the moment they’d parted ways at the entrance to Solvein.
Bleist had been biting his lip for some time, but he didn’t interrupt his pupil. He didn’t know whether to despair at his apprentice’s injuries and recklessness, or perhaps to be glad that the dragon had evidently found himself some friends. It was obvious that the boy was in no serious danger during the exercises, but once again it was clear from Draco’s words that he lacked the instincts and sensitivity associated with pain. The problem was exacerbated by his habitual risk-taking and, in some situations, his lack of fear.
‘The medic at the Tower of Water dressed our wounds, handed out potions and only let us go once everyone had drunk them,’ the dragon concluded with a broad smile on his face. Darius knew that one didn’t end up in the infirmary for just any old reason, and the wizard was not at all pleased by the downplaying of his own injuries.
‘May I see your hand?’ Gizel was the first to react, although she was doing exactly what Darius wanted. Help was one thing, but she had to assess for herself whether everything was all right.
Draco didn’t need to be told twice and immediately held out his left hand to the elf. Only now did Bleist notice that the student’s entire metacarpus was wrapped in a very discreet, flesh-coloured bandage. The Duchess’s nimble hands easily removed the dressing. Darius rose from his seat to get a better look at the wound. At that moment, the injury didn’t look all that bad. Fresh skin covered almost the entire metacarpus, but redness was still visible in the places where it had only just grown back. The graze, which the reptile had played down, made the hairs on the earl’s neck stand on end, and his own hand began to tingle unpleasantly. The wound, especially given how it had been caused, must have been truly nasty, and must have been excruciatingly painful. Yet for Draco, it was merely a minor injury.
‘You said a friend dressed your wound.’ There was
