The first word Cassandra ever read was dragon.
We sat on our rooftop, candlelight flickering between us, a stolen book propped on a crate. I'd smuggled it from the palace library; a children's primer with simple words and large illustrations. The kind of thing Iris was already beyond. The kind of thing I could claim was for her if anyone asked.
"D," I said, pointing to the letter. "Like this." I traced the shape in the air.
"I know what D looks like." Cas squinted at the page. "I'm not stupid."
"I never said..."
"D-R-A..." She stopped. Frowned. "What's that one? The one that looks like a snake?"
"G."
"Right. D-R-A-G-O-N." She said each letter slowly, carefully, like she was learning to walk all over again. "Dragon."
Azurene lifted her head from where she'd been dozing against Raikiri. Her silver eyes caught the candlelight.
"Dragon," Cassandra said again. She looked at my Anima, then at the illustration in the book; a great serpentine creature coiled around a tower. "Doesn't look much like her."
"Give her time. She's still growing."
"She'd better grow fast if she wants to look that impressive."
Azurene made an offended sound through our bond. I laughed.
That was the first night. There would be many more.
Spring warmed into summer. Summer blazed and faded. The leaves in the palace gardens turned gold and red, and somewhere in the lower city Cassandra showed me a hidden courtyard where a single tree dropped amber leaves into a cracked fountain.
"Found this place two years ago," she said. "Nobody comes here. Building's condemned. Too dangerous, supposedly."
The building didn't look dangerous. It looked sad. Walls stained with old water damage, windows boarded over, ivy crawling up what had once been elegant stonework. But the courtyard was beautiful in its neglect; wildflowers pushing through broken flagstones, that lone tree standing guard over its forgotten fountain.
"It's perfect," I said.
"You say that about everything."
"Everything you show me is perfect."
She threw a leaf at my head. I caught it.
"Soft hands getting faster," she observed.
"I have an excellent teacher."
The lessons went both ways. I taught her letters, then words, then sentences. She'd curse at every mistake and glow with fierce pride at every success. By midsummer she could read simple passages. By autumn she was working through a book of old folk tales, sounding out the harder words with stubborn determination.
In exchange, she taught me the city. Not just the streets and shortcuts, but the rules. Which vendors would look the other way if you pocketed an apple. Which guards took bribes and which ones didn't. Which territories belonged to which groups of kids, and what happened if you crossed into the wrong one.
"Goff runs everything from the old tannery to the river," she explained one night, drawing invisible lines in the air. "His older brother used to be somebody, before he got conscripted. Now Goff acts like he inherited a kingdom."
"The one who almost jumped me that first night?"
"The very same. He's been giving me looks lately."
"What kind of looks?"
"The kind that says he's noticed I've got a new friend." She shrugged like it didn't matter. It did. "Don't worry about it. Goff's all bark."
I worried about it anyway.
Summer nights were best for picking locks.
"The trick is patience," Cas said, demonstrating on a rusted padlock she'd acquired from somewhere. Raikiri watched from a few feet away, his lightning casting just enough light to see by. "Feel the pins. Don't force them."
I felt nothing. Just metal on metal, my borrowed picks scraping uselessly inside the mechanism.
"You're being too rough."
"I'm barely touching it."
"Palace boy touch." She took my hands, repositioned my fingers. "Gentle. Like you're trying to convince it to open, not demanding it."
I tried again. Failed again.
"How are you so bad at this?"
"I've never needed to pick a lock in my life. I have servants who open doors for me."
"That," she said, "is the saddest thing I've ever heard."
But she didn't give up on me. Night after night, padlock after padlock, until finally; finally; on a cool autumn evening, the mechanism clicked and the lock fell open in my hands.
"I did it."
"You did it."
"I actually did it!"
"Don't let it go to your head. That lock's older than my grandmother. A stiff breeze could've opened it."
But she was smiling. That real smile, the one she tried to hide behind sarcasm and shoulder punches. The one that made something warm unfurl in my chest.
Azurene hummed contentment through our bond. Progress, she noted.
In lockpicking?
In everything.