* * *
“How are you feeling?” Grimbold asked Walter at dinner that night.
The boy looked up from his meal of seared scallops and wilted spinach and almost met Grimbold's eyes. “Fine, sir.”
“Would you object if I brought in someone else tomorrow for you to talk with? She's an omega, like you, but quite old, and she's good at finding what's wrong with people. She can read their auras.”
Walter tipped his head to the side. “How? Omegas have no magic.”
“Those with dragon sires often do. Perhaps they all do. I know it's something my son's mate, Harrison, is very interested in. I thought the boy foolish at best once, but I'm able to see I was wrong. Both about him and a great number of things nearly all dragons assumed were true.”
The boy's mouth slackened and his eyes went wide. “You… were… wrong?”
“Yes, Walter. You never answered my question, however. Are you amenable to having Ingrid speak with you and examine your aura?”
Walter looked down at his plate. “I don't mind. I'm not sure I have an aura, though.”
“I think, my boy, that you might be surprised. Now, finish your dinner. I'd like to take a walk with you.”
Walter gave him a puzzled stare. “Why?”
“Why not?” Grimbold countered.
The boy, it seemed, had no response to that.
When Carsons came to inquire if anything else was needed after the china and silver had been cleared from the table, Grimbold nodded.
“Can you bring down Beatrice? I think Walter is up to meeting her.”
“Very good, sir,” the butler said before leaving.
“Is she another person to help me?” Walter asked.
“Another person? No. As for help, it depends upon your point of view.”
“I don't understand. I'm sorry.”
Grimbold smiled. “No need to feel sorry, Walter. Beatrice is a dog. A very old one. There's no need to be frightened.”
The boy brightened. “Oh. I like dogs.”
“Good. Then you won't mind walking her with me in the evenings after dinner?”
Walter smiled. It was small and shy, but a smile nonetheless. “Yes. I'd like that very much, sir.”
Grimbold's dragon felt like he'd been victorious in a great battle. He preened. “Good. Don't forget to wear a jacket.”
* * *
Grimbold had worried that Walter might be frightened of Beatrice, who was a large terrier mix of uncertain parentage. The boy was so timid and easily spooked, it was a legitimate concern—not that the dog, who was thirteen years old, arthritic, and missing several teeth, would hurt a fly. Still, Grimbold was delighted when Walter fell to his knees before Beatrice and petted her enthusiastically.
Grimbold strove to keep their conversation light as they walked in the gardens. They talked about what a good girl Beatrice was, how large the moon appeared, how much cooler it was in April in Aurora than it had been in California, what sorts of flowers grew in the garden in the summer, and what the strange mineral smell in the air was.
“The lake,” Grimbold replied. “It's very much like a small freshwater sea. It even has waves that can get quite large. Not quite as fierce as the waves of your ocean, though.”
Walter looked blank. “I've never seen the ocean,” he said. “Until they came for me, I'd never left the cloister.”
“I'd like to show you,” Grimbold said. “Someday. When you're ready.”
