Weysh was early. His conversation with his mother the day before had put him in a mood, and even changed to dragon he’d been restless and unable to sleep. Spitting fire at targets for an hour or two would make for a good distraction. But as he approached the riverbank he saw a few of his classmates were early as well. They sat hunched on the river’s edge in human, their backs to him. One was a woman with shining green hair cut short—his classmate Feiy. And—he wanted to groan aloud—another woman with long green twin-tails, that rumor-monger Clairette. His classmate Sween, whose blue hair burst from his head in its usual mess, as though it was permanently windswept, sat between them. They couldn’t hear or smell him coming against the wind, if their topic of conversation was any indication.

“. . . in West Castle West of all places. It makes us all look bad!” said Feiy.

“Well, Weysh isn’t a bad sort, though,” said Sween.

Feiy made a noise of disapproval. “No, I know but—well, you know, about his father. Either way, dragons shouldn’t be fighting in the streets like that.”

Weysh stopped, letting the wind blow his scent downwind, and blow their words back to him.

“Forget about Weysh,” said Clairette, waving a hand. “Wait until you hear what my cousin had to say about Luiz.”

“Your cousin with the peacekeepers?” asked Sween.

“Obviously, Sween. Who else would know about all this? He told me that back in Espanna, Luiz’s father was charged with adultery, and he was ministralto for the whole of the Church of the Sacred Vigil.”

“No!” cried Feiy.

“Yes! It was quite the fall from grace. And—oh, this is the saddest part—the shame of it was so great that his mother took her own life.”

Weysh jerked back, stunned.

“Oh, Watcher above!” cried Feiy. Sween shook his head.

“Tragic, isn’t it? No wonder he left Espanna. That’s why he transferred to Prevan last year. Well, that and what I just told you, about . . .” Clairette had lowered her voice and Weysh couldn’t catch the last part of what she said.

“I wonder why those two are so constantly at odds when they have such similar grim backgrounds,” mused Feiy.

Weysh rubbed at his temples: not this again. No matter what he did, his father’s legacy plagued him. A classmate to whom he’d perhaps said five words to all year seemed to think she knew all about his background. Weysh was long used to the gossip and the whispers, but he never would have guessed that Noriago was subject to the same treatment, not with all the high and mighty airs he put on.