Chapter 9
Nine
Halfway through the night, unable to sleep in my underbed nest, I decided that once again, Rhylan was right.
I was sulking.
My teeth were going to be ground down to nubs by the time we managed to finish this farce. I unlocked my jaw, closing my eyes and exhaling a soft sigh. The sharp pains in my stomach had become a twisted ache, my chest still tight.
I rubbed my sternum as I thought, willing myself to take deep, even breaths.
It shouldn’t have taken me by surprise to learn that my father had told the world I was dead. The answer had been clear the entire time I was on Mistward, staring me in the face, and I simply hadn’t wanted to see it.
The tiny hope that someone would come for me had been the only thing giving me the will to stay alive.
It had been better to live with the delusion that someone out there still cared than to accept that I was dead to them. If I’d thought about it rationally, I would have realized that something was wrong when my father hadn’t responded to the news of my mother’s death.
If I’d been thinking clearly, if I hadn’t been consumed with fear and the brute need to survive, I would have seen my father’s plans for what they were.
And I couldn’t hate Rhylan for being the bearer of bad news. We were not mated; he couldn’t see into my mind and understand that something that obvious to him would destroy me so thoroughly.
I couldn’t even blame him for the little jab about sulking. If any of the dragonbloods saw me right now, curled under my bed, trying not to let the tightness in my chest stop me from breathing, they would turn away in disgust.
To become Dragonesse, I had to be better. Stronger.
I could not permit the past to destroy what I might become.
My father was dead. He could no longer torment me; his spirit, Sunya condemn it, was in the depths of the Nine Hells.
The tightness eased a little. I pulled in a breath, exhaled. The ache was slowly fading.
I still lived, no matter what he’d tried to do. I still breathed. I still walked the earth he’d left behind.
And I would not allow him to haunt me from his grave.
Rhylan was waitingon the terrace, leaning against a pillar as the breeze ruffled his hair. As I stood sheepishly in the door, one eyebrow slowly climbed his forehead, forming a perfect arch.
I stared at him, the words stuck in my throat.
Breaking free from this life would mean doing things I hated. And if I couldn’t stand to make a simple apology to keep the peace, then I wasn’t worthy to rule.
“I’m sorry.” My claws dug painful divots into my palms. “I…it was something I hadn’t accepted. Believing that someone would come for me…that was the one thing that kept me going.”
I couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. I quailed as I spoke, eye contact failing utterly, and I spoke the last words to the floor under my toes.
A pair of boots came into sight, stopping inches short of mine.
It was hard to breathe again, but not from fear. No, this was the crushing pain of breathing in a scent I desperately wanted to taste, to wrap myself in like a warm blanket.
Rhylan took one of my hands, his calloused fingers prying my nails out of my palm.
“It was a bad way of telling you.” There was no animosity in his voice, no disappointment. “And I’m sorry. That’s my fault. I didn’t…I couldn’t see it from your perspective. Because I’ve never been fucking exiled.”
If anything, he sounded heavy, his voice rough with some internal battle.
I couldn’t stand the feeling of warm hands around mine, not while Rhylan apologized to me. I pulled my hands out of his grasp, and he let his drop to his sides.
“Peace?” I asked, forcing myself to look up at him.
His eyes were burning, so blue they could make the sky feel sorry for itself. He gave me a tight smile before looking away, the muscles in his neck standing out in cords. “Peace.”
“You can send me to my room again for any bad behavior.”
I left the door wide open for his retort, waiting for Rhylan to grab the opportunity by the throat and give me his wicked, irreverent grin, but he didn’t.
He opened his mouth, stopped himself, then turned and walked away.
It was impossible to not feel like I’d been punched in the gut. Gods. The way I’d run away, and told him to fuck off…
He knew what he was in for now. He knew I was not worthy, that he’d tied himself to the losing draga, that he’d be saddled with a female who would run and hide instead of facing trials with her head held high.
Even as he and Viros brought out the harness and saddle, my chest began to tighten again. I went to the edge of the terrace, staring out at the mountains, counting my breaths again. Each sip of air felt like it was forcing itself past an iron band around my ribs. Small black blossoms bloomed over my vision, my hands shaking.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the sensation faded. I drew in a deeper breath, turning as I heard my name.
