Chapter 2
Liz
When I was in seventh grade, there was a little girl who had a massive crush on Gideon. Her name was Olivia. She did everything she could to attract his attention, from stealing his pencil to bringing him snacks, but she hadn’t had much success. It was a little annoying, but I didn’t really care.
He was just my best friend. I didn’t own him.
But then, on my birthday, on the day I was supposed to have all the attention, the one day a year that people should be nice to me, she showed up with a broken arm.
I felt pretty bad for her, because I’m not the actual devil.
Breaking your arm is a real bummer. Gideon gave her his water bottle when she didn’t have one at P.E.
He carried her lunch tray. He even carried her bag.
And when my mom brought cupcakes to my class during recess (kind of weird, vegan ones, but still) Mom gave her first pick.
She took the one that said Happy Birthday on the top.
It was fine. It was all fine.
Then, after lunch, she slid her arm out of the cast and started laughing. “It’s April first,” she said. “My uncle’s a doctor, and I thought it would be funny to tell you all I broke my arm.”
I’d never really cared that my birthday fell on April Fools’ Day. . .until that year. She basically ruined my birthday as an attention-grabbing joke.
And now, after millennia of waiting, I actually watch as a gorgeous blue water dragon pops out an egg on the shores of Australia’s Northern Territory beach.
The silvery-blue egg glistens—hardly a surprise given that it’s being laid by a water dragon—as it drops to the sand.
The blessed around me are clearly delighted.
But they keep turning and looking over their shoulders.
Everyone gathered is watching me instead of the sleek and sinuous aqua water dragon, Norellia. They’re watching me, I believe, to see whether Azar’s still alive.
As much as I despised Olivia ten years ago, I loathe the older brother who terrifies and attacks his younger siblings.
The brother who manages to suck all the joy out of his little brother’s success on the very day we get the good news that dragons can now reproduce again thanks to our efforts and sacrifice.
Instead of staying with the new mother-to-be, Euphrasia shoots me a knowing glance before ducking into the water and swimming away. I’m going to go share the good news. I feel like Azar might need a win.
She’s actually going to check on him. I admire her for that courage.
And I wish I could go, too.
But no. I promised Azar, and with the danger he’s already in, the least I can do is not add to his stress.
I stay here like a good little bonded, and I make polite comments and smile and congratulate Norellia and her mate, but in actuality I’m listening in on Azar as well as I can as Thunar pries information out of my favorite flame-blessed brothers.
Hyperion’s better than I expected him to be at putting off Thunar’s prying questions. Azar seems. . .out of his element.
It’s because he’s trying to protect me.
Better than most blessed, he knows how to keep a secret, but I’m kind of at the heart of all the things he’s done since coming to earth.
He has to know Thunar’s going to learn about me sooner or later.
The more he puts off talking about me, the stranger it’s going to feel when Thunar realizes that’s what he’s been doing.
I’m not interested in getting between Azar and the way he handles his complicated family, but I am very interested in keeping myself alive, and in my experience, hiding from bullies never works out well for the victim.
So when Thunar says, Let’s go see this egg.
. . Azar’s panic is very clear. The bond’s a dark reddish-black that I’ve never seen before.
Fear.
I think that’s what I’m sensing.
Azar, the nuclear warhead-eating monstrous nightmare is scared.
I should be scared too, right? But honestly, it feels like I’ve been living on borrowed time ever since Gideon jammed that syringe into my neck. Then, against all odds, I walked back out of the volcano I got tossed into. I’m not really any more scared now than I have been for months.
This level of fear has become my everyday.
What does bother me is that we have the heart, and Azar’s still worried. They should be thanking him. I imagine once he’s met me, Thunar won’t care much about me anymore. None of the blessed ever seem overly impressed with humans.
Asteria’s clearly preparing to accompany another group of strike blessed north, to the island where Hyperion and Azar shot off to meet Thunar, and I wave her direction. You’re not taking Jade.
Of course not. She scowls like I’m the idiot. But you want to come.
Azar doesn’t want me there as his bonded, I don’t think. He’s worried.
You met my nasty sister. Asteria lowers her head. She’s a delight compared to Thunar. He’s right to be worried. You should stay here.
I sigh.
