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17

ESSA

I could feel their eyes on me as we flew out of the Cauldron. Kit’s. Mother’s. Ollie’s. All the noble court who’d gathered to see us off… All of them wondering if I, in particular, would make it back alive. Their attention made me nervous, and worse, it annoyed me.

But once we’d soared through the gap, into the mountains, there were no more stares. No more pity. No more judgement. There was just the wind in my hair and the rhythmic thump of Othura’s wings, the slanting sun glistening off the snowcapped peaks and the stones and treetops and white-foaming brooks that shot past below.

The wind is ours, Othura said in my mind, and I smiled.

The wind is ours, I thought back to her, our own little mantra.

No matter the danger, no matter the difficulty or the odds we faced, any time we took wing together, joy awaited us. All the nerves and worries shrunk into a pin-prick point, like a mote of dust, and were lost behind us, until there was only me and Othura and the sky.

Fish leapt and flashed in the stream below. Mountain goats standing on their ledges brayed as our shadow passed over them. Kelmoon, the great mountain eagles that were the royal bird of our house, ceased their gliding and darted away as we approached. I smiled. It was a beautiful spring day, we were flying, and I was free.

That is, except for the many dragons and their riders who wanted to kill me.

No sooner had the thought passed through my mind than a great, orange-bellied sagittan shot out from behind one of the nearby mountain peaks in an explosion of snow, its massive jaws open, its fore-talons grasping. Instinctively, Othura banked away to create space, then looped back, ready to fight—though her odds of overcoming the much larger sagittan in a grappling contest were grim. Instead of attacking with tooth and claw, the sagittan took a heaving breath and blew fire. Othura pulled up sharply, bringing her body vertical so that her belly and wings shielded me from the worst of the flames. Still, the heat was so much it nearly made me pass out and lose my grip on the saddle horn. I immediately smelled burned hair as the wisps that poked out of my helmet caught fire.

The dragon flew at us, all slashing claws and gnashing teeth, but Othura folded her wings and banked right. It would have been ideal to roll—if I could go upside down. As it was, we dropped sideways, evading the attack, then Othura popped her wings open again, swooping away.

Her voice snarled in my mind: That traitorous, faithless, coward…

Traditionally in the thimble race, dragons did not use their greater powers—fire, ice, lightning, wind or venom. The course itself, winding among mountain peaks at high speed, was dangerous enough, and dragons usually confined their attacks to jostling one another, knocking wings or occasionally hazarding a claw slash or a bite. To attack us with fire was bold and underhanded. That other riders were so eager to knock me out of the challenge showed how certain they were that Laynine would end up as Irska, and how desperate they were to win her favor.

But if they were willing to use fire…

Take them out, I told Othura.

She waited until the sagittan was banking, then swooped toward them and breathed wind. It came out with a hiss, a blast of air strong enough to form a whirlwind. The enemy dragon was nearly sideways as it turned, and the wind caught its lower wing and twisted it, causing it to crumple. With a roar of surprise and fury, it dropped. Flailing desperately with its one good wing to slow its fall, it spiraled downward and hit the slope below, sending up a mighty puff of snow.

“Yes!” I shouted.

Big dragon, big crater, Othura said with a dark laugh.

You’re brilliant.

You can say that once we’ve returned with a thimble, she said, turning to get us back on course.

Her words sobered me. Taking out one opponent was fine. But there were a hundred more miles to fly and over ninety more dragons waiting to take us out. I’d have felt better if Lure, Dagar and Pocha were with me. But since we’d gotten a late start, they were probably far ahead by now. We’d have to make it on our own.

Othura’s intuition tingled suddenly within me and I glanced back to find three riders flying in a V formation coming up behind us—probably trying to decide whether we were worth attacking. Then suddenly, like a flock of startled birds, they banked and scattered. I craned my neck to look back over my shoulder and immediately saw why.

A huge green dragon was approached, moving closer with each beat of its broad wings. It was an ugly and mighty beast with two horned heads and two sets of wicked, protruding teeth. A geminus. And I knew too well whose dragon it was.

Braimar was coming.

* * *

If he comes at me with a lance, be ready to dive. Maybe we can find a low canyon Zaman is too big to fly through, I told Othura.

I didn’t have to tell her to be careful. Two heads are better than one, they say—and that was especially true when one of the heads could grab you with ten-inch teeth while the other roasted you with fire.

No words came back from Othura, but I felt her agreement, plus something else. Anger. Determination. A hardening of her will. Part of it was the protectiveness she always felt for me, but that wasn’t all. Zaman and Othura had nearly become mates at the same time Braimar was wooing me. There was a lot of history there. A lot of bad blood.

We might die in this race. But we were both determined that it would not be Braimar’s doing.

They were closer now, just a few dragon lengths back.

Get ready, I told Othura, adjusting my grip on my saddle horn.

But instead of coming at us with lance and claw, Zaman came up beside me, giving us a wide berth.

He wants to talk , Othura said, her distaste clear.

Riders could communicate with their dragons using their minds, and dragons spoke with one another telepathically, too. Hence, riders could communicate with one another using their dragons as intermediaries. But dragons did not speak human language. Their communications actually came in the form of feelings, impulses, and nudges to direct a rider’s attention. With time, this communication became so natural and precise that it felt like words, so that when Othura and I communicated now, my mind automatically translated it into something that felt very much like human speech. But at its heart, dragon communication was much more intimate than that. And neither Othura nor I were eager to have that sort of intimacy with Zaman and Braimar. I could feel Othura’s reluctance as she shared Braimar’s thoughts with me:

Hey, Little Bird.

