Given

by Nandi Taylor

  “Erm, hello, Yenni Ajani. Erm, my name is Celine. I’m also in your runelore class.”

  “Ah. Nice to meet you, Celine,” said Yenni.

  “I was—we were—wondering . . . is it true that you’re a princess?”

  A dozen pairs of light-colored eyes assessed her. Yenni swallowed her sigh. “Yes, it is true.”

  Her answer triggered an avalanche of questions and comments from her classmates.

  “I knew it!”

  “What’s it like to live in a palace?”

  “I never agreed with Devon, you know. I was on your side the whole time.”

  “Are you all right? I’m so sorry you were attacked like that.”

  “Please don’t think all Creshens are like Devon and Desroches.”

  Yenni’s eyes darted from person to person, unsure whom to respond to first, until at last she was saved by the arrival of Professor Mainard. His commanding voice rang out so sharply that Yenni assumed he must have amplified it with some incantation.

  “What in Byen’s name is all this hubbub? This is a classroom, not some sort of sporting arena! Everyone to your seats, immediately!”

  The crowd dispersed, Mainard took his place at the podium up front, and class went on as usual. That day they reviewed the theory of time manipulation, the principle of spatial maneuvering, and the theory of intended focus. Then they learned a new incantation: Allard’s Restoring. The purpose of the spell was simply to transport something back to its original place. But as Mainard pointed out, original had a broad definition. He left them with a cautionary tale about a farmer’s wife who, when attempting to send some unused eggs back to the icebox, heard very curious squawking from her chicken coop a moment after her eggs had vanished.

  The rest of the class was spent practicing the incantation under Mainard’s watchful eye. He told them to place their writing pencils on the left side of their desk, physically move them to the right, and use the spell “Starting spot by source restored,” while invoking the theory of focused intent to make sure the pencil went back to the intended starting point. However, about a third of the time Yenni found that her pencil ended up back in her bag, rather than the intended placement on the left side of her desk.

  At last class came to an end, and Yenni noticed another little crowd attempting to form around her, but Professor Mainard called out to her from the front of the lecture hall.

  “Mam’selle Kayerba. A word, if you would.”

  She stepped down through the rows of seats to meet him. “What is it, Professor?”

  He paused and frowned at something behind her. “Do you not have classes to attend next hour? If not, you should be studying. Off you go!”

  Yenni turned to see a bunch of her classmates scurrying out of the room.

  Mainard cleared his throat and adjusted his robes. “Now then, believe me when I say I am thoroughly appalled at the actions of Prof—ex-Professor Emmanuel Devon. I pride myself on finding the best and brightest to teach at Prevan and, well, I suppose I should have known, what with his eccentricities. And Gilles Desroches! A Magus, of all people, participating in this nonsense. But then he’s always been something of an embarrassment to the establishment.” He shook his tufted head. “I bowed to pressure to include unfounded magic in the curriculum. Prevan is meant to be at the forefront of magical theory after all, but I simply knew nothing good would come of it.

  “Bah, but that is neither here nor there now. The class is in place, and someone must teach it. You no doubt received the notice that the class has been put on hold indefinitely, but disrupting a class in the final semester is far from ideal. As I said, I want only the best and brightest on my staff. Who better to teach runelore at Prevan than a princess of the Moonrise Isles? Mam’selle Kayerba, I’m extending to you the very prestigious offer of employment as a professor at Prevan Academy.”

  Yenni crossed her arms, cocked her head to the side, and smiled, then smiled wider, then burst out laughing.

  “What on Byen’s hallowed soil can possibly be so funny?” blustered Mainard. He’d pushed his chest out, displaying his affront, and his face had gone splotchy red.

  The smile quickly fled from Yenni’s face. “You insult my culture in one breath, calling runelore unfounded and anyone who shows interest in it eccentric, and tell me I am among the best and brightest in the next? I wonder—would you be so bold as to march up to your own castle and extend to one of the princesses of Cresh an offer to work under you?”

