"Eat it all, now—need to put some meat on those bones if you’re ever going to stay on the back of a dragon."
"I intend to,” I promised fervently.
Jorn-o chuckled beside me.
"They always feed the First-years well. We have a lot of growing to do to catch up with the upperclassmen."
"If this is how they feed everyone," I whispered to him, "I'm never leaving."
He laughed outright.
"You'll change your tune after your fiftieth bowl of lamb stew."
I doubted it very much.
We continued down the line where another cook spooned creamy mashed roots onto my tray before a third added thick slices of roasted squash glistening with melted butter.
When we reached the end of the serving line, however, something unexpected happened.
A grandmotherly woman with silver hair looked up just as I stepped in front of her and her weathered face softened instantly.
"Oh…" she murmured as her eyes lingered on my pale hair and lavender eyes. “A Lysandra. I haven’t seen one of your kind in years!"
My heart skipped a beat. Had she somehow discovered I wasn't Auren? Then I realized she was just talking about the Great House I was from.
"You've got your father’s eyes," she said, nodding approvingly. “That pale purple—almost as pretty as a girl. And I have something just for you.”
Before I could answer, she reached beneath the counter and withdrew a small, covered crock of polished earthenware. Lifting the lid, she revealed a smooth golden pudding unlike anything I'd ever seen.
It shimmered faintly in the light from the chandeliers—not magically but almost as though tiny flecks of gold had been stirred throughout it.
She scooped out a generous serving into a small stone bowl and set it carefully on my tray.
"Dragon Custard," she said. "Made with mountain honey, fresh cream, saffron, powdered fire almonds, and Gold Moss."
Jorn-o's eyebrows shot upward.
"Lucky devil!"
I looked from him to the little bowl.
"What is it?"
"It's only served to cadets expected to bond with Bronze-wings or above," he explained. "Mostly cadets from the Great Houses get it."
The old cook nodded.
"Noble dragons burn through a rider's strength faster than common drakes do. This keeps your body nourished while your bond settles."
"It doesn't taste half bad either," another cook called with a wink.
"Though don't let the Brown riders hear you say that," a third added. "They've been trying to steal it for years."
Several cooks laughed.
I stared down at the little stone bowl and its golden contents. No wonder my father had insisted Auren must attend the Academy. The food here wasn't simply meant to fill empty stomachs—it was meant to sustain the extraordinary demands of dragon bonding itself.
"Well?" the old cook prompted gently. "Aren't you going to take it?"
