“He can,” Evander replied. “And he will.”
Valenna raised her eyebrows. Evander had grown colder in the year they’d been apart.
The rest of the crew gathered around in stunned silence.
“This whole crew could have died today because of your error,” Evander continued, icy as a lake on a winter morning. “If it were your first offence, I might let it go, but I’ve faced nine months of your incompetence and self-importance. I can’t allow you to pass. Go pack your bags.”
“You can’t do that!” the pilot objected. “The program will be over by the end of the week. Lysander already has a position in Cobblepine! His future will be ruined!”
Evander turned toward the pilot, his eyes—the eyes that had looked at Valenna with such tenderness—were as hard as flint. “He failed the program. I won’t discuss it further.”
“But we’ll never even ride a dreadnought!” the girl shouted, her fists clenched at her sides. “Cobblepine is neutral!”
“Only a fool goes unprepared in wartime, Samara,” Evander said, turning to the dragon and unfastening her bridle. He tickled the dreadnought's throat. She opened her mouth, and he ran his hand along the pink tissue stretching between her jaws.
The pilot, Samara, put her hand on Lysander's back as he stood in the center of the paddock, his arms hanging at his sides.
"I'm sorry …" she began. Before she could finish, Lysander's expression changed. His mouth twisted, his face turning a blotchy red. He lifted the altimeter and hurled it at Evander.
Samara gasped. Valenna caught her breath.
The instrument missed Evander, striking the dreadnought below her small eye. The blow startled the creature, and it slammed its mouth shut as Evander yanked his hand away, narrowly avoiding losing his fingers.
Evander whirled on Lysander, his shoulders tight and his cheeks pink with rage, but before he could speak, his eyes traveled over the boy’s shoulder and rested on Valenna.
He froze, his face washing ashen, like he’d seen a ghost. Behind him, the dragon bellowed and swung its long, barbed tail. Evander was too stunned to notice.
“VANDER!” Valenna shrieked, pointing. He jumped back at the last instant and threw himself against the fence. The barb scraped across his leather coat, severing the hooks and slashing his shirt.
Chapter six
Valenna
For an instant, Valenna waited in breathless horror for blood to bloom across Evander's stomach. He shut his eyes and let out a persecuted sigh, then stood, inspecting his torn shirt.
“Are you hurt?” Samara asked timidly.
“No,” was Evander’s brusque reply. “Now go clean out the stalls.”
Samara’s eyes flashed. “This is the fifth time this year. My hands are blistered. It’s underkeeper work."
“If you don’t want underkeeper work, then don’t make underkeeper mistakes. You’re all on mucking duty for the rest of the week, unless you want to go home with Lysander.”
Samara turned, her braid whipping, and stomped off down the hill with the other trainees.
Valenna steadied her breathing as Evander crossed the paddock. He took a brown tweed ivy cap from his jacket pocket and fitted it on his tousled hair, then, finally, glanced at her. She returned his look, every nerve thrumming. What should she say? Should she confront him? Strike him? Cry? Beg for an explanation?
During the long, lonely days after he left, she’d imagined she’d hate him if they ever met again. But she was disappointed in herself. Her heart had not changed.
Stupid, weak-minded girl,she thought.You have a kingdom to topple! Walk away from him. Leave him behind like he left you.
Evander shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the fence. Underneath, he wore a (torn,) tailored white shirt, the sleeves rolled up his taut forearms, and a brown tweed waistcoat.
He stood a head taller than Valenna, and he moved his slender, athletic body with perfect control. In the sunlight, his rich brown hair had the faintest shimmer of dark red. His solemn eyes were the color of forest moss. Evander reminded Valenna of an autumn morning—warm tones paired with melancholy, like he was always waiting for some beautiful ending.
Internally, Valenna cursed him. Her life would be easier if he were ugly.
Resting her arms on the top rail of the fence, she smoothed her expression to prim neutrality as Evander climbed over and hopped down beside her. His waistcoat and shirt were slashed, and she glimpsed the pink skin beneath—no blood.
