But first, ludicrous as it was, it seemed he had to win his Given over. As much as he’d like to delude himself, Weysh knew he hadn’t imagined the sour fear wafting off her at Northfall River. He needed to apologize and make good for his ill-conceived plan, and to that end, he’d decided to pay a trip to Darwish & Darwish Outfitters, known throughout Cresh as the finest purveyors of dragon-riding fashion. As they’d headed back to the academy, he’d caught another scent from her right before she’d begun to slip: a bright, citrusy whiff of excitement, and he clung to the fragrant memory of it, using it to fuel his determination.

The bells above the shop door jingled as he entered.

“Wealth and favor!” the shop clerks shouted. A man in a waistcoat with his dark hair slicked back detached himself from a table of suede gloves. “How can I be of assistance?”

Weysh had the man fetch him a pair of goggles, two pairs of riding pants with the inner thighs and buttocks reinforced (which he suspected his Given would fill out quite nicely), a flying cap, a fine pair of tall black boots, and a pair of the aforementioned gloves, expertly keeping his dismay off his face at the total. When it was all stuffed into his messenger bag, he switched and took to the air.

Once above the city he breathed deeply, sifting through the air for that scent at once new and natural. No one had ever commanded his senses like her, as if she were a beacon on a foggy night. He felt he could sniff her out anywhere, and true to form, within minutes, the barest thread of her drifted teasingly under his nose. He turned sharply, just missing the edge of a decorative balustrade on a shop balcony, and dove after the scent.

He let his nose guide him, shifting on the wind as the fragrance of her strengthened. At last he spied her near the guest housing. She was hidden beneath the swaying tendrils of one of the white willows lining the path to the buildings. As he pulled in she jumped up from her sitting position, accosting him with an acrid plume of anger and panic. He landed on the smooth stone of the path and switched.

“Stay back,” she said, and pointed her spear at him. A pot and brush laid abandoned on the grass beside her and the white markings were back on her skin. Weysh noticed a small group of students who’d stopped on the path a few feet away. Byen above, just what he needed: an audience.