I fumbled with the lid. Because sheep-brained is a peasant curse.
Shamino mistook the reason for my clumsiness. He reached for the latch. “Sorry. I forgot about your hand.”
The lid sprang open to reveal dark lumps shaped into flowers. The most intoxicating smell wafted from the tin, making my stomach rumble.
I had no clue what they were.
“Thank you,” I said. A noble would know, so I dared not ask.
“Mother always said chocolate could heal any wound. Let me see your hand.”
I hesitated, but he insisted, so I slid my chair closer. He scooted forward at the same time. Our knees touched, and when he didn’t jerk away, my face heated. He didn’t see, for he was—First One, my hand was in his, and he was ever so gently removing my bandage.
Breathe, Adara, breathe. Don’t go and ruin our peace.
Shamino shook his head at the wound. “Spines? From his back? I’ll put salve on it, but you need to see the healers. Spines tear the flesh and the wounds don’t heal well on their own. Ask for Kira. She’s good.”
He let go. Just as I began to relax—and plan a non-obvious way to stop touching his knees with mine—he opened a jar from the sack and dipped his fingers inside.
“I can do that,” I squeaked.
“After seeing how badly you tied that bandage? Give me your hand.”
With a butterfly-light touch, Shamino applied the salve. Tears welled in my eyes. Never, ever, had Lily shown me such focused care when she’d tended my childhood cuts and scrapes.
“There.” He expertly knotted a new bandage.
“Thank you.” I pulled my hand from his and shifted my legs. The room cooled off immediately. “So, um, Maolmuire’s the worst?”
“Dragon? By far.” Shamino leaned back on the sofa, making it look comfortable if not for the way it creaked. “I don’t expect Maol to ever bond. Which is unfortunate, since it means I’m stuck with him. Oiling isn’t that bad, by the way. Normal dragons like to help.”
Talking about oiling made my sore muscles spring to life, especially my ass on the wooden chair. That would be an awkward moment at the healers.
I must have winced again. Shamino winced in sympathy. “You’re sore? I really am a—First One, can I say I’m sorry again?”
I smiled. “Maybe half a dozen more times.”
“Then let me say I’m also sorry about your mother.”
The blood drained from my face. I’d forgotten. I’d told him the truth in my anger. “You thirsty? I can get some water—”
Shamino grabbed my good hand as I sprang to my feet. “Adara, you don’t have to be ashamed of being adopted.”
What?
“I know purists stress the bloodlines,” Shamino continued, his fingers tightening on mine, “but doesn’t it matter more that someone cares for you? Everyone knows how Threepines loves children. It makes sense they’d take you in.”
I sank back onto my chair. Adopted made a good backup story. Throat thick, I answered with the image of Garth in my mind. “They… were very good to me.”
Shamino still held my hand. “I lost my mother, too. The Sickness.”
How many times was this boy going to surprise me? “Only peasants died in the Sickness.”
He gave me a grim smile. “Mother was a bit fond of her people. She felt it her duty to serve them as they served us. When the Sickness came, she went to personally hand out food and medicine. The illness struck her so violently, the healers couldn’t help her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. The loss in his eyes told me he’d been close to his mother. “Are you adopted, too?”
“No. Father is, unfortunately, very much alive.” He dropped my hand and stood. “It’s late. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
An alarming thought occurred to me. “You won’t tell? About my… parents.”
Shamino softly squeezed my upper arm. “We all have secrets. I’ll not tell a soul.”
My arm tingled as his fingers slipped away, and my stomach clenched. This wasn’t the accidental brushing of a knee, or the necessary touch when bandaging.
Lily and Garth stopped touching me long ago. Tressa’s touched me, but it’s so casual, and she touches everyone.
I swallowed. “Thank you.”
He gave me that kind smile again as I bid him goodbye and shut the door. I pressed my forehead against the wood and took a slow, even breath.
Forget Thorkel. The fact that I’d even considered it filled me with shame. For centuries, Carthesian tribes had slaughtered each other and raided our villages, and now they attacked in full. How could I have thought that all the death didn’t matter? Merely because someone promised to tell me some vague truth?
Because someone had known Krysta…
Who had died in a hut as two strangers promised to watch over her daughter.
I wedged my chair under my front door’s handle before I started snuffing the candles. No more visitors for me. No more doubts. I’d make my Gift work; I’d bond with a dragon. Shamino approved of me, and that certainly was rare. If I didn’t mess anything up, I could belong at the Kyer.
Yet, in the morning, the box stayed inside my boot.
Chapter Eleven
I can’t believe I agreed to go, I said over and over to myself as I dressed for Tressa’s party a few days later. This won’t be a bunch of trainees at mealtime. These people matter. Tressa has a specific reason for every person she invited.
Of all the people to pity, why had Tressa pitied me?
I prayed my clothes were right; they’d cost enough. The dark-blue vest fit snug at the waist and flared ever so slightly to mid-thigh. The hems each had a strip of yellow. Underneath, my cream shirt and breeches continued with accents of yellow. The girl who fretted in the mirror… so not me.
I misremembered one waypoint in Mountain One before I found the room Tressa had reserved. She flung open the door with a gasp of delight.
“You came!” she exclaimed. “I was beginning to think the Dragonmaster had whisked you off to war. The Queen’s Diamonds—look at that.” Tressa
