“Interesting,” Jerroth said as he kept pace with me. “I thought Carielle of Threepines went visiting her cousin because of a fight with her mother.”
Buckets of pigshit. I’d been wrong about him. He played the Game better than Tressa. “You know how it can be. The more you love someone, the more you irritate them. Excuse me, but I do have a lot to do this afternoon.”
“Forgive me.” He gave me a bow; I gave him a tight smile. He walked down the hall and I went the opposite direction.
Pigshitting weasel snouts, he’s going to tell Tressa and—what? I didn’t know what Dragonsridge would do if Tressa exposed me, but none of my imaginings were pleasant. Force me to leave the Kyer, certain. Sanctions on Merram and Orrik, likely. Sterilize me so I wouldn’t pass on my tainted blood? Kill me? Maybe not that extreme, but what kind of life could I have, exposed, accepted by neither nobles nor peasants?
I prayed Mother’s letters gave some hint as to my father’s identity—proof that anyone could see. I prayed for a Gift. If I were to ever confront Merram, I needed to be at the Kyer during his next return.
The afternoon crept along. I completed each task, agitated as a chicken, my mind on the letters and occasionally on Jerroth. Finally, my stomach rumbled. Dinner. Or rather, the end of the torturous afternoon.
I stopped by Shamino’s study on my way out. He kept a list of tasks posted by the door. To my surprise, Shamino sat behind his desk, scowling at some papers.
“Orrik left already?” I asked with surprise as I began to cross off what I’d finished.
His pen clacked on the desk. “I saw you walking with Jerroth earlier.”
I paused mid-cross and glanced over my shoulder. Shamino scowled in full force. “Jerroth came to meet the dragons. He’s asking the Dragonmaster to bond early.”
“I didn’t see him talking to dragons. I saw him walking with you. And he should have come to me for permission from the start. I’m the Seneschal, you know, the person who approves bonding?”
Clearly, Shamino was in one of his moods. Some woman must have been pestering him. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d approve. Next time, I’ll send visitors to you.” I lifted the pen and paused. “He didn’t use the Summoning Globe.”
“No, he didn’t.” A paper fluttered to the floor. “As long as you’re here, I expect you to work. Not entertain guests.”
“Entertain?” I repeated. I let the pen swing on its tether as I spun. “I wasn’t entertaining; I was being polite. And I said it wouldn’t happen again, so stop attacking me.”
“Attacking? I’m not—” He sprang from his desk, lunged across the room, and flicked the door shut. In a low voice, he added, “I’m just saying that personal matters need to be conducted outside the Quarters.”
“Personal matters.” Sometimes Shamino had rocks for brains.
“He shouldn’t be flirting with you,” Shamino burst as he stepped closer.
I stood my ground and glared. “I. Wasn’t. Flirting.”
“He was carrying things for you.”
“You ox-brain, have you ever met Jerroth? He could teach the king manners. Besides, he—”
“Is handsome, titled, and—I know what you’re trying to do, Dragonling.” At my stunned silence, Shamino seemed to swell and rushed on. “The Dragonmaster denied my request. You’ll be forced to leave, and—what I’m trying to say—there’s other… options. So don’t decide anything in a rush.”
I gaped. Shamino—he thought I—if I married Jerroth, I could return to the Kyer and live as a spouse. I’d be a First-One-blessed countess. Except—
“I don’t love Jerroth,” I blurted. Shamino made a quick nod of agreement. The ox-brain honestly thought I’d court Jerroth for gain. “I would never. How dare you think I’d flirt to get—Fine, if you’re as bright as the sun, do you know what Jerroth did?”
Shamino turned red. The dolt probably thought Jerroth had kissed me or something.
“He convinced Yuriah to avenge her mage by dying a useful death in battle. That’s what he was doing. Not flirting.”
Shamino stepped backward. I would have laughed had I not been so offended.
“So you owe him a letter of gratitude.” I spun to cross out my last task. The nib broke, but I left the pen dangling on its string; it’d annoy Shamino until he replaced it.
“I’ll… do that.”
“You should write me a letter while you’re at it. ‘Entertaining guests.’” I thrust a finger at him. “Which one of us has a line of strumpets interrupting our work?”
Shamino flushed. “I don’t want—”
“Maybe I didn’t want to be bothered, either, but I couldn’t dismiss Tressa’s beau when he had good reason to stay.”
Shamino jerked. “He’s courting Tressa?”
“Yes! Tressa captivated him the moment she saw him. You’re even more oblivious than me!”
“So… he’s not courting you.”
I poked him in the chest. “You. Are. An ox-brain. I’m going to dinner.”
I squeezed past him, bumping his shoulder. Hard. I made sure to slam the door behind me.
Courting Jerroth. Of all the idiotic ideas—
Though it wasn’t. Shamino didn’t know of my fated spinsterhood.
And that only made me angrier. I jogged to the dining hall in order to burn off my agitation, picked up some stuffed rolls, and headed to my rooms.
It was time to be with my mother. Ten years was too long.
Chapter Twenty-One
By candlelight, lying on the moss-green quilt I finally considered mine, I read the letters. Once. Twice. Over and over, I read them and remembered.
I can hear her laugh, her sadness, everything. I had never known that Mother had hated Stoneyfield—no. Not Stoneyfield. Where had we lived before? The Lady who owned the small town had taxed everyone beyond reason, even during the Sickness. Over half the residents had died by the time Mother packed our belongings. We walked for days, sometimes on roads, sometimes over fields, and Mother had started to cough… She’d collapsed in front of Lily and Garth’s hut. That day I remembered clearly. They had taken her in—an ill stranger with
