Page 3 of Court of Rivals (Their Dragon Rider #1)

A massive black dragon lies sprawled on the ground not twenty feet from me. I’ve never seen a dragon up close before, but even I can tell something’s wrong. Animals don’t collapse like this unless they’re hurt. It’s eyes are rolled back, body slack.

Creeping another foot forward, I get a better look at its body. There are open wounds all over it. Not just gashes, but also patches where its scales are just… gone, leaving behind nothing but raw skin. But nothing can hurt dragons, nothing except…

I begin to put the puzzle pieces together, and I realize that this dragon has been attacked by a bone wyrm.

Bone wyrms are dragons that have been raised from the dead by the Hollowborn.

They’re mostly bones, but many still have flesh hanging off of them.

They are enemies to the dragons. Our enemies, the Hollowborn, ride them, just as our riders ride dragons.

I’ve heard there were times in history where our people fought on the sea and land. Now, we only fight the Hollowborn in the sky. At least our all-male dragon riders do. Every rider comes from a long line of nobles and royals and are the only ones strong enough to bond with dragons.

Are there riders here? I look around, trying to understand what exactly is going on.

Suddenly, a bone wyrm crashes into the earth near the dragon.

The creature is as terrifying as all the legends have said.

It’s not nearly as big as the dragon lying on the ground, but it’s made of dripping flesh and black bones.

It tosses back its head and a black cloud of smoke explodes from its mouth, coating the dragon.

The acidic smoke makes bile rise in the back of my throat, but the creature doesn’t come near me.

Its focus is directed entirely on the injured dragon on the ground.

A sound tears from the dragon, sharp and wounded, and it lodges in my chest. Somehow, unexplainably, I know two things. One, this is a rare, impossibly rare, male dragon. And two, he’s going to die if I don’t help him.

As if he hears my thoughts, the dragon turns. The haze thins, and his eyes find mine, raw, pleading, before the bone wyrm smothers him again in black, acidic smoke.

My brain starts working. How can I possibly stand between a dragon and a bone wyrm? What can I do? Nothing is the easy answer, but I keep thinking. I’m desperate. Desperate to save this poor creature for reasons I don’t understand.

Think, Harper, think!

And it dawns on me. Fire. Fire is the only thing that bone wyrms fear.

Kneeling down, I root through my bag and find my flint.

I gather dry leaves in a small pile in front of me and carefully light them on fire.

I add sticks slowly, knowing that if I rush it, I’ll put the fire out, but also feeling the dragon’s time getting shorter with each second that passes.

Every time the bone wyrm covers the dragon with its black smoke, my hands start to tremble.

I swear I can feel the dragon’s pain, his fear, his awareness that he’s knocking at death’s door.

Soon, I have a crackling fire going, but it’s not enough.

I heave armfuls of broken branches onto it, and to my surprise, the small fire becomes an inferno within minutes.

I grab the unburning end of a huge branch, take a deep breath, and before I can talk myself out of it, I leap out of the woods and race to stand in front of the dragon.

The instant the burning branch is in front of the bone wyrm it makes a terrible sound of fear, stumbling back from me. I can tell it wants to cover me in acid, but I keep the branch moving, swatting at it, which is when it seems to notice the growing forest fire beside me.

I try not to think about the fire, how fast it’s spreading. Instead, I focus on my branch, and the creature in front of me. We’re squaring off with each other. Trying to see each other’s weaknesses.

He steps to my right side.

I shift the branch to stand between us.

He steps to the left.

I shift again.

He lunges at me, and I bring the branch into its face, causing the bone wyrm to make another terrible sound. One of fear and frustration. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

Time keeps ticking away. Sweat rolls down my back and my palms ache from grasping the branch for so long. Little embers rain down on me, but I ignore them, knowing I need to keep my focus on the terrifying creature in front of me.

The crackling flames of the forest fire start to surround us in a circle, and the bone wyrm throws back its head and makes a hauntingly frightening sound.

It’s the kind of sound you hear in the dark of night when you know an animal is hunting you.

Except, the creature regards me for a long moment with its hollow eyes before shooting into the sky and vanishing into the stormy clouds overhead.

“It’s okay. It’s gone,” I say, half to myself, half to the dragon, as my knees tremble, threatening to give way.

Dragons can hear us. They understand us.

At least the ones that the dragon riders work with.

The female dragons. I know nothing about the males.

No one knows anything about the males. Females disappear, they come back pregnant, and people have sworn they’ve seen glimpses in the sky of the huge males that dwarf the female dragons.

