Sawyer #2
“You’d honestly rather meet Malek like that mutilated cadet back there than try again next year?”
“I think instant incineration is probably a better way to go.” I lift my hand to my chest and focus on deep, even breaths, but my heartbeat only accelerates.
“That’s not funny.” She shakes her head as we dodge a scorched patch of ground.
“Never said it was.”
“No wonder you’re friends with Gamlyn.” Her focus shifts to her shoulder, and she pulls another thorn from the fabric of her uniform. “Shit,” she mutters, staring down at the bead of blood on her thumb.
“You all right?”
“Fine. Stupid thorns. I’m not the one with a death wish.”
“I don’t have a death wish.” My mouth tightens as I think that through.
“At least not anything beyond normal for the quadrant. We all accept death as a possibility when we climb that tower on Conscription Day. We all risk our mortality for the chance to be riders.” Gods, now my chest hurts, too.
I rub my sternum. How do I explain this to her?
“This feels like a second Parapet to me. Either I make it across or I—”
The words die as we step into the clearing, and I drop my hand to my side.
Two dragons stand in the field, one a medium-size orange, one a larger red. Both are looking directly at us, as if they’ve been waiting.
The orange snarls.
Shit! I lower my gaze to the ground.
Given the unpredictable nature of oranges and the tempers of reds, we may have just entered the most dangerous clearing in the Threshing Valley. Suddenly, waiting until next year doesn’t feel like a half-bad idea.
“Mine,” Trina whispers, and my eyes dart in her direction. She’s staring in wide-eyed wonder at the orange on the left. “I think she’s…mine. What do I do?”
“Wouldn’t know,” I reply just as quietly, and the sudden pang of envy in my chest does absolutely nothing to slow my racing heart. “I’ve never felt like that.”
“What do I do? What do I do?” she repeats, clearly talking to herself now. “I’m going to go talk to her.”
And she thinks I have a death wish?
“You sure that’s the best course of action?” I glance toward the gleaming claws of the orange, and the ache in my chest intensifies.
“No,” Trina admits. “But—” Her head tilts and her eyes widen. “I’m not scared,” she calls across the field. “I’m cautious and careful—” Her teeth click as her mouth snaps shut. “That’s not what I said.”
Well, holy shit. She’s talking to the orange, which means she’s been chosen. A smile tugs at my mouth as Trina strides across the field, her fists clenched and head held high as she approaches the Orange Clubtail.
Good for her. She’s one less squadmate I’ll have to worry about today.
“Why do you not carry the same consideration for yourself?” a gravelly, male voice asks straight into my mind.
What in Malek’s name?
My head snaps up, and I find the red glowering down at me.
I should look away, but instead I freeze in place, my eyes glued to the red. What a terrifying, awe-inspiring creature. The ache in my chest disappears, and instead of quickening from the panic that’s locked my muscles, my heart rate inexplicably slows down.
Weird. I instantly catalog the unique horn pattern, size, and distinctive scar traversing the lower half of his right foreleg and recognize the red from the cards Kaori gave us.
Sliseag. Red Swordtail. Approximate age of seventy-three.
Two recorded riders, the most recent of whom died the year before last. Discerning and combative.
That’s what Kaori called him during his lecture.
There’s no fucking way any dragon known as discerning is bonding a repeat like me, which means death is imminent. I close my eyes and accept my dismal fate.
My chest clenches. I have royally screwed this all up, and now it’s too late. I never should have tempted Malek with my bond-or-die mantra.
“I do not wish to repeat myself.”
“Are…” I pry one eye open slowly, then glance left and right, like there might be another cadet in the nearby vicinity. “Are you talking to me?”
Sliseag’s golden eyes narrow even more, and steam streams from his nostrils.
Fuck. Now I’ve pissed him off. At least he hasn’t lowered his—
His head descends into an attack position, bringing his teeth within fifteen feet of me.
So much for that thought.
“Has the extra year you’ve spent in the quadrant addled your wits?” he asks, a deep, thrumming growl emanating from his throat. “Or are you so lost to your own self-loathing that you cannot apply your previous thoughts about the female and Bregh to yourself?”
“I’m not lost in self-loathing.” My head draws back at the insult before I fully process what he just said. I glance toward Trina as she faces down the orange—Bregh—then blink before whipping my gaze back to Sliseag.
My lungs falter. If he’s talking to me, he’s chosen me. It’s the first sign of a bond. This has to be a mistake. Heat prickles my face and I cringe, knowing Sliseag can see embarrassment turn my skin red.
