Chapter 9
Chapter nine
For the last little leg of the flight to Netherfield, it was just Valeraine and Lelantos.
They had dropped off Kesley in the woods nearby, and she had donned the costume.
Now, they circled Netherfield manor from the air, looking for where they should report for the race.
It was nearly six in the evening, when the race was scheduled to begin.
This was not the first time Valeraine had seen the manor from a dragon’s eye view.
The estate had lain empty for decades, a haunting reminder of a house that had fallen out of power.
She didn’t even know the name of the family that had once lived there.
It had been a game among the Longbourn sisters as children to explore the derelict grounds.
Now, those grounds had been cleaned, the paths scrubbed, and some even re-cobbled.
The house had been washed, no longer the specter hanging over the neighborhood but a refreshed, visiting gentleman.
The manor was larger than Longbourn’s, and Valeraine ached to see the inside to determine if the splendor continued.
There had once been a nest barn on the grounds, but it had been demolished.
Now, a new nest was being built. The gargantuan framing was already underway, outlining what would house about a dozen dragons.
A field next to the construction held seven dragons, all obviously nest-tetchy and snapping at each other, straining against ropes.
That must be where the race would begin from.
On the side of the field, many chairs and picnic blankets were installed, with around one-hundred guests milling about and chattering to each other, holding shade parasols and sipping drinks.
Valeraine looked for familiar faces, almost disappointed when she couldn’t find Kesley, before remembering that he would remain hidden to preserve the fiction that he was the masked rider.
She spotted Papa, and was happy to see him sitting down.
The Longbourn family had been provided chairs.
They were being respected as a dragon house.
Lelantos landed at the edge of the mess of dragons.
One, a slim white dragon, began growling and hissing in their direction.
The dragons in the field had been harnessed to large stakes in the ground to stop them from causing too much mischief.
Lelantos did not need to be tied down like these unruly beasts.
He was calm, collected. Well, not entirely.
She saw a shiver run up his wings as he noticed the challenge of the white dragon.
Valeraine put a soothing hand on his back, and murmured, “Easy there. We’ll defeat him soon. ”
Some of the dragons had been muzzled as well as tied down.
She saw smoke drift out of the nostrils of one of those.
Despite the pang she felt at seeing the majestic beasts so restrained, she was glad for the caution of the riders.
The last thing they needed was dragons getting in a fire-spitting match.
The contrast between them and Lelantos was stark.
He was still, looking around curiously. Valeraine could spot a little tension in his joints, a small amount of unease at all these new rivals, but someone unfamiliar with her dragon wouldn’t notice his subtle tells.
Valeraine knew, on an intellectual level, if she took Lelantos far from his nest, he would become nest-tetchy and may act out as much as these visiting dragons.
It was difficult to imagine such a transformation in her solid companion.
Right now, his nest was a short flight away, and he was calm and assured.
She shuddered at the idea of tying him up or muzzling him.
He hated being restrained, and a saddle was as far as she was willing to discomfort her friend.
Valeraine rummaged in the saddlebag for a piece of jerky. Her hands were shaking, and it was difficult to undo the clasp. She climbed off Lelantos’ back. She fed him the treat, and told him to stay put. He wouldn’t cause any trouble.
There was a bundle of riders in the center of the pandemonium, talking animatedly. She would need to hear the announcement of what route to fly.
Valeraine double checked that her mask was securely in place. It was. She was disguised. She was ready. This would be fine.
It would be fine, wouldn’t it?
She affected a masculine swagger as she strode to the men, imagining she was the confident Kesley, approaching a group of his peers. All she had to do was pull this off for a few minutes, and then she would show all of these dragoneers how Lelantos flew.
Mr. Nethenabbi was the center of attention, his eyes bright, smiling as he joked with the riders.
He wore a harness of leather, fancy in its clever buckles and pouches.
This was the outfit of an experienced dragoneer.
He saw her, and the smile slipped off his face, replaced with a quizzical wariness.
“You there, sir, are you the rider for Longbourn?”
Valeraine nodded, not trusting her voice to pass as Kesley’s to someone who had met him.
Nethenabbi clasped his hands, regaining his confidence.
“We are all gathered then. The derby can begin. I will mediate any disputes, though I trust we won’t have any.
The course is simple: we will start where we are now, and finish here.
The course extends to that hilltop,” he gestured to a far bump on the horizon, Oakham mount, “and back again.” He grinned as punctuation. “Any questions?”
There were no questions, but one of the riders did have an objection.
“All of us starting in this cramped space? The liftoff will be madness,” said a tall man with blonde, neat hair.
His skin was the color of pine wood, and his eyes were a piercing green.
He was also dressed in well-tailored flying leathers, which emphasized his broad shoulders.
He wore a shirt with delicate lace cuffs underneath.
Another man countered the blonde rider: “Pemberley, that is the entertainment of it.” The man gestured to the waiting crowd of people. “No-one comes to the derby to see neat columns of dragons, they want to see the fights! That is the soul of the derby. May the fiercest rider win.”
Nethenabbi reclaimed the conversation. “May the fiercest rider win, indeed. We will begin in a minute,” Nethenabbi looked apologetically at Mr. Pemberley, “as the dragons are currently situated, at the signalling of the horn.”
The riders dispersed.
As Valeraine walked to Lelantos, the objecting rider with lace cuffs followed her.
“What are you doing in this derby?” Mr. Pemberley said, and his tone was all accusation. It seemed that he had already made up his mind that she shouldn’t be doing anything at this derby.
“My dragon is fit to fly.” Valeraine said, barely remembering to pitch her voice lower in an approximation of a tenor.
“Your dragon is an old work-dragon — anyone looking at the claws could see. You are wholly unprepared, as your clothes indicate. Moreover, you cover your identity, a sure sign you are acting dishonestly.” Pemberley left from dogging her steps, reaching his dragon.
It was a beauty, with gleaming red scales and bundles of horns decorating its noble head.
“You may be here with the blessing of Longbourn, but you should not ride. This is not your place.”
She may not be sure if this was a good idea, but she was absolutely certain Longbourn deserved to have a rider at this derby, and that she was their best shot. She said, “I will ride,” and then she reached Lelantos and clambered on herself.
This was her place. After all, her dragon was comfortable here, feeling his nest nearby.
These visiting dragons (like the horned red specimen next to her) were the interlopers.
Their dragons had been dragged away from where they made their homes and their temperaments had degraded because of it.
They were nest-tetchy: eager to attack, slow to follow commands, brutal in fights for dominance, and always straining against their masters.
This would be her race, because this was her neighborhood, and no other dragon knew this course like Lelantos did, passing over fields he had worked and the land he claimed as his own.
A horn sounded, and the riders took to the sky.