“Please,” I growled. My Gift swelled in my chest, but my hands stayed empty. “You did just fine burning down Garth’s hut!”
But mentioning the hut brought up the vision of the man in a pool of blood, blue fire all around.
Don’t die, please don’t die…
I stood. No magic. I’d have to clean the long, exhausting way. I grabbed the mop and scrub-brush.
Mopping took Sphere after Sphere. My classes had been suspended temporarily, and my sore muscles were beginning to toughen up from the work of the past few days. Still. It was a lot of mopping.
I’d finished two-thirds of the cave when Shamino entered with a mop of his own. Dark circles still rimmed his eyes. I held up a hand. “I’m fine doing the rest.”
“I want to,” he said. He dunked his mop in my bucket. “Cleaning isn’t healing. There’s a sense of progress.”
Yuriah must have moved in. That was the dragon who wanted to die. I swallowed my protest. Shamino needed sleep, but I doubted he could.
For a long time, the only sound was our breathing, our footsteps, and the sloshing slide of the mops or scratches of the brushes. Then—
“I received the official report,” Shamino said. “A massive Illusion hid enemy dragons and battle mages. Numbers vary as to how many, but it was a lot. Twenty of our dragons pursued a small force over the Illusion. The thirteen who flew here, those were the ones who lived.”
I stopped mopping. “Seven dragons died there?”
His mop handle bent so much I feared it’d break. “That’s why Jaya flew with her head half-torn off. She flew to save her mage, for there weren’t any uninjured dragons to carry either of them.” His mop dunked into the bucket and water splashed out. “They should have returned to the army, but they were spooked—and dying. What if there was another ambush ready? They decided that coming straight here was safest.”
I leaned on my mop and tried to absorb the news. Seven dragons dead, likely with their mages. Dragons did not die easily, and their corpses never fell kindly from the sky.
I hope they crushed some Carthesian battle mages.
“He is a genius,” I murmured. Shamino frowned; I went back to mopping. “Something I overheard, that Thorkel is a genius. He must have come up with the Illusion.”
“Paige has no idea how they did that, and she’s considered a prodigy.” He stared into the cavern with haunted eyes, as if he still saw that night. “If we could only kill him. Merram thinks the Carthesian Kyer will dissolve with Thorkel’s death, but we rarely see his dragon. Is that really a surprise, though? We’re not even seeing his followers.”
He went back to mopping while I stayed silent, for what could I say? Instead I watched him, his face flushed and his chest heaving. Shamino put too much of his weight on the mop. He carried the dead.
“I don’t mind finishing,” I said softly. “I can eat a late dinner.”
“I’m fine, Dragonling.”
“No, you’re not.” I took a hesitant step toward him. “I understand why you’re pushing yourself so hard, but you need rest.”
He paused and haggard eyes looked at me. “Adara, the work’s not going to vanish.”
“I know, but you’re doing too much. You’re the healer, and the Seneschal, and for the time being, the Dragonmaster—”
“Orrik arrived this morning. He’s taking Merram’s duties for a while.”
“He’s here?” I didn’t know why that surprised me. Merram trusted Orrik, and Shamino very much needed help. “Still. Maybe you can ask for another mage to help at the Quarters? Just for a while?”
He snorted. “Believe me, finding a person is more work than doing everything myself.”
“Sylvia wants to do more—”
“Sylvia is seventy.” He gestured to the wall covered with shelves that held buckets for potions and ointment. “She nearly collapsed the night the wounded arrived. I’m responsible for my dragons and my people.”
“You need to let your people help your dragons,” I argued. “Sylvia’s Gift is replenished. Let her do the magics that drain you so you can focus on healing and running the Quarters.”
Shamino threw his mop to the ground. “If someone’s Gift worked, I wouldn’t have to ask an old woman for help.”
I recoiled as if he’d slapped me. A horrible moment passed, him angry and me stunned. I clutched the mop handle.
He’s right. First One knows, he’s right.
“Adara…”
I turned and willed hot tears to go away.
“That was out of line,” Shamino said quietly. He came up behind me. “Dragonling, I shouldn’t have—here you are concerned about me, and I attack you—”
“It’s the truth.” I shoved the mop across the floor, only vaguely noticing it had gone dry. “I’m useless.”
“You’re not useless.”
I choked back a sob. “When dragons are dying, what can I do? Argue with people and hand you tools.” He tried to speak, so I mopped harder and talked over him. “I can’t bandage. I can’t heat rocks. I can’t sear blood off a rain-forsaken floor. The Quarters need—the Kyer needs—no. You. You need a mage, and I’m… not.”
Tears finally spilled. They splashed on the floor. I mopped them to oblivion.
Shamino came behind me, reached around my body, and pried the handle from my hands. The wood clattered to the floor. His fingers tangled in mine and he drew me close against him. So close. Two people, almost one, alone in dim forever.
“Dragonling, you’re right. There are things you can’t do.” His breath tickled my ear. “But the dragons love you. All of them. Even Maolmuire respects you. They think you’re creative and smart, with the ways you adapt without a Gift. They admire your courage. You tackled Dragon Mage Bree.”
“You know about that?”
“Dragons gossip, just like humans. Anyone who faces a stronger opponent impresses them.” His head rested against mine, and he whispered, “I agree with the gossip. You’re amazing.”
I tilted my head away. Emotions swirled in a whirlpool of shame and pleasure and doubt. The warmth of his arms
