“I thought it was just…just what keepers and dragons felt. But why did you do this to me?”

“I didn’t. I didn’t want to change you then; I hadn’t planned to. Usually, a dragon is very selective in who she chooses to accept as an Elderling. Such a change is an honor reserved for the most devoted, the most loyal and intelligent of humans. In ancient times, humans vied for such attention granted by a dragon. They didn’t just fall into it by virtue of being given the care of a dragon as if it were a menial chore!”

“Then why did you do it? Why?” Tears were running down her face. Their voices had carried. She heard keeper voices lifted querulously, heard the rumble of dragons. She didn’t care, didn’t care if the others were watching from the deck of the Tarman, didn’t care if the other dragons were disturbed and drawing near to see what the fuss was. This was between her and Sintara, and she intended to have it out, once and for all.

“You began changing yourself! You dreamed of flying more than I did! I was not even thinking of changing you. When Mercor pointed out to me that you were changing, I took pity on you. That’s all. You should be grateful! They will be quite beautiful when they are finished, almost a mirror to my own. And I, I will have the first winged Elderling! No other dragon has ever created such a creature.”

Thymara craned her neck to try to look over her shoulder. The dragon sounded so pleased with herself. Were the wings actually beautiful? Should she feel herself honored rather than made monstrous? No matter how she twisted her head, all she could see was the wet tip of something that reminded her of a rain-soaked parasol. Timidly she reached back with both hands. Wings. She felt skin stretched over bone and cartilage, but strangest of all, when she touched them, she felt herself, just as she did when she touched her own hands.

She dared herself, took hold of them, and tried to stretch them out. No. No, that was like bending her fingers the wrong way. She twitched a shoulder and instinctively folded her wings back in tight to her back. Tight to her back, yes, but not concealed as they had been. Folded smooth to her body, even as Sintara’s wings or a bird’s wings fit flush to her back. “Will they…will they grow more?” She dared herself and then asked boldly, “Will I be able to fly some day?”

“Fly? Don’t be ridiculous. No. They’re much too small. But they will be lovely, as lovely as mine. All will envy you.”

“Why can’t they grow larger? Why couldn’t they grow large enough for me to fly? I want to fly!”