Chapter Text
Choose a rider with the greatest care, for once you do, your mind will never rest . —Words of the seven elders, passed from the third age of dragons.
Chapter 1
“Pretend this is your last night alive. Would you do it?” Bodhi, my rider’s cousin, throws his hand up in question. He, my rider, Xaden, and Xaden’s section-leader, Garrick, are making their way through the halls of the Basgiath rider’s quadrant on the way to today’s selection.
Wonderful. He is so distracted by parapet that he cannot seem to keep his shields up. I told Tairn today would be a nightmare.
“Of course I want her in my bed,” Garrick shakes his his head and throws Bodhi an irritated side-eye. “It’s Imogen. It’s just . . . ,” his voice trails off.
“Worried she might kill you in your sleep?” Xaden asks him. Garrick is known for bedding his fair share of women. But they are discussing Imogen, and Xaden is on alert. He has plans for the ferocious pink-haired rider, and a relationship between the two might complicate things.
Garrick pauses before he responds. “Maybe.” But fear or desire are not the emotions that roll off him. It is more akin to protectiveness, which surprises Xaden. He makes a mental note to ask Garrick about it later.
“It’s always a possibility with that one,” Xaden warns, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
"What worries you?" I ask him. The riders at his sides continue to debate the merits of sleeping with the pink-haired one.
"Liam," he lies.
I growl down the bond and note his immediate guilt for the untruth.
"He’s my brother. Of course I’m worried about him." Now his tone is defensive.
"You and I both know he will cross the parapet as easily as you do. Tell me why the general's daughter worries you."
"I won’t help her with parapet."
"Problem solved."
He snorts. "I can’t harm her either. That was the deal."
"If she is as frail as is rumored, it won’t be your dilemma to solve."
"True," he mutters, turning to the other two riders. “I’ll meet you after formation. My room.” They both nod and walk on toward the sparring gym. Xaden turns and heads for the staircase that will take him to the courtyard where the parapet ends.
"There is nothing you can do either way, so worrying is a waste of your energy and an unnecessary annoyance in my head," I remind him. Part of the reason I chose him was that he spends so little time worrying about much at all. He learned early only to feel concern about things he could control, and even then, spending that time planning is better than time spent worrying.
"I know that," he sighs, climbing the steps of the tower two at a time.
"Then why are your shields down?" He can only hear my thoughts if I speak directly to him, but just like he can feel my emotions at all times, the nature of the bond means I must see and hear everything that enters his head unless he actively shields me. It’s part of the reason fewer and fewer dragons are choosing to bond each year. Constant reminder of the great facade is more than many of them can bear.
"Because I want your opinion as she crosses the parapet. I need you to help me figure out what I’m up against."
"So that is why you asked me to be part of your little show during formation." I understand now why he was so adamant that I stand with him during the welcoming formality, despite my initial refusal. I did not participate when Tadhg, Xaden’s grandfather, was my rider and had no intention to do so this year either.
"I’m not in the habit of asking you to do things I know you'll despise." He reaches the top of the staircase, checking to see that the older riders are in place, ready to record the cadets who make it over the parapet. Amber Mavis, another wingleader, stands at the opening, roll and pen already in hand. She tucks her red hair behind her ear when she sees Xaden approach.
“I thought you were assigned to the candidate side,” she says as if my rider has ever forgotten where he is supposed to be. On top of being an insufferable rule-follower, that one is enamored with always being right, just like her dragon, Claidh.
Xaden ignores her comment. “Make sure that if the Sorrengail girl makes it across, she also makes it to formation. Mine is the only blade she will see today.”
Amber’s eyes widen. “Violet Sorrengail is walking the parapet? She’s supposed to be in the scribe quadrant.” A need to run downstairs pours from her, and she glances at the second-year rider beside her, obviously considering handing him the scroll. “How much time until we start?” she asks him.
“How do you know that?” Xaden demands, crossing his arms over his chest.
Her eyes glance back to him and then shift away. “One of my squad leaders is her childhood friend,” she admits. “He has spoken of her family.”
