I snapped my mouth shut. I couldn’t tell him that Telekinesis triggered the vision and so I avoided it. For the next half Sphere, Zoland threw wooden balls at me. Hard. And fast, and in rapid succession. I always caught the first one. After that…
“If you don’t practice, I’ll tell the healers to stop giving you free salve for injuries,” Zoland said as we took a break. Two stools sat in the corner. He handed me a glass of water and sat beside me.
I took several swallows, grimacing. Every time I lifted the glass to my mouth, my sleeve brushed my burns and bruises. “I don’t know why Air and Telekinesis are so hard. They’re not Fire’s opposite, like Water.”
“Air and Telekinesis are both subtle. Hidden. You excel at spells that are out in the open.”
He had a point. The spells I could do, the ones I enjoyed anyway, let the enemy know he was about to die.
Zoland tapped the bucket of balls with a foot. “The more you know, the better equipped you are, and the better prepared you are to face your enemy. Did you finish the book on rare Talents?”
“I did.” I’d read the section on dragon healing more than once. I’d learned that although most magic didn’t follow bloodlines, dragon healing tended to appear only in the very highborn. It was certainly what had disinherited Shamino. Dukes and marquises wanted their heirs at court.
Dukes and marquises would notice with whom their sons—disinherited or no—fell in love.
Zoland didn’t pick up on my melancholy but kept talking about the book. “It’s doubtful you’ll ever meet a Jeweltongue or a Necromancer, but knowledge is power.”
“That’s what Thorkel would say,” I whispered.
Zoland drew back and almost fell off his stool. “I believe you’re right. Well. Madness and brilliance walk a fine line. Speaking of Thorkel…”
My grip tightened on my empty glass.
“I want to talk to you about your future.”
My breath caught in my throat. No. It can’t be. Zoland, a spy? I’d learned Zoland’s dragon had died trying to capture Thorkel all those years ago. He couldn’t possibly ally with his dragon’s murderer, could he? And yet, the notes I’d received, they’d always stressed my future and my Gift. Thorkel craved power; Zoland studied all the time, the perfect man for researching new spells—
“I know you work at the Quarters, but have you considered other avenues?”
“No…”
“You should,” Zoland said, either not noticing my discomfort or ignoring it. “You’re young, and very behind in your education, but in terms of raw power you’re unmatched. In a short time you’ve advanced beyond expectations. You’re hardworking, creative, breathtaking.”
It was like hearing a letter from Thorkel spoken aloud.
“Please, Adara, the moment you bond, I beg you join the Dragonmaster. He needs you on the front.”
I breathed out a half laugh.
“I’m serious. I’m even offering to go with you, to continue your training.”
I sobered. Zoland, leave his research? That was quite an offer. “Thank you. I’m honored, I just—” I tried to gather my thoughts. I’d never thought past bonding. “Not long ago, I was nobody. Now… everyone seems to want me.”
“Desirability: The curse of those who live with determination.” Zoland picked up the bucket. One more round.
I put my glass in a bin. My entire body ached. Worse, I’d been lucky this session—no vision yet—and I dreaded tempting the First One with another chance for torment.
Zoland had only thrown one ball when the door burst open. A green-banded messenger from the Quarters ran in, breathing hard.
“Adara?” He put his hands on his knees as he panted. “Wanted immediately.”
The wooden ball I’d been holding aloft clattered to the stone floor. “The kits?”
The boy shrugged, gulping air.
“Wounded?”
“Don’t think so. He’s right angry, though.”
I ran out of the room. By the time I arrived at the Quarters, I’d imagined endless scenarios where an irate Shamino hadn’t had time to tell the messenger what he needed me for. I skidded to a stop at his study, yanked the Summoning Globe from its hook and—
Banging came from behind the closed door. I re-hooked the globe and burst in. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I took a step back as Shamino turned to face me. His jaw was clenched so hard that it looked as if it were chiseled from rock. He glared, but his eyes were focused in the distance. He didn’t really see me.
“Shamino?” I tried again, cautious this time. “Is it the kits, is—”
Eyes found me, and some of the anger faded. “Dragonling? But I just sent—First One, what happened to you?”
I followed his gaze to the scorch marks all over my body. I’d feel my injuries as soon as my anxiety went away. “Lightning. Shamino, I ran all the way here. What’s so urgent that—”
I caught sight of the room. Shamino’s pristine desk had exploded with paper. Drawers hung open. Books were scattered on the floor and they listed in the shelves.
Shamino pointed to a pile of dark green ash. “That.”
The ash worried me even more than the room. Shamino had used his Gift?
“I’ve been summoned to Dragonsridge. My father is dying.”
Of everything I had imagined, that hadn’t entered my mind. Relief began to seep into my bones, except it felt wrong to be relieved at death, and Shamino still radiated fury, so I sort of muddled out, “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be.” Shamino slammed a drawer shut. “He only wants to humiliate me. I can’t believe I’m—I swore I’d never see him again.”
I wanted to slide my arms around him, calm him into being my Shamino—Not my. “Death changes things.”
He grunted.
“What happened between you? Maybe he regrets…”
Shamino gave me a look. “Father never regrets.”
I bit my lip.
He quickly moved piles of paper from the chairs so we could sit. “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help, and I’m—I’m being him. Basically, my Gift took its time manifesting, and when it did, it was for dragons. You know that part. What you don’t know is Father wanted me to stay, marry a girl who had loved my dead brother, and
