Chapter 7
Chapter seven
“You will ride for Longbourn?” Valeraine hissed to Kesley. She had caught up to him in the sunny courtyard outside the manor, as he went to return to his chores. He could not escape her censure that easily. She grabbed his coat sleeve, to emphasize her point. “What were you thinking?”
Kesley easily shrugged off her hold, reclaiming his arm. “I suppose that I will do a passable job at it.”
“But if you race for us, you and old Lelantos fighting each other for every mile of —”
“There’s no-one else to fly.” Kesley stood casually, bored and unbothered. He didn’t see the glaring, ruinous problem. He didn’t even care. He shrugged out of his dapper coat (much too hot for standing in the summer sun) and slung it over his arm.
Valeraine refused to be distracted by the way his shirt draped over his slender shoulders. “Longbourn will only be a larger laughingstock!” she argued. “We will only prove —”
Here, Selaide (never one to let an entertaining quarrel pass her by) entered the courtyard and bounced up to the couple.
“Val, you are a genius. It was a masterstroke to volunteer Longbourn for the derby. Now, Netherfield will be hosting so many balls, with a derby-dragon nearby to challenge them.” Selaide was also never one to bow to such trivial things as the topic underway.
She pioneered her own conversational gambits.
Selaide, the youngest of the Longbourn sisters, was fully grown and yet still the shortest of them.
The petite frame suited her; it gave her manipulative leverage over their mother.
Her shortness, combined with her large eyes, gave an impression of innocence and youth.
Selaide had the immaturity of youth in spades, but the innocence was pure farce.
She had the prettiest hair of the sisters: a rich auburn, with enough natural waves to hold a cultivated curl without getting frizzy.
Her eyebrows were strikingly dark against her skin — the color of cream with generous honey — drawing more attention to her babyish eyes, ready to swallow an unsuspecting fool whole.
Valeraine rounded on Selaide, glad for a new outlet for her anxiety. “What did you think you were doing, insisting that Mr. Nethenabbi host a ball? It was the height of rudeness.”
Kesley let out one of his chuckles, rich and deep, and rejoined the conversation. “You mean like when you made me volunteer to race, Val?”
“I didn’t make you do anything, Kesley,” Valeraine protested. “You chose to put your foot in it.”
“Who else could have flown — Mr. Longbourn?”
Selaide tittered obligingly at this image.
“If Longbourn house is to participate,” Kesley continued, “and you have pledged us to, I don’t see who it could be except me.”
“It really was poorly done,” Selaide said. “When Kesley races for Longbourn, the gossip rags will write how decrepit we are that we need someone from another weak dragon house to ride for us. Before this, our house was unmentioned. Now they’ll have something to talk about.”
Valeraine could imagine it. Kesley would race, and do poorly.
Everyone would be starkly reminded that Longbourn had no dragon suitable for a derby, and had nobody to ride that unsuitable dragon anyway.
Nedine Nethenabbi would have won, been proven unequivocally correct.
If they couldn’t make even an acceptable showing in a derby, did they truly deserve the title of dragoneers?
Of course they did. They would. They did, presently, have a dragon supporting their estate. He was old, but he flew. They just couldn’t prove it in a competition.
If they couldn’t prove the dignity of Longbourn, did it really exist? It didn’t to Miss Nedine.
They could back out of the derby... but that was almost worse.
They would be surrendering, admitting to weakness and inconsequence without even making an attempt.
It would be the height of folly, to back down from the derby simply because they were scared they would lose.
That was the whole spirit of the derbies: everyone tried their mettle, courage, and the speed of their dragons. No win was ever guaranteed.
Selaide, meanwhile, was thinking of the problem from a different angle. “We must give the gossips something positive to talk about, so even if Lelantos does terribly, they still admire Longbourn house. We must use the scandal to our advantage.”
Kesley smiled at Selaide, doting. “How, pray tell? Will I simply have to win the derby for us?” he mused. “Disown Sidton house and be adopted into Longbourn, perhaps?”
“We will shadow you with an air of mystery and intrigue.” Selaide flourished her hands, baptizing Kesley with her outlandish plans.
“You will wear a mask, a daring disguise. They will all speculate about you. Instead of the gossips being certain Longbourn is employing a rider from another house, it will be a mystery. They will adore the masked rider.”
Kesley took a step toward Selaide, catching her enthusiasm.
“That might work. The smartest of them, or those who know us, will figure it is me. But the wildest gossips will speculate to no end, and they will love us for the pleasure. When it is eventually revealed, they will only feel satisfied at a mystery unveiled. I will get to be known — finally — as a true dragoneer.”
Selaide added, “Of course it will be the trump if you win, but with Lelantos...”
“With Kesley,” Valeraine said, “There is no chance of winning. He knows that as well as I.”
Selaide sighed. “If only we had a champion rider to don the mask instead. Or a younger dragon to use.”
“Even I would ride better than Kesley. I’ll do it.
” The words were out of Valeraine’s mouth before she could truly consider them, the absurdity of them.
It wasn’t absurd that she would fly better than Kesley — it was a given.
It wasn’t absurd for her to ride Lelantos, as she did that regularly.
But to race? To test her courage and skill — and the skill of Lelantos — in such a brutal arena?
It was the domain of men for a reason, for only a man could be foolish enough to risk his life for the small chance at glory.
Selaide had no qualms about throwing her sister to the wolves. She clapped her hands in glee. “Nobody will know you are the masked rider, I swear it. I will start making your costume immediately!” And with that, she proved herself honest (a rare event) by rushing inside the house.
Kesley faced Valeraine, concern on his brow. “Are you certain?”
That was all he said. Not an insult to her intelligence, or a question of her competence. He trusted her to race. He was just, understandably, hesitant. This was the worst idea Valeraine had ever had.
Valeraine imagined the gossip sheets discussing the resurgence of Longbourn house — even with a single dragon, long in the wing.
New opportunities would open to them with the respect of the dragoneers — offers of breeding rights, deals for eggs.
Longbourn would be secure for generations with one golden chance.
She imagined what Nedine’s face would look like if the masked rider of Longbourn House won the Netherfield derby.
None of that would be possible with Kesley racing.
“I’m not sure,” Valeraine said. “If I’m discovered, the ton would eat me alive. Longbourn would never be taken seriously again.”
“If it comes close to someone finding out, I will reveal myself,” Kesley said. “That way, you’ll be protected from the scandal, and I can gather the accolades of your excellent racing. You can win this, I know you can.”
This might just work. “I will be our masked rider.” And the words felt bold and right on her tongue.