The Dragonmaster’s Mate (Fire and Desire #4)

Chapter 1

Zenevieve

“Zenevieve, don’t you wish to see our new home?” Father calls after me.

I skip sideways as I wave goodbye to my parents. “No, I want to see the dragons!”

Maledin’s dragons. They’re all I’ve been able to think about ever since Father and Mother told me we were moving to the capital from our home in the south.

Mother cups her hand around her mouth and points toward the north. “Don’t be too long, and don’t cause a nuisance. The dragongrounds are over by…”

I turn and run down the cobblestone streets with breathless excitement, and Mother’s words are swallowed up by the wind.

She doesn’t need to tell me where I can find the dragons.

We lived in Lenhale until I was four years old, and though I barely remember the city of Lenhale, I could reach the dragongrounds with my eyes closed.

Before he passed away, I listened to all of Grandfather’s stories about life in the capital with rapt attention, and I pored over maps of the area with him.

He was the former dragonmaster, and everyone always said that means I have dragons in my blood.

One day I’ll be a rider. Father tells me I must wait to see if I’m chosen by a dragon, because it’s the dragon who chooses their rider, but I feel in my heart that my destiny has already been decided.

Maledinni are guided by fate, and I’m sure the gods must have a wonderful plan for me.

Otherwise, why would my parents have brought me back to the city when they much prefer the countryside?

As I race through the alleys and squares, people swerve out of my way with shouts of irritation and alarm.

“I’m sorry!” I call over my shoulder to a man just managing to keep a tray of bread balanced on his shoulder.

“Would it hurt you to slow down, girl?” he shouts after me.

It would. I think it really would. After being locked away in the deepest, darkest part of rural Maledin for the last ten years without a dragon in sight, I’m impatient for my life to begin.

I sprint through the castle gates and around to the left, where a path leads through courtyards and over battlements to the northern side.

Some of the sights look familiar. This cherry growing in a walled garden.

That view from the battlements. I must have come this way with Grandfather many times, holding tight to his hand or being carried in his arms.

I reach a bridge spanning a chasm, and finally the dragons come into view.

Not a handful of dragons; there are dozens of them, in so many different sizes and colors.

Massive Alpha dragons sit regally at the center of the flare, surrounded by Betas.

A few dragons that look like they could be smaller Omegas lounge around the outskirts, and skinny, leggy fledglings scamper in the dust.

I still remember what Grandfather said to me the first time he showed me the dragons. Here’s the rest of your family, Zenevieve.

I walk slowly across the bridge, knowing I mustn’t run headlong into the flare, but I’m aching to do just that. Here and there, dragonriders are walking among the dragons. How I wish I could be one of them.

I’m so focused on committing to memory each and every dragon that I don’t notice that one of them has broken away from the flare and is approaching me.

Suddenly, a gleaming, ice-white dragon is looming over me.

She’s one of the biggest of the flare, and her pale, jewel-like eyes are fixed on me.

She’s so massive that she blocks out not only every sight but every sound as well.

My world falls silent. Her razor-sharp talons dig into the dust as she lowers her head to inspect me.

Muscles ripple beneath her pristine white scales.

Her hot breath fans my face, and I feel the hot glow of her soul core deep within her chest. There’s no mistaking who this dragon is.

“Nilak,” I breathe.

Grandfather’s pride and joy. For him, she embodied everything that a dragon should be.

Proud, fierce, and brave. Always putting the flare first and protecting them above all else.

And she’s beautiful. I first saw her when she was a younger dragon, but now she’s fully mature and absolutely breathtaking.

Nilak lowers her head and delicately—for a dragon of her size—sniffs the air around me. Then she fixes me with her jewel-like blue gaze and doesn’t move. She’s so close I could reach out and touch her, and I realize that’s what she’s inviting me to do.

