Chapter 20 #2
If you wish to see these Isles, we will go. If your new archon objects, he may travel with you.
It would put me far from Viktor. Perhaps Lady Avari would see the benefits of that.
Allenvale was watching me.
“Think about it, Florence. We’ll discuss it again next class. Regardless of what you decide, I think you have a very bright future ahead of you as one of Sangratha’s foremost scholars in alchemical research.”
“I’ve enjoyed your class immensely, Professor Allenvale,” I blurted out. “In fact, it’s made me decide to drop the strategist path and focus on the healing arts next year.”
She smiled warmly. “I’m so glad to hear that. You certainly have an aptitude for them. Now, remind me of the topic you decided on for your final term paper?”
“The properties of emberfern and mirthleaf in relation to one another. They’re truly fascinating.”
“I’m sure they are. Well, you’d need to have your project wrapped up in the next three weeks. We’d have to submit your thesis as part of your scholarship application. Do you think you can work more quickly than the other students?”
I bobbed my head quickly, ignoring Nyxaris’s low groan of disapproval. “Absolutely.”
“Excellent. Well, I look forward to reading about your discoveries.” Professor Allenvale walked away to another table.
You’d really do that for me? I said quietly, after she’d gone.
Do what? Insist upon you being able to fulfill your ambitions? the dragon rumbled. You are my rider, fireheart. Wherever you wish to fly, I will clear the skies.
A warm feeling spread in the pit of my stomach.
I tried to focus on my notemaking. The rest of the class went by in a blur as I jotted down observations and conducted small experiments combining varying ratios of emberfern and mirthleaf.
Emberfern was unstable, yes, but it wasn’t unusable.
If I could harness the best properties of the plant, I knew I’d be able to make a minor but very useful mixture that could be used as a sunsickness tonic.
In the village I’d grown up in, I recalled how blightborn laborers often grew sick after working long shifts in the fields under the baking hot sun.
This could be a cure for that—a tincture that could be made freely in any village stillroom, from very easy-to-grow ingredients.
When Professor Allenvale dismissed us, she pressed my graded essay into my hands; I’d received an Excellent. What was more, the mark was perfect with no deductions. I floated out onto the sunny hillside, beaming with pride.
Nyxaris waited at the bottom of the hill, near the edge of the cliff. Finally, he grumbled. Mount. But I sensed his pride, feeling his quiet approval.
I quickly climbed up and swung into position between his shoulders. As we leaped into the skies, I couldn’t help it. I screamed.
Will you ever cease doing that? Nyxaris complained.
I’m so sorry, I said lamely. I never intend to do it. It just … happens. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this feeling. One minute I’m safe on land, and the next, well, we’re up here.
Below us Bloodwing was shrinking away, already the size of a child’s dollhouse. Cold air knifed past, yet sitting on Nyxaris, his scales radiated a furnacelike heat that I could feel from head to toe.
Adjust your seat, he instructed. Knees tighter. Anticipate the next pitch. You must work on this, or those delicate thighs of yours will be aching.
His voice was matter-of-fact, yet I blushed at his mention of my aching thighs. Quickly, I did as he said, squeezing my thighs tighter, trying to ignore how the heat of his scales bled straight through the fabric of the split skirt I was wearing, warming my skin. Better? I asked dubiously.
Good. Now, thrallguard, he said gruffly. Walls up.
I was caught off guard. Nevertheless, I quickly threw up the walls I’d been practicing, picturing my mind as a garden, surrounded by thick hanging vines of mirthleaf.
Plants, Nyxaris snorted. You ward me off with plants. His mind stroked over mine like thorns upon silk, and I shivered despite his heat.
Plants can be very dangerous in the right hands, I said with dignity. Even our new headmistress knows this. Otherwise, why would she be forcing us to sign in to the greenhouse?
Nyxaris snorted, mentally clawing against my barricades. I twined my vines around cores of emberfern, trying to push him out. When he finally allowed me to take a break between drills, I began to broach a question that had been on my mind for a while.
