apart this long.
“This is so dry,” Kalai said, flipping through page after page of weather-related terms in the old language. He looked at the egg. “Luckily, you won’t need to concern yourself with any of this until you’re old enough to fly.” He placed a hand against its surface. It felt faintly cool to the touch, so Kalai lifted his shirt, chosen particularly for its too large size, and fitted it over the egg. The shell was smooth against his bare skin. It was a bit of a tight fit, but he had no larger shirts. He’d have to buy a new one.
He glanced at the front door, grateful the guards had stayed outside after Tauran had left. It felt less like they were watching his every move.
But something nagged at his mind.
Kalai sincerely hoped the previous morning’s events hadn’t scared Tauran away.
After twenty-five years of dealing with the fainting condition, he’d learned to accept it as a part of his life that was always inconvenient, often frustrating, but ultimately mostly harmless. He knew other people felt differently. Once, he’d entertained the company of a particularly pleasant young man for almost half a year, until the day Kalai had an episode in front of him, and the boy Kalai thought he could share everything with had told him he no longer wanted to see him, because he was afraid to be alone together. “What if you hurt yourself badly?” he’d asked. “I can’t be responsible for that.”
But it had been no one’s responsibility but Kalai’s. It never would be. He didn’t want a caretaker. He just wanted...
What did he want, exactly?
Kalai had always directed more of his attention to books and learning than romance and desires of the flesh. But he had to admit that Tauran Darrica was undeniably easy on the eyes. After Tauran’s outburst on the first day, Kalai hadn’t expected to see him again. But then Tauran turned up on his doorstep with an apology and the offer to help, making Kalai forget all about their awkward first meeting. Not to mention, seeing Tauran curled up in his bed with a dragon egg against his bare chest like it was the most natural thing in the world had done things to Kalai he didn’t want to ever admit out loud.
Kalai’s pen hovered over the paper, ink drying on the tip.
There was something about Tauran Darrica. He was former Sky Guard, but was hardly willing to talk about it. He seemed particularly self-conscious about the injury to his leg. Kalai had heard about the Battle of the Broken Wings. Riders turned against riders in the middle of the city, resulting in devastating losses. The day after the battle, even the temple masters in Kel Visal had mourned the dragon lives lost. Had Tauran fought and fallen?
Kalai shook his head. He barely knew the man, and here he was, five years out of his teens and acting like a crushing youth. It was likely just the fact that Tauran looked so different from what he was used to. Kalai could count on one hand how many times he’d seen anybody with blond curls like Tauran’s while he’d lived in Kel Visal. But Kal Valreus was different. Here, everyone looked strange and exotic. Surely, the novelty would wear off.
Kalai absently smoothed his fingertips across the papers, his attention no longer on them. He’d spent most of his life alone, but he’d always had Arrow. Arrow may not be able to talk back to him, but it had been enough. Now, Kalai realized, he was lonely. Maybe he should stop by Villy’s bakery. The old man had been happy to see him.
Kalai’s hand paused on the frayed, crumbling edge of a paper. He pulled it from the pile and looked closer.
The entire bottom edge was jagged and brown, falling apart between his fingers. Burned. Kalai frowned and skimmed the text. It was a transcription of the Kel Visal dragon masters’ teachings about bonding with wild dragons. Nothing all that different from the rest of the texts he’d come across so far.
It wasn’t the only burned paper. Several of the documents in the pile had brown or blackened spots or missing edges.
Maybe a candle had fallen onto the papers? He would have to translate as much as he could and discard the rest.
A dull thump from above made him look up. A bit of dust trickled from the ceiling.
Arrow?
The thought made his heart skip. It was evening, but still daylight. If the