He slid his fingers into the wound and closed his eyes. Jerril the dragon tensed, despite the pain potion he’d drunk.
“You can talk to me, but we must leave Shamino to healing,” I said to the mage. I put down the tray and picked up ointment.
“Can I help?” she asked. “It’s killing me to stand here.”
“You can work Telekinesis?” She answered ‘of course,’ and my gut twisted. I explained how to bandage. I’d watched Byron doing it during my table moments.
“How did so many dragons become injured?” I asked as we worked.
“This is just those who could fly here,” she said. A large bolt of muslin sailed over our heads. She unraveled it, and an end floated toward a gash on the dragon’s front leg. Once it started wrapping, she spoke again. “There was an ambush. One minute we flew over sand. The next, a Flight appeared beneath us with at least two ranks of battle mages.”
“What do you mean, appeared?”
“We think they Illusioned themselves to look like the desert. They certainly didn’t hide under the sand.”
I sucked in a breath and tried to imagine a spell on such a scale. He’s a genius, the elderly woman at the ball had said of Thorkel. A genius at killing.
I should have turned in that note. If Thorkel died, the war would end. The tribes had always fought among themselves, the dragons rogue and distrustful in the desert. They’d return to that without their leader.
Of course, such guilt was also completely ox-brained. A genius would plan for an attack from the directions he had sent. If I had gone to Thorkel with others alongside me…
The endless blood spoke for itself.
Someone brought hot rolls stuffed with meat. My meal, and Shamino’s, had gone cold by the time we finished Jerril’s punctures. We ate together, leaning against the wall, and Shamino stared at the two empty beds as he chewed.
He’s exhausted and he has three dragons left. He hadn’t fully healed the earlier nine, he’d just done enough to keep them alive. The last few wouldn’t require as much Gift, but… The deep bruises under Shamino’s eyes and his ashen sheen scared me.
“Do you have enough?” I asked. He knew what I meant.
“Yes.” He sounded defensive, like when Merram had assigned me to the Quarters.
“Shamino…” I bit my lip. If he miscalculated and burned through his Gift, he’d die. I wasn’t sure that would bother him, if it meant saving a dragon. “I’ll be blunt. Those last three, they may not walk or fly if you keep back some Gift, but they will live. That’s certain. What’s also certain is that dragons will die tomorrow if you’re not here for them. Understood?”
His mouth formed a firm line as he continued looking at the empty beds.
“Besides,” I said as I brushed crumbs off my bloodstained shirt, “if you die, I’ll cry. I hate crying.”
“What?”
I shrugged. “My face gets all blotchy and I look terrible.”
A heartbeat passed, then he chuckled. “Well. Can’t have that.”
“Nope.” I smiled and nodded at the remaining dragons. “Ready?”
His grin vanished and serious Shamino returned. He squeezed my shoulder. “Thank you.”
I nodded, suddenly unable to make any more jokes.
We returned to the dragons. I kept my eye on Shamino through every spell. It took longer for him to heal. His movements grew slow, his breathing labored. I bit my lip so often it became raw.
*We need you to take Shamino to his rooms the moment he finishes.*
Mettalise. How had I forgotten her? Across the room, the silver dragon helped one of the patients roll onto his side.
*We’re too tired to fly him,* Mettalise continued. *I doubt he’ll be able to walk without help.*
At her words, I noticed the exhaustion in my own body. My mind had been drifting, and my limbs were as heavy as sacks of seed. According to the Time Spheres, the Kyer was eating, or had eaten, breakfast. We’d been up all night.
“There,” Shamino muttered as green fire faded. He stood from his crouch at the dragon’s leg and staggered before finding his balance.
I might have been tired, but I wasn’t half-dead. And my Gift—still there, thrumming with energy. I hated it. It couldn’t heal, it couldn’t lift bandages, it lashed out without reason. And the First One mocked me with visions—no, with dreams. Fanciful dreams of having some type of power.
Frustration and anger didn’t help Shamino. I took his elbow. “I’m helping you to bed.”
“I’m fine, just give me a moment.” After several, he walked himself to the Infirmary door. Halfway down the hall he began to list. I gave him my arm, and this time he didn’t protest. We took the stairs, and my back began to strain from the effort of keeping him upright. When we reached the Quarter’s foyer, I stopped us.
“New strategy,” I said. I ducked and put his arm over my shoulder. His sleeveless arm. A little flutter shivered in my stomach. Stop that. It’s a stinky arm covered with dried blood.
“Dragonling, I can—”
“Keep yourself from collapsing until you’re in bed.”
“You can’t carry me to my apartment.”
“If I can wrestle oil drums without Telekinesis, I can carry you to your rooms.” I barely stopped myself from yawning. “Let’s go.”
This time of morning, constant blurs filled the halls. Although the magic worked for us, too, we crept at an agonizing pace. Shamino seemed to grow heavier with each step, and I was grateful he didn’t live far from the Quarters.
“We’re here,” I said. Shamino jolted—he’d been half asleep. He waved his hand in front of the lock once, twice. Finally, it clicked.
“I can go from here,” he mumbled.
Reluctantly, I eased his arm from my neck. He stumbled into the door’s frame and I lunged to catch him. We wobbled together as I felt for the candle and flint just inside the door; Shamino couldn’t even hold the candle steady for me. I pulled the door shut with my foot.
We made our way through his main
