Chapter Thirty-Nine. When You Fight
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
WHEN YOU FIGHT
JAMES
At least this way Farren and Nity have a chance.
Art curses me out as we fall through the air. It’s like the tumble with Colm all over again. But instead of trying to part us, I urge Hort to dig in, to hurt.
I can feel Art crafting to untangle us. I craft in opposition. And I’m more powerful. Hort is bigger and stronger, too. This is why racing demands weight and wingspan regulation, because he can now overpower his opponents through sheer force.
Wind lashes as we twist in the air. I can hardly keep my seat bareback on Hort and yet I’m not concerned.
Hort knows my plan as if he’s part of me.
Get close enough to the ocean waves to throw Art into the sea, then swoop upward.
It would be better if Art bailed to save the dragon Hort holds in a death grip.
But I already know he would never do that, never sacrifice himself to save a dragon.
“You spoiled brat, you trying to get us both killed? Let go!” Art bellows.
Let go. It’s what I begged of my father as he encased my arm in silver. As he broke it in three places all while Art stood there urging my father on. I still hear Art’s advice to my father. You might have to give up on him, John. He’s weak.
Those words made it so much worse. My father didn’t let up and didn’t let me go.
How dare I not only show weakness, but do it in front of another man, another silver-crafter.
I never understood why my father felt the need to impress men like Art Whimbley.
But then again, I do. I’ve been under the shackles of their brand of masculinity my whole life.
Be the best. The richest, the fastest, the cruelest. As if those things represent real strength.
As if being the best at something really means you’re better.
We hurl toward the point of no return. “You’re going to have to jump,” I yell over the wind, my voice calm.
Art screams and he wrenches his mask off. “You wretched—This is all for you. For your own good, and you don’t even understand that!” There are only moments left. I watch him decide what to do, for what I’ll have to do. It’s how I notice his panicked expression slither into a smile.
I jerk over my shoulder and five other riders bear down on us, diving to rescue Art. But closer than that is a bronze spear aimed right for my head. I release my crafting to throw the spear off course. Right as I do though, Art’s crafting wins out, wrenching away from my hold.
Hort doesn’t expect it. I should have already been yanking us upward. The black-as-night ocean rushes toward us, just feet away. I’ve done it again. I’ve fumbled and put Hort in danger.
But then Hort stops. Just stops, suspended above the water.
“James!” Farren cries, voice strained. She and Nity hover above. Farren. Farren’s crafted Hort from falling into the rough ocean. Farren has saved me again. With all my strength I craft Hort away from the waves. His wings beat the air, and we’re airborne.
Farren’s hold releases and I watch as she sinks back against Nity, relieved.
“This ends now!” Art roars, seeing I’m not at the bottom of the ocean. “You three, return to the cave. Find those hatchlings,” he calls out. “I’ll handle the girl.”
Farren shouts. And because I know her, she isn’t panicked about Art coming after her. It’s the hatchlings, the job I promised I’d achieve. “I’ve got them,” I yell. “They aren’t going anywhere.” I swerve Hort toward the incoming men, already feeling the metal they plan to shoot at me.
Art races upward toward Farren and Nity. My gut clenches. “Farren! Fly!”