The brown dragon looked dead. Thymara longed to go closer and have a better look at her, but the golden dragon standing over her intimidated her. Mercor had scarcely moved since the last time she had walked past them. His gleaming black eyes fixed on her now. He did not speak but she felt the mental push he gave her. ‘I’m only worried about her,’ she said aloud. Sylve had been dozing, leaned back against her dragon’s front leg. She opened her eyes at the sound of Thymara’s voice. She gave Mercor an apologetic glance and then came over to Thymara.

‘He’s suspicious,’ she said. ‘He thinks someone hurt the brown dragon on purpose. So he’s standing watch to protect her.’

‘To protect her, or to be first to eat her when she dies?’ Thymara managed to keep all accusation out of her voice.

Sylve did not take offence. ‘To protect her. He has seen too many of the dragons die since they came out of their cocoons. There are so few females that even one that is stunted and dull-witted must be protected.’ She laughed in an odd way and added, ‘Rather like us.’

‘What?’

‘Like us keepers. Only four of us are females and all the rest males. Mercor says that no matter how deformed we are, the males must protect us.’

The statement left Thymara speechless. Without thinking, she lifted her hand to her face, touching the scales that traced her jawline and cheekbones. She considered the ramifications of it and then said bluntly, ‘We can’t marry or mate, Sylve. We all know the rules, even if Mercor does not. The Rain Wilds marked most of us from the day we were born, and we all know what it means. A shorter life span. If we do conceive, most of our children aren’t viable. By custom, most of us should have been exposed at birth. We all know why we were chosen for this expedition, and it wasn’t just so we could care for the dragons. It was to get rid of us as well.’