  Mainard clutched nervously at his robes. “Erm, well, I mean to say . . . but Prevan is the most celebrated school in the world! Mam’selle Kayerba—”

  “Your Highness,” said Yenni coolly. “Since my secret is out you may address me by my proper title.”

  Mainard looked like he would rather bite out and swallow his own tongue, but he bowed his head. “Your Highness,” he said. “I meant no offense.”

  “And yet you somehow always manage to give it,” said Yenni. “If I know nothing else, Professor Mainard, I know politics. And therefore I know exactly why you want me to teach your class. This is already a scandal for your school, and I doubt my royal family will take kindly to the fact that someone attempted to kill me, serious or not. You need my forgiveness, and my endorsement. You need to control the damage to Prevan’s image. But what you also need is to understand that I am a princess of the Yirba, and I am not your tool.

  “You are right about one thing, however. The class needs to be taught, and by someone who knows how to teach it properly. So, I am willing to become your new professor under two conditions. The first is that you give me a real office and classroom—nothing like that forsaken dungeon where you stowed Devon—plus pay me triple Devon’s wages.”

  Mainard stared at her, stone faced, for quite some time. “Triple,” he said at last, his voice flat.

  “Yes, my wage, and one additional equivalent wage for each attempt on my life.”

  “I see. And the second condition?”

  “You will seriously consider that a demon may be the cause of the wither-rot, and launch a full investigation.”

  He was already red, but he somehow went redder with the effort of containing his anger.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “It will be done,” he ground out. And he would do it, Yenni knew. For all his considerable flaws, Mainard was not a man who gave his word lightly.

  Yenni smiled. “See that it is.” She placed her hands under her chin and bowed to him. “Have a blessed day, Professor.” She left him fuming at the front of his lecture hall.

  The rest of the day went much the same, with half of Yenni’s classmates whispering about her from afar while the other half engaged her. It wasn’t as if she disliked it completely—some of them seemed to genuinely want to know about her and her homeland. But it had been a long while since she was the center of attention, and it soon became exhausting. It was with great relief that she climbed onto Weysh’s back at the end of the day and let him whisk her away to his townhouse.

  As they passed over the city, which glowed with sunset, Yenni ran her hands along Weysh’s scales, tipped her head back, and prayed.

  I love him, she told the Sha. I know it could bring war and ruin to my tribe, but I love him. Wise Father Ri and loving Mother Shu, all-knowing Mother-Father Ool . . . if you mean for me to marry Weh-sheh, please, please show me that it is so.

  She stayed like that for some time, reveling in the secure safety of Weysh underneath her and the warmth of the last rays of the sun on her face, until Weysh let out an excited screech.

  Yenni opened her eyes. “What—oh my!”

  A group of fantastic creatures surrounded her—turtles that somehow glided on the air! At least, Yenni thought they were some sort of turtle; however, their hard shells flashed between green and gold in the waning sunlight. Yenni twisted and turned, counting them. Five in total, soari
ng along with their legs outstretched, no wings in sight.

  “Mother Shu, Father Ri, is that you?” she whispered. Green and gold were Father Ri’s colors, and Mother Shu’s favorite number was five. One of the creatures floated up close enough to touch and watched her with an unblinking golden eye. Yenni reached out and stroked its shell. It let out a hoarse cry, and to Yenni’s astonishment, began to fade before her eyes. Glancing around, she saw the others slowly disappearing as well, until the sky was clear once more.

  Shortly after Weysh swooped in on his home, touching down before the gate as always. Yenni slid from his back and he quickly changed.

  “Yenni! Yenni did you see that?!”

  “See what, Messer Nolan?” asked Georges, the gate boy.

  “Great golden sky turtles!” shouted Weysh.

  Yenni laughed. “‘Great golden sky turtles’? That sounds like a Creshen expression of shock.”