Eat shite, I shot back.

I felt his amusement. Come on. Let’s fly together. Like old times.

I fly alone.

So I see. Where are your friends?

I don’t know. Up ahead. I got a late start. But I’m sure if you attack me they’ll show up fast enough.

Why would I attack you?

I don’t know. Perhaps to solidify a pact with Laynine? Most of the riders seem to be clamoring to show their allegiance to her.

A great horn of a mountain peak thrust up between us, and our dragons glided apart to go around it then drifted back together. I also saw, out of the corner of my eye, the three dragons I’d noticed before were coming up behind us again. There were two more up ahead we were closing in on. Any of the five could attack us at any time. I couldn’t let Braimar distract me. We had to remain vigilant.

Can you blame the other Skrathan for siding with Laynine? Braimar asked. Akmerius are powerful dragons. Who would want to face off against Tryce and his lightning?

I must, if I want to live, I told him.

Not necessarily. There might be another way.

And what would that be?

Your aunt spoke to you of it.

What? Run away and live alone and in exile somewhere?

No. Not alone. He said. He wore a rider’s helmet, and though I couldn’t see his eyes, I knew they were looking at me, the same deep green as Zaman’s scales.

In that moment of distraction, as I pondered Braimar’s words, the dragons behind us shot ahead and the two ahead of us doubled back, closing on us in a coordinated attack.

Othura waited until the last instant, then banked and wheeled, darting out of the way so that the dragon before us and the one behind us slammed into one another. They fell in a tangle of wings. Turning hard, we came up behind one of our other pursuers, a big brown capran. Othura caught the end of its tail, chomping down on it so hard the dragon shrieked.

Ahead, mighty Zaman caught the neck of one of the attacking dragons his jaws and worried it, shaking the rider off. She fell, screaming. Zaman’s second head blasted another dragon with a tremendous plume of fire that left its wings smoking and its rider howling in pain. The remaining attacker retreated, dipping toward the ground fast.

Meanwhile, Othura still held onto the tail of the big capran. It kept turning, trying to snap at us with its jaws, but Othura would not let go, so both dragons kept swirling in circles. The other rider—I recognized her as a female from the noble house Cardum—tried to jab me with her lance. I tried reaching for my sword to parry her strikes, but the centrifugal force of our circling was too strong. Let go of the saddle horn, and I’d be flung off. So, all I could do was lean forward or backward to dodge the lance tip. Once, twice, thrice I made her miss, until the fourth jab caught me in the shoulder of my missing arm. Pain shot through me like boiled water being poured into my veins, and I cried out.

The feeling was transmitted to Othura, who opened her mouth in a roar of agony, letting go of our opponent’s tail. Free now, the capran turned and pumped its wings, going for Othura’s neck. I saw it coming, saw what was about to happen—but I was powerless to stop it. With a lance, I could have struck the capran in the head, defended Othura. But I couldn’t hold a lance. All I could do was watch as the capran’s jagged teeth sped toward us. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, Braimar was there. His lance caught the rider in the helmet, sending her cartwheeling into the open air. Her dragon gave a hiss of alarm and dove, breaking off its attack and trying to catch his rider before she hit the ground.

Othura banked, resuming our original course, and Zaman winged up beside us.

You okay? Braimar’s question came through Othura.

Of course, I shot back, although in truth I wasn’t sure. My shoulder throbbed and my armpit felt soggy with blood.

We flew in silence for a few wingbeats.

What? No thank you ? Braimar asked. Even through the layers of translation, I could still feel his teasing, his flirting, even his smug self-satisfaction.

I didn’t ask for your help.

And yet I offered it. That should say a lot.

It says you are arrogant and entitled.

And without my help, you would be dead.

And I’d rather be dead than accept your help again.

I leaned forward and Othura took the cue, pumping her wings, pushing us faster. A geminus like Zaman might be big and strong, but he was no match for a libran when it came to speed. We pulled away from them.

I’m just going to follow you, Little Bird, Braimar called after us. I’ll be watching.

* * *

For a time there was only wind and silence, mountains drifting past below and clouds drifting past above against a pale blue springtime sky. The pain in my shoulder settled into a dull ache and the bleeding, fortunately, seemed to have slowed. My thoughts wandered. Part of me did feel grateful to Braimar for saving my life. But there was another part that would have felt better lying broken at the bottom of a ravine than to owe gratitude to anyone—especially him.

You know who his uncle is, Othura said—as if I needed reminding that Braimar was not to be trusted.

But I’d wasted enough time thinking about him. He was behind us now, and we had a race to win.

At that moment, a shadow eclipsed the sun. I looked up to see a huge, ocean-blue dragon emerge from a peak to our left. Laynine. Was this an ambush? I tensed, ready to break into action and fight back. But Tryce didn’t swoop down and attack. Instead he passed over us, paying us no heed.

Laynine had her thimble and was already heading back to the Cauldron.

My teeth ground together in frustration. I imagined my mother standing and applauding as her dear apprentice flew back triumphant—with me still nowhere to be seen.

That would be the entire future. Laynine crowned in glory. Me, non-existent.

Less than five weeks… that was the time I had left, assuming I survived until the challenge’s final trial. The question was, what would I do with that time?

My philosophical thoughts disappeared as the shadow above us returned.

Laynine had seen us. She’d doubled back.

Othura! I warned—too late.

Tryce’s triple-barbed tail whipped downward, encircling Othura’s body, then yanking like a cracking whip. Othura shrieked, tumbled, and fell—and I fought to hang on without enough breath in my lungs even to scream.