“Sera?” Rhylan had already pulled off his boots and shirt, standing beneath the harness. He watched me, eyes narrowed. “I’ve been calling you. Are you ready?”
I nodded mutely. Rhylan watched me a moment longer, lips tight, and began the shift.
The black scales blossomed over his growing form, just as the blooms in my vision had unfurled. I gazed up at him as he adjusted himself beneath the harness, Viros moving over the buckles with rapid, well-practiced movements.
When it was secured, Rhylan lowered himself to the floor, twisting his enormous head to stare at me. I managed to give Viros a small smile as I mounted, hooked the safety straps onto my legs, and took up the reins.
Viros looked troubled as he backed away, giving Rhylan room to take off.
He had probably heard. No doubt word had spread throughout the eyrie already that the potential Dragonesse they were backing was a whining brat.
This time, I couldn’t stop the surge of sickness from spreading through me, the light-headed panic of wanting to curl into a ball and be swallowed by the earth.
But Rhylan was already moving, his wings unfurling as he leapt from the terrace floor.
The next leap of my stomach was from the sensation of leaving the earth, the sheer brute strength of the dragon shoving us into the sky. I blinked hard, lowering my third eyelids as the wind slapped at us, the sky overhead cold and steely gray.
Rhylan wheeled out over the mountains, and though my seating was secure, I didn’t pat him as I otherwise would’ve done.
All was not well.
He didn’t roar or grumble, soaring with a silent intensity that unnerved me. Even with the rising winds over the mountain, he glided in a straight line, snapping his wings on occasion with harsh cracks of sound that felt like accusations.
Even high above the world, it was hard to forget my guilt and shame. I leaned forward over the saddle, focused only on the horizon, trying to let the wind wash them away.
This time we flew southeast, gliding around sharp peaks. After half an hour, the mountains began to give way to fields and forests, a carpet of green far below.
The sight of all that green was a balm to my soul. Even up here, hundreds of miles away, I could almost swear I smelled the jasmine of Varyamar.
A welcome modicum of peace filled me to take it all in, until I glanced to the left, over the long black slope of Rhylan’s wings.
There was a dark speck in the sky, heading south and dropping as I watched.
I nudged Rhylan sharply with my left heel, shouting at him over the wind. “Dragon on our left! Miles away, below us!”
With the tiniest growl of acknowledgement, he banked, veering left.
My thighs squeezed tightly as I leaned into his motions, maintaining balance the whole way through until we leveled out.
I watched the dark speck as Rhylan glided towards it, dropping lower and lower. Soon the patchwork of green below us became distinct fields, dotted with thick copses. Rhylan’s claws brushed at the trees as he flew over a forest, sending a spray of leaves out behind us.
The dragon we hunted was singular, with a draga on his back. I squinted, trying to pick out the finer details: the dragon himself was ivory-scaled, bulkier than Doric, sharply pointed nubs and ridges growing over his skull, spine, and the arches of his wings.
His rider leaned forward for the descent, but Rhylan ruined my opportunity to see anything more as his wings snapped out wide, catching the wind and slowing our flight.
He descended into a gap in the tree tops, lowering us to the ground within the forest.
I adjusted my seat, leaning back a little to accommodate the change in Rhylan’s spine. Riding a walking dragon made me feel like I was about to pitch forward over his neck; leaning backwards kept me sitting upright. With a blink, my inner eyelids retracted.
Without the wind in my ears, it was easier to speak to him. I kept my voice low, aware that the strange dragon was less than a mile away, with hearing far more acute than mine.
“I want to see them, Rhylan. Who are they?”
He must have recognized the dragon, or his rider; I didn’t believe Rhylan would do something as foolish as engage an enemy, not with me unarmed and untrained on his back.
But he didn’t shift, clearly content to leave me in the dark for his intentions; he simply moved through the forest on silent feet, his wings tucked in tightly at his sides and trapping my legs against him. I breathed deeply as we moved, tasting fresh sap in the air, the thick pollen of fields and pines.
The sounds of civilization reached my ears: livestock, people, the trickling of a water mill.
