Chapter 47
Chapter forty-seven
Despite how much Scaleheart pushed for it, there were no standard rules in derbies. Most derbies, at the very least, would not look positively on a dragoneer who had gotten someone killed, and occasionally bar him from racing.
When Valeraine and Alyce landed at Pemberley estate — at midday, hours before the race — they were greeted with a rules sheet.
Valeraine was starting to realize this was exactly the kind of thing Mr. Pemberley would do.
For appearances sake, she should hand this off to Kesley. He wasn’t difficult to spot, having arrived a little earlier with the coach; he was chatting with some dragoneers on the edge of the field, along with Selaide. Everyone was bundled in coats, merrily close to each other to block the wind.
Alyce left to find Mr. Nethenabbi, stomping through the layer of snow on the ground.
Merna approached Valeraine, consulting from a worn notebook. “You’ll be pleased to know the odds don’t place Lelantos last.”
“That’s good, I suppose. Who determined that?”
“Me. But it seems the laymen don’t trust my numbers, because you are the least wagered-upon pair.”
“How would you even know that?” Valeraine reminded herself that it didn’t matter anymore what the dragoneers thought of Lelantos. She could get her egg through the Royal derby, and didn’t need any deals.
“Promise you won’t tell anyone?” Merna said.
Valeraine flapped her hand in a of course, continue gesture.
“Miss Hartfield is quite the experienced bookmaker, and I’ve been recruited into her empire.”
Kesley walked over to Valeraine, and Merna flitted away. No doubt to take notes on the dragons or join a second criminal enterprise.
Valeraine handed Kesley the rules sheet, and she read it over his shoulder.
No riders who have previously caused a death will be allowed to race.
No riders who have a history of repeated maiming will be allowed to race.
Before or after the race, the dragoneers are not allowed to rile or sabotage their fellow riders (or allow their dragons to do the same).
During the race, no rough riding will be permitted. A dragoneer who is found to have purposefully injured a fellow racer or dragon will be disqualified.
Dragoneers must maintain sportsmanlike behavior at all times.
Kesley scoffed. “Rough riding is part of the sport, and it’s unsportsmanlike behavior to penalize it. Who’s to say what’s too rough? This is an excuse to disqualify whomever Pemberley wishes.”
Valeraine had an urge to defend Pemberley.
Ludicrous. Kesley did have a point that the rules were easily abused.
She recalled Pemberley insulting her house, and discarded any respect she might have for his rules.
He didn’t deserve defending. “He will not, at least, throw us out. I don’t think I’ve provoked his principles quite that far. ”
“He wouldn’t dare to throw out Longbourn because you conquered him and his flimsy principles, dear Val.”
Valeraine shrugged, unwilling to tell Kesley she never intended to use her leverage on Pemberley. Kesley would think her foolish not to press her advantage.
Now they — and their dragon — had a few hours to rest before the derby would start.
Lelantos was twitchy, his ears flicking with every sound from another tethered dragon, of which there were already five in the field.
His nostrils flared, his feet shuffled back and forth, and his tail whipped this way and that, striking the ground.
Thwack. Thwack. She could feel the anxiety and hostility coming off him in waves.
“I think we need to tether him,” Kesley said.
Valeraine had to agree. They couldn’t stay here and watch him for the next few hours — at the very least Valeraine would have to change into her costume, and she would also like to get some food and sit down — and if they left Lelantos free, he would cause trouble.
It’s not that she didn’t trust her dragon, Valeraine reassured herself. It was just he was so different when he was nest-tetchy, so far from home. At Longbourn, he was solid and dependable.
The truth was she was scared of what Lelantos might do, which was a definite lack of trust.
Lelantos was already straining against the tethers as they attached them, not listening to the soothing words Valeraine whispered to him. She stroked his muzzle, trying to distract him from Kesley finishing the knots.
Lelantos gave an annoyed snap at her fingers, and she jumped back with a squeak.
She inspected her hand, but he had barely touched her — the smallest of scrapes across a knuckle was her souvenir from the exchange — not even deep enough to draw blood.
But it was the first time he had ever made an aggressive move to her.
Should she muzzle Lelantos? She had seen others do it to their dragons, but had never understood the need. Now, her knuckles stinging, she understood why some riders chose to.
She would not.
At least, not unless Lelantos grew highly unmanageable, and right now he was only a little scrappy.