Slowly, I extend my hand. Grandfather taught me that I have nothing to fear from his flare if I treat the dragons with respect. Nilak gives a soft rumble and nudges my palm with the side of her snout. I feel a smile break over my face, and I wonder if she remembers me.

While I’m focused on Nilak, a man strides out from among the dragons, tall and striking with long white hair tied at the nape of his neck. I see him out of the corner of my eye, but I’m too focused on Nilak to care about him.

Until he’s moving toward me with long, purposeful strides.

I spare him a glance, and he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

His face looks as though it was carved from a glacier, and he’s so tall, nearly twice my height.

He wears pale dragonriding clothes on his robust frame, and his white hair is like silk, with several locks falling into his icy blue eyes.

I suppose he must be somewhere in his mid-twenties, and one of the king’s Alpha dragonriders.

I’m wary of Alphas. They’re not known for their friendliness.

Most Maledinni are Betas, like my parents, and are unremarkable in size and stature.

Alphas are very large physically, and they’re often soldiers and dragonriders because they love to fight.

They have hot tempers and intense personalities.

Betas are the most populous, and they get all the hard work and thinking done, or so they like to claim.

Omegas are rare, and they’re small and very cute, and apparently a bit useless.

Queen Magritte is an Omega, but I never hear much about her.

My heart pounds in my throat as this Alpha glares at me, looking at my hand on Nilak’s snout, and I wonder if I’m about to get in trouble for touching his dragon.

Because Nilak is his dragon, there’s no doubt about that.

Grandfather once pointed out all the signs that a rider and a dragon were bonded.

A rider’s looks change to match the coloring of their dragon’s scales and eyes.

Their attitudes and personality are often similar, and so is the way they move and think.

A dragon and rider sometimes seem as though they’re looking at you through the same pair of eyes, which can be unnerving.

This Alpha’s expression is so severe as he glares down at me that I’m tempted to turn on my heel and run before he can shout at me, but thanks to Grandfather, I know I’m not doing anything wrong.

Anyone may come and stand at the edge of the dragongrounds and be greeted by a dragon.

Besides, a dragonrider isn’t a coward, and I mean to be a dragonrider, so I take a deep breath, and say, “Your dragon is beautiful.”

He puts his hand on Nilak, caressing her with his thumb. A proud, possessive touch. “Nilak says she knows you. How?” His deep voice is sharp and unfriendly and nips me like teeth.

“Nilak and I met a long time ago. My grandfather raised her, and he was proudest of her in all the flare.”

The man studies me closely, his fingertips trailing over Nilak’s white scales. “Then you are Zenevieve of Vierforn.” Still he doesn’t smile at me, but at least he doesn’t frown quite so hard.

I blink, surprised that he knows my name. “I am. Who are you?”

“Dragonmaster Stesha.”

Stesha? But I remember Stesha. He was a boy.

Grandfather’s long-faced, skinny, silent, and lanky apprentice.

He wore ragged clothes, his nose was too big for his face, and he barely spoke or met your eyes.

His downcast attitude and lowered head made it seem like he was miserable about everything, including his own existence.

“But you’re…” I trail off as he arches a questioning brow. I was going to say so different, but it’s rude to comment on someone’s looks. “You’re young to be the dragonmaster.”

Nilak snorts, seeming to resent my doubt in her rider’s capabilities because of his age.

“Alin is in Lenhale?” the dragonmaster asks.

“Yes, Father is here, and my mother as well. They’re at our new home in the east of Lenhale.”

Stesha glances toward the east. “Alin never said a word in his last letter.”

He and Father write letters to each other? I never knew. “Father said he wanted to surprise everyone.”

Stesha’s brows draw together in disapproval. “Don’t get too close to the dragons. They’re not pets,” he warns me, turning and walking back to the flare. Nilak paces regally at his side, and the two of them gleam so brightly in the sunshine that I’m dazzled.

I take a long look around the flare. I don’t think I’ve seen anything as awe-inspiring in my life.

