysh couldn’t tell if he was being serious.

  “Erm, thank you?”

  “Yes, that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you incite a woman to murderous rage.”

  “She’ll come around,” Weysh grumped. “She must. Others do, and she’s my Given.”

  Harth opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it, opened it again. “You’re sure?”

  Weysh gave one firm nod of his head. “Absolutely. It’s her scent, Harth. It’s like . . . it’s . . .”

  “Sharp, new, and tantalizing, but with notes of something cozy and very familiar.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it!”

  “Well, then, I suppose congratulations are in order! But it seems like you have a bit of a gap to bridge, en? I will forever treasure the look on your face when she threatened to spear you like a fish.” Harth sputtered and laughed.

  “It’s not funny, Harth!”

  “Well, you deserve it! You should know not to manhandle a woman like that.”

  “She’s not a woman, she’s my Given!”

  Harth shrugged again. “All the more reason to treat her with kindness.”

  Weysh frowned. Had he been unkind? “Listen, if my Given asks me to, I will pluck the scales off my back and give them to her.”

  Harth held up his hands. “Yes, I know—”

  “And my dragonling will have the best father to walk the realm of folk. He will want for nothing.”

  “I understand that, but—”

  “I would never do to her what my sire did to his Given, and to my maman and others. Never!”

  “No one said you would, but—”

  “She’s too sensitive,” Weysh concluded. “Most women are. I just have to show her I’d never hurt her. Once she realizes that, she’ll come running with open arms.”

  “I see. Well, please let me know how that works out for you. In the meantime, what on Byen’s hallowed soil do you plan to do about Carmenna?”

  Weysh’s insides went so instantly frigid it was as if he’d swallowed a bucket of ice shavings. Kindly Watcher, he really was a dung worm—he’d completely forgotten about Carmenna, the woman who right until a few moments before he’d been convinced he would eventually marry.

  Weysh glanced away, fixing his gaze on Prevan’s famous bell tower, with its dozen whirring clock faces, rather than on Harth.

  “Dragons are Given. She understands that.”

  Harth snorted, the sound full of skepticism, and Weysh couldn’t rightly blame him. As an unmated dragon, Weysh had never lacked for female company. There were always women, curious and hopeful, trying to catch his attention. But Carmenna was different. She had meant more to him than a romantic conquest. They hadn’t even slept together, for the blessing of Byen! She was a friend too. He both regretted and dreaded the inevitable pain he would cause her.

  “Look, just leave that up to me. I’ll figure it out,” Weysh told Harth.

  The tower erupted into a tinkling of chimes, signaling the hour.

  “Hells, I’m late,” Harth cursed. He jogged backward, making for the long, low row of lecture halls. “First class of the year is History of Dragon Diplomacy, so I need to make a good impression, en?” Harth was on track to become a diplomat, like his father. “But I’m glad you’ve found your Given, Weysh. I suppose you’ll be heading home to in
form your family?”

  Weysh winced. He had been putting off his next visit home for a while now, but it seemed he could put it off her no longer. His first class wasn’t until later that day. “I suppose I will,” said Weysh.

  “Good luck,” said Harth, seeing the look on Weysh’s face. He turned with a wave and sprinted for the lecture buildings.

  Weysh sighed heavily. Best to get the family visit over with. He reached deep inside himself for that natural trigger, the one that sent magic rushing through his veins. His skin went numb but smells got sharper, sounds louder, colors bolder, and then he was his dragon self, large and powerful. He stretched his wings, feeling pops along the joints like always when he first switched. A few flaps and he was up and flying, off to face his parents.

  Sylvie came barreling out of the main door, holding up her dress as she skipped down the manor steps. She ran up the cobblestones and Weysh changed back in time to grab her in his arms. Laughing, he spun her around and plopped her down, breathing in her scent. Though she was a young woman now, she would always smell like a little sister to him—like cherries and flowers and pastries.

  “Sylvie, my heart. How are you?”

  She hugged him. “Weysh! I missed you.”

  He ran a hand through her hair, a beautiful mass of brown-blond curls like their maman’s, but much shorter than he remembered.

  “When did you do this?”

  “Over a moonturn ago. It’s actually grown out a bit. You’d know if you came by more often.” She pouted at him.

  He planted a kiss on her forehead. “I’m sorry, lovely. It seems all I’m doing today is making women angry.”

  “Just today?”

  He frowned in jest. “Aren’t you funny,” he said as he flicked her forehead in the same place he’d just kissed.

  “Hey!” She rubbed the spot. “What happened now?”

  “The usual, but I have good news as well. Come, let’s find Maman.”

  She was in the sitting room. Weysh smelled the coffee long before he saw the dainty little cup in her hand. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of his mother’s husband, Montpierre—it was so different, so other from his maman’s and Sylvie’s.