he hadn’t had the highest standards for himself as of late.
Kalai smiled, chin dipping, a lock of black hair dropping over his eye. He really had a charming smile, highlighting a single dark freckle by the corner of his right eye. But when he noticed Tauran staring, a frown replaced his smile. “Do I look like a mess?” he asked.
“No!” Tauran said quickly. Before he could stop himself, he brushed the stray lock of hair back from Kalai’s forehead. He snatched his hand away and buried it in his pocket. Skies, he must seem so desperate. He cleared his throat. “Not at all. You look a little tired, that’s all. It must be exhausting having to get up throughout the night.”
Kalai kept still for a moment. Did Tauran imagine the pretty blush creeping across Kalai’s cheeks? Kalai wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing at a stain on the floor with the toe of his boot. When he spoke, the words were slow and hesitant. “To be entirely honest, it’s not only that. I haven’t slept very well at all. There’s something wrong with the egg, and I don’t know what it is. I keep worrying I’ll wake up and find it dead.”
Tauran paused, something clenching tight inside him. Dead. Dead egg. Dead dragon. Don’t think about it. Don’t—
“Sorry. Uh, anyway...” Kalai shifted back, reaching both hands toward Tauran for the next pile of books. Some distance returned to his voice. “You didn’t happen to know the old archivist, did you?”
The tightness in Tauran’s chest lessened. He handed the books over and searched his dust-covered memory. “Not really. He was an old Sharoani guy. I don’t remember his name. I only spoke to him a few times. He served as a consultant for the Sky Guard.” He fetched the last of the books stacked by the door, passing them to Kalai. “I think they had him translate some of these old texts to help the Sky Guard learn more about dragons. It’s not like Sharoani knowledge is really in abundance in this part of the world. They must have been pretty happy when you came around. Where’d they find you, anyway?”
Kalai smiled. “Oh, I just walked in, really. Right off the street. I suppose we do keep mostly to ourselves. Do you know where he went?”
“The old archivist?” Tauran shrugged. “Nah. That was after my time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Long story.”
“So...” Kalai hesitated on his next question. “Why is the nesting box here?”
Tauran bit his lip. He wanted to get on Kalai’s good side, not make him worry he’d fall apart at any moment. He’d have to do better than this. “I think General Falka used to send eggs here when they struggled to hatch one bred in the tower. I’m guessing the archivist knew how to hatch ‘em. Sometimes, not even a dozen Valrean dragon specialists can do better than a single Sharoani scholar.” He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Kalai smile, and he counted that as a victory.
“And nobody but the Sky Guard is allowed to own dragons? No Exceptions?”
“That’s right,” Tauran said, brushing a heavy layer of dust off a nearby stack of books, revealing a bright blue cover. “It’s safer that way. They’re wild predators, after all. Can do a lot of damage in the hands of people who don’t know how to handle them properly. But I guess you guys don’t have that problem.”
“Not exactly, no.” Kalai’s expression was fond. “All dragons in Sharoani are wild. It’s not like we can keep them out of human spaces. They go where they please. So making friends benefits everyone.” He patted a pile of books. “I’ll take this last pile upstairs. Here.” He returned to the desk and picked up the kettle to refill Tauran’s teacup.
Tauran placed the last books on the shelf. Kalai seemed easy-going. Maybe Tauran could push his luck a little. “You haven’t been in Valreus long, have you? I know some nice spots.”
Kalai didn’t answer. Tauran’s eyes flicked to the cup as Kalai filled it to the brim. It spilled over the edges and onto the table.
Tauran frowned. “Hey.” He stepped forward and wrapped his hand around Kalai’s slender wrist. The tendons felt uncomfortably tight against his palm. “You all right?”
“I’m...” Kalai swayed backward, blinking once, too slowly, before suddenly going limp.
Tauran cursed and reached for the kettle. He caught it as Kalai’s grip on it slipped, a bit of the scalding water splashing onto Tauran’s wrist. Tauran’s other hand curled in the front