Rook

began quietly.
    “I prefer to be called Adept Bittner,” he said. Gubbins raised his lack of eyebrows but refrained from pointing out that no such title existed.
    “Adept Bittner,” I said. “I can understand your concern.” He swelled righteously, and I hastily continued. “But you must understand that not everyone can easily comprehend what is going on here. This is an unusual situation, even for the Checquy.” I could mangle words with the best of them, and this was a kid who had clearly read too much of a certain kind of book. His righteous swelling changed subtly to prideful puffing. “These men are not here for the dragon but rather to reassure the visitors, who are exceptionally important, as befits the situation.” Bittner nodded reluctantly.
    “I understand. And it’s not as if bullets could harm the dragon; it was the disrespect I objected to.”
    “Rest assured,” I said, “we are sensible of the honor that is being done here.” He liked that and nodded in a manner that he probably thought grave and wise. I took a deep breath. “Adept Bittner, will you join us for breakfast?” Beside me, I could feel Gubbins recoil at the prospect.
    “No,” said Bittner, casting a reluctant look at the buffet. “I am fasting in preparation for this evening. Now I must go to the egg and commune with the dragon.” Noel Bittner swept out, and I pushed my plate away with an unsteady hand. He wasn’t a scary person, but I didn’t like being shouted at by anyone.
    “Myfanwy,” said Gubbins. “I cannot believe you let that little shit talk to you like that. I don’t care how talented he is, you are a member of the Checquy Court, and he is just a student at the Estate.” Gubbins was pissed off—not just at Bittner, but at me. I took a deep breath.
    “Chevalier Gubbins,” I said. “This is the only person who can communicate with the dragon. If we can stop it from doing what dragons traditionally do, which involves flying all around the place burning houses and eating hundreds of humans before heading north, then it will be a good thing. If we can bring it under the control of the Checquy, then it will be a great thing. To that end, I will put up with almost any amount of shit.” Gubbins subsided, but I could tell he was not happy. Wordlessly, I stood up and got myself a fresh breakfast.
    The rest of the day was spent overseeing preparations for the hatching. It was winter, and although the egg had been moved from its hole, it couldn’t be brought inside. Dragons like it cold. Really, really cold. So even though it was below zero, we’d had a huge cooling apparatus set up. There also neededto be special accommodation so that humans could observe closely without freezing to death or being killed by a newborn dragon’s temper tantrum. So a ring of viewing chambers had been placed around the egg, furnished with comfortable chairs, heaters, bulletproof glass, brandy, and opera glasses. And heavily bundled snipers on top. All the luxuries of home.
    By the time the helicopter arrived, it had been dark for quite a while, and I’d been able to shower in the farmhouse and put on something slightly more formal. After all, it’s not every day that you appear at the birth of a dragon. Gubbins and I were both stationed at the entrance to the pavilion, ready to welcome the last witnesses from the Court.
    “Good evening, Sir Henry,” I said demurely. “Welcome.” The Lord crunched through the snow, nodded benevolently, and hurried into the heated room, casting off his heavy coat. Gubbins followed him to make him comfortable, leaving me to welcome Alrich, who came out of the darkness. The guards tensed discreetly. Everyone was cold, and a light snow had begun to fall, glowing in the glare of the lights, but Alrich glided over the ground without a sound. He left no footprints in the snow, and his breath didn’t steam. His hair shimmered like burning blood, and he was dressed in thin black silk. Waiting for him, even with the heat coming through the door behind me, I shivered.
    “Bishop Alrich,” I whispered. He smiled and nodded his head slightly. I was ready for him to glide past me, but he offered his arm, and, gulping, I accepted it. Behind us, the glass doors slid shut, and I began to regain feeling in my feet. Gubbins was introducing Sir Henry to various key members of the site staff.
    “… and this is Noel Bittner,” he finished. Bittner swept forward, stepping on my foot. He was dressed in