“Right.” Shamino flushed and released me for the shells. “I’m happy that you’re staying… especially with the kits here.”
“Oh?” I timed my step with him; the magic took us toward the hall’s end.
“For the next three months, someone needs to be with the kits night and day.”
That surprised me. “The parents don’t care for them?”
“They do… and don’t. Kits are rambunctious little things. They injure easily and sicken quickly. They cram themselves into small places. They don’t sleep through the night. Most of all, they’re exhausting for the parents.” We entered his study and he set the box by the wall. “You’ve seen how older dragons spend the day sunning themselves? We get to be the kits’ playmates.”
That sounded like fun, and I said so.
“It is fun, in an aggravating way,” he said with a laugh. He opened his study’s door and set the box against the wall. “Anyway… I could use you here more often. I’m trying to convince Paige to help out, at least for a while. But I want us with the kits.”
Paige. She’d been sharp and silent the past few meals. She likely burned with curiosity, maybe frustration.
Shamino went to his desk, bare except for a slim notebook. He handed it to me. “I want two people here during the day, one at night. I haven’t asked Sylvia or Byron yet. You can have first pick of times.”
So I can avoid you or work with you as I wish. I opened the book at the ribbon. He’d made a chart of the week. Days had been broken into Spheres, and our names were written during our regular times. Shamino’s name had already been written everywhere.
“You live here,” I said.
“I am the Seneschal. I don’t have a life.”
Because the only woman you like won’t let you court her. I wanted to write my name beside his in every slot; I wanted to never be in the Quarters at the same time as him. Finally I settled for half of each desire.
Shamino glanced over my times. His face didn’t show elation or disappointment. “That much?”
I almost said I didn’t have a life, either. Instead, “Merram canceled my classes.”
“I see. Well, new times start tomorrow.” He snapped the book shut.
Awkward stolen glances from both of us. I wanted to be friends, but I didn’t want him to hope.
Finally, I flourished the broom I’d carried. “I’ll put this back. See you later.”
A step carried me away. My first meeting with Shamino had ended; after a thousand more, maybe we could go back to being just friends.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It turned out I couldn’t mope while dodging lightning.
“Ow!” I cried. Black smoke curled from my sleeve. I rubbed it. “You’re not supposed to hurt me.”
“Why not?” Zoland asked. My dreamy philosopher had changed into a precise weapon. Today he wore tight-fitting clothing, much like the Kyer’s uniform, because—unlike my shirt—the tight fabric gave the opposing mage a narrower target. “The enemy won’t hold back. The enemy wants you dead.”
Zoland had decided that I, as the blue, was to learn everything, even basic healing. Moreover, I was to learn it now. We met in an advanced practice room for a minimum of two Spheres every day. Shelves full of balls, feathers, ropes, buckets, anything we could ever want, ran along one wall. Scorch marks from this lesson covered the floor between us and the bare wall behind Zoland.
There were only two marks on the wall behind me. Zoland didn’t miss as often.
“Moreover, why are you dodging?” Zoland continued. “You need to think like a mage. Failure to use magic will kill you.”
I am sure there are some situations where magic’s not the answer. I gave my shoulder one last rub. “I still feel like it’s too early to be playing with real lightning.”
“Shield,” Zoland said. I’d made the complaint before, and he’d replied I’d been too competent with the easy spells. Thus. Lightning.
I gritted my teeth, formed the spell in my mind, and let go of my Gift. Before me, an invisible shield of air formed. Sweat trickled down my back. I hated air spells, but they were useful. A bright-blue shield of fire drew the enemy’s attention at night. Or day. Fire was visible; air was not.
“Ready,” I gasped.
Zoland moved much like a man throwing a ball, except the ball formed out of nothing and flickered with black lightning. This time I didn’t jerk out of the way. A tendril of lightning broke through my shield anyway, smoking the knee of my breeches.
At least it hadn’t gotten flesh. Unlike four other spots—two because I’d dodged out of habit.
“New strategy,” Zoland said. “Try a different visualization.”
I dropped the air spell with pleasure and thought for a moment. We’d been using hardened air, and Zoland would want another air-based spell. “Wind?”
Zoland created another ball and casually tossed it up a few times as he waited for me to shape a shield. This time, I moved the air in front of me into a swirling disk. Zoland’s graying hair fluttered and he raised an eyebrow. I concentrated harder, found the escaping tendrils of magic… there. The moment I reined it in, Zoland hurled the ball—
“Got it!” I cried as lightning dissipated in a swirl before me. I canceled the spell and checked my stores. Half-empty. We’d been tossing and blocking lightning orbs for a Sphere. A fire spell would have barely taken any of my magic. Or time.
“In two days we’ll try blocking without preparing the shield first.”
I made a mental note to wear tight clothing I never wanted to see again. Zoland went to the shelves and removed a bucket of physical, non-magical balls. I groaned.
“You haven’t been practicing,” Zoland said as he brought the balls to the center of the room.
“We haven’t started yet! You can’t know if—”
“If you had been practicing, you wouldn’t