Rhylan slowed, winding between trees as sinuously as a snake.
When he stopped, refusing to budge another inch, I took that as my cue to dismount. He was kind enough to lower himself, allowing me to clamber over his folded wings, but still he didn’t shift.
I glanced at the dragon next to me, his ember-like eyes focused on the sounds of people, and gave up on waiting. Maybe it was simply easier for him to deal with me in dragon form.
It was definitely easier for me. I climbed up a small hill, Rhylan on my heels, moving cautiously until I hit a patch of brambles. They would be loud to climb over, almost certainly guaranteed to give away our presence.
But I didn’t need to; I leaned against a tree, pressing myself up against the trunk so I could see the Bloodless village beyond through the brambles, and the white dragon.
He had shifted, leaving his harness in the wide, empty area of paving stones that almost all small villages maintained for visiting dragons. The male was tall, well-muscled, his ivory scales nearly blending into his skin. He was young, despite the nearly-white hair cropped short; dark eyes watched the villagers warily as his mate spoke to the village Wyvern-Master.
He circled his draga like she was a star, and he was a necessary, natural part of her orbit.
I recognized her as soon as I laid eyes on her. She’d been in my year in the Training Grounds; my mother had considered her a serious rival, though my path had been assured at the time.
Princess Maristela, the draga who could have been Rhylan’s mate.
The draga who’d thrown away power for love.
So the pale dragon must be Gaelin of Mourning Fang, a young, politically weak House.
Maristela herself was a scion of her House: tall and willowy, delicate scales like bruised forget-me-nots glimmering on her cheeks. Her dark blonde hair was pinned back in a crown of braids, bright strands of metallic bronze woven in among the lighter honey tones.
She wore lightly-armored leathers, not of elaborate, ornamental materials but plain, functional steel and leather, like the sword at her side.
Ornamentation or not, she shone like a star.
She tipped her head towards him, revealing the obvious giveaway of mind-speech. His mouth didn’t move, but her lips curled into a smile, and she stifled a laugh, driving an elbow at him.
There was a gleam of amusement in the dragon’s eyes as he deflected her, his arm snaking around her waist. He pulled his eyes away from the Wyvern-Master just long enough to brush a kiss over her cheek, something he mind-spoke making her smile and turn pink.
To my dismay, hot jealousy rose in me, an envious, choking tide.
Not for her beauty, though Maristela was truly lovely, nor for her health, which I was keenly aware that I lacked.
It was pure envy for the fact that they’d mate bonded out of love.
That love was written in every line of their bodies, the way they bent towards each other, the small touches—the way he brushed her hair without thinking, just for the feel of it, the way she always angled herself towards him.
She was one of the few who had been able to speak the words of the mate bond ritual, and truly mean them: from ashes to embers to flames, a bond of love undying. From flames to embers to ashes, an oath eternal and binding.
Words that I had never expected to speak with any feeling.
Maristela and I had grown up in similar Houses: old blood, ancient bloodlines expected to do what was right by their House, not for themselves. Most of the mate bonded draga and dragons of my caste had been arranged for each other from the day they were born, much like my own arrangement for Tidas.
I knew, thanks to my mother’s planning, that the Lady of the Shadowed Stars had always intended for her daughter to become Rhylan’s mate.
He’d threatened as much, back on Mistward Isle in the abandoned eyrie. I’d thought he only said it to push me into accepting his offer, but…
What if he had spoken truly? Had Maristela rejected him for this dragon from a smaller House, choosing love over status?
What if he’d only rescued me for lack of a better option?
I gritted my teeth hard enough for my jaw to ache, and from the corner of my eye, Rhylan tilted his head to watch me.
It didn’t matter if I was a last resort. He’d taken me from Mistward, which mattered far more than his personal regard for me.
What bothered me was that Maristela had found love, and I would not. I was now bound to Rhylan, if not by a true mate bond, then by social expectation. The moment we presented ourselves at the First Claim as a pair, I would forever be considered his.
If we won, even if he ‘abdicated’ and we publicly severed our bond, no dragon would ever look at me without seeing the shadow of my supposed mate over my shoulder.
It hit me now with full force what Kirana had said, that for some of us, choice was not in the cards.
