“It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Varrish asks, retreating one step at a time. “From what Colonel Aetos told me, your father was writing a book on feathertails—dragons which hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years—and then you ended up bonded to one.” “Coincidental,” I correct him. “The word you meant to say is ‘coincidental.’” “Is it?” He seems to ponder, backing away and passing by Bodhi. My stomach turns. “Is it?” “I know nothing of your father’s research,” Tairn promises. But Andarna has gone silent.
