We took Rymar back to our house after the meeting and fed him. The moment his belly was full, his eyes began to droop. He'd said he'd sleep at Lessa's house, but when his head bobbed at the table for the third time, Omden had enough.
"You're not fit to walk," he said. "You certainly aren't going to make it to a bed next door."
"He can use mine," Sylis offered, mostly keeping up with the conversation. "I can sleep on the sofa. It's nicer than what I'm used to anyway."
"No," I said, making a spontaneous decision. "Put him in my room. Lessa and I can sleep at her place."
Drozel turned to look at me with a lifted brow, but Lessa? She was nodding in agreement even as she grabbed Rymar's arm and all but dragged him down the hall. Rymar tried to resist, but not very hard. Omden jerked a thumb after the pair.
"Should someone help her?"
"Nope," Drozel said. "Trust me, the only people who can make Rymar do anything are the three he lives with and Lessa. The rest of us would just make him turn stubborn."
And to prove the point, Lessa returned quickly and alone. The idea of letting a man sleep on my personal bed was a little weird, but that bed wasn't really mine. It was Drozel and Omden's, and they'd given me the use of it, so that made it better somehow.
It also seemed like the sort of casual kindness Dragons were so good at. Considering I'd only just announced I was a Dragon, I was feeling like I should consider those things now. I was one of the kind people, finally. I was in a place where my concern for others did not make me weak. It made me nothing more than one of them.
Lessa reclaimed her chair and sat, switching to English so Sylis wouldn't be left out anymore. "So, Meri, I think we should stop by the market real fast. The guys can clean the kitchen."
"Why the market?" I asked.
"Because," Omden said as he wiped his mouth and tossed down his napkin, "even though Jerlis is willing to give you citizenship, there's a little tradition in Lorsa."
"What's a Jerlis?" Sylis asked. "I've been trying to figure that out."
"He's not a what but a who," I explained. "Jerlis is the mayor of this town. That's like an elder who is picked by the people, not one who was simply given the title."
"How does that work?" Sylis asked.
Omden waved him down. "We'll cover the government later. The important thing to know is Jerlis runs the town by popular choice. Rymar is the second in charge - also by popular choice. Those two have the power to make laws, but making bad ones means they won't be popular enough to be the choice the next time."
"That seems like a very good system," Sylis mumbled.
"But," Lessa said, clearly warming up to her idea, "the city only records citizenship. The scribes have always been the oneswho have the final say. They make our signs, you see. Those signs are a description we pick for ourselves, and you're more familiar with them than you realize."
"I am?" Sylis asked.
I nodded. "Zasen's sign is the Wyvern. Ayla's is the Phoenix."
"And we use these to sign things," Omden said, pulling his die from his pocket and offering it over.
"What is that?" Sylis asked. "It looks like a bird."
"A falcon," Omden said. "Drozel's a wasp."
"What are you?" I asked Lessa.
She smiled. "Mine's the Gazelle. Tawny and elegant. I thought it felt right back when I was a teenager."
"We get our signs when we become adults," Drozel explained. "Immigrants - whether from the Moles or the Reapers - get them when they become full citizens. You're currently a refugee, which is the first step."
"Explain that to him," Lessa said as she stood. "I don't want to miss Boris." Then she canted her head, encouraging me to join her.
"Excuse me," I whispered, unable to help myself.
The guys were already talking about the structure of rules and rights within Lorsa, and Sylis was peppering them with questions. Considering the three of them barely even noticed me getting up, I didn't feel bad about leaving them with the chores - and I wanted to do this.
I was a Dragon now, and this would make it even more real.
