“All kinds of interesting things! We read journals on experimental incantations, theoretical applications of existing magical spells—it’s fascinating, Weysh!” As Sylvie went into detail about her new friends, some of the color came back to her cheeks and her eyes brightened. “Weysh, I’ve been thinking about something. If I tell you, will you promise not to mock me?”

“Of course, Sylvie. What is it?”

“I want to be able to take care of Maman too. I think when I’m done second school I want to go to Grande Magus Academy. I want to become a magical engineer and work on the trams, perhaps even develop a new type of tram or maybe even a flying machine!”

Weysh blinked. She held her chin up, watching him defiantly. Weysh had always thought of Sylvie as the little sister he had to support and protect, but she was growing up before his eyes. He’d told Yenni she would be much more than simply someone’s wife, and it dawned on him the same was true of Sylvie as well.

“A flying machine? So you’re trying to put me out of business, en?”

“Ah! Well, I didn’t think of that—”

Weysh laughed. In truth he’d been itching to get out of the ferrying business of late, especially after today’s run. He’d flown a stuffy young merchant couple to their villa on Sainte Ventas. They were the type of passengers Weysh liked the least but were unfortunately most common: not quite high enough on the social scale to have dragon relatives but flush with new money and something to prove, so they insisted on riding dragonback. They were slow to heed his signals, complained about the wind, and took forever to dismount when they finally landed hours later. Weysh didn’t trust himself to change from dragon to man and bid them farewell. Thank the Kindly Watcher they’d paid in advance through credit at the bank. He had only to deposit them at their gaudy summer house, sketch them a shallow bow, and take off.

“You know what? If it makes you happy, I think that’s a fantastic idea, conductor.”

“Yes and it makes me feel better, the idea that I can take care of myself and Maman. I’m still scared for Papa but knowing I’ll have some sort of purpose when he’s gone, makes things . . . not better, but less terrifying. And you’ll be free to live with your Given.”

Weysh reached across the coffee table to take her hand. “Lovely, no matter what happens, and no matter where I live, you can always count on my support.”

This was what Montpierre didn’t understand. Weysh could never just abandon his family, and he couldn’t on principle let the man go to his grave thinking so ill of him. Weysh stood.

“Where are you going?” asked Sylvie.