There are voices behind me, and I turn and see two boys a little older than me, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, crossing the bridge. They’re nearly young men, and they look remarkably alike, both with gray-blue eyes and long brown hair. One is taller, and his expression is friendlier as well.

He greets me with a smile. “Who’s this? Another dragonrider to compete with?”

“I’m not a dragonrider, but I want to be,” I tell him.

“We all want to be,” sneers the slightly smaller boy, looking me up and down. “Where did you come from?”

“I’m Zenevieve of Vierforn.”

“A country mouse. Have you even seen a dragon before today?”

“Yes,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat. I don’t think I like this arrogant boy very much.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have!”

The boy laughs, and it’s not a nice laugh. “Of course you have.”

The words I want to say are on my tongue. The last dragonmaster was my grandfather, actually, and he carried me in his arms with nestlings. But a dragonrider isn’t boastful.

“Ignore Emmeric,” the older boy says. “I’m Zabriel. Welcome to Lenhale. I hope you find your dragon.”

I smile at him. “Thank you. That’s very…” I trail off as I suddenly recognize their names. Zabriel and Emmeric? I gasp and curtsey to them. “Crown Prince Zabriel and Prince Emmeric, I’m honored to meet you, my princes.”

Zabriel waves a hand. “Don’t worry about that my prince stuff while we’re on the dragongrounds.”

“Stop telling people that, Zabriel,” Emmeric protests.

Zabriel ignores him. “Zenevieve, there’s only one reason you’ve come to the dragongrounds if you want to be a rider. Shall I show you which are the riderless dragons?”

I eagerly accept, and Zabriel points out all the fully grown dragons and older fledglings by name to me.

“Usually a rider bonds with a fully grown dragon, but sometimes they know they’re destined for each other before that,” he explains.

I don’t say, Yes, I know, even though I do know.

“That’s Scourge,” Zabriel says. He speaks in reverent tones as he points to an enormous black dragon with burning red eyes. “Look how big he is. Those powerful wings. He’s young, but he’s already the biggest dragon in the flare. When old Pollex dies, Scourge will be the flare’s Alpha.”

I know Pollex by sight. The chestnut-colored dragon is sitting at the center of the flare, his eyes half-closed against the bright sunlight, with his mate Damla asleep with her head across his forelegs.

Scourge is a formidable black dragon, and Zabriel clearly has his sights set on him.

I think I’d prefer a dragon who’s smaller.

“Are you sure Scourge will be the next Alpha? Dragonmaster Destrin believed it would be Nilak,” I say without thinking.

“What would a stupid country mouse know about what the last dragonmaster believed?” Emmeric sneers.

“Oh. Dragonmaster Destrin was my grandfather, my prince.”

Emmeric turns bright red, and his eyes sparkle with anger.

Zabriel laughs. “And here I am telling you about dragons. You could tell us all about them.”

“But you told me so much. There are so many new dragons since I was last in Lenhale, my prince.”

Zabriel waves off my formality. “Just call him Emmeric and me Zabriel unless our father is around. Come on, we can get a little closer.”

“Don’t you like being called prince?” I ask as I stroll alongside him.

Zabriel grimaces. “Would you like to be called princess all the time instead of your name? Now, which dragon would you choose to bond with if it were up to you? If Dragonmaster Destrin was your grandfather, then you must be a future rider.”

It’s a purely theoretical question, because we all know that dragons choose their riders, but I take a long look around. “They’re all wonderful, but I don’t think any of these is my dragon. What about you, Zabriel?”

Zabriel’s rapt attention is entirely for Scourge.

I can see the hint of dragines at the corners of the prince’s upper teeth as he smiles, which means he’s an Alpha.

I picture the crown prince’s cascading hair turned black and his eyes glowing red like coals.

Zabriel already knows which dragon is going to choose him.

It will be the same for me. I will know from the moment I see my dragon, and my life will never be the same again.