Ridoc
My mouth tastes like shit as I make my way through the Threshing Valley.
Scratch that. My mouth tastes like I scavenged up a dead dragon, somehow brought it back to life, then let it shit the contents of its intestines into my mouth. Like decades-old, still-decaying shit. And of course I didn’t bring a waterskin out here.
Are we even allowed to bring water? Or is the general misery of our dehydration mixing with the adrenaline brought by potential death part of the charm of Threshing?
I was too busy hurling up my breakfast in front of my squadmates to ask, but water would have been wasted between the second and third bouts of vomiting anyway.
At least I was alone for those two shining examples of my excellence under pressure.
Gods, what I wouldn’t give to wash the taste of my own vomit out of my mouth. Pretty sure the smell is right up there with fear when it comes to deterring a potential dragon.
Because that’s what I want, right? A fucking dragon. That’s why I left my continuously arguing parents, put on a black uniform, and now wake up every morning wondering if it’s the last time I’ll see my bed—or whoever happens to be in it with me. All for a dragon.
A dragon who might be just as keen to char me as to bond me. Excellent plan.
What the fuck was I thinking? I don’t want to die today.
Nausea clenches my stomach, and my mouth waters again as I pass some coniferous tree I’m sure only Sorrengail knows the name of and move deeper into the forest. What could possibly be left in my stomach at this point?
Focus. I’m better than this.
Scratch that. The dragons in this forest would be lucky to have me as their rider. I’m funny. I’m smart. I keep things interesting, and I’m scrappy as hell when it comes to the mat. I can be positive about this whole thing.
I breathe through the worst of the nausea, and my shoulders drop with relief when I spot the small stream ahead. Thank you, Zihnal. Lucky indeed.
The trees to my right move.
My stomach abandons threatening to eject its innards and flat-out attempts to flee the premises, dropping to the forest floor as my head swivels toward the motion.
All movement ceases.
Huh.
Well. Fuck. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
I begin walking again, and the trees stay where they’re supposed to as I approach the shaded creek, but I keep one eye on the branches as I crouch beside the little brook.
Once I’m sure nothing’s following—or stalking—me, I cup my hand and dip it into the cool running water.
Then I pull the time-tested swish-and-spit before actually drinking. The water is crisp and—
Movement catches my eye a second before water splashes all over me, smacking into the side of my face and dousing my hair before dripping down my cheek.
What the fuck? I wipe the water off my face as I spring to my feet to confront whatever asshole-shaped cadet decided to douse me.
A giant brown claw flexes in the stream, forming an instant pool as water gushes around curved talons.
Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.
Wait. Is this…it? I always thought I would bond a green, or maybe a red to force me to take things more seriously, but a brown would be a great fit, too.
I look up at its ankle and then keep going, my gaze running past the thicker chest scales and up the thinner, more vulnerable spots on its neck until I find a pair of amused golden eyes studying me.
It’s the Brown Swordtail that stood next to the small golden dragon at Presentation, and it’s looking at me as if it wants to see what I’m going to do next, like it’s…testing me.
Oh, shit. There aren’t enough swear words in the common tongue, because I know exactly which dragon this is.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head and take a giant step back from the edge of the creek, water sliding beneath the collar of my uniform. “Not you. Nope.” Any dragon but this one.
“Yes, me.” The brown narrows his eyes. “I surely misunderstand you.”
“You surely do not.” I throw my hands up. “And whatever you do, don’t keep talking to me. That’s the stuff you save for your chosen rider.”
He lifts his claw and flicks it forward, sending a wave of water in my direction.
It hits my boots, instantly soaking the leather.
“Nice.” I lift one sodden boot and grimace. Now I’m going to have wet feet all day. Fucking fantastic. “See? That right there is why you and I wouldn’t be a good match.”
“I decide what’s good.” He peels his lips up, baring his teeth.
My stomach asks if I’d like to see what meager contents it still holds.
“Don’t do that.” I sigh and bring my gaze to meet his in a complete breach of protocol, but I can’t really tell if he’s snarling or smiling. “It’s nothing against you personally—”
“As if there could be any deficiency found in me.” He stalks forward.
“—but I read over the cards Kaori gave us,” I try to explain, my palms out. “And you’re only twenty.”
He pauses and tilts his head a dozen feet above me, and I have no choice but to crane my neck to look up at him. “So are you.”