“I do not need to witness the blood flush your face to feel your humiliation.” The long autumn grass between us bends with the force of his scoff. “I am acquainted with every aspect of you, Sawyer Henrick. Even those you wish to hide in the name of decorum.”
Indignation overpowers embarrassment, and my spine straightens. “I think humiliation might be an overstatement—”
“It is not.” His swordtail swishes through the grass in a display of temper, arcing toward me before returning to its previous position. “Nor is there a mistake. You insult me by inferring I am anything but infallible.”
Fuck me. Insults equal fire. I snap my mouth shut, catching my tongue between my front teeth in the process.
The taste of metal accompanies the quick burst of pain.
I touch my index finger to the tip of my tongue, and it comes away red.
Great, now he’ll think I can’t even speak without bursting a blood vessel. “I didn’t say mistake.”
“You thought it, which is the same. Only honesty is acceptable between us.” His upper lip curls, baring a set of dripping teeth. “Lie to me again, and you’ll get that introduction to your death god you keep griping about.”
“I’m not—” I kill the sentence before it causes Sliseag to do the same to me, then fill my lungs with a stabilizing breath.
This would be a great time for that emotional blacksmith to show up.
My hands flex at my sides as I search for the right, the honest words.
“Yes, I thought the word ‘mistake.’ I know who you are. I know your last rider was one of the best of her year, which I am not. I’m a godsdamn repeat.
You don’t want to risk your bond on me. It would only make sense for you to seek out Liam Mairi or Rhiannon Matthias—”
“I seek you,” he snarls. “That is the second time you have insinuated that I am incorrect, and you will not live if you repeat the offense.”
“For being so intent on bonding me, you sure do threaten to kill me frequently,” I snap in retort. Pretty sure the god of wisdom just turned his back on me for that move, not that Hedeon has ever blessed me previously.
Sliseag’s eyes flare, the scaly ridges that look like eyebrows rise, and he sheathes his teeth. “That fire is precisely why I choose you. The anger you conceal from those around you matches my own.”
Speech fails me. My struggle to regulate my emotions is his catnip?
“Yes, though I do not care for the comparison to a house cat.” Sliseag’s head slides over the grass as his neck moves in a reptilian pattern that should scare the shit out of me but doesn’t.
“I see all of you. Your shame, your rage, your obstinance, your determination to persevere despite it. You know who I am, but I know you.”
The very rage he speaks of bubbles up to my surface, not that it takes much to unearth it. It’s always there, a fingernail scratch away from exposure. My hands curl into fists.
“Accept yourself as I do,” he demands. “Naturally, you may present yourself to the rest of the world however you wish.”
“I may?” My spine stiffens to steel. “Thanks for—”
“But I will only tolerate—”
“—the permission.” I raise my voice as he tramples me verbally. “But you don’t get—”
“—transparency within the bond.” He cuts me off again.
“—a say in how I choose to preserve my dignity.” My tone pitches higher, and I take a single step toward him.
“Without it, you are indeed the risk you proclaim—”
Enough.
“Would you let me get a fucking word in?” I shout.
He blinks, and his voice falls silent in my head, but his tail flicks at the far edge of the field.
“You want transparency?” I challenge.
“I require it.”
“Fine.” Fuck it. If he wants honesty, I’ll give it to him.
Then we’ll see if he’s so certain about his choice.
“Yes, I’m angry. I had one of the best times on the Gauntlet my first year.
I walked at the front of my squad for Presentation, and it meant nothing.
I listened to every piece of advice Kaori gave last Threshing.
I memorized every card, studied every breed, and even had the audacity to stand in front of a snarling green, only to have it swat me away with its not-so-gentle scorpiontail when I refused to back down.
” I take another step. “I watched others be selected, cadets who broke every rule and didn’t bother to conceal the hatred in their hearts, while I did everything right.
And all it got me was a two-week stay in the infirmary and an instruction to do it all over again! ”
The intense focus of his gaze is all that indicates he’s even listening as I yell.
“I highly doubt that someone as infallible as you could understand the humiliation of being labeled an unbonded in the quadrant. It’s unbearable to walk the halls, knowing you’re not enough, found unworthy by the ones you’ve spent your life preparing to meet, to please.
” The excruciating pain cuts into me like a rusted blade shredding its incurable infection in the wound mid-slice.
His eyes narrow, but he remains quiet.