I blink, surprised that he knows my name. “I am. Who are you?”
“Dragonmaster Stesha.”
Stesha? But I remember Stesha. He was a boy. Grandfather’s long-faced, skinny, silent, and lanky apprentice. He wore ragged clothes, his nose was too big for his face, and he barely spoke or met your eyes. His downcast attitude and lowered head made it seem like he was miserable about everything, including his own existence.
“But you’re…” I trail off as he arches a questioning brow. I was going to sayso different,but it’s rude to comment on someone’s looks. “You’re young to be the dragonmaster.”
Nilak snorts, seeming to resent my doubt in her rider’s capabilities because of his age.
“Alin is in Lenhale?” the dragonmaster asks.
“Yes, Father is here, and my mother as well. They’re at our new home in the east of Lenhale.”
Stesha glances toward the east. “Alin never said a word in his last letter.”
He and Father write letters to each other? I never knew. “Father said he wanted to surprise everyone.”
Stesha’s brows draw together in disapproval. “Don’t get too close to the dragons. They’re not pets,” he warns me, turning and walking back to the flare. Nilak paces regally at his side, and the two of them gleam so brightly in the sunshine that I’m dazzled.
I take a long look around the flare. I don’t think I’ve seen anything as awe-inspiring in my life.
There are voices behind me, and I turn and see two boys a little older than me, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, crossing the bridge. They’re nearly young men, and they look remarkably alike, both with gray-blue eyes and long brown hair. One is taller, and his expression is friendlier as well.
He greets me with a smile. “Who’s this? Another dragonrider to compete with?”
“I’m not a dragonrider, but I want to be,” I tell him.
“We allwantto be,” sneers the slightly smaller boy, looking me up and down. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m Zenevieve of Vierforn.”
“A country mouse. Have you even seen a dragon before today?”
“Yes,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. I don’t think I like this arrogant boy very much.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I have!”
The boy laughs, and it’s not a nice laugh. “Of course you have.”
The words I want to say are on my tongue.The last dragonmaster was my grandfather, actually, and he carried me in his arms with nestlings. But a dragonrider isn’t boastful.
“Ignore Emmeric,” the older boy says. “I’m Zabriel. Welcome to Lenhale. I hope you find your dragon.”
I smile at him. “Thank you. That’s very…” I trail off as I suddenly recognize their names. Zabriel and Emmeric? Igasp and curtsey to them. “Crown Prince Zabriel and Prince Emmeric, I’m honored to meet you, my princes.”
Zabriel waves a hand. “Don’t worry about thatmy princestuff while we’re on the dragongrounds.”
“Stop telling people that, Zabriel,” Emmeric protests.
Zabriel ignores him. “Zenevieve, there’s only one reason you’ve come to the dragongrounds if you want to be a rider. Shall I show you which are the riderless dragons?”
I eagerly accept, and Zabriel points out all the fully grown dragons and older fledglings by name to me.
“Usually a rider bonds with a fully grown dragon, but sometimes they know they’re destined for each other before that,” he explains.
I don’t say,Yes, I know, even though I do know.
