“Nothing else I want to do,” she replies, stroking a forefinger along the little dragon’s neck. “Dragons are all I think about.”
I felt the same way as a boy. A place that didn’t have dragons or dragonriders couldn’t interest me. I still feel that way.
“What shall we call them?” I ask, nodding at the hatchlings.
“How do you usually name baby dragons?”
“The first day they emerge from the nesting caves, I ask all the nearby dragonriders for names. Sundra named Omaira. Tish named Lethis. Zabriel named Scourge. That boy has no poetry in his soul,” I mutter. “You’re the only dragonrider around tonight, so what do you suggest?”
“I’m not a dragonrider yet, but I’ll happily offer some names. This one should be called Minta,” Zenevieve says with a smile, caressing the female dragon. Minta is a green plant that grows by rivers and streams and has a peppermint taste. “And this beautiful dragon… He should be called Shar, the Prince of Midnight from the old story. Oh, that’s two names. Can I name two dragons?”
She’s so careful with them that I think I would let Zenevieve name a dozen hatchlings. “Minta and Shar are beautiful. Do you like your names, little ones?”
We play with the hatchlings as the stars come out and the moon rises over the mountains.
Zenevieve is silent for a long time, and then she asks, “Dragonmaster, if someone tried to stop me from being a dragonrider, would you do something about it?”
I look up sharply. “Who is attempting such a thing?”
“Would you, though?”
I don’t like answering questions when I don’t know why I’m being asked them, so I wait in silence.
In the dim light, Zenevieve looks upset. “I thought we came to Lenhale so I could learn to fly and hopefully bond with a dragon, but I found out that Mother doesn’t want that at all. She thinks being a rider is dangerous, and she wants me to marry one of the princes.”
Everyone is suddenly obsessed with coupling up everyone who is unmated. Is there something in the drinking water? Zenevieve isn’t yet fifteen. Mirelle only just turned fourteen. Let the girls find their wings, for heaven’s sake.
I’m opening my mouth to tell Zenevieve to remind her mother that dragonriding is far less dangerous than childbirth, when a woman calls for Zenevieve. The very mother that we’re discussing. Zenevieve jumps to her feet, bids me a swift good night, and runs toward the castle.
Minta scampers after her, but she can’t keep up. Realizing she’s alone in the darkness, the hatchling cries out sadly and then comes rushing back and burrows under my arm. I stroke the little dragon absentmindedly. I can’t save the queen. I can do nothing about the king’s cruelty. But I can get in the way of any plans Zenevieve’s mother has to keep her from the dragons.
The next timeI see Zenevieve, I tell her that she may approach Nilak and greet her whenever she sees my dragon at the edges of the flare. I also offer her additional flying lessons, which she enthusiastically accepts.
Meanwhile, whenever Zenevieve is down at the dragongrounds, I watch the riderless dragons for any sign that one of them might be favoring the girl. It takes me a while tonotice, because Minta still spends most of her time in the nesting caves or the Flame Temple, but the little black and green dragon perks up whenever Zenevieve is near.
One morning when I’m on my way to the dragongrounds, I see Zenevieve enter the Flame Temple. I quickly go to the nesting caves, collect Minta, and carry her to the temple. It takes some effort as Minta is getting heavy, but she’s still young enough that she doesn’t take offence to being carried.
Zenevieve is sitting cross-legged with her eyes closed by the Font of First Flames. I put Minta down just inside the temple.
As soon as the dragon sees the caramel-haired girl, Minta hurries past two dozen people and goes straight to her. I watch from the entrance as Zenevieve opens her eyes, smiles, and allows Minta into her lap. I watch them together for a long time. They’re not just comfortable together, they begin to move unconsciously together. Zenevieve casts her eyes around the cavernous interior of the Flame Temple, and Minta does the same. Minta stretches her wings, and Zenevieve stretches her arms over her head. They even blink at the same time.
When I go back that afternoon and see they haven’t moved, I’m certain. Minta is Zenevieve’s dragon.
I should be patient and allow the two of them to figure things out for themselves, as I know they will, but it will be Zenevieve’s birthday in a few days, and I can’t resist the idea as soon as it occurs to me. First thing on the morning of her birthday, I scoop Minta onto my shoulder and carry her through the city. The dragon chatters and trills as she takes in the sights, her little talons pricking me through my shirt.
When I knock on Alin’s front door, he opens it and looks at me and the dragon in surprise. “This is an unexpected visit.”
“I’ve come to wish Zenevieve a happy birthday.”
“And you’ve brought a hatchling with you. She’ll love that. Zenevieve, you have visitors,” Alin calls into the house.
I follow Alin inside, and a moment later, Zenevieve comes sleepily downstairs, tying loose, wraparound pants at her waist. Her mop of caramel hair is unbraided, and her feet are bare. Warmth spreads through my chest as I realize I’m about to make this girl radiantly happy.
She looks up and meets my eyes, and she smiles. “Good morning, dragonmaster.”
“I have someone here who wants to see you.”
As soon as Minta spies Zenevieve, she leaps down from my shoulder and scampers to the girl.
