Page 64 of Veiled Flames (Destiny of Dragons #1)

Forty-Six

Rosomon

T ynan holds true to his word, and I watch and listen with my door cracked open, as he charms the guards with stories and antics. He seems to be making a bet with them, and then he beckons them into the courtyard.

I open my door further to watch. Tynan jumps and performs a back flip in the air. Then he does a second, then a third, as the guards chant the number.

I sneak out. Tynan does a fourth flip, and I catch his glance as I race to the other side of the courtyard, heading toward the exit that leads to the enclaves.

My choice of direction may have exposed my white lie to Tynan. But I have no idea where the dragon masters’ quarters are. And if Tynan’s figured out my plan, he hasn’t stopped me.

The sun has not risen, but several times I have to hide, both from servants and from rider candidates, but compared to my escape from my father’s castle, this one proves easy.

Once out in the field, I draw long breaths of the cool morning air, feeling elated and free, and beyond excited. I’m going to do this. This morn, I’ll either bond with a dragon or die trying.

As the sun rises, I run across the field quickly, and when the entrance to the dragon enclaves comes into view, there is no guard posted. Another good break.

But the door is locked. Slumped back against the wall beside it, I consider my options.

Do I dare bang on it asking for entry? Even if there is a soul left at camp who doesn’t know I’m a girl, I can’t think of a reason why a junior candidate would be here on his own, or this early.

The walls are higher than two building levels and would prove very difficult to scale.

I study their surface, trying to spot a route with enough hand and footholds, but find none.

My best option is the door. I’ll claim someone sent me on an errand. But for what? To fetch a misplaced sword or quiver of arrows? I don’t know enough about the storage and control of the riders’ weapons to come up with a lie that won’t immediately expose me.

I turn back toward camp. A large group is heading toward the dragon enclaves. Toward me.

I peer through my looking tube. It’s my compeers. My former compeers.

We weren’t scheduled to visit the enclaves today, but after what Tynan told me about the severity of yesterday’s rupture, perhaps our training has accelerated again. Will they allow someone from our class to attempt a mounting? Roule said he was recommending me to be first.

With or without the masters’ guidance or permission, I plan to bond with a dragon today. I’ll choose one of the smallest ones and will talk to her first. Calm her.

Remembering how well Surath accepted my touch, bolsters my confidence. I’m doing the right thing. I’m going to succeed. I need to believe it.

Spotting a boulder a few dozen spans from the wall, I make a quick plan. I’ll hide behind the boulder until the group arrives and then slip in behind them, just the way I used to pass through the gates to my father’s castle.

As I wait, nerves scramble inside me. What if this plan doesn’t work? What if someone spots me?

I work to control my breathing. I spent years sneaking past the guards at my father’s gate, blending in with merchants and farmers. I can do it again.

I don my riding cap to hide my hair. No one in the group is wearing theirs, but I’m the only one at camp with pink hair.

Egon is leading the group as they approach my hiding place.

“I should be the first,” he belts out, sounding angry. “If the dragon I pick tries to buck me, I’ll wrestle the beast into submission.”

I shake my head. With his clumsy, brutish approach toward life, I’m shocked that Egon even passed the test to touch a dragon and earn his place at camp. I’m far from an expert, but any attempt to force a dragon into submission, to force a dragon to do anything , seems very wrong headed.

Tailing the group, I spot Samyull, pulling a cart loaded with weapons. Bows and quivers of arrows clatter as the cart rolls over rocks in the path.

I sneak out from behind my boulder and fall into place beside him, keeping my eyes ahead. I don’t think he’ll alert the others, but I can’t be certain. Samyull’s a friend, but I misled him too.

“Rosshall?” he says softly. “Are you truly a girl?”

I nod and then flick my gaze toward him.

His eyes are wide with alarm. “Everyone’s looking for you.”

I put my finger to my lips, hoping to silence him, but everyone else is so boisterous, no one has taken notice of the servant walking behind them.

“Here,” he says as we approach the now opened door. “You pull the wagon through the gates. You’ll draw less notice that way.”

Gratitude floods me as I take the long, looped rein from him and place it around my chest to pull. He falls in behind the cart as if making sure nothing falls off.

We pass safely through the gates.

“But I am prepared— today !” Egon shouts.

I can’t see who he’s talking to, and dare not change positions to find out.

“You are here today for a lesson,” Treacher says loudly. “To observe. No one in this group will attempt a mounting today and that is final .”

Murmurs roll through the group.

