Chapter 2
Stesha
I’m engulfed in a wave of bad memories as I walk away from Alin’s daughter.
I remember Zenevieve, and I can tell from her shocked expression that she remembers me from when I was her grandfather’s apprentice.
I’d rather people didn’t remember me, and thankfully most don’t.
Before I became the dragonmaster, very few people were aware that I existed.
I ask about the newly arrived family at a City Guard station in the east of Lenhale, and they give me directions. A few minutes later, I’m knocking on the front door of a stone terraced house within the city walls.
A man opens it, and I glower at him. “You could have told me you were coming.”
Alin grins and clasps my forearm in greeting. “I wanted to surprise my serious little brother. You’re not so little now. Gods, Stesha. You’re as big as a tree. Come in, come in. Do you remember my mate?”
As I enter the house, I nod to a woman over his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, Claris.”
“And you, Stesha.” She waves cheerfully to me while opening packing crates.
Alin and I aren’t brothers by birth, and he is older than me by twelve years, but Dragonmaster Destrin called us both his sons.
When Alin left the capital to raise his family in the countryside, I was surprised and touched to find he wanted to maintain the relationship with me through letters, even beyond his father’s death five years ago.
“You have seen Zenevieve?” Alin asks. “I don’t think I could have kept her from the dragongrounds for a moment. I hope she wasn’t a nuisance.”
Nuisance remains to be seen, but I understand that people want to stare at the dragons. There’s nothing more impressive or interesting as the flare. “Nilak remembered her.”
“Zenevieve will be over the moon about that. All she’s been able to talk about for weeks is dragons, dragons, dragons.”
“Will you remain in the capital for long?”
“A while, I believe. The king wishes Zenevieve to meet his sons, though all Zenevieve can talk about is learning to fly.”
So she wants to be a dragonrider. A wish, or a true instinct? “I’m about to commence riding lessons for the princes, the princess, and another hopeful. Zenevieve is young, but not quite so young as Princess Mirelle. She may join us if she wishes.”
Alin looks touched by my offer. “Do you truly mean that, Stesha?”
“Dragonmaster Destrin’s granddaughter should learn to ride.” It’s the least I can do for the man who took me in and gave me my life’s purpose.
Alin laughs. “I’ll let her know she’s to join you. A flare of feral dragons couldn’t keep my daughter from your lessons.”
“Then tell her to report to the dragongrounds tomorrow at dawn.”
“Do we really have to start this early, dragonmaster?” Prince Zabriel yawns noisily.
His hair is mussed and tangled from sleep and is sticking up in the dawn light.
Next to him is Onderz, the son of one of the lords at court and Zabriel’s closest friend.
He looks similarly tired and dopey. By his side is a pale and annoyed Prince Emmeric, then tiny Mirelle rubbing her eyes like a child, and finally, Alin’s daughter.
Yes, we have to start this early. I have things to do today.
I wake before dawn and so do many of the dragonriders, wingrunners, and soldiers in the city.
Besides, training at dawn is a useful way to weed out those who truly wish to be dragonriders from those who prefer snoring their lazy heads off in bed.
“Every dragonrider is a member of the king’s dragon army. If a dragon chooses you, that dragon is a battle dragon. You are now all trainee soldiers, whether you are chosen or not. Getting up at dawn to ride a dragon is a privilege.”
My eyes run along the row of yawning, grumpy, rumpled teenagers to the caramel-haired girl at the end, who’s alert and beaming at me. Someone’s perky in the morning.
“But, dragonmaster, Father says we’re at peace,” Princess Mirelle says tentatively. She’s the youngest of the king’s children, and he didn’t want her to learn to ride.
“And?” I ask, turning to her.
The princess turns red. “And…and so maybe we don’t need to, um…” She trails off and stares at the ground.
It’s irritating hearing excuses and whining from dragonriders.
From the ruler’s children, it’s exasperating.
King Aylard didn’t want his daughter on a dragon.
Queen Magritte specifically asked me to teach her daughter, who is showing signs of becoming an Omega, because she herself was never given that chance.
There’s no reason Mirelle can’t ride if she wants to.
Hundreds of years ago, there was a famous Omega dragonrider who flew into battle and helped win a decisive victory for Maledin.
The king and I don’t agree on this, but I believe it’s every rider’s duty to protect the country we call home, no matter their designation.
Because peace in Maledin doesn’t happen by accident.
