Page 22

22

Rhea

O h, Goddess! What have I done?

I need to strap myself in before I end up nothing but a stain on the ground, but I already defied him. I can’t look weak. If I back down, he’ll get worse, and he’s already bossy enough.

He’s your superior, Rhea. What is the matter with you?

At the Academy, I never would have dreamed of defying a teacher. I toed the line so well it was ridiculous. It wasn’t easy. Growing up as I did means I was independent and able to do whatever I wanted. My father never cared if I snuck out at night, if I made friends with the wrong people, or fashioned myself a pair of trousers from my bedroom curtains. The earth could have swallowed me, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Yet, the goal of becoming a Skysinger kept me in check once I joined Aerie Academy. No teacher, no matter how superior, was going to keep me from getting a dragon.

And now that Zephyros has chosen me—not only that but he wants to bond with me—maybe that fear is gone. No one, not Vaylen or anyone else, can keep me from my dreams. Not for something as minor as refusing to strap myself in.

So to the Seven Hells with Vaylen and his orders.

He can make your life miserable, Rhea. Don’t be stupid.

Let him! the reckless side of me replies as I watch the High Prime walk up the length of Fragor’s neck. At the soles of his boots, elemental energy whirls with his every step—something that looks like a web that extends and contracts as each foot lifts and falls back down. Soon, I’ll be able to do just that. Exhilaration thrills down my spine at the thought.

Vaylen reaches the top and stands on Fragor’s head, a flat expanse that allows ample movement. With energy still swirling around his boots, Vaylen shoots out Tethers from his fingers. The tendrils attach themselves to the sides of Fragor’s jaws, looking like the reins on a horse, though Vaylen won’t use those to guide his dragon as other Skyriders do—not bonded as he is. A simple feeling or sense of direction from a bonded rider suffices to inform the dragon of a destination. I can’t help but hear Zephyros’s thoughts ringing inside my head.

You ungrateful bug. You need an entire bath in mint.

Suddenly, I find myself doubting that ever happened. Maybe, he never talked to me, and I hallucinated the entire thing.

My body jerks backward as Fragor stands on his hind legs, beats his enormous wings, and leaps into the sky. My heart lurches in terror, but well-trained instincts kick in, a testament to the many hours I logged on the Academy’s cogwings. I clench the saddle, thighs tense, heels secure in the stirrups, hands gripping the familiar pommel. Dragon saddles have a standard design. In fact, all Sky Order tools and equipment are standard issue to ensure a smooth transition from cadet to Skyrider.

Every fiber of my body is taut, determined to keep me on Fragor’s back. By Heratrix, my eyeballs might pop out of my sockets due to strain, but when we land in Sky’s Edge, Vaylen will find me on this saddle.

Wind whips around my face, along with my hair. I curse inwardly. I should have retied my knot and protected my eyes as soon as I mounted, but my training failed me since I was too busy marveling at Fragor’s sheer size. I need to do better.

The take off is rough, much rougher than any of the simulations I went through at the Academy, but nothing I can’t handle. Clutching the pommel with one hand, I reach for the saddlebag and find it right where it should be. By muscle memory alone, I undo the buckle and reach inside for goggles.

Squinting against the chilled wind, I squeeze my thighs further, let go of the pommel, and position the goggles over my eyes. Once the fit is comfortable, my fingers move to secure the strap at the back. There are various small buckles that hold them in place, secure from any violent gusts.

Just as I’m about to buckle the first strap, Fragor banks sharply to the left. My body lurches violently, slipping from the saddle. Panicked, I seize the pommel once more, the goggles ripped from my grasp by the wind, swallowed by the vast ocean of trees below us.

“Dammit!” I curse, clinging to the saddle for dear life, the arm I broke straining painfully.

Wind literally whipping my eyelashes, I glare at a blurry image of Vaylen. He’s looking at me over his shoulder, a satisfied grin on his face. He did that on purpose. Bastard!

Tears spill down my cheeks, the sting of frigid air punishing my eyes. There’s a second pair of goggles in the saddlebag. The Sky Order is nothing but thorough and redundant in its effort. I estimate we’re halfway to Sky’s Edge, another five minutes. What took us two hours to travel in a carriage, it takes a dragon ten minutes at a leisurely flight. Yet, if I don’t protect my eyeballs soon, they’ll fall out of my face and roll down my chest like glass marbles.

