His words filled me with tingly warmth. I cycled through the dragons living in the Quarters. Maolmuire hands-down was the most aggressive. He respected me now, sort of, but I didn’t want to rely on him as I confronted hysterical mages. There was, however, one dragon in the Quarters who never let Maolmuire bully her.
“Mettalise,” I said.
“I’ll call her.” Shamino unfocused his eyes for a brief moment. Then he and his book left to ask a mage to adjust some Lights.
Barely a minute passed before Mettalise lighted on a platform. Her iridescent scales shone blue, green, and even pink. Midnight-blue eyes flecked with silver surveyed the room. She broke into a toothy smile when she spotted me and walked over with a draconian swagger.
I relaxed instantly. Only a fool—or Maolmuire—would mess with Mettalise.
Shamino hurried to us. “They’re here. First thing, I’ll sort the dragons by severity. That’s when we had trouble last time. Get ready.”
The wounded appeared out of the darkness. Half of the dragons were carried, and as they were lowered onto the platform, I noticed that the flying dragons bore injuries, too. A few of the wounded flew themselves. A creamy dragon crashed into the landing area, her throat covered with bloody bubbles. Raul helped her inside. A smear of blood trailed behind them.
“Shredded wings, here!” Shamino shouted over the groans and chaos. He waved the carriers of a green dragon to one end of the room, paused. Something horrible flooded his face. He changed his wave. The green dragon with shredded wings went to the middle of the room, though I didn’t know how he’d survive long enough for Shamino to tend to him. Shamino waved a second dragon with the same injury to the front of the line.
Then Shamino caught sight of the bloody-throated dragon. He muttered a curse before putting her second in line.
The green one with shredded wings gave an anguished cry. My skin crawled. It sounded worse than a cry of pain, but then I’d never heard a dragon scream before. I wrung my hands as he did it again.
*His mage is dead.*
I jumped. That voice, it came from—
*I’m using telepathy.*
Mettalise’s midnight eye stared straight at me.
*Please don’t scream or make a scene. Not that anyone would hear you over Therrin’s dirge, poor thing. We’ll have a fight when Shamino tries to heal him.*
“You’re—” I looked around. All humans busied themselves with dragons. Still, I whispered and hoped she could hear me above the noise. “You’re talking to me?”
*Yes, and breaking all sorts of rules, so please don’t tell. I feel the advantage of speaking during triage is worth the headache I’ll have later.*
“We’re bonded?”
*Quieter! No, and sadly we don’t have time to teach you telepathy. Other questions, quick.*
“Why is Therrin in the middle?”
Mettalise bowed her head. *When a bond breaks, it’s like losing half of ourselves. Humans recover. We don’t. A healed Therrin wouldn’t live the week.*
The dragon moaned once more and, now that I knew why, the sound wrenched my heart. Shreds of membrane pooled on the floor around him, floating on blood and tears.
*Mourn later. We have work to do.*
I pulled my attention away from the dying Therrin. A woman with a blood-soaked uniform screeched at Shamino.
“You idiot! Did you even look at Grantham? Ramiel should have never given his position to a boy—”
“And while you argue, all the dragons are bleeding,” Shamino snapped. He held the shredded membranes of the yellow dragon’s wings together with his hands, but he couldn’t work his Gift with her yelling.
I took a deep breath, told myself to act and not to think, and stepped between the woman and Shamino. “Excuse me, but you need to let the Seneschal heal.”
“You’re even younger than him!” the woman exclaimed. “This is insupportable. If the Dragonmaster—”
“How can I help you?” I asked, hoping to talk her out of her anger. I took a small step closer; she unconsciously took a step backward. ‘Herding’ was a trick Garth had often used to prevent a brawl.
“Grantham’s over there.” The mage pointed to a dragon four beds down. Three spears protruded from his belly. “Jaya flew here. She’s fine, but Grantham had to be carried and—”
I let her rattle on as I continued to herd. Jaya, the creamy dragon with the throat wound, lay still with glassy eyes. Blood already soaked the bandage Byron had wrestled around her neck. Between her and Grantham moaned a dragon with a spear in his belly and one in his chest. Grantham’s three spears clustered in his stomach, far from the vital fire chamber and heart.
Shamino didn’t need me to pass my anatomy quiz. “Mage—what’s your name?”
“Bree. Dragon Mage Bree, Flight 2, Wingtip. I’ve flown—”
“Dragon Mage Bree,” I cut in, trying to keep my voice soothing. A small step. “You’re upset, for good reason. Grantham is badly wounded. But what will help him the most is if you stay calm at his side. Perhaps you could—”
“Why am I even talking to you? Shamino—how did I get over here?”
I blocked her as she tried to get past me. “If you won’t stay calm, you need to leave.”
She shoved me. I regained my balance and locked my hands on her arm. “Come with me.”
“Let go, trainee.” A wave of something hit me, something invisible, and I found myself sprawled on the floor. Bree blinked. “You didn’t shield.”
Another invisible shove. I slid another foot. My Gift surged, but nothing happened. I tried to grasp it, tried to fling it at her, but instead of a spell—any spell—I sat there.
“Fight back, damn you!” Tears slicked Bree’s cheeks. She raised her hands, and black fire glittered.
Chapter Seventeen
I pushed away my fear of the black fire dancing over Bree’s hands. She didn’t want to hurt me; it was desperation clouding her judgment. I needed to stay calm as the fire began to form a spherical shape. I needed a way to block. Where was the rain-forsaken dragon that was supposed to be protecting me?
Fine. If Bree
