Weysh frowned; that was serious. And yet Noriago had been cleared. Weysh couldn’t believe he was about to advocate for Noriago of all people, but more than once in second school Weysh had been pinned with the blame for crimes he hadn’t committed—petty thefts, vandalism, starting fights when he was only defending himself—simply because he fit the profile of a criminal and the teachers and administration were too lazy to investigate further. And he certainly couldn’t have turned to Montpierre for help.

“But if there was no proof that he did it, that’s that. Why are we talking about this?” asked Weysh, suddenly irritated.

“It’s true there’s no proof but it’s suspicious. Just watch yourself with him, en?”

“I’m not afraid of Noriago,” said Weysh, and turned back to the lesson, ending the conversation.

Still, once class was over and Weysh saw Noriago trudging across the burned plain toward the spires of the campus proper, the sudden urge to confront the other dragon took him over. Weysh never was one to leave well enough alone, after all.

“Noriago!” he called, and jogged up to him.

Noriago put his head down and walked faster, his steps crunching on the dead grass. “Sweet Sienta Marin, what in all hells do you want, Nolan?”

“I heard about what happened in Espanna with your father. The others were talking about you.”

He stopped and whirled around to face Weysh, ready for a fight. “And?”

“I know what it’s like to be fodder for gossip and ridicule.”

“As if I care what any of those rat pricks think.”

“Then why did you leave home?”

“I . . . that’s . . .” Noriago sputtered, then laughed, disbelieving. “So what, you think we’re the same? What could you possibly know about it, Nolan?”

“I know more than you think. As a child I had classmates spit at me, and make signs of warding, like I was some sort of demon—at least until I threatened to roast them if they didn’t stop.”

Noriago scowled at him. “Spare me your whining. That’s a day at the seashore compared to what I’ve been through. Someone like you couldn’t begin to understand how much I’ve lost.”

His maman, for one. To his surprise, Weysh actually felt sympathy for Noriago.

“I’m sorry,” Weysh told him, and meant it. “Listen, this is the last year of schooling for both of us. We have a lot to accomplish and this fighting is an unnecessary distraction. I say we call a truce.” Weysh stuck out his arm.

Noriago watched him for a long time, his bronze eyes hard and his hair fluttering in the wind.

Weysh sighed. “I’m not trying to be your best friend, Noriago—I simply need to concentrate and get the best scores possible this year, especially now that I have a Given to support.” He thrust his hand at Noriago again. “Truce?”