Page 21

21

Vaylen

I understand her request better than she could ever imagine. The only dragon I’ve ever ridden is Fragor, and the memory of the first time I rode him is imprinted in my mind, an indelible mark I’ll take to the grave. The relationship between a rider and their dragon is special, pure—something to be guarded and nourished.

I hate that I have to do this to her, but under the circumstances, there's no time for sentimentalities. I wish it were different. Still, it’s not the end of the world. She will get a first time with Zephyros regardless of this ride with me tonight.

No one has been on Fragor since we bonded. He’s had countless riders before me. He’s ancient, after all. But during the last four years, I’ve been the only one he’s allowed on. It took some convincing for him to agree to a saddle for Skysinger Wyndward, but in the end, he understood. Reaching through our bond, I try to sense what he’s feeling, but he’s closed off to me at the moment. It’s not unusual for him to guard his moods, and I respect his privacy as he does mine—he doesn’t push when I block him out. I just hope he’s not angry.

I shake my head and focus on the preparations. When the Claws are done with the saddle, I inspect it to ensure every strap is tight and every buckle secure. The Claws train tirelessly. It wouldn’t do to have any sort of cargo plummeting to the ground. Heads would roll off. But it’s part of procedure for a rider to conduct a thorough inspection, and I’m nothing if not thorough.

Tugging on the wide leather strap under Fragor’s wide belly, I thank Heratrix that Skyriders don’t need saddles. Tethers keep us steady on our dragons’ heads, able to see exactly where we’re going. Dragons are only saddled when they carry passengers or supplies, a time-consuming procedure that only causes delays.

In Cinderhold, when we’re called to battle, the dragons don’t even land. Instead, we elevate ourselves to them using Tethers. I like being among the first ones to arrive when Screechclaws attack. Fragor and I relish meeting them head on and dispatching as many as possible before anyone else has a chance. Those monsters want to take Embernia from us and turn it into a cesspool of rot and decay in keeping with their tradition, but I vowed to fight them to my last breath and keep them out of our beautiful realm.

When I finish my inspection, I thank Captain Stoneberg for everyone’s service and sign her paperwork. Quickly, the cart is pushed out of the way, and everyone takes cover in the bunkers.

Skysinger Wyndward stands off to the side, looking pensive. She’s probably still thinking of Zephyros and their missed first . As I approach, I have the urge to tell her I understand, but it’s not my job to comfort her. I’m her superior officer, and I’m only responsible for her performance and safety.

Approaching, I ask her, “Ready?”

“Yes.” Her answer is steady as well as the look in her hazel eyes. She’s not weak or inclined to cling to sentimentalities, at least not outwardly. But I already knew that. She wants to present that tough exterior female riders often do.

I turn and approach Fragor, stopping at his left front leg. “Let’s have a reminder of how to climb,” I say.

Skysinger Wyndward shakes her head. “No need.” Then inclines her head and says, “With your permission, Mighty Fragor.”

She jogs toward us, then leaps off the ground. Placing a foot on the edge of one of Fragor’s large scales, she propels herself upward, expertly finding footholds and handholds to scale the dragon’s massive shoulder blade. With a final push, she throws a leg over the saddle and settles down with ease. The entire maneuver took her a mere five seconds, a speed that challenges even the best members of my Clutch. It seems there’ll be no need to refine this particular technique.

Astounding and, on top of that, provocative as all hells.

The shape of her backside in trousers is a sight to behold. Suddenly, I remember the way she felt in my hands. Her tight, narrow waist and gentle curve as it swells into those shapely hips. It was?—

A nudge from Fragor’s leg sends me staggering back a few steps. Turning his head sidelong, he regards me with one silver, black-speckled eye. His slitted pupil narrows. His brow, a ridge of smaller scales than those that cover the rest of his face, rises up. He seems to be… teasing me? Really? He’s never done that.

Wyrm’s rot! I was guarding my feelings from him, taking his cue, which means he saw my reaction. Not good. If he was able to discern that much from my expression, I’ll stand no chance with my Clutch members. They know me too well. I have to try harder to hide my attraction. For both our sakes.

Relationships among Skyriders aren’t discouraged among members of the same rank and different Clutches. On the contrary, they help strengthen our ever-dwindling powers, guaranteeing children who will inherit their parents’ abilities. But relationships between a superior officer and their subordinates are strictly forbidden.

That's a good enough reason to stop this short—not to mention what I sensed from her in the carriage. She remembered that kiss. I know she did. I wish my indiscretion would have remained in the dark, as dishonorable as that is, but she’s defiant, plagued by a reckless disposition, and the knowledge of what we shared might encourage her to try more. She’s attracted to me too—something that pleases me to no end—yet our relationship must remain proper.

Encourage her? Who was the one who kissed an unaware, sleepwalking woman, Vaylen? You’d better keep your cock in your pants if you know what’s good for you.

Clenching my jaw, I climb up Fragor’s leg with as much dexterity as Skysinger Wyndward. The difference is my familiarity with the best scales to use as footholds. In addition, my Tethers, which I throw out and link to Fragor, function as climbing ropes, except better since I can change their length at will. When I shorten them, they pull me up, doing most of the work.

Skysinger Wyndward watches me with undivided attention, her inquisitive mind clearly at work in learning all she can. Good. Something tells me she’ll master this skill with no trouble. Balancing without fear of falling, I stand in front of the saddle, while she looks up at me with barely disguised awe. I hold back a smirk of satisfaction, shunning the cocky male who wants to act like a peacock in mating season.

Instead, I assess her posture. “Back straight,” I command.

I halfway expect her to protest, but she straightens without challenge.

“I trust you remember how to strap yourself in.”

She nods. “I do, but is it really necessary? I’m on the Cogwing Honor Wall.”

Only students who never fall off the cogwings go on that wall, but that means absolutely nothing. A cogwing is unable to duplicate the formidable force of a dragon, no matter how energetic the setting is.

“It is necessary,” I reply. “Strap yourself in, Skysinger.”

She crosses her arms. Here is the challenge I was expecting.

I crouch so we can meet eye to eye. “That is an order, Skysinger.”

She just stares at me.

“Fine then.” I rise to my feet. “I will teach you not to disobey me.”

Though she quickly hides her reaction, she has the common sense to look scared.

She will learn to obey my commands whether she likes it or not. Her obedience could mean the difference between life and death.