A pale violet dragon called Jocata is sunning herself not far away. There are long, silvery scars on her side. “What’s marking Jocata’s flank, Mirelle?”
Mirelle turns a deeper shade of crimson. “Scratches, dragonmaster.”
“How did she get them?”
“From a wild dragon, dragonmaster.”
Not just any wild dragon. Jocata was flying with seven other dragons in central Maledin when Golden Terror attacked out of nowhere.
Two dragons and their riders were killed.
Jocata lived, but her injuries were so extensive that she can no longer have hatchlings.
central Maledin was once thought safe from wild dragons, which mostly reside in the east, but with the massive, vicious Golden Terror in the skies, nowhere is safe.
“Are there any more stupid questions?” I ask.
Mirelle looks like she’s about to cry. Onderz is glaring daggers at me, and I glare right back.
“Then let’s get on with this. I have other things to do today.
” I pace up and down in front of them and remind them of the most important rule of dragonriding.
“There’s one thing you must understand before you even think about riding a dragon.
Dragons never make mistakes. Riders do. It’s your job to ensure your dragon trusts and respects you.
If not, who will suffer the consequences?
” I cast my gaze along the row of assembled teenagers. “Zabriel.”
Zabriel has his head close to Onderz and is whispering and laughing about something. Hearing his name, he straightens up. “What? Oh. Um, me?”
“If only that were true,” I say coldly. “It’s your dragon who will suffer if he or she doesn’t respect you.
The people of Maledin will suffer. Your fellow soldiers.
The city dwellers. The villagers. Their livestock and farms. If your dragon lashes out because it’s frightened or angry, it’s your fault.
If your dragon attacks you, then you are too stupid or weak to be a rider. ”
It’s unlikely a dragon from the king’s flare will kill a rider, but it’s not impossible.
As I’m speaking, I feel Nilak pace toward me from across the dragongrounds.
The row of teenagers stare with wide eyes and parted lips as she looms over them.
I can see Nilak over my head and hear her deep breaths.
Nilak is the biggest female in the flare, and she’s also one of the most ferocious.
Finally, the youths are all awake and paying attention.
“There are no second chances with dragons.”
A gray and violet Beta dragon called Damla is waiting patiently not far away, and I stride over to her and give her flank a firm pat.
“Dragonrider Tish has been kind enough to offer her very patient dragon Damla for the trainees to practice on. Treat the Alpha’s mate with respect, or you’ll be answering to Pollex. ”
From the center of the flare, mountainlike Pollex is as still as stone in the morning light, eyes fixed on the trainees with smoke wisping from his nostrils.
Emmeric is frowning up at Damla. “I have a question. How do you make them do what you want?”
“I have a question, what?”
Emmeric rolls his eyes and mutters, “I have a question, dragonmaster.”
“You don’t make a dragon do anything. You can try, but you won’t get very far.
A dragon isn’t a pet or a servant. You don’t order them around.
You ask. Outside the flare, a dragon is vulnerable, and they rely on us to keep them safe.
A dragon doesn’t know or care about politics or borders.
A dragon isn’t aware when one of our neighbors is challenging us and deploys mages who can maim and kill dragons.
It’s your job to know that and keep them safe. ”
“Oh, so dragons are really stupid,” Emmeric says. “Got it.”
If only it wasn’t a capital offence to smack a prince. “Move to the back, Emmeric. Zabriel, come here.”
Emmeric hotly mimics, “Move to the back, Prince Emmeric. Come here, Prince Zabriel.”
I move closer to Emmeric until my face is an inch from his. “On my dragongrounds, you are a trainee soldier, not a prince. It’s yes, dragonmaster, or you can leave.”
“I can call you what I like. The king outranks you.”
“Are you the king?”
Emmeric glowers with an expression that’s pure poison. Finally he turns and walks to the back. King Aylard is volatile enough. Heavens help us if something happens to Zabriel and Emmeric becomes king.
Zabriel is an overeager puppy as I walk him through what he needs to do for his first ride.
I’m not sure he’s listened to a word I’ve said as he climbs up onto Damla’s back.
The crown prince surprises me by executing a competent first ride through the skies around the castle, though seeing as he doesn’t have to do much but sit there, he’d have to do something really stupid to mess up.
Zabriel jumps to the ground and grins at me. “How was that?”
“Next time, keep your eyes forward and your weight centered. Stop gawping at the ground like you’re a child taking his first donkey ride. Move back. Mirelle, come here.”