Carmenna’s scent was quite different from his Given’s, which had a pleasant sweetness to it as well, but woven into something spicy, almost stinging. Not comforting, per se, but invigorating, like mint, perhaps, or pine, except not.

At last Carmenna stepped out from the night, her dark hair streaming behind her, glossy in the light from the tall lamps ringing the square. The way she smiled as she caught sight of him, happy and warm, made him want to change to dragon and simply take off, but he would not. He would face her.

Gathering her skirts, she plopped down beside him on the fountain’s edge. “Hi, Weysh!” she chirped, and moved in to kiss him. Weysh gently put a hand to her shoulder, stopping her. “What is it?” she asked, her brows drawing together. “Weysh, what’s wrong?”

He made himself meet her searching brown eyes. “I’ve met my Given.”

She drew in a breath, a short, soft gasp, and jerked back from him. “Oh,” she breathed, and paused for a moment. “Oh.” She gripped her chest but didn’t look away, and even as Weysh watched, her eyes went from pleading to angry to defeated.

“I’m sorry, Carmenna.”

“What is there to be sorry for?” she said, and though she smiled, her eyes were wet with tears. “Dragons are Given, after all. Although you said . . .”—and here her voice took on a note of accusation—“I thought you were a severed dragon.”

“I know. I assumed—I believed—I had no mate. But there’s no mistaking it. I wish I could explain, but she’s my Given. I’m sure of it.” He hadn’t even been in dragon and he’d been able to pick out her scent across the quad. But of all the unlucky timing, he’d been just about to leave on a delivery. He’d only had time to change and smell her up close, to confirm for sure who she was, before taking off.

Carmenna gathered her skirts again and rose. “I see,” she said, and dipped in a shallow curtsy to him. “Thank you for letting me know, Weysh. Have a good night.”

“What, you’re leaving?”

“Yes.”

“But shouldn’t we talk about this?”

“About what?” she snapped, and then quickly composed herself, standing tall. “Do you intend to forsake your Given to be with me?”

“Of course not!”

She flinched at that, and Weysh grimaced. That was poorly done, but he’d never been good at tact. More often than not his thoughts flew from his mouth before he could stop them.

“That’s not how I meant it, Carmenna. But now that I’ve met my Given, I can’t love you . . . ah Byen.” He ran a nervous hand across the itchy stubble of his beard as the fountain trickled behind them.

“The way you love her,” Carmenna whispered.

“The way you deserve,” he said firmly.