“Dad gave this one to me,” I murmur, pressing the book against my chest. Maybe it’s childish, just a collection of stories that warn us against the lure of magic, and even demonize dragons, but it’s all I have left. She sighs. “Is it that old book of folklore about dark-wielding vermin and their wyvern? Haven’t you read it a thousand times already?” “Probably more,” I admit. “And they’re venin, not vermin.”
