Chapter 5 #2
Stesha is often training with the other Alphas, and when he and another man or woman spar, their blades ring together furiously.
Every few days, Zabriel asks to fight him, and we all gather around to watch.
The dragonmaster always disarms him and knocks him into the dust. Sometimes Stesha does it quickly, with the impatience of a man who’s got better things to do than play fight with a boy.
Other days, he draws things out for the onlookers, making Zabriel exhaust himself swinging his sword, running, and dodging, while Stesha barely breaks a sweat.
Sometimes they’ll be at it for nearly an hour, but Zabriel always ends up on his ass.
After one of these matches, I come upon Zabriel bathing a painful-looking bruise on his shoulder, and I ask him, “Why do you keep fighting Stesha when you always lose?”
“Because Stesha is the best. One day I’ll beat him, and I’ll know I’m a real soldier. And the look on his face will be priceless.”
Stesha being the best sword fighter is news to me. I’m delighted to hear it, because apart from my family, he’s my favorite person in Lenhale. There’s a little bounce in my step the rest of the day. Stesha is the best. I’m proud of him.
Soon Zabriel has other things to think about than challenging the dragonmaster.
It happens dramatically one afternoon. Scourge roars loud enough to rattle every eardrum in the city, spreads his mighty wings, and slams two taloned forelegs into the ground right in front of Zabriel.
Everyone nearby flees. Everyone except for Zabriel, who is fearlessly standing beneath the ferocious black dragon.
There’s a moment of strained silence as every dragonrider around holds their breath.
Zabriel climbs up Scourge’s flank and onto his back, and the dragon snorts at the unfamiliar feeling and paces a few steps.
I hope I’m not about to see the crown prince thrown to the ground and stomped into a sticky paste.
Scourge spreads his wings and launches into the sky.
A cheer goes up from the dragonriders as we watch the enormous black dragon and the crown prince take their first flight together. There’s so much happiness in my heart, knowing that the dragon that Zabriel has longed for has finally chosen him.
Now there’s only one member of my flying cohort who’s still dragonless.
Emmeric. It isn’t long before I notice that a dragon I care for very much is paying attention to him.
There’s a snarl of anxiety in my belly as I watch Shar, who now stands as high as a horse but is so gentle and unthreatening, nosing hopefully at Emmeric’s chest. It’s the body language of a dragon who wants to initiate physical contact, and no dragonrider I’ve ever seen is able to resist caressing a dragon’s snout when approached in such a way.
Surely Emmeric’s heart will finally be touched? This will be a turning point for the bad-tempered prince.
Emmeric scowls at Shar and shoves him away.
I open my mouth to cry out, but Stesha is already striding forward. “Emmeric. What the hell are you doing?”
The prince shoots him a petulant look. “What does it look like I’m doing, you stupid oaf? Why does this dragon keep bothering me?”
Outrage and anger fill me from head to toe. To be chosen by any dragon, let alone Shar, is a privilege.
Stesha’s eyes narrow. “If you have a question for me, you say, Excuse me, dragonmaster. Fifty push-ups. Now.”
“Like hell I’m doing push-ups.”
“These are my dragongrounds, and you are a trainee rider. Fifty push-ups, or your insubordination will be written up, and you’ll be disciplined.”
I suppose he means that King Aylard will be informed, and apparently that’s something Emmeric would like to avoid because he gets down on the ground, grumbling the whole way.
Stesha stands over the prince with his arms folded, counting the number of push-ups to make sure Emmeric does them all.
When the prince is finished and gets to his feet, red-faced and angry, Stesha says, “I’ll ask you again. What were you doing to that dragon?”
“He won’t stop following me. I’m not bonding with a weak little Beta dragon. I’m waiting for my real dragon. An Alpha.”
Zabriel has been following the scene, and he approaches his brother. “I would be honored if Shar chose me. Anyone can see he’s going to be one of the swiftest and smartest dragons in the flare. Going into battle on Shar would mean victory is practically certain.”
“He’s tiny. He’s an idiotic puppy,” Emmeric snarls.
“Shar is still growing,” Zabriel protests. “He will be a fearsome battle dragon once he’s reached his full size, and he will be swifter than all the Alphas.”
“Who cares about being fast when you can be strong? If you get to ride Scourge, I should have a dragon who’s just as big and fierce. I’m a prince as well.”
