by Sarah McCarthy
I have never won a battle against my mother. I don’t mean physically. Although she’d definitely win that, too. No, I mean any kind of contest: wits, wills, anything. She’s so thoroughly defeated me my whole life that I don’t even know anymore what’s me and what’s like, a deeper level of her guidance and opinions. Her sense of conviction is just that strong. To be honest, I admire it. But this time, despite how hard I tried to follow her path, something went wrong. I stood there in front of all the other dedicants, the members of the First Families, the council, and my mother the magistrate, ready to perform my trial, ready to demonstrate that I could produce the tenum I would trade to a dragon for its service. Tenum I’d produced a thousand times before, without even trying. And nothing came. What had once come without effort, as easy as falling asleep, was gone. I still have no idea why. I failed, and by their own laws they should have executed me, but instead they let me leave. I just hope it stays that way . . .
