“Might be.”
“But you couldn’t have traveled here alone. It’s too dangerous.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Why won’t you answer my questions?”
“I will when you ask the right ones.”
One time, Silver said, “Are you going to tell anyone? Please don’t. Especially not my father.” Her words had spilled out too forcefully to be stopped. She snuck a glance at Nebekker.
“I don’t plan on telling anyone.” Nebekker sniffed and looked down her long nose at Silver.
And she didn’t. Instead, she taught Silver what she needed to know until there was just one lesson left before Sagittaria Wonder’s visit: how to join the scales into a racing suit so remarkable it would ensure that Silver’s dreams came true.
THREE
Another autumnal storm built over the vast desert, coloring the midday sky slate gray. Silver sat across from Nebekker, frowning and squinting at her stitches. There were only two more days until Sagittaria Wonder arrived in Jaspaton, and Silver was hurrying to finish in time. Her chest was as heavy as the dark clouds. She hoped the weather wouldn’t delay Queen Imea’s traveling group.
“I hope anyone out in the dunes stays safe,” Nebekker said.
Nebekker didn’t look up from her work. Her fingers sped across the stitches perfectly. With a groan, Silver ripped out her last five stitches for being too loose.
“No desert folk would go out in such a storm,” Silver said. “Only coastal people get lost.”
Silver paused her work and glanced out the window as lightning cut the horizon in half. “Except Sagittaria Wonder. She could find her way with her eyes closed. Like that time she raced her Dwakka through not one but two whirlpools!”
That was during the Desert Nations Autumn Festival races two years ago, the first time the finals course had whirlpools. How Silver wished she could’ve been there! She bent over her stitches eagerly. If everything went according to plan, she would be cheering on Sagittaria at this year’s races.
“You don’t even know what a whirlpool looks like,” Nebekker grumbled. Silver hid a smile. Nebekker always got a bit grouchy when Silver started rambling about Sagittaria Wonder.
“It’s a shame your cousin’s birthday will be so stormy,” Nebekker said, peering out the window.
“Maybe there won’t be so many people at his party, then,” Silver muttered.
Nebekker gave her a long look, and a drumbeat of emotion pounded in her belly. Silver didn’t mean that, really. Her cousin Brajon was her favorite person in the desert—or anywhere—and she wanted his birthday to be spectacular. It wasn’t his fault that he was beloved by all in Jaspaton and that hundreds of people would come to wish him well. Or that his mother, Silver’s aunt Yidla, was likely at that very moment putting the finishing touches on a birthday feast that would rival what Queen Imea enjoyed in her fine palace. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that he was going to receive a coveted dune board this year: It was the traditional thirteenth-year present.
Silver made a low sound in her throat. She’d messed up another two stitches. Be patient, find rhythm, respect the craft. Nebekker had repeated these words often over the two weeks they had been weaving together, but Silver didn’t have time to be patient. There was a plan for a spectacular riding suit tucked safely in one of Nebekker’s pots, and an even bigger plan rooted in Silver’s head. If she finished in time.
“Fly, fingers, fly,” Silver whispered under her breath.
The front door flew open. She glanced up, expecting a gust of wind. When she saw who it was, she stashed her work under the folds of her tunic, her heart racing.
“Silver, I—” Brajon was shouldered aside before he could finish speaking.
“So this is where you’re hiding!” Silver’s father squeezed into the room, his voice triumphant. The wind slammed the door shut behind him, and his scarf whipped around his black hair before settling on his shoulders. The low light emphasized the sharpness of Rami Batal’s cheekbones and jawline, flashing against the thin circlet of gold around his forehead and softening the myriad metalworking scars on his hands.
“Ele-jeweler, you are supposed to be in class on the lower levels.” Rami frowned as he looked at them, seated on floor cushions. “What are you doing in here?”
Silver shot a nervous glance at Nebekker.
“She asked me to help her with a project. Something to impress her mother,” Nebekker said, lying smoothly.
“Exactly,” Silver blurted out. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it didn’t have to be a lie, either. Someday, she did want to impress her mother. But on her own terms.
Rami hesitated, choosing his words to the elderly woman carefully. “You are kind to help her.”
Silver watched her father looking around Nebekker’s small home. She could see the wheels turning in his head, wondering what on earth his daughter was doing with the strange old yarnslady. His gaze paused at the jug decorated with the water dragon.
Silver swallowed, forcing her scurrying pulse to slow, and tucked the racing suit even farther under her tunic. She couldn’t have her father asking questions.
“I’m almost finished, Father. How did you know where to find me?” Silver narrowed her eyes at Brajon, who hunched over guiltily.
Brajon was half a year younger than her but almost two heads taller and a whole lot heavier. He had new muscles since he started going into the mines on his twelfth birthday, following in his father’s footsteps. He was an ele-miner. Not that anyone ever called him that. He was always simply Brajon. Silver wished she could simply be called her own name, instead of always ele-jeweler. There were hundreds of miners for Brajon to blend in with, but there was only one Batal family. Silver’s path in life—and her shortcomings on that path—had nowhere to hide.
“You have responsibilities, Silver,” Rami Batal said. “You missed your morning classes.”
“I know! I just—” Silver hated that tinge of disappointment in her father’s voice, but she couldn’t explain herself.
Her father sighed impatiently. “I saw the marks on your last exam, and you can’t afford to be missing any lessons. You will make them up tomorrow. Go home and get ready for the party. You should be glad I’m still letting you go.”
Rami Batal pointed to the door. Silver scrambled to her feet.
“Nebekker,” he said more gently, “Silver should not be bothering you.”
“She isn’t bothering me. I invited her,” Nebekker said, her fingers still flying over her work. “But I never did invite you in.”
Not even stern Rami Batal could keep his lips from turning up slightly at the old woman’s saucy tone.
“Then I’ll be on my way,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “But, Silver, there will be no more visits until your marks improve. Go home now. I must return to the workshop.”
As her father left the house, Silver’s heart dropped and her cheeks burned. How would she finish the riding suit if she was banned from Nebekker’s house? She avoided looking at Nebekker or Brajon as she gathered her things.
“Thanks for telling him where I was,” Silver hissed as she brushed by her cousin before darting down the road.
“See you at my party,” Brajon called after her cheerfully.
SILVER RUSHED HOME and slipped into her bedroom. Directly across from the entrance was a fact sheet for the Aquinder, the most fabled of all water dragons. She walked over and brushed the corners of the paper with her fingertips. It was mostly blank, except for a scribble of what she thought it would look like based on the stories the traders told. Long and muscled, with fins and fur around its head and, most important, the only water dragon with wings to allow it to swim and fly.