Neither of us had a choice. As I was bound to Rhylan, so he was to me; unless he fell in love with a draga willing to overlook the fact that he was once the mate of the Dragonesse, he too would be alone.
I had wanted love one day. I just hadn’t realized how badly until now, when I had to acknowledge that this choice was not in my cards.
How ironic that I rode the dragon I’d once dreamed of that love with, now out of necessity and vengeance.
My fingers dug into the trunk of the tree hard enough for my claws to leave deep gouges. The sharp scent of sap clung to them as I released it, leaving behind a splintered mess.
Rhylan shifted the foot braced nearest to me, nudging my ankle with a single claw. I glanced up at him, trying to read the question in his draconic features.
“It’s nothing,” I murmured, glancing back at the dragonbloods.
Maristela had received a letter from the Wyvern-Master; she gave him one of her own. I couldn’t hear their conversation, wishing I could read lips as hers moved. Who was the letter for? The Shadowed Stars were a powerful House; had they sent Maristela afield to send secret missives, plotting new alliances?
The pair headed back to the harness, Gaelin shifting beneath it as Maristela buckled the saddle with the same expert quickness Viros had displayed.
I forced myself to focus on what was important, not my bruised heart.
Maristela was a royal princess, though not a true contender during this Interregnum. Instead, she served as a wake-up call.
The sight of her drove home the fact that I could not match the grandeur of her House, not as I was. Nobody would look at me and think of Princess Serafina, the Drakkon’s eldest daughter.
I needed to work harder. We would not make so much as a dent in Yura’s claim as things stood.
Maristela mounted Gaelin, her fingertips lingering on the barbed ruffs on his spine before she settled in. The dragon rushed down the paved causeway with long, smooth leaps, spreading his wings and soaring into the sky.
Soon they were merely a speck again.
I got to my feet, backing away from the brambles. Rhylan followed me back into the forest, one glowing eye still focused on me sidelong.
Lost in thought, trying without success to strangle the jealous serpent coursing through me like poison, Rhylan nearly managed to knock me over when he nudged his scaled snout against my shoulder.
I braced myself, shooting him a sharp look before catching myself.
A Dragonesse would not snap at her mate.
“I wonder who she was sending letters to,” I said, talking mostly to myself. Rhylan showed no interest in shifting to human form.
He grumbled, a series of clicks interspersed with the lower growls.
“I don’t see them allying with Yura. Their Lady would never willingly take second place.” We reached the clearing where Rhylan had landed. He strolled through it, casually crushing saplings underfoot, and knelt by a large, flat rock.
I used it to climb up into the saddle with ease. “Very kind of you.”
He rose on all fours, eyeing the sky. I was growing used to the safety straps; I hooked them quickly, settling myself in place. Gripping the reins, I braced myself for his sudden take-off. “Ready.”
Rhylan didn’t move. He simply looked at the sky, then the treetops.
Did he see something I didn’t? I craned my head, but there was nothing but wilderness around us. A few birds peeped, those brave souls who dared to announce themselves in a dragon’s presence, but all other creatures had made themselves scarce.
I cleared my throat as politely as possible. “Rhylan…I said I’m ready. We should go.”
He raised a forearm, scratching his scaled neck, and still did not move.
I scowled at the back of his head. “Rhylan.”
He heard me damn well, and we both knew it. The dragon finished scratching, shook his head like he was ridding himself of water, then stretched his wings rather luxuriously…while remaining firmly grounded.
This damn dragon. I thought we’d agreed to peace, but if he was going to refuse to shift and pull this nonsense…
I closed my eyes. Counted to five. What did he want?
When I opened them, he was staring at me with one eye.
I smiled as nicely as I could manage under the circumstances, reaching out to pat his scarred back twice. “Really, we should—”
He launched into the sky, flapping wildly to gain altitude. I clung for dear life and held back a shriek.
It wasn’t until we were well away from the village, my entire body still quivering from the madness of his take-off, that I realized he’d only moved once I’d touched him.
Once I’d reassured him that all was well.
Somehow, that thought warmed me even through the cold skies and the downpour that opened on us over the mountains, even if the reassurance I gave him was a complete lie.