She was afraid of one day being pushed to those lengths.
Her relationship with Lelantos had always been one of joy and encouragement, not jailing and punishment.
But then again, she had never expected to tether him, and now it was a necessary matter of course.
Kesley was carrying the bag with her disguise and flying leathers, and now set it on the ground for her to grab at her convenience. Valeraine wondered if she should ask Pemberley for a private place to change clothes...
No. She would not ask him for anything, she would not speak to him.
She would not encourage this ridiculous farce of a courtship, nor did she have any wish to speak to him after the insults they had traded.
She would avoid him entirely, she resolved.
Perhaps she would smirk at him as she was passing the finish line, winning the derby.
Valeraine walked around Lelantos to pick up the bag, and saw a dragon coming down out of the air into the spot next to theirs. It was familiar: a white one with wicked spikes along its spine.
As soon as the dragon’s feet touched down, Mr. Rosings jumped from the saddle, striding for Valeraine. “I see Longbourn is still hobbling along, pretending to be fit for derbies.”
Rosings must have finally understood her rejection, after she didn’t answer his letters, and after Papa responded to them with reluctant demur. Gone were Rosings’ compliments and suave smiles.
Valeraine bristled. “We didn’t do too poorly at the derby at Rosings. Longbourn beat you, if I recall?”
“Any win your elderly dragon secures is pure luck and cheating. We’ll see how you do today.” He took his eyes off of her to nod in Kesley’s direction. “This your rider, then?”
Kesley strode forward smoothly, inserting himself into the exchange. He held out his hand to shake. “I am indeed. Kesley, of Sidton house.”
Rosings ignored his hand. “I had thought Longbourn had more dignity than to descend to a mercenary rider.”
“He’s no mercenary,” she protested. “He’s been with Longbourn for years.”
“I haven’t even heard of Sidton,” Rosings said. “It’s almost admirable to see houses of such similar status helping each other.” He nodded to Kesley. “I’ll see you in the sky.” He sauntered off toward the Pemberley manor.
“I’m so glad that I didn’t marry him,” Valeraine said.
Kesley startled. “What do you mean?”
“Haven’t I told you?” She supposed that she had been distracted by finding Scaleheart’s identity and coming home. It hadn’t seemed so important after all that. “Mr. Rosings proposed to me, when I was away in Kinellan City.”
“How was the courtship? If his insulting manner is anything to go by, he’s wretched.”
“There wasn’t really any courting. He just proposed, and refused to take my rejection. I think he’s understood it, now.”
“No courting at all?” Kesley said. “Good for you to reject him — you deserve much more romance.”
“I do enjoy some romance,” Valeraine acknowledged. She smiled, thinking of the little romances he had been giving to her. Perhaps this was part of a plan, working up to a proposal after all.
Her clothes bag in hand, Valeraine began walking off the field.
She started to pass Rosings’ white dragon.
Perhaps she assumed that it would only be nasty at the urging of its spiteful owner, but she did not even think to give it a wider berth.
As she walked by, its jaws snaked down to bite her.
She flinched away, but the dragon teeth still closed on her skirt, tearing through the faded blue fabric and exposing her petticoats underneath.
She gave a yelp as she hopped away, more from shock than any pain.
Lelantos reacted to her yelp as she never would have expected. Lelantos of the Longbourn nest was complacent, slow to move. He would have been precise with his assistance, not urgent. Now, nest-tetchy, he had been waiting for an excuse to attack something.
As Valeraine hit the ground from her tumble, Lelantos leaped and brought his head protectively over her.
His tethers were snapped. He roared, so loud that her ears were ringing, so loud that she felt the rumble in her chest and in the ground below her.
His anger was a roiling thing, confused and scared for Valeraine, excited at the confrontation, furious with the white dragon.
The white dragon flared its wings open, coming up on its hind legs and brandishing its front claws. It tried to bound forward, but got snapped back by its tethers.
Lelantos answered with smoke curling out of his mouth. He came up on his hind legs, spreading his wings wide. They stretched to fill Valeraine’s whole view, displaying his gargantuan age.
He took a great inhale, and then spewed fire. The fire was shockingly hot, like a forge or a raging inferno. It whooshed over her head, and yet she still felt it vaporizing every bit of moisture from her skin. The snow around them glistened as it began to melt.