“I see.” Weysh had to close his eyes against the sinking despair that suddenly engulfed him. He would never be a whole dragon again. Never fully smell spicy-sweet Yenni, or metallic Harth, or flowery Maman.

A warm, soft hand squeezed his upper arm, and he opened his eyes to Healer Veronique’s sympathetic gaze.

“Walk with Byen, Messer Nolan,” she said softly.

Back outside, the bustle of the city and the sunny day seemed to mock him. The hope that his sense of smell might come back, which had buoyed him through the days after the attack, fell apart like paper in the rain, until he found himself stumbling like a drunk, his legs weak. It was all he could do to direct himself to the alley between two overpriced boutiques and sit with his head between his legs.

He felt dizzy and sick, as if he’d spent the night before drinking barrels of beer. Could emotion truly affect someone so physically? What was to become of him now? His future, his post in the Imperial Army? How was he to protect Yenni? He was a dragon, he was not used to this helplessness! The idea that someone had come along and just taken something so important from him, just taken it, and there was nothing he could do—the buzzing, maddening violation of it was overwhelming. It was a new, unbearable form of pain, but one that made him want to scream all the same. This was his life now—the world as he had known it through sharp and magnificent scents was lost to him forever.

He sniffed, then frowned. Why was his nose running? A reaction to the sniffing vials? He wiped at it, and felt more moisture collected right at the crook of his nostril. Tears. He was crying. When was the last time he’d cried? From sadness? Weysh tipped his head back to try to stop them, but that only sent them cascading down his neck, into the collar of his shirt. So he simply gave up and let the tears fall.

When Weysh at last dragged himself from the alley and changed to dragon, even that took none of the edge off his misery. When he set out from the city center he’d intended to go home, skip his classes, and lick his wounds. But in the end it wasn’t his townhouse rooftop he closed in on, but the familiar red brick of his family home.

Why am I here? he thought, even as he knocked on the door. Genie opened it and welcomed him warmly.

“Is Maman up?” Suddenly he realized he very much wanted to see her.

“Bright and early, as per usual. She’s having a morning cup of coffee in the back garden—whatever is the matter, Weysh? Your face is as long as a horse’s!”