“You know that’s not how it works, idiot,” Onderz calls out. “Shar’s chosen you, so shut up and be happy about it. You’re lucky any dragon wants to put up with you.”
Emmeric doesn’t dare shove Shar while Stesha is watching him, but he glares at the dragon with his lips pressed tightly together.
Shar has never experienced coldness before, and he doesn’t understand what’s happening.
It hurts my heart to see him trying to win Emmeric over but getting rejected.
Finally, I can’t bear it any longer, and I run over to comfort Shar.
Emmeric steps in front of me. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Shar is upset. Look how his head is bowed.”
“You do not have permission to touch my dragon. You’ve been spoiling him so much it’s making him pathetic. I’ll have to toughen him up if he’s going to be worth anything.”
From that day forward, Shar’s friendliness diminishes, first with the other riders, then with me, and even with his own sister. Shar follows Emmeric around only to be ignored, but Emmeric shouts at him if he strays. My throat burns with tears to see how unhappy the once joyful dragon has become.
I have disliked Emmeric for the cruel things he’s said and done to me, but now I begin to hate him.
Zabriel and Onderz have already started flying lessons on their nearly full-grown dragons, and it’s just a few weeks until Emmeric, Mirelle, and I are able to join them.
On Nilak or Damla, flying is delightful, but my first flight on Minta feels like a dream.
I’m not sitting on her; every part of my body is connected with every part of hers through our minds.
There’s such a joyful, open connection between the two of us, and our thoughts flow back and forth like water.
I’ve never known such happiness, nor such freedom.
The euphoria goes straight to our heads, and we go a little mad from it.
Once we’re over the castle, Minta flies in a tight circle around the tallest turret of the castle, spiraling up and up.
My eyes find the next turret, and I feel her delight as she accepts my idea and spirals down that one.
We dart around the skies as if we’re made from lightning, until I hear Nilak give an indignant shriek, calling us back.
When we land, I’m out of breath, and my hair is in a riot. I dismount in front of the others.
Stesha has his arms folded and wears an expression of disapproval on his face. “Too chaotic, Zenevieve. Fly with more intention next time.”
I’m grinning as I reply, “Yes, dragonmaster.”
The corner of his mouth quirks for a fraction of a second before he turns away. “Onderz, your turn.”
After the lesson, I feel so wonderful that I decide to go give thanks at the Flame Temple, in gratitude to the gods who have given me such a wonderful dragon.
There are dozens of ways to reach the temple through the castle grounds, and I try and go a different way each time so that I can admire the many gardens and courtyards.
I round a corner and see a figure walking toward me, and my heart lodges in my throat when I realize it’s King Aylard. I’ve only ever seen him from afar and surrounded by a great many people, but now, we’re completely alone in a small walled garden.
“You are Zenevieve of Vierforn, aren’t you? My son has mentioned you.” The king has a dark beard, wears many gold rings, and his clothes are richly embroidered with gold thread.
I don’t know what to say, but I feel like I must say something. “Which son, Ma’len?”
King Aylard gives me a crafty smile. “Why, do you prefer one of my sons over the other? Perhaps you are hoping to be queen one day.”
I would much rather it was Zabriel who’s been talking about me, not because I want to mate him, but because all the crown prince talks about is dragons and probably has kind things to say about me and Minta.
I’m sure there’s a clever, courtly reply I can give the king, but I don’t know what it is.
Mother tried to coach me on how to be polite but evasive among the nobles, but I wasn’t listening.
I turn red, and stammer, “I-I don’t hope for anything, Ma’len.”
King Aylard steps toward me. I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the ground and the gold-threaded slippers the king is wearing. He pushes his hand into my hair and threads his fingers through it, and the strands tug painfully on my scalp. I want to tell him to stop, but fear and confusion seal my lips.
“You haven’t fully bonded with your dragon,” King Aylard says, twisting my hair this way and that. “Your hair is the same color as it was when you arrived.”
He can tell that without touching me. Why is he touching me?
“No, Ma’len,” I whisper, my skin crawling. I feel like I’m being assessed like livestock on market day.
His nails scrape against the nape of my neck, which grates on every nerve in my body and makes me break out in a cold sweat. I feel as panicked as I did when Emmeric cornered me, but I have just enough presence of mind not to shout at the King of Maledin and shove him away from me.
Instead, I duck out from under his arm and run, and I don’t look back.