“I see there is something concerning you,” he said. “Has Carthesia already contacted you?”
“No! No, it hasn’t, I just—” I shut my mouth before I began babbling. The babble broke out anyway. “Orrik found me so quickly, you know, so I thought maybe you—it’s wishful thinking, it does me no good to know—but maybe you…”
On the desk, Merram’s fingers tightened ever so slightly. In my overexcited state, that was all I needed.
“Do-you-know-my-father?”
Tension released, and Merram unclasped his hands. “It is understandable that you wish—”
A knock interrupted him. Merram muttered, he’s early, and called for the visitor to enter.
Orrik stepped halfway inside. “Merram, I’m sorry to—Adara! How nice to see you. Merram, a moment?” He tilted his head to the waiting room and Merram excused himself.
All my anxiety melted into a pool of embarrassment. I never should have asked. My own mother had never breathed my father’s name. It was better, safer, not to know. I should be grateful for my false title of Threepines and focus not on the past but on my Gift. On my future.
As I stared blindly at some tapestry of dragons behind Merram’s desk, I realized I could hear Merram’s and Orrik’s voices. The door hadn’t properly closed.
They’re keeping something from you, the insane part of my heart whispered. I told it to be quiet, but it just repeated itself. Full of guilt, I slid out of the chair and went to the cracked door.
“… near the northern border,” came Orrik’s voice, “in the mountains, but there are countless places he could hide.”
“Damn,” Merram said. “That’s too close. You are sure? The main force—”
“I am sure. He must be flying high, during cloudy nights.”
They had to be discussing the war. Did they talk of Thorkel himself? Both had made it seem that, without Thorkel, Carthesia would return to bickering tribes.
“… her the truth?” came Orrik.
I snapped back to attention. Her. Her, me? I held my breath.
Orrik again. “It is best she hear it from you, rather than through… other avenues.”
A chuckle laced with bitterness. “What avenues? It’s too risky, she’s too much of…” I cursed as a glass clunked against a table and water rushed. “… lose interest in her, let the poor child be.”
“When has Thorkel given up on anything? Merram, you must—”
“I told you, no. Promise me your silence and trust me on this.”
A long pause. My own thoughts raced. Thorkel… and me. This is more than my being a blue mage.
Finally, Orrik sighed. “Very well. I swear. But you are wrong in this.”
Another pour of water, a clink of glasses. Then they were talking of dragon patrols, and I turned away.
I found myself staring at a tapestry again, but this time I saw the picture. A dragon flew in the air, the shade of a sapphire, the same color as my eyes—as Krysta’s eyes. It soared over fields of golden wheat. Not mountains, not Dragonsridge. Fields. The tapestry hung directly in front of Merram’s desk. During peacetime, he’d see it every day.
Mother had loved dragons. She told me all the stories of Father and Mother Dragon, stories never mentioned by the Speakers who visited to preach the First One. The dragon constellations were the only ones I could find in the night sky.
The Dragonmaster could not father a halfblood and be so foolish as to keep her alive—unless he hid her. Now I had the Gift. I could blend in his world, living the life he never could give me. He may have been waiting this entire time with a false identity at the ready for my manifestation.
Merram himself could be my father.
But how does Thorkel fit in? Does he know? Does it matter? Yes, it mattered, if Thorkel had proof. I could ask Merram endless times if he was my father, and he could deny me endless times. But with an object, or a witness…
You could do what, sheep-brain?
Voices grew louder in the other room. Another person had joined, and Orrik was saying goodbye. I dove for my chair and tried to look as if I’d been there all along.
“Forgive the interruption,” Merram said as he opened the door.
Brown hair, like mine, but Mother’s was brown, too. It’s too short to tell if it curls. Surely there’s something of me in him?
“May I introduce our Seneschal?” Merram continued as he moved to the side.
All my suspicions—all coherent thinking, in fact—ceased as Shamino stepped into Merram’s study.
Chapter Eight
First One, he’s more handsome than I remembered. A dark green shirt brought out Shamino’s eyes, and the shirt and breeches were tight enough to show his muscles—I pictured the Kyer’s lake, calm and serene.
“Adara!” Shamino said with a smile.
My mental lake began to steam.
“You’ve already met?” Merram asked. He sounded pleased.
Shamino slid into the chair beside me. “Adara delivered a message to me. She met Raul, too. Handled it well.”
I wanted to die at the memory. “I almost fainted.”
“We discussed this.” Shamino gave me a level stare. “You. Did. Well. Last time Raul met someone, the man knocked himself unconscious when he ran into the wall.”
“You’re making that up.”
“I hate lies,” Shamino said.
I almost smiled, but the severity of his expression told me he meant it. Shamino hated lies; a man had run into a wall. Which also meant Shamino genuinely believed I’d done well with Raul.
Shamino caught sight of Merram. “You look amused. An amused Dragonmaster worries me.”
Merram’s eyes did twinkle. He folded his hands and rested them on a pile of paper. “Maybe I’m pleased to see that you two get along so well.”
“Merram, you’re not.” All of Shamino’s humor vanished. “We’ve talked about this.”
Merram kept his smile fixed on Shamino as he spoke. “Adara, although many Dragon Mages spend their days honing their combat skills, others serve the Kyer in different ways. Since close proximity with Giftless humans physically discomforts the dragons, the Dragon Quarters is entirely staffed by mages.”
Shamino leaned forward. “I said no.”
I recoiled into my chair at the vehemence in his
