“Cara.” Ander slid into the seat beside me. “Are you all right?”
The stars above cast speckled light on the regular, handsome features of his face. There was the faintest twinge of worry in the way he looked at me, and I wondered what I’d done to earn that concern.
Faint unease prickled me at that look, and it made my voice cold. “I’m all right, but I need a favor.”
Loving—and therefore worrying—for my brother and sister was so all-consuming, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted any more of those ties. That’s what the men I’d met in the pub or at the village dances had never understood. But they could feel me slipping away even as I kissed them, and it made them try to pull me closer even while I was in their arms.
“What do you need?” Ander studied the stars, though his gaze wandered as if he had no one to look for. He put his big arms on the seatbacks to look up, and though he was careful not to touch me, his presence was distracting.
“Why does Fieran have books about the dragons of different clans?”
“You’ve been in his room?” He glanced over at me, his brows arching. Our faces felt too intimately close as the starlight danced across his skin.
My irritation flared at the judgment in his voice, but I pushed it down. I needed Ander. “Yes. After Maura hurt me badly enough that Fieran had to watch over me at night.”
A flicker of emotion flashed over his face, too fast to capture. “I’m sorry she hurt you.”
I shrugged, and he picked up the thread of my question so easily I wasn’t sure he really cared.
“Fieran is, as you notice, an extremely manipulative, charming menace.” Ander sounded relaxed, but tension stood out in the lines of his muscular neck, as if discussing Fieran would always trigger his hatred. “He studies our dragons to understand us better.”
“Because the dragons are drawn to certain kinds of shifters?”
“Exactly.”
“What’s your dragon like? Sandwing, right?”
“Correct. How did you know?” He watched my face, then groaned before I could answer. “Fieran told you.”
I nodded.
“I hate that he still thinks about Sandwing. He had this book of Clan Amber dragons when we were friends. Before we were chosen. He tried to guess which dragon would claim me.”
“Was he right?”
“He only narrowed it down to three.” He sounded grudging about the admission. “But yes. Sandwing was one of those three.”
“He said Sandwing is great.”
His lips twisted in a rueful smile, a faraway look in his gaze—as if he was either remembering a moment from the past, or hearing his dragon’s voice in his mind. “Even Fieran can’t always be lying.”
“How did he narrow it down to Sandwing and two others?”
“He studied their traits, their history. You have to understand every clan has hundreds of dragons that might choose one of our recruits. That’s why no one else wastes their time studying dragons like Fieran.”
“It doesn’t sound like a waste of time if he’s right.”
Ander’s mouth had gone taut. “Fieran said it had to be one of those dragons because they were historically drawn to a certain kind of shifter.”
“And what kind is that?”
He wet his lower lip, hesitating. Then he ran his hand through his hair and gave me another rueful smile, as if he had decided to trust me and felt it was reckless. “I’m going to be completely honest because I want this information to be useful to you. You need to understand Fieran. But if you ever repeat this to anyone, I’ll deny every word.”
“I won’t.”
His lips quirked. “He said Sandwing would be drawn to someone who was idealistic. A rule-follower because they sought certainty and safety, no matter how brave they could be in battle. A leader…and yet, someone lonely. Someone who needed a friendly voice in their head, since their own inner voice would always be cruel.”
His voice hardened on those last words, as if Fieran’s mockery had lodged forever in his mind.