"Dain Aetos." Xaden’s eyes narrow as he notes the undercurrent of lust beneath her desire to head back downstairs. He wonders if they are sleeping together in violation of the fraternization prohibition. So much for rule-following. “Well, he can’t do anything for her unless she makes it across the parapet,” he tells her.
She nods and turns back to the opening in the tower wall, resignation and relief flowing off her. “Never-mind,” she tells the second-year rider who steps away to stand with his squad-mate.
Definitely sleeping together, Xaden decides. She would not be relieved to avoid breaking the news to Dain unless the Sorrengail girl’s death worked to her advantage. Xaden jumps onto the stones that form the beginning of the parapet. “Only my blade,” he reminds her before he steps out and begins crossing the narrow stone bridge that hangs over the 200-foot drop.
"You are showing off," I mutter.
"It impresses the candidates who can see me, which helps keep them in line down the road."
"And I thought that was why you begged me to attend."
"You’re coming to scare the shit out of them."
I chuff, acknowledging the obvious.
He scans the heavy dark sky as wind whips the shadows curling around his feet. "It’s going to be a bad year. Only a handful of them will make it across before the rain falls. Why is the general not sending the storm away?"
I send the question toward Aimsir, Lilith Sorrengail’s dragon, who merely shrugs in response.
"Aimsir says the general has her reasons," I tell Xaden.
"That’s helpful," he mutters, reaching the other side of the parapet and stepping down beside the two riders waiting for him. Emery, the one with the missing sleeves, holds the scroll and pen, ready to record the candidate names. They will not be cadets until they cross the parapet, and they will not be riders unless one of us decides it is so.
“My rider is crossing today,” Andarna sings for the tenth time, catching my thought, and Tairn rolls his eyes at me over her head. She has been nipping at his belly and running through his legs as he tries to catch her little golden body. It is her favorite game, and most of the dragons allow her to play it, but Tairn does so mostly because he knows it will wear her out and she will eventually fall asleep. Lately, it is the only relief he gets from her constant questions. At some point, she decided to become his shadow and now only lets him out of her sight when the elders demand she attend classes with the other hatchlings.
“You cannot have a rider until your fire comes,” he tells her, snapping at his right flank as she darts back underneath him. “You know the rules.” When she first began speaking of a rider, we decided it was because she overheard Tairn say he did not know if he would ever bond again. But though we have been careful not to further discuss this bonding season, like most ideas she gets, Andarna has refused to let this one go.
She scampers between us and slides to a halt, catching my eye with her small golden ones. “I can feel it,” she tells me, stamping her paw. “My rider is coming. How do you know my parents did not bond before their fire?”
I lean down and run my cheek along hers. “We do not know, Love. But today is not threshing, so stop trying to give him a heart attack.” I glance up at Tairn who is scowling at me.
“Do not encourage her,” he growls, but he cannot hide the way his eyes soften when he looks down at the little hatchling. He still thinks I love her simply because she is orphaned and we have have never produced a clutch of our own. He does not realize it is truly because she is the only thing that has brought light to his eyes since his rider, Naolin, fell. I love her because he has begun to live again.
“Let’s begin,” Xaden says to the rider with the hair shaved off the sides of his head. He nods and motions to the candidate standing at the stair entrance. Anticipation and fear roll off the woman in equal waves.
I turn back to Andarna. “Feirge has captured a fat sheep,” I smile at her. “She will cook it for you if you ask her nicely.”
Her eyes widen, but she glances over her shoulder toward the black body looming behind her. “Only if Tairn comes too.”
He raises an eyebrow to me.
“It has begun,” I tell him. “I will find you after.”
His snout reaches toward mine and he rubs his jaw across the sensitive spot on my lip that makes me quiver, a chuckle huffing out of him when I curse my rider for making me participate in this spectacle.
"Seriously?" Xaden shoots the thought to me, obviously feeling the desire Tairn has stirred. "Now?"
"Dragons do not regard cadets until they climb the gauntlet," I remind him. "My attention today is a gift." To my mate, my words are more inviting. “See if you can get her down for a nap before I return.” Tairn nods and leads Andarna away as I take wing and fly toward the flight field.
