Mercedes Lackey - Alta

And only then did the real worries begin, of hiding the egg from anyone who might glance into the pen, of keeping it safe from the strange storms that the Altan Magi had sent, of the ever-more difficult task of hiding and feeding the hatched dragonet. And, of course, of pulling double duty, tending not only to Kashet and Ari, but to Avatre on the sly. He hadn’t had a sound night of sleep, frankly, until his first night with the Bedu clan.

No, no matter how hard Orest and his friends worked for their dragons, they would never match the effort that he had put in for Avatre.

“So how sore are you still?” Orest asked, breaking into his brooding.

“Sore enough,” he admitted, though the fact was that getting around at the moment often hurt as badly as if he was being beaten by Khefti-the-Fat, and he found himself sleeping a lot. It was quite strange, actually; though he didn’t actually remember it, all he could guess was that he had hit a great many obstacles in being pulled through the water, and had probably broken several ribs in the process. And perhaps he had dislocated his arms at the shoulder as well; the joints ached enough for it. The reeds had certainly lacerated his back; he’d seen the rags left of what he had been wearing. Fortunately, the Healer had made those cuts close over; evidently dealing with broken bones took longer.

It was equally fortunate that his body had protected Aket-ten, or she would have been as injured as he was. And he was glad he had an Altan-style cot rather than a Tian bed that would have required him to sleep on his back. He could lie on his stomach to sleep on the cot, which was the least uncomfortable of all of the possible positions.

I don’t believe I will try that sort of rescue again, he thought. Or at least, not quite in that way.

Orest sighed. “I was hoping you might be able to start lessons tomorrow,” he said mournfully. “I was supposed to have read some wretched scroll today, and I didn’t, and if you were getting your first reading lesson, my tutor Arit-on-senes might forget I was supposed to have read it. Or maybe I’d get a chance to read it while you were getting the lesson.”

“That’s what you get for spending all day next to the round pool telling your friends what a great Jouster you’re going to be,” Aket-ten said smugly.

“Look!” Orest burst out, “Just how do you know what I did all day?”

“I have ways,” Aket-ten replied, looking superior. “And don’t try to deny it, because I know, and I even know who you were talking to, and when.”

Orest crossed his arms over his chest. “All right, then,” he said belligerently. “Prove it.”

“Right after your reading lesson you met with Leto. After Leto, but before luncheon, you talked with Kaafet and Pe-katis. Then your mathematica tutor caught you and dragged you off to lessons, and he must have passed you directly to your philosophy tutor because you didn’t get back to the pool until after that, but then—”

“Stop!” Orest cried, and threw up his hands. “You really have use the Far-Watcher Gift yet, and I know you didn’t bribe anyone who does—”

“Because I wouldn’t!” Aket-ten said, scandalized. “That is a sacred Gift, and not to be used for things like sneaking a look at a bad brother!”

“So who told you?” he demanded, ignoring her outrage.

“No one. I have ways,” was all she said, looking smug again.

But Kiron had an idea that the library that she had said she used all day probably stood right near this pool that Orest seemed to favor as a meeting place. Altan buildings were not all like the Tian ones with few windows, but with slits parallel to and up near the ceiling to allow cooler air inside—but he would bet that some of them were. Such slits were very good, under some conditions, for conducting sound inside a quiet room from the outside. A quiet room such as—inside a library, for instance.

But this time he was not going to help Orest out. He liked Orest a great deal, but he already had the impression that Orest was a bit of a shirker when it came to doing his work. If he thought that his sister had some special means of knowing where he went and who he talked to, and even what he said and did, he might get into the habit of being a little more diligent. Kiron did not intend to nursemaid Orest through the hatching and raising of his dragon, and he especially did not intend to “help” him by doing the tasks he had “forgotten” because he wanted to go socialize with his friends.

But he wasn’t going to say that—at least, not yet—and he might never have to if Orest thought that his sister was able to tell what he’d been up to and was apt to tell tales to their father.

Orest frowned at her. She sniffed.

“I’m not going to tell on you this time,” she warned, “But you’d better start being more serious if you expect to be a Jouster. The scrolls I read said that the Joust-Masters are allowed to beat shirkers, no matter how high-born they are. With staves,” she added wickedly. “Like a slave.”

“What?” Orest exclaimed, taken strongly aback.

“So if you don’t start to act serious about your studies, you could find yourself with a set of stripes like a slave,” she continued. She ate a last grape then, and stood up. “Good night, brother mine,” she said. “Consider yourself warned. Good night, Kiron, I hope you’re less sore in the morning. I think you’ll quite enjoy reading when you’ve learned to.” Then she turned to the dragon in her circle of braziers. “Good night, Avatre,” she said, fondly.

The dragon open one eye, and sighed gustily. Aket-ten laughed, and padded across the courtyard to the door that must lead to her rooms.

Orest looked after her, baffled. “Where does she find out these things?” he asked no one in particular. Then he looked at Kiron, who shrugged.

“But if she’s right about those Joust-Masters, she’s also right about getting out of the habit of slipping away from lessons whenever you feel like it,” he pointed out. “Look, I’ve been a serf, and I know what a real beating feels like. I’ll show you my back at some point. Khefti-the-Fat left scars. It’s not something you want to find out for yourself.”

Orest groaned. “You’re right, and I know you’re right, but . . . well, a fellow likes to talk to his friends now and again.”

“Maybe, but all day? Or most of it, anyway.” Orest couldn’t be much older than Kiron was, but somehow Kiron felt as if he was as old as Ari, and Orest was as young as that newly liberated serf taken from Khefti-the-Fat. Younger. He hadn’t needed encouragement to do his duty once he wasn’t being abused anymore. Orest was certainly spoiled, and it was time for him to start picking up his responsibilities.

“But there was you—and Avatre—and the dragon-egg idea—” Orest protested weakly. “Everyone wanted to hear about it!”

“And tomorrow, and tomorrow, and for a lot more tomorrows I am still going to be here, and so will Avatre, and so will the dragon egg idea.” It was utterly ridiculous on the face of it, that he should be acting like a mentor and elder to one no older than he himself.

But Orest had gotten his own way quite enough—not enough to make him into an overindulged monster, but enough that he was too careless and carefree. And Kiron—

I’ve lived through a hundred times more than he has. Maybe I’m right to feel old.

“How would you feel if you ‘forgot’ to feed your dragonet because you were chatting with your friends, and she became ill with hunger?” he demanded. “Or worse, you weren’t looking in on her, and something bad happened to her? She could tear a wing membrane and bleed to death, she could break a wing bone and cripple herself, she could even wander out of her pen and into the pen of one of the Jousting dragons and be killed and eaten!”