Dragons are excellent at both thrallweave and thrallguard, I said carefully.
We are masters of both, Nyxaris agreed.
No one can penetrate a dragon’s mind, I continued. So why did dragons need riders in the first place? When you can already do everything?
Why does the most powerful animal in existence require a weaker one?
Well, yes, I said, flushing. I knew I was weak, far weaker than my dragon.
His wings beat steadily, once, twice, three times, before he finally answered. I have wondered the same thing. I have a theory …
What sort of a theory? I asked, curiously.
My mind is still fragmented. Many memories lost, he reminded me.
And yet, I theorize that dragons required riders as interpreters.
We may speak mind to mind only with other dragons or with a single rider.
Most humans cannot hear us. They feel only awe and terror in our presence. As it should be, he added.
So, I’m basically your translator? I said with delight. That was much more to my liking than trying to believe I could actually direct a dragon in any meaningful way—especially as some sort of a warrior team.
You have pacifist tendencies, little scholar. Do not let them get out of hand. His voice was stern yet gentle.
I suppose I just don’t see how having me as your rider could possibly make you a better fighter than you already are alone. If anything, having me on your back might be a distraction. A weakness.
He dipped a wing, and for a moment I gasped, clutching his scales, my whole body pressing tight against his spine. Then we slid through an updraft, every motion perfectly synchronized. Still, I could sense something troubling him.
A dragon’s talons are built for rending, not for the finer points of warcraft, he pointed out. In close sieges, riders might leap from our backs to deliver firebombs or to shoot a volley of arrows down with precision. I once— He broke off.
Yes?
I once had a rider leap from my back with a ropehook to open enemy gates from within.
He paused, and the memory of what he described ghosted through our bond.
Another body, sitting where I now sat, bracing herself against Nyxaris’s shoulders.
Something in me rose up, hot and quick, put off by the image. Jealousy.
Strength is nothing without focus. You, small as you are, give an edge to my claws. I carry you across the sky. I deliver fire upon your enemies. You carry my will where I cannot.
Highblood enemies, you mean, I said uncomfortably. We’re both in service to highbloods in the end. I don’t understand that part of things either. Why did the dragons even want to work with highbloods?
He was quiet for a long time. I tried to be patient, thinking about my project, admiring the view.
I have had … highblood riders.
I stiffened. What? You mean …
Soulbound, yes. Just as the Avari woman described.
So … I began to tremble.
A highblood soul in a blightborn body, yes. Nyxaris sounded as if the idea troubled him, too.
And you … accepted them as your rider?
I had no choice.
There was something missing here. Something he wasn’t saying.
You were loyal to your house, to House Avari, over your rider, I stated, trying not to make it sound like a judgment.
I continued to carry my rider, he said stiffly.
Their body, you mean. Where did their soul go? What happened to it once they were soul-bound?
Their own soul was … suppressed. Yet present.
That sounded horrible. And the new soul? The highblood’s? You grew to accept it. This time his silence stretched so long I began to wonder if he’d speak again at all. Nyxaris? I prodded tentatively.
A low growl vibrated through him. He banked so abruptly my stomach lurched. Enough questions, he snapped.
His show of temper surprised me. He was often stern, but rarely angry. I’m sorry, I murmured. I tightened my knees again, trying to remember to hold to the position he’d taught me. Even so, my thighs were beginning to ache a little.
My memories, he said grimly, they are intense. Confusing. At times I see things from perspectives that … should not be possible.
What do you mean? I asked cautiously.
He didn’t answer. The air seemed to crackle with frustration.
I tried a new tactic. What’s the last thing you remember … before being turned to stone?
It was as if I’d fired a crossbow at him.
He stiffened, his wings locking. For one terrifying instant, we began to plummet.
Wind tore at my hair. I wrapped myself around him, heart slamming against scales.
I screamed, clutching at his neck, the ground spinning up in a blur.
Then, at the last second, he caught himself.
Wings beating rapidly, we leveled out, meters above the water.
My heart hammered as loudly as the wind in my ears. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry for asking.