A candidate with blond hair steps forward on the tower. “Dylan Yarnell,” he tells the scroll-keeper in a strong voice, one hand clutching a ring at his neck as excitement radiates off him. The rider with the shaved head begins to explain the rules to him.
Xaden turns to glance at the next few riders in the line, then freezes, desire sweeping down his flesh strong enough to increase what Tairn already ignited in my own body. Stop it, Xaden seethes toward me.
"Fool, that is all you," I growl back.
Confusion overwhelms him as he narrows his eyes.
The girl is small, even for a female human. Her pale skin indicates most of her time is spent indoors, and her brown hair is already windblown, tendrils from her coronet braid shining pure silver in the rapidly growing storm. Her heart shaped face is trained on Xaden, but her wide hazel eyes flit to the blond candidate as he turns and says something to her and the dark-skinned girl between them.
Xaden doesn’t even notice. His eyes bore into the silver one’s face as he reads her. Desire, almost as strong as his own, rolls off her when her eyes move back to his. Her full lips press together as he sees himself through her eyes.
"That is not me either," I tell him.
"No shit," he grunts, his eyes moving down her body. She may be small, but she’s well-proportioned. Not strong, but probably quick. She would have to be to have passed the entrance exam.
"Maybe this year won’t be so bad after all," he murmurs, another wave of desire flowing across the bond. He glances at the dark-skinned woman who steps to the scroll-keeper.
"If the silver one makes it across parapet, you will not even have until threshing to bed her. She will never make it through the gauntlet," I observe.
“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” the scroll-keeper asks.
At almost the same time, the dark-skinned candidate turns back to the woman behind her and says, “Are you ready for this, Sorrengail?”
Xaden’s attention snaps back to the silver one as her eyes widen. He turns his body toward her and focuses his signet. The desire that had been rolling off her is immediately replaced with fear. She curses under her breath.
"Fuck," Xaden says at the same time.
I cannot help snorting a laugh.
“Sorrengail?” he asks as he steps toward her, hoping he misheard the dark-skinned candidate.
The silver one nods, her own face hardening.
"Control yourself," I tell him when his anger flares.
“Violet?” The dark-skinned one has turned back from the scroll-keeper, drawn by Xaden’s tone.
He ignores both of us. “You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest,” he accuses the silver-crowned girl.
She raises her chin. “You’re Fen Riorson’s son,” she shoots back in a strong voice. The fear still radiates off of her, but she seems to be reigning it in, determined not to tremble under his gaze.
"This will be interesting," I observe.
"Not helping," he grits out, clenching his fists when I chuckle.
The girl catches the movement, and her fear immediately blooms into terror. A vision of Xaden throwing her off the parapet flows from her.
I roll my eyes. As if my rider would do something so dishonorable, even if he was not bound by the deal with her mother. But Xaden’s response is not what I expect. His jaw clenches as protectiveness rushes through him. The emotion stuns us both.
"Careful," I warn him.
"Don’t worry," he growls, reaching for anger to mask his momentary softness. “Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution,” he spits at her. Only I know he is reminding himself as much as he is informing her.
Her fear instantly turns to anger. “Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we’re even.”
“Hardly,” he shoots back.
"Her sister proved worthy of a dragon bond. Pity this one will be too small to do the same," I note.
“Your sister’s a rider. Guess that explains the leathers.” he says, his eyes raking her frame once more.
She glares back, causing his fists to clench again.
The dark-skinned candidate takes a step back to the silver one and asks if she is alright.
Xaden glances toward the second woman and reads a desire to defend the silver one underneath a layer of hesitation. “You’re friends?” he asks her.
The dark-skinned one tells him they met on the stairs, squaring her shoulders.
"Gods help me," he mutters, dropping his eyes to rein in his annoyance. He catches site of their mismatched boots. What the hell? he thinks, then realizes the silver one must have given the other a shoe. Mira would have warned her about equestrian boots, and she traded to give the other candidate a chance at crossing the parapet, even though it will hurt her own chances.
"She is honorable," I note, but he has already reached that conclusion. "Though it will only bring her death sooner. The rain is about to break, and this problem will soon be solved."