But you’re you, and I’m learning more about what that means every day. She blinks. For what it’s worth, I’m glad I bonded Jade—the kinder, gentler Liz. I think the actual Elizabeth Chadwick would be the end of me.
I laugh. Asteria and I have had our moments, but I can’t think of a dragon I’d have preferred to bond my sweet little sister Jade. So, will you take me or not?
If I don’t, you’ll just find someone else. Or wing your way over there so slowly you arrive just after he leaves.
I am pretty stubborn.
And the other blessed on the recovery team all adore you, especially the earth blessed, so one of them would definitely take you.
That’s good to hear. Azar’s never very far away, so I don’t get many chances to interact with the other blessed without a flame blessed recovery leader glaring at them. Is that a yes?
Better me than some sand-brained earth blessed.
It’s ingrained in them. They can’t help mocking the earth dragons.
I walk toward her and start looking for a place to climb up.
She’s so smooth, with such small and delicate scales compared to Azar and Axel both, that I’m not sure how to scramble up her back.
Luckily, she drops a shoulder, and there’s a small but distinct back ridge I think I can hold onto.
We’ve just launched into the air when I get a sharp message from Azar. Do not come here.
That’s a little rude, I say. I’m riding Asteria. He won’t even know I’m your bonded.
We’re coming to you. Prepare.
Prepare? What does that mean? I tell Asteria they’re coming our way, and she wheels around sharply.
“What could prepare mean?” I mumble aloud. “Should I make a cake? Change the sheets on a bed the size of a whale?”
Sheets? Asteria drops sharply. Thankfully clinging to Azar’s back like flotsam for weeks has prepared me for almost anything. I manage to keep my hold until she slides onto the landing pad Gordon and Rufus made on the far end of the dwelling.
If you’d told me a month ago I’d be living in the same enormous, cavernous dwelling that my bonded dragon and his intended mate Asteria inhabited, I’d have been sick, but here we are, and I don’t even hate it.
I don’t hate you, either, even if you somehow turned Azar against me. I’m beginning to wonder whether we were never quite the perfect fit I believed us to be.
For some reason, I expect the dragons to fly over here, with the water dragons they brought swimming of course, but that’s not what happens.
No, we’ve barely landed when there’s a bizarre sound like the grinding of gears in a car and an avalanche colliding.
A staggeringly large portal opens just over the water in front of our dwelling, and the largest creature I’ve ever seen wings his way through, his massive head covered with terrifying horns that spray out around his face in all directions.
He swings his head back and forth aggressively, as if he can somehow catalogue all the blessed in front of him and evaluate the threat they may pose at a glance.
And then he bugles as loud and long as I’ve ever heard a dragon bugle—like a growling scream—and I immediately understand what he’s doing. He’s declaring everything here as his.
If he were a dog, he’d be peeing on the side wall of our new house.
I hate it.
And I hate him.
If he can’t bond a human, he’ll die, Azar says.
I like that idea.
Hyperion sounds happy, even though I can’t see him yet. Maybe we can wear him out and then not manage to find a bright for him.
We’re going to need an awful lot of brights in a very short time. Private communication’s much easier after Azar shoots through the portal.
I’m less prepared for the mass of water blessed, strike blessed, and then a never-ending stream of earth blessed who leap, shoot, and pour through the portal, overrunning the area around us.
How many are there? Without being entwined, it’s harder to listen in on their conversations, and if Azar gauged their numbers visually or in some other dragon-y way, I certainly never heard him say.
Ten thousand more, give or take.
Oh, no. I’ll have to ask their prime minister to be sure, but I doubt there are enough brights in Australia to bond them all, much less brights who are ready and willing to give up their lives for a dragon.
We promised them we wouldn’t bond anyone against their wishes.
I’m not going to budge on that, not even for the ugliest, scariest monster I’ve ever seen.
Because he may not know it yet, but I’m a monster too.
I’m small but mighty, and that makes me unexpected.
I have half a mind to stab him a few times with my swords just to see how much he bleeds.
Do not do anything stupid. Asteria’s communication was both private and very, very soft.
I turn, craning my neck. “Why would you think I’d do that?”
You’re stroking the handles on those swords like you do that little barking menace. He’s not here, but I don’t like that the swords calm you down.