Too late. His voice was ragged.
I swallowed, a chill spreading through my veins. Nyxaris, what is it? What did you remember?
He flew in silence for several moments. I killed my rider.
I stilled. What?
Not in the way you are thinking. She was killed because of me. I recall it. I recall … everything.
I’m so sorry, I whispered.
Afterward, he went on, ignoring me, I began to question … everything. The house I served. Our cause. All that had been demanded of us.
We reached the shore and began to cross over a forest of pine trees.
Molindra …
Yes? I encouraged, my heart beating faster.
She came to me. She offered me a new purpose. But in return …
I touched his scales gently, my throat tight. Yes? In return?
In return, I gave up everything.
A chill came over me as I finally understood. You mean you sacrificed yourself? Is that it? You and the other three dragons?
His only reply was a low rumble—half grief, half rage.
You don’t have to tell me, I said quickly. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. But I couldn’t help myself. Do you remember why you decided being turned to stone was, well, worth it?
It was meant to change things. And yet when I awoke, the dragons were gone, and the highbloods still ruled. I was quiet for a while. Nyxaris stayed silent, too, clearly brooding about what we’d just discussed.
Had my dragon been a rebel? I thought of the soulbound high-blood rider he’d had before; she must have been his very last rider.The one whose death he felt responsible for.
He must have cared for her very much to make such a drastic sacrifice.
Of course a soul-bound rider would have been preferred by highbloods—no wonder Viktor wished he could do the same to me.
A highblood would be able to use battle magic in ways I wouldn’t.They healed faster.They’d have numerous advantages.
Or did they lose some of those advantages when they stole a blightborn body?
I touched my ears. The points were becoming sharper, more fine. Was my body changing in other ways? I thought of Medra’s fingers and toes. They were longer than a typical blightborn’s. I considered asking Nyxaris and decided to take the risk.
Medra has the red hair of a rider … I began to say.
Red, yes, he rumbled. The other dragon was red.
Other dragon? What other dragon? I assumed he’d remembered something else from his past.
I saw another dragon the other day.
My heart sped up. Molindra?
No, not Molindra. He sounded peevish, irritable.
Another dragon? How is that possible? Where? I said in disbelief.
While flying. It was … unsettling. And yet, I know what I saw. For a moment, I believed he was Vorago.
He? You could tell it was male?
I felt his assent rather than heard it.
Did you speak to the dragon? Where did he go?
He vanished before I could receive any answers as to his identity. He fled from me. Nyxaris sounded shocked and even a little hurt. From me. When we are so few.
I’m so sorry.
For a moment, I believed I knew him. For a moment, I truly thought he was Vorago, Nyxaris said again. And then …
And then?
And then I thought he might be the other.
The other? What other?
No answer.
Do you mean Molindra?
Indeed. Molindra. Nyxaris’s voice was tight. How are your thighs?
I jolted. They’re … they’re fine. I shifted a little, trying to relax the sore muscles.
You lie, he rumbled, a faint hint of smugness there. I can feel their tremor. They ache as you sit upon me. We have pushed you hard enough. We will return now. We will continue to work on your endurance. You must be able to ride me without trembling.
Heat flooded my cheeks; I thanked the Bloodmaiden that he couldn’t see their crimson color. Very well, I said a little primly, sitting up straighter and trying not to writhe against him as I’d just been doing. I’ll be ready.
Good, he said, sounding amused, as he flew back over the school. We’ll meet at dawn. I intend to push you hard. Recover while you can.
I slid off his back when he landed, careful not to show him my face, which was beet red. Sounds wonderful, I said carelessly. I’ll see you in the morning.
Ice your thighs.
I paused. I beg your pardon?
Ice. Or cold pads. My riders used to tell me it helped.
Thank you for the kind suggestion, I said, trying to gather up the little dignity I had left.
I walked back to the castle, doing my best to ignore the feeling of the dragon’s eyes on my back, as I moved stiffly up the hill, sore from our flight, aching where my body had met with his.