“Interesting,” Xaden says, relaxing at my words.
“Are you going to kill me?” The silver one asks, chin lifting again.
"If only that was an option," I sigh.
"She probably won’t even make it across," he responds just as the sky opens and a torrent of rain soaks them all. A scream behind him draws everyone’s attention. Xaden keeps his eyes fastened on the silver one and watches as her hand rises to her mouth and her horrified eyes turn away when the scream fades. The blond man must have fallen.
“Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?” His smile belies the dread tickling his spine. “Your turn.”
He watches her as she processes the death she just witnessed. Terror and grief flow from her in equal measures, though neither affect her resolve. She intends to make the parapet walk, no matter the danger. Then a new wave of fear flows from her, though this one is for the dark-skinned girl who has stepped out on the stones.
"Surprisingly strong feelings for one she just met," I observe, banking to land on the open flight field near Sliseag and Deigh. They both volunteered for this performance at my suggestion so they can get an advanced look at the new cadets, unlike Claidh and I who are here to support our wingleader riders.
Xaden does not respond to me, his eyes following the silver girl as she steps forward and gives her name to the scroll-keeper. Thunder cracks above them, causing the other candidates in line to wince, but Xaden is too busy reading the silver one to notice. Inexplicably, the crash of thunder did not heighten her fear—it centered her, a warm rush of nostalgia flowing off her.
"Who the hell is comforted by thunder?" he grumbles, tapping the rider with the scroll and motioning to him to use his cloak to cover the ink as it begins to run. This is the last time many of of those names will be recorded, and it must be preserved. But the scroll-keeper is too busy gawking at the silver one to notice.
“As in General Sorrengail?” he asks.
Xaden’s attention is immediately dragged to the malevolent intentions of the large male candidate next in line who watches the girl with beady eyes. The moment the silver girl announced her name, the bearish man behind her decided he would kill her. Yet, while such thoughts are to be expected—the other relic-bearers will hunger for her death as Xaden has—their desire stems from honor, the need to avenge the unjust murder of their parents. This one simply hopes to make a name for himself. Glee at the thought of un-punishable murder already rolled off the bearish one in nauseating waves, and now it simmers with a desire to be known. The protective feeling Xaden momentarily felt for the general’s daughter flares again, only this time he does not tamp it down.
“You better get going, Sorrengail,” he warns her, his eye still on the bear behind her. Xaden tenses, shadows sliding away from the wall, as he reads the man’s intention a heartbeat before the bearish one lunges toward her.
"She does not have your protection yet," I growl, but the point is moot. The silver girl has become a rabbit, darting onto the open parapet to escape the threat. I was right about her agility; it will serve her well if she makes it across.
Xaden leans toward the line, his features a mask of cold anger. “You will wait your turn, candidate,” he sneers at the bearish one. The man narrows his beady eyes, but takes a step backward anyway.
"Shall I burn him if he makes it across?" I ask, but Xaden’s attention has turned back to the silver girl who is taking the midair stones in measured steps, her arms out for balance.
He casts his signet toward her, and is momentarily taken aback when he feels her reciting facts as if she is reading a history book. They are, of course, the wrong facts, but that is not what confounds him.
"Have you ever seen that before?" he asks incredulously as she calms herself. Her intent is clear, even to me—she will not die today.
"Dragons do not regard cadets until they climb the gauntlet," I repeat. "And we certainly do not regard candidates. Why would I have seen how they act during parapet?"
He ignores my disdain, his breath catching as her arms flail in a gust of wind and she drops to one knee, gripping the stones to avoid being cast into the void below. The bearish one must see it too, for another flow of malevolent anticipation washes from him. Xaden raises a hand, signaling to the shaved-head rider to hold the bearish one a few more seconds.
"You cannot interfere," I warn him.
"The general said I didn’t have to protect her during parapet, not that I couldn’t," he shoots back.
"Perhaps you should ask yourself why you would want to," I respond as we wait to see if the silver girl will make it back to her feet. She does, now shouting history facts into the wind—strange little bird—and Xaden lets the bearish one go. He lumbers across the stones without a care.