  But Georges’s mouth had dropped open. “Hey, now, Messer Nolan, it’s not nice to mess with the help.”

  “I swear it!” said Weysh. “They even flew with us for a while!”

  “I touched one,” said Yenni.

  Both Weysh and Georges rounded on her. “You what?!” they said together.

  “Do you know how rare that is?” asked Weysh.

  “What did it feel like?” inquired Georges. The both of them waited expectantly.

  “Oh, well, it felt smooth, like metal.”

  “I knew it! Their shells really are made of gold!” cried Georges.

  Weysh shook his head. “Only you, Yenni.”

  “Are such creatures not common in Cresh?”

  “Well, that depends on how you define common. If you consider a sighting once every one hundred and fifty years or so common, then yes, I suppose they’re common, Yenni,” said Weysh. “They largely stick to otherspace.”

  “Incredible,” breathed Georges.

  A nervous, excited fluttering began in Yenni’s chest, and she couldn’t keep from smiling.

  That evening, Yenni sat at the little desk in Weysh’s bedroom, writing a letter home while Weysh bathed. She had much to report, and was so lost in her thoughts that Weysh’s knock against the doorframe startled her. He stood shirtless in his sleep pants, his dark hair free and flowing.

  “I’m going up to the rooftop,” he said. “Coming?”

  Yenni looked him up and down. The light from the fire formed deep shadows in the dips of his muscular arms and stomach, accentuating them.

  “Yenni?”

  “No,” she said. “Let’s sleep here.”

  He furrowed his brow, confused “En? But I can’t fit in here in dragon.”

  Yenni laughed as she slid from her chair. She took Weysh’s hand and led him to the bed, where they lay facing each other. Yenni twined her arms around Weysh’s neck and tangled her legs in his.

  “Good night, my heart,” said Weysh.

  “Good night, my Given,” she replied. Weysh smiled deeply, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

  “How was your day?” he asked, trailing his nails down her back in a way that made her want to purr like a field sphinx. She told him about Mainard offering her the spot as professor of runelore, assuming she would jump at the chance, and her demand for triple Devon’s wages.

  Weysh laughed that laugh she loved so much. “Of course you demanded triple the wage. Never, ever change, my sweet,” he said, and stroked her cheek. Yenni closed her eyes, relishing not only his fingers on her skin, but the closing of the gulf that had opened between them.

  “I received a lot of attention today,” she said.

  “It will only get worse, I’m afraid,” said Weysh. “I’m surprised none of the dailies have tried to get in contact; they must not yet be aware. But once they are, and the news gets to the general public, it will be a thrice-damned circus. We’d better enjoy the last of our peace for a while. Byen above, that reminds me—we’d better visit Maman. I’ll never hear the end of it if she learns that you’re royalty from the dailies instead of us.”

  Yenni bit the inside of her lip. “The Creshen Imperial Family may be upset I have not visited them. I do not think they will understand the rules of Orire N’jem.”

  “The Imperial—” His eyes went wide. “It’s really beginning to sink in—you’re a princess! Byen, does that mean I’ll be a prince?”

  “In name, I suppose, though I have to say I’ve never met a prince like you before,” Yenni teased.

  Weysh went quiet, his face serious as he studied her.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “So you’ll marry me?”

  “There is still much to figure out, but yes, Weh-sheh, when the time is right I want to marry you.”

  He gave her that happy, boyish smile again. “I love you, Yenni.”

  “I love you, too, Weh-sheh.”

  His eyes dropped to her mouth, and the happy grin shifted to something far less innocent. And just the sight of it, that mere suggestive quirk of his lips, sent the blood rushing hot through her veins. He leaned forward but didn’t kiss her. He put his nose to her neck, just under her jaw, and breathed deep.

  “Oho,” he rumbled, his lips just barely brushing her skin.

  “What is it?” Yenni whispered, her heart pounding. “What do you smell?”