Watching Vaylen closely, I reach into the saddlebag again and pull the second pair of goggles out. I clutch them tightly with numb fingers. The cold is starting to get to them too, making them stiff. I need gloves too.

Damn you, Vaylen. I don’t know how, but you’re going to pay for this.

As soon as I start to raise my hands to secure the goggles, Fragor banks to one side again. I grip the pommel, glaring daggers into Vaylen’s back. I try again. The same happens. There’s no visible tug of the reins to warn me. They’re communicating silently through their bond.

“Assholes,” I mumble under my breath.

Desperate for some relief, I press the goggles to my face, holding them in place with one hand while the other one clenches the pommel.

Ha! This might actually work. My hand might freeze and fall off, but that’s preferable to losing my eyeballs. Slowly, my vision clears, presenting me with an astonishing view. The forest stretches below me like a blanket of tiny toy trees, while the velvet sky shines with a million diamonds.

It’s beautiful.

Vaylen turns around and faces me, casually standing there as if he’s enjoying idle conversation at a party. He wears no goggles even though the wind rages around us. How? He remains steady, his Tethers lengthening and shortening with effortless precision. He shakes his head, and I can see enough now to read his expression. He finds the sight of me—clinging to the saddle with one hand while the other one holds the goggles—pathetic.

Well, guess what High Prime I’ll-teach-you-to-obey-my-orders ? I’m doing just fine .

A smirk slowly stretches his lips as those icy blue eyes glint.

Oh, shit!

Fragor banks to the right with a jerk. At first, I think I’ll be all right and won’t lose the second pair of goggles or my dignity, but when I realize Fragor is not banking, but rolling, I abandon all pretense and clench the pommel with both hands. In the next instant, we’re upside down, my entire body trembling with tension, gravity taking its toll.

When the dragon finishes his roll and gets right side up again, some of my tension dissipates, and I slump on the saddle, heartbeats booming in my ears. My terror morphs to anger, quickly reaching a boiling point.

“Fucking prick!” I shout as I squint up at Vaylen, wind whistling in my ears.

His expression betrays surprise. I imagine no one calls the High Prime a prick, but the bastard is trying to kill me. What does he expect?

Surprise vanishing, his features relax into a mask of utter calm.

Oh, no! Now what?

Fragor executes another roll, this time plunging through the turbulent currents upside down. I cling to the saddle, nails digging into the leather and threatening to rip free from their beds.

My arms and legs tremble with the exertion, slowly growing weaker as wind batters me. My head swims as the ground rushes by, too close for comfort. Fragor rolls right side up again, and I think I’ll be all right, but then he beats his wings, rising, rising, rising. He is nearly perpendicular to the ground, and I have to fight not to slip backward and slide along his spiked tail.

His wings finally still, and we hang against the backdrop of the moon for a quiet, interminable moment. Suspended there, I feel as if I can touch the stars, and it’s almost peaceful for a breathless instant, but then we drop, Fragor slowly changing positions to dive head-first toward the ground.

We plummet at a staggering speed. Wind tears at my face, prying my mouth open with violent fingers and making my jowls flap.

One moment, I think I can hold on, I can stay on the saddle, and the next, I’m thrown off, a gust wrapping me in its fist and flinging me toward infinity. I roll head over heels before I start plummeting toward the ground. For the second time and in as many days, I’m faced with death.

You always knew your big mouth would get you killed one day. Well, here we are .

But Vaylen won’t let me die, will he? He can’t. I’m a precious Skysinger of the Kingdom of Embernia. He can’t waste me just to prove a point.

Except, perhaps he can. No one’s here to witness my demise. Vaylen can make up any story he wants to explain how I ended up in bits, painting the ground red. And as I catch a glimpse of Fragor flying away, rather than toward me, the chilling truth dawns on me: that’s exactly what the High Prime is doing.

The ground rushes up to meet me, the rest of my life span reduced to mere seconds.

Oh, Heratrix, forgive me. I’ve wasted the chance you gave me .

I close my eyes and pray harder than I ever have.