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Heath?

The voice, ringing in Heath’s own thoughts, reminded him that his connection to Reka was still open.

What do you wish to speak to me about?

The disastrous events of the ceremony rushed back, and Heath hesitated. He did want to speak with Reka, but he also wanted to know who the power-wielder was. While he vacillated, the silver-haired man turned, giving a barely-perceptible flick of his head. His two companions followed him swiftly, and the three were soon lost in the crowd.

“Rekavidur,” Heath said grimly, closing his eyes so as to better lean into his other sight. “What did you do?”

You will need to be more specific, Reka said calmly.

“Why did you tell the other dragons about my cousins meeting in secret?” Heath said impatiently. “Now they’re offended, and I’m going to be in all kinds of trouble!”

“Heath? Who are you talking to?” Percival’s bemused voice was right in Heath’s ear, and Heath jumped, his eyes flying open. “I guess you did report us after all, huh?”

But Percival didn’t sound annoyed. On the contrary, he looked nothing short of gleeful.

“I didn’t report anything,” said Heath irritably. “Reka did that, and I’m not thanking him for it.”

“Well I am,” grinned Percival. “It’s nice to know your pet dragon is good for something.”

A gravelly growl in Heath’s mind made him realize that Reka was still listening. Heath winced. He knew how the dragon would feel about being called Heath’s pet.

Your brother is becoming bothersome, Reka said, his growl still audible through their connection. I think I ought to begin keeping an eye on him as well as you. I will need to hone my craft. I am not invested in him at present.

Heath barely held in a groan. Nothing good could come from Reka following Percival’s actions from afar. They already had enough offended dragons on their hands.

“We can talk later,” Heath muttered, the words directed at Reka.

“Uh, all right,” said Percival. He had clearly assumed Heath was speaking to him, and he sounded bemused.

“I’m afraid you will have to talk later,” interjected a crisp voice.

Heath turned, wincing once again at the sight of the crown prince.

“Because right now,” Prince Lachlan continued coldly, “you and I need to talk, My Lord.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“So, how does it feel to be a fourth year?”

Sage tried to roll her eyes at Merletta’s question, but she didn’t quite manage to hide her grin. “Much the same as being a third year.”

“I don’t believe you,” said Merletta flatly, and Sage grinned again.

“All right, it’s pretty great. Even if I fail next year, I can still be an educator.” She shot Andre a look. “No offense, but I didn’t really want to become a guard.”

Andre chuckled as he scooped cod into his mouth. “No offense taken. You lack the killer instinct for a guard, anyway.”

Merletta and Sage exchanged amused looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong, of course. But it was entertaining to hear Andre, whose heart was as soft as a sea sponge, talking about “killer instinct”.

“Morning.”

At the familiar voice, Merletta shifted along, making room for Emil. He sank into a seat between her and Sage, helping himself to some of the food laid out for the trainees. He nodded to each of them, but made no comment on Sage’s return for her first day of fourth year classes. It wasn’t like him to forget, so Merletta could only assume he’d already spoken to her, sometime between Sage’s arrival the afternoon before, and when Merletta and Sage went to bed.

Interesting. Sage hadn’t mentioned speaking with him yesterday.

Merletta’s eyes rested thoughtfully on Emil’s profile. She remembered telling him frankly that she wasn’t sure she could trust him, when she’d woken in the infirmary after her hallucinations. That felt like a lifetime ago. She tried to recall when he’d started sitting at the trainees’ table to eat, instead of with the other record holders. It was difficult to pinpoint, because the change had been gradual. The process had begun after their visit to August’s wife during the Founders’ Day celebrations. But back then, he used to just drift over to say hello after he’d eaten, hovering behind their seats while he chatted with them. Occasionally he’d join for another squid tentacle or two.


Tags: Deborah Grace White The Vazula Chronicles Fantasy