"He is dangerous," I say, and Xaden crosses his arms to watch him follow the silver girl. She has regained her footing and steps cautiously.
The bearish one suddenly stops on the parapet, his face turned up toward the rain. Xaden’s eyes narrow as he reads the man’s intent, then glance toward the lanky candidate who has taken the parapet behind him.
"Perhaps the bear will fall too," I remark, feeling the thick one’s intent through Xaden’s bond. The bearish man intends to throw the gaunt boy to his death.
"I doubt it, but at least it’s buying her more time," Xaden responds, bracing for the impending murder.
"Guess again," I say when he notices the silver girl has stalled on the stones, also watching the drama unfold behind her.
"Move, you fool," Xaden thinks, even as the screams of the gangly boy disappear into the void.
The bear points to the silver girl and shouts something that is lost to the wind. She turns and begins hurrying across the wet stones.
Xaden’s entire body clenches as he watches her stumble again, this time hitting her knees in obvious pain. One leg shoots off the parapet, and before she can react, Xaden’s shadows curl from under the hanging stone. They do not touch her, but they are a safety net she cannot see.
"Have you lost your mind?" I growl, but once again his intervention is unnecessary. The little bird has gained her feet and leaps the final steps into the safety of the citadel’s walls where she is swallowed by the rain. A wave of relief flows across the bond.
I narrow my eyes as I mentally watch Xaden’s attention swing back to the candidates on his side of the parapet. He almost intervened, and not in the way that would have ended this problem. He wanted to protect her. That fact alone would not worry me, as he has sworn to her mother to do that very thing. But those shadows were no promise being kept—pure fear and desire moved his hand. Fear and desire that he might lose her before he even knows her. Fear and desire that could get him killed if he sees her life as anything more than a duty. I tap my claws on the stone of the fight field as the curtain of rain finally reaches us. Steam sizzles off my snout when the fat drops land on my hot scales, another growl rumbling low in my throat. Sliseag and Deigh take a step away from me, heads lowered.
I shake my head to regain my composure. "My rider’s brother is soon to cross," I tell them. "He will be the tall blond cadet in my rider’s wing." There is no doubt in my mind or Xaden’s that his brother shall cross unharmed. Xaden has trained him for this moment for years. "I will vouch for his potential." The two red dragons nod again, though that busybody Claidh frowns disapprovingly.
"They should not be here," she grumbles. "No one else gets to see the candidates until presentation."
"Blue?" I say, eyebrows raised, as my talon sweeps my side in explanation. I huff a cloud of steam toward her, and she lowers her head. I am descended from the royal Gormfaileas line. Blue dragons do not answer to any rules. "If I have to participate in this nonsense, I get to choose my companions," I continue, though Sliseag and Deigh are not exactly my friends. But they are trustworthy and will both be an excellent fit for my rider’s brother. I might as well use the spectacle to his advantage.
Claidh stomps away chuffing under her breath about the rules.
I turn my attention back to Xaden, who is even now watching his brother approach the scroll-keeper. Xaden keeps his face in an unreadable mask as he meets the blue eyes of the tall boy. A quick nod from the candidate is all Xaden gets, though he can feel the boy’s desire to throw his arms around him. A corner of Xaden’s lips rise in response, and they both turn toward the parapet, reunion over. The tall one takes his place upon the wet stones and walks across with familiar grace, not a hesitation in his steps. More importantly, Xaden does not feel a moment of fear, unlike the the low unease still lingering in his stomach for the little bird, though she is already safely inside.
"Why are you still concerned?" I ask him as his brother disappears into the citadel.
"Amber better be doing her job," he says, and a memory of the little bird’s wide hazel eyes glaring into his as he runs his eyes down her body makes him shift uncomfortably.
"As should you," I snap.
This is a danger I had not anticipated. Xaden does not become emotionally involved with anyone, and that coldness is what keeps him alive. I chose him because he always puts the mission first. So I will be damned to Zaul if I am going to let him start caring for a fragile little silver bird.
Especially one whose mother has the power to ruin everything.