Page 10 of Dragon Fight (The Dragon Queen #2)

10

T he land that surrounded the estate of Rutherfeld was beautiful in a desolate way. The trees all bore the evidence of the onslaught of the sea winds, being gnarled and convoluted rather than straight and tall. Purple heather and dark green grass covered the hills and strange grey outcroppings of rocks that looked like massive pebbles had been stacked there by giants, grew from the earth closer to the craggy tors. But as we rode up a rise, Soren’s horse sidled up to mine.

“Wait until we reach the top of the hill to let the little queen try to glide,” he told me. Glimmer turned around, listening to everything he said. Soren nodded to her and smiled encouragingly. “The terrain will work for you, giving you a much greater drop off to glide with. Flap your wings and—” Wraith passed over top of us, letting out a harsh cry. “And you know exactly what to do.”

And she did.

As we came to the crest of the hill, Glimmer’s body began to quiver, watching, watching between the horse’s ears and then… she launched herself into the air. It was as though my heart fell out of my chest and rolled away as I caught my breath and held it. But Glimmer was a dragon, a perfect dragon—no matter what Raina might have to say—and she was born to fly.

Her scales glittered and gleamed, and it was as though she drew all of the sunlight into her body as she cruised through the air. The dragons above bugled and roared as she went, but she paid them no mind. Some part of her, some inherent instinct was kicking in and she was utterly focussed on that; on fulfilling one of her preordained purposes. The momentum that she’d gained from the horse’s forward motion, the slow decline of the terrain and the great gusty winds from the sea all combined to lift her up, keeping her cruising through the air for far longer than I had ever seen her. I could pick up from her that her muscles ached from being used in ways she’d rarely done so before. But I was jubilant that she was doing it, she was doing it! And she had another audience waiting on either side of the track, my men all cheering her on as she passed by, flapping her little wings in an attempt to try to stop gravity from tugging her down again.

Even Draven applauded.

He looked so different when he finally dropped that usual mask of cynicism and arrogance: his eyes shining bright, lit from within—by what I didn’t know—as he clapped her on just as enthusiastically as the others did. But I didn’t focus on him for long. Glimmer was losing her battle with gravity, no matter how hard she flapped, slowly descending down until finally she landed.

I slipped down from Whiskey’s back when I reached her, and she just stared up at me with an imperious gaze.

Again , she demanded.

So we did, over and over. Brom came to ride beside me, explaining that this was territory often used to train young dragons.

“The hills and dales help, as do the winds,” he said, “and the wide open plains. Fewer trees and bushes for a young dragon to crash into when their wings give out. Which, by the way, I think Glimmer’s are about to.”

A warning cry from Obsidian, his big body sweeping lower, had our eyes jerking around to catch the moment when Glimmer stopped being able to flap her wings, her muscles failing. “Glimmer…!”

I jerked poor Whiskey to a stop, wincing at my cruel treatment of her mouth, before I vaulted out of the saddle, leaping forward to catch Glimmer. Heather, gritty mud, rocks all raked across me as I dived for her, but my dragon landed square in my chest, just as she had in my hall. She blinked, looking affronted rather than relieved, a fractious energy building inside her as she looked down at me.

Again.

Not again.

Again , she insisted.

Glimmer, do you want to outfly those bloody dragons above you? Do you want to taunt them, tease them, forcing them to fly harder and harder, even as you know they’ll never catch you?

Yes. That.

Then you must take things slowly. Reach out to your mates and verify this if you must. Muscles take time to develop, but if you don’t allow the time to train, you can injure yourself permanently.

She wanted to argue, I knew that. Part of her would not bow for anyone, which was what made her a queen. But as I lay in the dirt, the cold damp of the ground beneath me leeching all the warmth out of my body, the male dragons all descended, landing in a loose circle around us. Brom trotted up between them, with Whiskey in tow, making it obvious that all the Rutherfeld horses were dragon-hardened, just as Obsidian’s head snaked forward. He bowed before his queen and, in doing so, offered her another chance to go flying.

Glimmer took it. She sprang from my chest, her claws scratching at my armour as she pushed herself off me to leap through the air. The big dragon caught her and waited until she had scrambled up along his neck before spreading his wings wide.

“Make sure she stays safe,” Brom told his dragon. “She’s already half sky-drunk as it is and the other half of her is just plain stubborn. I wouldn’t put it past her to leap off your back and try the same thing at altitude.”

Obsidian chuffed at that, as if in disgust that we would doubt him, and then he and the other dragons took to the sky, flying off and over to the rocky tors.

“Wallowing in the mud again, Pippin?” Draven appeared like a bad smell, smirking down at me from where he sat on the stallion’s back. Before I could answer he’d shifted his focus to Brom. “The old fort is near here.”

“So it is.” Brom turned and looked across the landscape to a faintly discernible structure of grey stones, some way away.

“Fancy a race, like old times?” Draven asked with a wild grin.

“Let me get on my bloody horse first,” Brom replied.

“And why would I do that?” Draven kicked his horse into a gallop, taking off for the fort, forcing Brom to scramble.

“You’re alright?” he asked me, even as he hauled himself back into the saddle.

“Ah, yes, of—”

Whatever I had to say went unheard as Brom took off after Draven.

“Stupid git.” Ged, Soren and Flynn all appeared beside me, sliding down from their horses, but Ged was the one who was criticising Brom. “Wouldn’t catch me racing after some prince when there’s a pretty girl in need.” He offered me a hand and helped me upright, aiding me in brushing off the heather and mud from my leathers.

“They’ve always been close,” Flynn said, watching the two of them race. “The king sent Draven out to Rutherfeld rather than to his uncle’s castle for a reason. Magnus knew that Raina would insist on Draven being fostered at a Harlston estate, but he didn’t want to strengthen the bond between the duke and the prince. Brom and Draven were supposed to become brothers of a sort. It’s why Brom was always going to become Draven’s wing commander, because of their bond…”

Flynn stopped himself. There was more to the story, but he wasn’t telling it, which made me eye the two horses and their riders, now little more than blurs in the distance, with greater interest.