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between tending the dragon or the Jouster, there is no choice for you: tend the dragon.”
    Vetch blinked, but again nodded obediently.
    “Now, the first thing you must do, this very moment, is to feed Kashet so that he knows you. Only a dragon boy, or at need, the Overseer or the Jouster will feed a dragon. They are too valuable to let anyone else meddle with them—” Haraket hesitated, then added, “—and other than Kashet, a dragon sharp-set with hunger might—savage—anyone he didn’t know who came to feed him. They’re wild beasts, very large and very powerful. Don’t ever forget that, not for a moment.”
    Other than Kashet . . . . Well, that was some comfort. But the thought still made Vetch gulp nervously. And the way that Haraket had hesitated over his choice of words made him wonder if the man had substituted “savage” for “devour.”
    Not a comfortable thought at all. What had he fallen into?
    “But you’ll never need worry about Kashet.” That was said with a certainty that quelled a little of Vetch’s unease. “Now, come with me. The only way to learn how to feed him is to do so.”
    Haraket turned and went out the doorway, and Vetch followed. Shortly the man was leading him at a trot down the corridors; Vetch was hard-put to keep up with the Overseer’s long legs. But those words worried him. Only the Jouster or the Overseer or the dragon boy feeds a dragon. So now, he was probably going to be in competition with another boy—who, from the sound of it, would be freeborn—to take care of Ari and his dragon. That could spell nothing but trouble.
    “Sir?” he panted, literally the first question he had asked of anyone since the Jouster arrived at the cistern. He had to cough to clear his dry throat, for he still had gotten nothing to drink. “Sir, who is Kashet’s dragon boy?”
    The Overseer looked down at him, his lips tightening; Vetch flinched. He couldn’t imagine how a simple question had made the Overseer so annoyed. “Imbecile,” Haraket muttered, and answered more loudly, “ You are Kashet’s boy. Haven’t you been listening to me?”
    He almost dared to hope. Was it possible? Did this mean that Kashet’s care was going to depend entirely on him? And if so—
    —surely not. Surely, there was someone else, a rival, who would be very angry when he saw that Vetch was a serf. And it could be worse than that, much worse, given what the Jouster had said about “boys getting airs.” Perhaps he had selected Vetch in order to humiliate this other boy—who would, of course, take out his humiliation on Vetch whenever the masters’ backs were turned. When Khefti beat his apprentices, the apprentices pulled evil tricks on Vetch, it followed as surely as the sun rose. And that was without Vetch being a rival!
    “Sir—I meant—who is Kashet’s other dragon boy?” In his heart was the dread he would have to face a rival who would share his duties and, without a doubt, attempt to make sure that everything that went right reflected to his credit, and all the blame for whatever went wrong landed on Vetch. Some of that must have shown in his expression, as the Overseer’s face cleared, and he grunted.
    “There is no other dragon boy for Kashet. Jouster Ari and I have been caring for him of late.” He grunted again, this time with a distinct tone of disdain. “Jouster Ari’s previous boy elected to accept a position in the King’s army without notice, and left us cursed shorthanded.”
    Now all that business about serfs and free boys made sense. . . .
    Soldiers had higher status than mere servants . . . and certainly fewer menial duties. So that’s what he meant by “getting airs. . . .” It would make sense that the Jouster would now prefer to find a boy who had no choice, who could not go elsewhere, except, perhaps, back to Khefti. Which of course, was no choice at all.
    “Here—down this way is where the servants from all of the temples bring the sacrifices,” Haraket