“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!”

Orest hung his head. “I know,” he mumbled. “I know you’re right. It’s just—a fellow likes to have friends.”

“Well, if they can’t adjust to you working harder, they aren’t friends worth having,” Kiron replied. “You don’t want friends who’ll encourage you to be a lay-about if you want to raise a dragon and be a Jouster, Orest. You want friends who’ll say, ‘listen, why don’t we get together after you’ve done what you need to do?’ Those are the ones worth hanging onto.”

Orest raised his head and smiled wanly. “You sound like one of my tutors. So why do I like you so much?”

“Maybe because I want you to have a dragon, and I want you to be a Jouster, at least as much as you do,” Kiron replied warmly. “And maybe because I might be the right kind of friend?”

“That might be the answer. Good night, Kiron. If I’m going to be virtuous, I had better get my sleep so I can read that blasted scroll over breakfast.” Orest stood up, and motioned to the servants to clear away the remains of dinner.

“Good night, Orest,” he replied warmly. And once he was alone again, he got up and went to his cot, which today had been placed behind a woven grass screen for a bit more privacy, and beneath a canopy for shelter from weather. As he lay down on it, he wondered at the strength of his feelings for Orest—and yes, even Orest’s rather overbearing little sister. He liked both of them a very great deal; liked them in a way that he had not felt for anyone except perhaps Ari. Was this what it felt like, to have a good friend? If so, well—it was a good feeling. And with Orest and Aket-ten, he didn’t have to worry about much of a difference in age, the way he had with Ari.

And as for a difference in rank, well—maybe he hadn’t been born into the noble class, but the Mouth of the Bedu had said that having a dragon conferred nobility, and what the Lord of the Jousters said seemed to confirm that, so there wasn’t any real difference there either.

He still didn’t own more than he could pack onto Avatre’s back, but—

But possessions weren’t everything. Look at all that Ari had owned, and how he had just given away the Gold of Honor as if it were nothing more than a lot of cheap clay amulets!

If only Ari could have come along. . . .