“Cur-dragons,” Heath said gruffly. “They carry messages and small packages and melt the snow off the roads in the winter.”
“That’s what Rumy is?”
“He’s half cur-dragon and half true dragon,” Heath said. “He and his litter are the only ones I’ve ever encountered.”
Tamri hoped the fact that Heath was talking to her meant he knew she hadn’t attacked his precious king on purpose. Heath might not be her friend exactly, but she’d hate to leave things sour between them.
“I really didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” she muttered as they reached a cracked stone basin that looked as though it had once been a fountain. The main street turned in another switchback, but beyond the fountain, a smaller path descended toward a quieter street lined with greathouses.
Heath led the way past the broken fountain and started down the quiet path. “I should have sent a Fireworker to guard you instead of delivering you to the castle myself. King Siv and Queen Dara are good people, and Vertigon needs them safe.”
“I think they can take care of themselves,” Tamri said. “And the queen’s obviously more powerful than me.”
“It’s not about whether they can protect themselves,” Heath said. “I’ve worked hard to earn their respect despite—” He broke off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have taken the risk.”
“So why did you?”
“I believed you meant no harm, and I wanted—never mind.”
“What?”
“Nothing. This is it.”
They had reached a large greathouse at the end of the path, with a marble façade and a broad porch lined with columns. The roof appeared to be flat, with a stone railing running all the way around it.
They climbed the porch steps and paused at the door. Heath looked down at Tamri, his face unreadable.
“Are you coming in?” She didn’t add that she wanted him to. He was her only tether to the life she’d left behind, and even though he’d been suspicious of her from the first moment, his stern presence was strangely comforting.
“I have to get over to the Roost,” Heath said. “Master Corren and the students will look after you.”
“Will I see you again?” Tamri’s cheeks warmed despite the bite in the mountain air. “I mean . . . I don’t know anyone here, and I just . . . wondered.”
Heath’s expression remained guarded. He opened his mouth to speak twice then broke off. The silence felt expectant, and for once Tamri didn’t want to interrupt it.
“You should wear your cloak,” Heath said at last. “You look cold.”
Then he turned on his heel and marched down the steps, leaving her alone at the entrance to the Wielder school.
The door burst open before Tamri could knock. She dove behind a marble column, ready to defend herself with fists and fingernails.
A girl with straw-blond hair and a multitude of freckles bounced out onto the porch. She spotted Tamri straightening up and trying to pretend she hadn’t leapt for cover at the sudden noise.
“I was right!” A wide grin split the blond girl’s face. “The queen sent a message with the Air telling us you were coming, and I heard it first! I never hear it first.”
“That’s because you’re too busy talking, Kay,” came a voice from inside the greathouse.
“Not this time,” the blond girl crowed. “Don’t just stand there. Come in!”
The girl, who was about Tamri’s age, pulled her through the greathouse doors to a wide entrance hall. Tamri shook off her arm automatically, taking in a grand staircase leading to the second level and doorways opening into other wide, well-lit rooms. The place was warm and smelled of baked bread and cinnamon. Small faces peeked around corners, studying Tamri closely and whispering to each other. The children scurried out of sight like gutter mice when Tamri looked at them.
“The little ones are shy now, but you’ll wish they’d leave you alone soon,” said the blond. She wore black trousers and a fitted red coat, and her pale hair was cut to her chin. “I’m Kay, from Trure. That’s Shylla.”
Another older girl surveyed them imperiously from the bottom of the staircase. She too wore a red coat and trousers, and her dark hair was piled on her head in an elegant knot. She had olive skin and a glittering, competitive look in her eyes that Tamri knew well.
“You’re Pendarkan!”
Shylla only looked at her.
“That makes six of you,” said Kay, “but the others are much younger. Shylla’s the only one in the older class. You’re Tamri, right?”
Tamri nodded, slightly overwhelmed by Kay’s quick chatter. “How did you know I was coming?”
“Queen Dara sent a message with the Air. And I heard it first!”
“The Air?”
“It’s the third magical substance,” Kay said. “We don’t have a lot of it here on the mountain, but the queen is trying to get us used to listening for it.”
Shylla folded her arms. “We’ve heard all about you.”
Tamri met her aggressive gaze, recognizing the challenge. She hadn’t expected to meet another Pendarkan Waterworker here, and it put her on edge. Well, more on edge than usual.
“Have you been in Vertigon long?”
“I was the first Pendarkan student,” Shylla said coldly. “My mother controls the Market District back home.”
Tamri raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know the Red Lady had a daughter.”
“We’ll have time for that later,” Kay said, flapping her hands excitedly. “You have to meet Master Corren.”
She took Tamri’s arm again and dragged her toward the front parlor to the right of the entrance hall. The children who’d been watching from the shadows scattered before them. Most appeared to be twelve years old or younger.
“We just have two classes here, the Originals and the Young’ns,” Kay said. “The rest of the older students are at the Whirlpool. You’ll meet them eventually.”
Tamri registered as many details as possible with Kay pulling her along and chattering in her ear. The greathouse was decorated with exquisite care. Tapestries embroidered with Firegold hung from the walls, and Firegold cushions covered the many couches and armchairs. The front parlor was larger than Gramma Teall’s whole house, and children filled it almost to overflowing.
Most were Vertigonian, fair-skinned with black, bronze, or dark-red hair. The Trurens, like Kay, had light hair—blond or brown—and light eyes, with tanned skin almost the same shade as their hair. She spotted several young olive-skinned Pendarkans and even a few Soolens with long black hair and dark-brown skin, one a few years younger than her and the others no older than ten. She lost count of the students at twenty-one.
In their midst, a stocky older man with short, graying hair stood up from what appeared to be a loom threaded with Firegold and silk. Several smaller looms surrounded him, each paired with a child-sized stool. He wore a fine coat and had an air of dignity befitting a magistrate.
“You must be our new arrival. I am Master Corren, Firespinner and warden of this fine establishment.”