The fourth door closed in Ryn's face before the steward finished his sentence."House Marrowick regrets," the man said, reading from a scroll he did not bother to look up from, "that the ward has proven unsuitable. He will be returned to the barracks by morning."Ryn stood in the cold marble hall with his single bundle clutched against his chest. Four houses in six years. Four families who had looked at a nameless orphan with no mana and decided, one after another, that the honor of pretending to be generous was not worth the bother."What did I do?" he asked.The steward finally met his eyes. There was no cruelty in them, which somehow made it worse. Only boredom. "Lady Marrowick's daughter tested at Common rank last week. She does not wish to share a roof with a Null. It is considered unlucky.""Unlucky," Ryn repeated."You may take bread from the kitchen on your way out. Lady Marrowick is not an unkind woman."Ryn almost laughed. He took the bread anyway. Pride was a luxury for peo

Dawn found Ryn on the ridge, trying very hard not to set the world on fire."Breathe," Vaelthor rumbled in his skull. *You are gripping the flame like a drowning man grips a rope. It is not a rope. It is a river.*"It's burning my hands."*Because you are fighting it. Let it pass through you.*Ryn exhaled. The gold light in his palm trembled, then steadied into a small, patient flame, no bigger than a candle. A nearby pine, already scorched black along one side, creaked in disapproval."There," he whispered. "Is that it?"*That is a beginning. You nearly killed that tree three times.*"Four, I think."*Four,* the dragon agreed, and something in the vast voice sounded, impossibly, amused.Ryn let the flame die and sat back on his heels. His whole body hummed. The gold lines had sunk under his skin again, leaving only his ordinary arms, pale and scarred and thin from years of barracks bread."They'll look for my body," he said. "Eventually."*Then give them no reason to look for a live

Lucan's squad had four members, and every one of them looked at Ryn as though he'd been assigned by mistake."Ash is a Null," said Ser Tobias Reen, a scarred veteran with a sour mouth, as they saddled horses in the gray dawn. "A Null with a crate lid. I don't care how many gravehounds he burned.""Nobody asked you to care, Tobias," Lucan said."Someone should.""Then someone can do it quietly."Ilsa, the squad's mage, gave Ryn a small, nervous smile. She had the Common-rank's pale blue glow around her fingertips and the haunted look of someone who'd been told too often she wasn't good enough. Beside her, Wick, a lanky archer barely seventeen, was too busy fussing with his bowstring to notice anyone.*They are afraid,* Vaelthor observed. *You can smell it on them. Fear that has been taught.*"I know the smell," Ryn murmured.Lucan swung into his saddle. "Hollowfen has gone silent. Four days now, no smoke, no traders, no word. The Spire sent a message that the matter requires 'further a

"Another dragon," Sylwen repeated."Young, frightened. North of here." Ryn paced the narrow room, still wearing yesterday's dust. "I can't explain how I know. I just do.""You do not need to explain." Her face had gone pale as birch bark. "The Council believes the last hatchling died in the Sundering. If you are right, you have just overturned a thousand years of grief.""Then help me find it.""The Elders will want to debate this for a week.""A week is too long." Ryn stopped. "Sylwen, it sounded like it was crying."She studied him. Then she slung her bow across her shoulder. "I have spent nine hundred years being told to wait for permission. I find I am tired of it. Come, we ride before the Elders wake."*Careful,* Vaelthor murmured. *A frightened young dragon is not gentle. Let it come to you.*"I will."*You say that like a man who has never been bitten.*They rode north through mountain passes while the sun climbed. The voice grew louder with every mile, a thin, trembling thread