“Today, some of you will walk across the walls. But under no circumstances will you touch a dragon or try to mount.”

“What’s the point of this, sir?” someone asks.

“On the day you attempt a mounting,” Treacher answers, “nerves will mar your balance. Today you’ll gain confidence crossing the walls. You’ll get your first chance to test your balance and learn their surfaces and heights.”

“And we will observe the dragons’ reactions as you pass them,” Saxon adds.

My heart stutters. If Saxon sees me, this is over.

Samyull leans in close. “I’m to take these weapons to the armory,” he says. “What’s your plan? Can I help?”

I smile at him softly, so glad that my lie didn’t destroy our friendship. “I’m not certain,” I tell him. It’s the truth, although not the whole truth. But as generous as he’s being right now, I fear he might do something to stop me, if I tell him I plan to mount a dragon.

“Take this.” He removes his coat. It’s the same one worn by all male servants while outdoors. “If you wear this, no one will notice you.” I hand him the reins for the cart and gratefully accept his coat. It easily slips over and covers my riders’ uniform.

“Thank you.” I wish I was brave enough to hug Samyull. I might have enough courage to mount a dragon, but not enough to do anything that might risk my exposure right now.

“Good luck,” Samyull says, then he dons the rein for his cart and pulls it away. Part of me wants to follow to see where the armory is located, or to grab weapons from his cart, but I don’t want to cause him trouble.

The dragon masters have already taken the lift down to the enclaves, and my compeers, in groups of four, are following behind. If I head down the trail, someone will spot me from below, so I stick to my strategy of blending in.

Slowly, I approach the back of the group, keeping my head down, avoiding eye contact and notice.

“What the thrix are you doing here?” Egon asks aggressively.

My chest tightens, but I don’t look up.

“No fucking servants on this lift.” He shoves me back, and I stumble to catch my balance. My chin lifts.

“Fuck me!” Egon’s eyes fill with malice. “It’s her!” He grabs Amis’s forearm. “It’s that thrixing girl. The princess pretending to be a boy!”

“Should we alert Master Saxon?” Amis asks.

“No!” Egon says in a near growl. “If I can’t ride a dragon today, I’m sure as thrix going to ride something .”

It’s not hard to figure out his meaning. Turning to the side, I run, racing along the edge of the canyon as fast as I can.

Egon and Amis follow.

They’re both taller and have longer strides, but they’re bulkier. Perhaps I can outrun them.

My lungs soon burn from the effort and fear. I glance back. They’ve fallen a good distance behind. I round a curve. Hoping to lose them, I dodge into a narrow side canyon leading down.

Before long, I hit a dead end. Have I made a horrible mistake? If they follow, I’m cornered. The walls are too steep and slick to climb, and if I head back to the main canyon, they’ll definitely spot me.

Egon races by. I might yet escape.

But Amis glances down the side canyon as he passes. “Egon,” he shouts. “She’s down here. This way.”

The second boy waits until Egon joins him, and they stalk down the narrow side canyon toward me. I’m cornered.

“You fucking bitch,” Egon says. “How dare you waste a position at camp, waste the masters’ time, waste everyone’s time, when there’s no chance you’ll ever ride a dragon?”

I don’t answer. There’s no point. Egon’s mind is even thicker than his build.

“I’m going to make you regret what you’ve done.” He flicks the clasps over his front flap and a small, limp member tumbles out.

He grabs it and tugs, and it grows as it hardens.

“Grab her,” he says to Amis. “Turn her to face the rock.” He sneers at me. “I’m going to nail you into the stone. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll wish you were dead.”

Scenarios flash through my mind. Egon’s tool is much smaller than either Tynan’s or Saxon’s, and both of those men have taken me roughly. If I don’t fight, Egon might be less brutal. But, while my body might survive the forced penetration, my mind, my soul, my pride will not.

I can’t let this happen.

Amis steps up to me. “Turn around.” He reaches behind me and tugs on my back flap. “Don’t make me hurt you.” His voice hints that he’s not fully on board with Egon’s plan.

Saxon told me forced sex should be a crime against Othrix, but it’s not. It would only be if I were the wife of a nobleman. Like in all other things, men are able to use women however they want without consequence.

“Amis, don’t do this.” I look into his eyes. “You don’t want to do this. I see it in your eyes.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you calling me weak?” His voice turns gruff, his tone reversing completely. Amis swings his fist, but he stops it pressed against my cheek. His knuckles feel sharp as they push under my cheekbone.