Page 49 of The Flame King's Queen

“Then Auryn must like his rider…” Ravenna murmurs sleepily. Her eyes close, and she lays her cheek against Calyx and falls asleep.

Zenevieve and I watch the dragons flying overhead.

“How did Stesha previously wear his hair?” I ask after a while.

Zenevieve blinks sleepily. “His hair?”

“I overheard you remark on it to him not long ago that he changed his hairstyle. Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was on my way out of the Flame Temple and heard the two of you.”

She plays with a dried blade of grass. “He used to wear it tied back most of the time. Around our home he wore it loose. There was another time…” She trails off vaguely.

“Another time?” I prompt.

“Hm? Oh, nothing. I liked it when he was relaxed. We were cozy in those castle rooms.”

“If you liked it loose, do you think he’s wearing his hair this way now for you?”

She gives me a baffled look. “Me? Of course not. He’s probably copying Zabriel.”

I think Stesha would sooner hurl himself into the Font of First Flames than copy Zabriel in any way. “You should give the dragonmaster a hair ribbon before he competes.”

“To tie his hair up with?” she asks, confused.

“It’s a human custom. Before a competition, a girl will give a boy one of her hair ribbons and he’ll tie it around his arm or his weapon.”

“Why would I do that?”

“For luck. Support. Or in your case, as we say where I’m from, because you’re in love with him.”

Zenevieve looks away sharply.

I could let it rest, but unfortunately, since he saved my life, I’ve decided I like Stesha, and I really like Zenevieve. Carnivals and festivals were always a wonderful opportunity for lovers to confess their feelings.

“Do you know whatin lovemeans?” I rephrase it the Maledinni way. “Your heart beats to the rhythm of his dragon’s wings.”

Zenevieve buries her face in her arms and moans. “Lady Isavelle, please. It’s no good. I can’t drive myself mad over him for another five hundred years.” She huffs miserably, and then says, “Tell me what happened that day.”

“What day?”

“The day Zabriel fought the dragonmaster because he touched your hair.”

Ah, that day. The day Stesha caught Zenevieve’s scent on me. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about that day.”

“Yes, but I’ve never heard it from you.”

I smile to myself, and I tell her all about how distraught and confused Stesha was because he could smell his ward who was supposed to be long dead. Zenevieve rests her head on my shoulder as she listens.

“He really saidI think I’m losing my mindwhen he caught my scent?”

“He did. He was in agony.”

Her brow creases in distress. “Oh, poor Stesha.”

Zenevieve can’t see me, so I briefly cast my eyes to the heavens. Poor Stesha? Stesha is doing just fine. Zenevieve is the one who’s suffering.

Later that night, I tell Zabriel what Stesha said about why he thinks he and his dragon will win the Dragon Games.

Zabriel sits up in bed so fast that he takes all the bedclothes with him. “Content, am I?” he declares angrily. “I’m mated and crowned, and so the dragonmaster thinks I’m going soft? I’ve never been more motivated to win, and neither has Scourge. We’re competing to prove ourselves, our leadership, and our bloodline.”

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