Ah. If he distinguishes himself at war, it might earn him a higher title and a mansion within Dragonsridge.
“Shamino doesn’t…” I trailed off. Shamino hated women wandering around, but they were always trying to flirt with him. “Shamino doesn’t often approve of visitors, but I doubt your request would upset him.”
“Thank you,” he said with a nod of his head. He turned to Yuriah. “May I introduce…”
His words died. Yuriah had finally moved. She stared at Jerroth, her black socket giving her a hostile appearance. Everyone would recognize her. She’d lit her mage’s funeral pyre.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Jerroth said, giving the dragon a deep bow. She didn’t react. His gaze flitted from the pool of sunshine on the floor to her dark corner. “Might I suggest a different course?”
She curled her lip and faced the wall. I motioned for Jerroth to leave her be, but he shook his head.
“Instead of dying here, useless, avenge your mage. Kill as many enemies as possible in battle.”
Yuriah jerked. Life blazed in her single eye; a terrible fury mixed with determination. With slow movements, she dragged herself not just to the sunlight but to the platform. Her wings creaked as she opened them.
“I can’t believe… That was brilliant,” I murmured. Yuriah would still die, but it had to be a better death. She might even survive long enough to overcome her depression.
“Dragons make people their purpose,” Jerroth said. “Men without purpose die as well, though they hide their deaths behind hollow lives.”
Do I have a purpose? Aside from surviving? The visions came to mind and I grimaced. Forget purpose—I had enough to do now. I turned once more to the cleaning supplies and the sack of dragon dung—the Kyer’s farmers liked us to send the dung their way—but Jerroth held up a hand.
“Allow me,” he said. The bucket, broom, mop, and dung rose into the air.
All of them. At the same time.
I’d heard that Jerroth’s Talent was Telekinesis, but I’d never seen anyone handle so many objects so effortlessly. Not even Orrik had juggled so many during his battle against the Carthesian.
I led Jerroth into the hallway and tried to keep from marveling as the objects kept pace with us. Jerroth’s brow was creased with concentration, but he didn’t sweat or breathe heavily. As I watched, the objects blurred—
Dark chairs float into the air, one and then many, and as they speed toward me a curtain of blue fire shimmers...
“Are you feeling well?” Jerroth asked.
I’d stopped walking. I murmured an apology and we continued to the supply room. At my direction, every object floated to its place on a shelf or in a corner.
“Thank you,” I said. I hesitated. “Especially since Tressa…”
“I told you to apologize immediately.” Ice-blue eyes studied me, and he shook his head. “I don’t understand you, Threepines. You don’t make any sense.”
I noticed he didn’t call me Adara anymore. “Is there any way for Tressa to forgive me?”
He ran his fingers along a shelf, thinking. “Tressa’s history is such that she does not forgive easily.”
And do you forgive me? For upsetting her? I wondered, not for the first time, why they stayed together. Tressa breathed the Game. Jerroth was Jerroth. He said what he believed, not what others wanted to hear. He thought about others, not to gain advantage but because he was truly a considerate person. He served the Kyer with loyalty, even before bonding.
“Why are you with her?” I cringed the moment the question escaped. “I’m sorry, that was rude, I just—half of the Kyer admires you and, well…”
“Tressa’s beautiful, but she has flaws?” he asked. He smiled and shook his head again. “All women have flaws. Tressa is a fantastic match: ancient Blackveil paired with Katier’s money, intricately connected to court, unlikely to become a Dragon Mage. A wife overseeing the estate is always preferable to a steward, you know.”
My admiration of him went down a notch. I lifted the bag of dragon dung to hide my displeasure. I needed to take it to a platform to be flown away.
“But it’s more than that,” Jerroth said. His voice took on a sense of wonder. “The way she laughs, her wit. Tressa’s… dazzling. With the merest touch of her hand, I feel like I could do anything.”
The rapture on his face sent prickles down my back. I wanted to be worshiped—every girl did—but I also wanted a comfortable friendship. Like the one I had with—
“Excuse me,” I said, interrupting both his trance and my own thoughts. I took a step with the dung in my arms.
“I—I’m sorry.” Jerroth turned bright red. “Here, allow me to—”
“I have this one.” To my surprise, he followed me down the hallway again. A suspicion formed. Can he be spying for Tressa?
“Anyway, Mother approves of the match,” Jerroth continued, returning to his practical self. “That’s the most important thing, isn’t it? That the women get along.”
“Your father likes her?” I asked.
“He would, I’m sure. He passed away when I was thirteen. Carriage accident.”
“Oh! I’m sorry. I had forgotten…” I blushed, because it was something I had memorized after I’d met him: Jerroth, Count of Katier. A real noble would never forget that she knew someone titled. A lord at sixteen years of age—that was rare.
“Father was a good man. With the First One’s favor, I’ll honor the kingdom as he did.”
We stepped outside, the sunshine blinding, warm, and welcoming. Below us, the lake glittered as if covered with diamonds. A small smile entered my heart. I’d finally adjusted to the Kyer’s gray stone, but I still cherished the moments outside.
“What about you?” Jerroth said. “Do you get along with your parents?”
Pigshit. That was the problem with talking. I set the bag on a pile of others for the dragons to take to the small strip of farmland below. “Well, they’re… We’re not that close.” Think, think, think. “Not like Mother and Cari.”
“Cari?”
“Carielle. Cari’s my nickname for her.” My fortunate, predetermined nickname. I decided
