I fell in love with this city from the moment I arrived seven years ago. It had been like diving into cold water, a breathtaking shock after the drab orphanage. Houses capped with curling clay tiles huddle together like hooded old men, exchanging secrets through traceried windows and paneled doors. Our mounts weave through gilded carriages clattering along on oversize wheels and laden carts pulled by teams of drakes. We skirt around some reiwyn lady’s palanquin draped in turquoise silk. Patrons crowd outside a popular noodle shop, and raucous children gather excitedly around a theater cart on the street corner.

The sights of the city don’t hold my attention for long today. My hand finds the shape of the troll-bone bracelet beneath my sleeve. Soon, Kendara will name me as her apprentice. Soon. My fingers tighten over the talisman, clutching it close, like a promise.

We turn onto a private lane, lined with buildings belonging to the Grand Offices. It’s quiet here, only a few soldiers chatting off to the side. The lane leads first to the enclosed grounds of the Prince’s Company. We pass it by, continuing along a shaded path lined with plum trees. The path ends at the doors to the Queen’s Company. The gates open directly into a sizable training yard. Long two-story buildings enclose the yard on three sides. Those are where students sit for lessons on subjects like history, religion, and military strategy.

Currently, students fill the yard in neat rows. They move in synchronization, shifting through the familiar forms of the Wyvern’s Dance, the fighting style of our armies. Near the entrance, already divided into two lines, are the first-year hatchlets. They’re always easy to spot because of the yellow sashes around their waists and their shorn hair. Was I that small at fourteen? I remember wanting to cry tears of self-pity every time I looked at my bald head in a mirror.

“Wyverns! You’re late!”

My spine snaps straight at the voice. Dread spills into my ribs. No, no, no. I dismount and drop immediately into a deep bow as Officit Boldis breaks away from the supply wagon.

He isn’t supposed to be leading us today. His name wasn’t on the duty report. There must have been a last-minute change. The officit he replaced is one of the few who likes me. She would have scolded me for being late and, at most, assigned me to cleaning after the drakes during the trip. If I’d known Officit Boldis would be here instead, I would have endeavored to arrive early.

“Our deepest apologies, Officit Boldis,” Saengo says, her voice pitched low, appropriately contrite. She hates him as much as I do, but she would never publicly disrespect an officit. “I was delayed by one of the falconers, and Sirscha was good enough to fetch me. It won’t happen again.”