I guess that’s all we knew. Until now. Until a rare male dragon lay injured in front of me.

I turn back to the dragon, trying to be calm.

Trying to treat him like any other frightened and injured patient, even though I’m not entirely sure he can understand me in his current state.

If he were human, he’d be completely out of it.

Still, I try. “It’s okay. I’m going to help you. You’re going to be okay.”

I run to the river and put out the flaming branch, again ignoring the growing forest fire I created.

I go to the mandrake root, dig it out of the ground, and fill my hands with it.

Then I go to the other herbs, the lavender, willow bark, echinacea, calendula, and St. John's Wort, and gather those too.

Luckily for me, all of it grows in this special, magical valley.

I take out my dagger and put everything on the top of a smooth, flat rock. I begin cutting everything, then work it into a thick paste. When I’m done, I put it on my hands and approach the dragon.

He doesn’t move. Maybe he can’t move. I don’t know.

I just hope once I start messing with his very painful-looking wounds, he doesn’t react.

With a tentative touch, I start working the paste into all his wounds, explaining what I’m doing every step of the way.

I don’t go slow. I’m aware of the growing forest fire, but I’m careful, trying to treat him like any other patient I might work on.

“I’m sorry if this hurts. I’m trying to be gentle, but this paste will help you heal. It’ll also help with the pain.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not that I even know how dragons talk to humans.

It’s exhausting work. I’m exhausted, maybe from the climb, maybe from the fight with the bone wyrm. I don’t know, but I’ve never been this tired in my life.

Smoke fills the air, stinging my eyes. Lightning splits the sky overhead and thunder booms, like a warning to me that I’m in danger.

Except, I already know I’m in danger. The dragon could kill me in an instant.

The bone wyrm could come back and finish me off.

Or I might survive both of those and have the forest fire do me in.

Still, I keep working. Somewhere in my heart I know that if I don’t, this dragon will die.

The herbs in this valley are the most powerful of all the ones in the nearby area.

It’s said that fairies come here once a year for a celebration, lacing all the plants with their magic, and strengthening their healing properties.

Hopefully, they can heal the valley after this fire with their magic.

Although I can’t focus on that. This dragon is at death’s door, and I know that these plants are the only chance he’s got.

When I finish using all the paste, I haven’t covered nearly enough of the dragon, so I race back and make more.

I’m coughing, sweaty, as I watch the fire.

I watch it move toward the healing herbs and pray that something will stop it.

That maybe the gods will protect us. Dragons are their most sacred creatures, after all.

“Please,” I say to the heavens. “Please let this dragon live. Let him survive this.”

I continue covering him in the paste, working it all over him.

I reach his head and rub the paste into the wounds there too.

To my surprise, his eyes open. I jerk back, but when he doesn’t move further, I keep working, babbling all along like a fool.

I’m well aware that I’m inches from a creature that can simply open its mouth and light me on fire.

“It’s okay. It’s just me. I’m trying to help. I’m trying to heal you,” I tell him, teeth chattering, probably from nerves, as I keep talking, telling him about myself, about my life. Anything and everything spills from my lips as I try to stay calm. I don’t know why.

Soon, more paste is needed. I gather more of the precious herbs, collapsing to my knees, squinting through the smoke and flames, praying that I can gather enough.

Praying I can save this dragon. He’s male.

He’s rare. For all I know, he’s the last of the male dragons.

He has to be saved, this guardian of the sky.

Lightning again splits the sky, and thunder booms, just seconds before rain begins pouring down.

The freezing liquid is a shock to my system.

I’m left gasping, blinking as rain streams down my face and into my eyes.

I instantly start shaking, but I can’t stop.

I have to make more of the mixture. I have to rub it into his wounds and hope the rain won’t wash it away.

It’s miserable… but the smoke begins to clear. The flames are becoming quenched by the water raining down. I ignore it all, trying to remain singularly focused on the dragon. On saving his life.

Why? I don’t know.

Maybe because he’s a dragon. Maybe because he’s a rare male. Possibly even the last. Or maybe because some strange part of me feels like I can feel his pain. Like we’re connected. Like him dying would be a loss for me in some deep way that I’ll never recover from.

I don’t know how long I go on this way, the rain battering me, my fingers bleeding from working the paste, from pulling the plants. But at some point, I collapse beside the dragon, my legs numb, my arms numb, and my eyes pull shut.

That has to be enough. It has to be.