“Exactly.” I point my finger at his face. “That’s, like, what in dragon years? Five?”
“Dragons mature infinitely faster than humans.” A giant glob of saliva drips off his fang and lands on my shoulder.
Gross.
“Really proving your point there.” I run my fingers over my arm in an attempt to shove the goop off me. “Look, I’m self-aware enough to know I need a dragon who will keep me in check, and a guy who’s only seen as many summers as I have isn’t a responsible choice.”
“Responsible or not, you are my rider.” He lowers his head and inhales, lifting my hair.
“I’m not.” One very weird sniffing session later, he raises his ginormous head.
“You are,” he insists.
“Am not.” I shake my head.
“Are too.” He narrows his eyes.
“See? Look at us. You’re mentally five years old.” I throw my hands out at my sides.
“If I’m five, then you’re four.”
A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. He’s got me there.
“Precisely why you’d be better off with someone like Rhiannon Matthias or Sawyer Henrick.
They’d be more responsible choices for you.
” They wouldn’t appreciate his sense of humor, but not everyone is as comedically evolved as I am.
Then again, not everyone grew up in a house where they had to learn to cut the tension between their parents.
“Have I misjudged you, Ridoc Gamlyn?” he asks, his head rearing back like he’s the one who’s offended when I’m the one covered in water and spit.
My mouth opens, then slowly closes, because if he’s talking to me, that means he’s already seen my thoughts, my memories, seen me. “Probably not.”
“Perhaps I have.” He huffs a blast of steam down on me. Now I’m wet and sticky. Awesome. “Perhaps we do not share a kinship in being underestimated by those around us.”
My eyebrows rise. Well…hold on, because yes.
“Perhaps I should have listened to my elders when they suggested I choose a more balanced rider instead of one who matched me in energy and mischief.”
Did he just admit to making a mistake—
Wait. Mischief? Now that has my full attention.
Is that what splashing me was all about?
I absolutely need a dragon less impulsive than I am, which browns are by nature, but I could be down for a partner who doesn’t immediately see me as a project in need of fixing or mentoring. “Are dragons even capable of mischief?”
“Now you’ll never know. Pity,” he says with a haughty tone of sarcasm, then retreats a step. Suddenly I feel like I’ve completely, irrevocably fucked this up, because he’s doing exactly what I would in the same situation, which means we’re alike. Like, really alike.
Am I meeting the dragon version of…me?
“You seek a dragon to keep you in check, while I seek a rider capable of sharpening my edges instead of blunting them like my elders. Too bad.” He turns in the open space of the creek and begins to walk away, and my jaw drops at the challenge he cleverly disguised as an insult.
A pit opens in my stomach at the realization that he is my dragon. No matter what I thought I wanted, what I thought I needed, Aotrom is him. And I’m most definitely messing this up.
“Wait!” I shout, but of course he doesn’t, because he’s a dragon, and I just rejected him in what might be my most responsible yet biggest mistake ever. “Aotrom!”
“Aotrom,” he corrects, giving the first o in his name its own syllable while softening the sound of the second as he saunters to the west, his wings tucked against his body. His massive swordtail swings in my direction. “Your attempt at pronunciation is embarrassing.”
Seriously?
“How am I supposed to know the pronunciation? You’ve never bonded before, and I don’t speak dragon— Shit!
” His tail splices through the air in front of me, and I drop to the ground, catching myself with my hands.
My palm stings, and the giant brown tail swings so close to my head, I feel it ruffle my hair.
What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he trying to kill me?
“Are all twenty-year-old dragons assholes?”
“Are all twenty-year-old humans humorless blockheads?” He swings his tail again.
“Whoa! Watch that tail!” I press myself so far into the grass that I may as well start chewing on it like a cow.
The tip of his tail swooshes overhead. “And who are you calling humorless?” Of all the things he could call me, that’s somehow…
offensive. I hop to my feet as his tail swings upward and start running after him.
“You.” He doubles down.
What a dick.
“I have a fucking fantastic sense of humor, I’ll have you know!” I shout between breaths as I race to catch up with him, my boots pounding the fallen leaves beneath my feet.
“Do you?” He halts suddenly between a pair of giant redwood trees and swivels his head back toward me at a freakishly unnatural angle that makes me wonder if the bones in his neck connect. His glare stops me in my tracks.
I skid to a halt somewhere near his back leg.
He snaps his teeth and makes it all kinds of awkward.