“You can share with me,” Saengo says quickly as we kneel to return my blanket and other supplies to my satchel. A light gust scatters the herbs I’d planned to apply to my legs tonight. A mixture of anger and frustration claws through my gut, but I only press my lips together, jaw tight.

I leave the remains of my food. There’s not much I can do to recover them, not even the sticky rice wrapped in banana leaves, which someone had taken care to step on. Officit Boldis sits on his drake nearby, eating his lunch and pretending not to see.

Behind me, one of the other wyverns approaches. Judging by the faint crinkle of paper tucked inside a pocket, I assume it’s Jonyah. He always carries paper money, which reiwyn prefer over coins. He thinks it makes him more important. He sneaks up quickly enough to snatch the feathers from the end of my braid.

“You’re a disgrace.” Jonyah flings the feathers into the dirt.

Saengo stands, fists balled. I straighten alongside her and place my hand on her forearm, stalling whatever she means to say.

Jonyah sneers and doesn’t back away as I step close enough for my fingers to dart along the pocket of his uniform pants. For a tense second, we only glare at each other. Then his gaze flicks to Saengo.

“You dishonor our House by—”

“If I want your opinion, I will ask for it,” Saengo says.

His lips compress, but he backs away with a curt bow. Once he’s gone, I slide my hand into my pocket along with the paper money pressed into my palm. Then I kneel again to finish gathering my scattered supplies. Whenever we’re assigned the same duties, he never fails to make them more difficult for me. After seeing Jonyah’s name on the duty report under the list of wyverns assigned to this supply delivery, I’d groaned and then asked Saengo to shoot him with an arrow and plead that the sun was in her eye. I would gladly have taken the penance.

“Swine,” Saengo mutters. She retrieves the gray feathers and blows gently against the soft edges. “Here, let me.”

Although my legs scream in protest, I remain crouched over the small pile of my things in the road as she returns the feathers to my braid.

The privilege of a feathered braid is one only given to fourth-years, when our hair has grown long enough. The style and adornment are meant to represent the tail of a wyvern, one of the most fearsome predators in all of Thiy. Of course, they’re not real wyvern feathers—wyverns are native only to Kazahyn, a mountainous kingdom to the southeast.