  “I can’t be sure,” he drawled, making sure each word caressed the sensitive skin of her throat. His fingers started a lazy, looping trail up her leg, along her outer thigh. “Perhaps you’re sleepy?”

  “No, I’m not sleepy,” Yenni breathed.

  He sniffed again, making her giggle. “Maybe you’re hungry?”

  “That’s . . . closer.”

  His fingers skimmed the underside of her bottom and she made a high little noise before jerking against him. He froze, and then his tongue flicked out to leisurely taste the spot where his nose had been.

  “I see,” he purred, and kissed her there, sending a spark of delight to her abdomen. Her eyes fluttered closed as he trailed stinging kisses along her jaw, each one leaving a warm echo, and her hands sought to tangle themselves in his hair. And all the while his fingers brushed languidly over her skin. Finally he claimed her mouth. His kiss, in contrast to his gentle fingers, was urgent, seeking. Yenni moaned and squirmed, and he nudged his big thigh between her legs as if he knew she needed to feel something, anything there. The sheets whispered and crinkled as she undulated against him.

  He broke off the kiss only to graze his lips along her cheek, up to her ear. “Yenni,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

  “Yes, Weh-sheh?”

  “If we continue like this, I will make love to you.”

  “Yes, Weh-sheh.”

  He paused, then rolled them both so that he was on top of her, resting on his forearms. His hair made a curtain around them, flashing violet in the flickering light. He nuzzled her nose with his before touching his forehead to hers. “You’re sure?”

  She loved him, and the Sha had given their blessing. “I am sure.”

  The smile he gave her could only be described as wicked. “Well, great golden sky turtles,” he said, making her laugh. But his thigh was still against her, and he moved it as he took her mouth, sliding his tongue in to meet hers. And she was no longer laughing.

  Yenni sighed, wonderfully content. She turned to Weysh and smiled, wondering how he could sleep, sprawled out and snoring, while every last inch of her body tingled and buzzed with sensory memory. She slipped from the bed, pulling on Weysh’s nightshirt against the room’s chill, and went back to the little desk by the window to finish her letter.

  The words poured out of her in a long and constant stream as she explained the nature of the attacks, her new position as a professor, and her observations about Cresh and its people. But at last she ran out of things to say, and it came time to tell them about Weysh.
She grabbed the pendant of the necklace he’d given her—she’d taken to wearing it at all times—and though her pencil shook in her hands, she made herself write.

  But my biggest news is that I have met a dragon by the name of Weysh Nolan, and we are promised as Given. This means I am his one true mate in the world, and he is mine. Iyaya, N’baba, my brothers and sisters, I tell you: at first I thought this dragon-man a lunatic, and his interest in me to be the work of that trickster, Father Esh. But over time my heart has softened to him in a way that can only be worked by the gentle hand of Mother Shu. I am forever loyal to our tribe, and I want nothing more than to bring us glory and prosperity, and yet I cannot give my heart, my soul, or my body to another. So if you have designs for me to wed someone else, I have no choice but to object.

  Weysh Nolan is part Creshen and part Southern Islander. He is technically the only Island dragon known to this world. I believe that one of the reasons I was compelled to undertake Orire N’jem was to meet him, and eventually to marry him, for in truth I don’t want to marry anyone else. I cannot guess what blessings our union will bring to the Yirba people; I can only trust in the divine wisdom of the Mothers and Fathers.

  I pray you will not find this news distressing, because above all, I am happy.

  All my love and blessings,

  Yenni

  37

  The circus was in full swing.

  It took perhaps three days before news of Yenni’s attack and Devon and his famous mentor’s arrest hit the news. At first it was only poor Yenni being harassed and questioned. She was stopped outside classes, and when academy security put an end to that, they pestered her on her forays into the city. Sketches of her—some flattering, others not—showed up in every daily. They painted the sad story of an exotic princess of the Isles come to experience the majesty of Cresh only to be horribly attacked by a deviant professor. But when that well ran dry, the dailies shifted their attention to Weysh.