Evander sighed. “I’m not impossible to please. I’m impossible to buy. Your mother’s position won’t do you any good if you’re dead.”
Without breaking eye contact, Lysander removed his bacco joint, tossed it to the ground, and snubbed it with his toe. “Good luck getting your wyvern bone powder. I hope you don’t need it too badly.”
Lysander chuckled and ambled down the street, his shoulders hunched as he lit up another smoke.
“Evander!” Valenna cried, turning toward him, “That was the boy you sent home in disgrace? The governor’s son?”
“He thought he was above the rules!” Evander retorted. “He thought he could be lazy and irresponsible and get away with it because he’s a prince …”
“Not a prince …” Samara corrected dryly.
“It’s the same thing!” Evander snapped. He’d forgotten how contrary and irritating Cobblepinions were.
Samara grimaced. “People love Ariadne here, Trevelyan. She was not pleased when Lysander came home.”
“She’d have been more displeased if he came home in a box.”
Samara looked suspicious. “What do you need wyvern bone powder for, anyway?”
Valenna opened her mouth to explain, but Evander cut her off. “Do you have any?”
She studied him, running her fingers along the little dragon’s spine. Her eyes lingered on Evander’s shirt—dark with the serpent’s blood. “If we do, my father won’t sell you any. Ariadne will take his trade privileges.”
A pang of disappointment tremored through Evander, but he fought to keep his face placid. Valenna, however, was less composed, and he felt her body wilt against him.
“We’re not asking your father,” Valenna persisted. “We’re asking you.”
Samara laughed bitterly, gathered her little dragon into her arms, and stood. “And you think I’ll risk my family’s livelihood for a man who made me muck stalls and then sent Lysander home in disgrace? No. Not on my first day back from Silvanlight.”
“Come, Samara,” Evander persisted, but she glanced away.“You know as well as I do that Lysander was bound to get someone killed. He didn’t have any talent with the dragons.”
“Lysander is beloved here,” Samara replied. “The day he was born, the first dragon egg hatched in Cobblepine, so he’s considered a consecrated symbol of our purpose. Linked with dragons or some other drivel. You’re right—if we had a prince, he would be it. Sending him home was akin to a crime, and now the elders are questioning taking the title of governor from the Augmendenes.You couldn’t have come here at a worse time. The village is in an uproar; everyone is angry and fighting. Lysander’s disgrace shook this place to its core.”
With a snort, Evander said, “He’s an entitled little fool.”
“Yes.” Samara laughed. “But he’s royalty, and you don’t spite royalty without getting punished. I’m sorry, Trevelyan. I can’t help you.”
Dread wound through Evander’s ribs. He realized he was gritting his teeth so tightly, his jaw ached.
“He’s going to die,” Valenna blurted. Evander hadn’t wanted to admit it; he wasn’t certain why. Pride, perhaps? Or denial? But Samara stopped on the stoop, and her shoulders tensed.
“He has an old injury, from dark magic, and without the powder, he’ll die. Please, Samara. I saw you run into the paddock and face an angry hydra. You’re not like the others—soft and compromising. You have strength they don’t have.”
“I didn’t mind you myself, Trevelyan,” Samara said, turning toward the door. She shook out her long black hair. “I thought you stern, but you taught us some interesting skills. I can do a barrel roll now. I’ve always wanted to do barrel rolls. So, even though I certainly never could, I do want to tell you about the spice and oil consortium. They’re less … how do I say this? They’re less legitimate than my father.”
“If you could tell us,” Evander asked, “which I know you can’t, which direction would we go?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t dare tell you that it’s in the magical district, and I never go to the magical district, so there’s no way for me to know that it’s next to a poisonarium. I also couldn’t tell you that you just need to turn left at the bookstore and you’ll find your way there. I’m sorry, but I’m just a naïve little girl, so I can’t tell you any of that.”
With that, she opened the door and disappeared inside.
Chapter thirty-one
Valenna
One fine sunny morning in Largotia, before Evander left, Valenna had mounted her dragon and soared over a blooming meadow. It was springtime, the sky bright above her and the grass below flowing like a brook under the wind. Evander was at her wing’s end, the breeze in his hair. Their love was so new—untouched by guilt or the shadow of their pasts. He’d mounted above her and then suddenly guided his dragon into a steep dive. Somehow, before he reached the ground, he fell.
For a moment, Valenna had sat atop her dragon, staring in disbelief. Evander Trevelyan did not simply tumble from his mount on a cloudless day. He was the best. He never lost his seat.
