CHAPTER 5
Despite the many differences between dragon and griffin rider training, there was one commonality. We were riders. Whether through the air on the back of a dragon, or through the forests on the back of a griffin, we all needed to know how to ride. And since there were only so many instructor dragons and griffins to go around, the Tennessan Bonded Training Academy compensated with horses. From year one, every cadet was expected to learn how to ride and ride well. While it wasn’t a direct correlation to flying, many of the basic principles translated, and it was part of the core curriculum for everyone regardless of tracked status.
It was the one thing I’d always been good at.
No, not just good—I was a natural, and I’d worked hard to hone that natural talent into something great. In the three years I’d been at the academy, riding had become my strength, my peace, my gods damned happy place.
Today was the first day it had been added back to our schedule after bonding our griffins, and I couldn’t wait to get back in the saddle. Almost a month out was going to hurt, but the burn would be worth it. The stable hands were a familiar sight, and I’d spent so many extra hours in the barn that they remembered me—and my preferred mount.
“Renegade is in his stall if you want to get him groomed and tacked up,” George called out in his whiskey-rough voice from the back of the barn.
The old man was my favorite stable hand, and I’d spent long hours of my free time learning everything about horse care I could from him. He hadn’t taught me everything he knew, but he’d certainly taught me almost everything I knew. His most important lesson—never let fear stop you from getting back in the saddle.
“Thanks!” I called back as George limped out of the shadows with a bridle looped over one stooped shoulder. His right leg might be twisted from a bad break that had never healed right, but he was still a better rider than half the instructors.
“Good to see you again, girl,” he said, wrinkled face breaking into a warm smile before he turned to help one of my clutchmates.
The bay gelding stuck his head over the stall door and nickered as I strode down the aisle. He wasn’t mine, and I wasn’t his only rider by a long shot, but he was typically reserved for the more experienced riders and was usually available when I wanted or needed to ride. I should’ve come here sooner after bonding with Atticus, but my schedule had been so full that I’d been too tired on the handful of rest days I’d had.
And I’d wanted to spend the time with my griffin.
The familiar scents of hay, horse, and manure filled my nose as I quickly brushed and tacked up Renegade. The rest of my clutch were still getting their mounts ready, but I was too excited to wait, and I led the gelding outside. The sky was achingly blue, the sunlight was blinding, and the wind was chilly, and none of that mattered the instant I swung up into the saddle.
Renegade pranced and tossed his head, but it was a simple matter to collect him and channel all that energy into a brisk warmup. The big gelding was a different breed than most of the lesson horses, with an extra gait between his regular trot and canter, where his already smooth stride turned smooth as silk. Riding him was as close to flying as I’d ever gotten outside of a dragon’s back. My spine flexed with every step, and I swayed to the rhythm of his stride, comfortable in the saddle and confident in my skills in a way I hadn’t been in weeks.
By the time the rest of my clutch had gathered outside, I’d thoroughly warmed the gelding up and was ready for the day’s lesson. Of course, I had to wait for them to warm up their mounts, but that was fine. More time in the saddle for me.
Like all border-town kids, I’d been taught basic survival, but my father had also trained me to ride and to shoot. He’d wanted me to have skills that would serve me well regardless of what path my life took. Even though I’d wanted nothing more than to be a dragon rider, there’d been no guarantee my blood would carry the recessive trait.
It helped that my mother wasn’t just bond capable, but a rider. Bonding increased the odds of carrying a bond-capable child, which was one of the reasons women served as riders—the other being that there simply weren’t enough bond-capable men to match the number of dragons and griffins.
But even if I was bond capable, there was no legal requirement to bond. Not in Tennessan. One of my older cousins had tested positive, but she’d decided that life wasn’t for her. Instead, she managed one of the farms supporting Royal Oak, our border town, and had a whole brood of kids with her retired griffin rider husband.
It wasn’t any different for the men. If they tested positive, they could volunteer for the academy or not—nobody should be forced to share their soul with another—but either way they were expected to contribute to society, marry, and have kids.
That wasn’t the life I’d wanted. Not yet. I’d wanted to fly.
My excitement momentarily dimmed, but I shook it off. Nope, not going there. Not today. Today is going to be a good day.
I breathed deep and took Renegade through increasingly difficult warmup patterns until our horseback riding instructor, Lauren Loffler, decided everyone was ready. My excitement returned full force when she led us out of the warm-up arena to the practice range.
Riding was amazing. Riding while shooting targets? Pure fucking joy.
Instructions and safety briefs were given, compact recurve bows and quivers were distributed, and when Instructor Loffler asked for a volunteer to go first, my hand shot into the air. Being able to shoot from horseback translated to both close-quarters aerial combat and scouting deep into enemy territory. It was why my father had spent so many extra hours with me on Royal Oak’s training range after I’d tested bond capable. The skill was vital to our graduation rankings, which in turn determined our active duty postings.
This wasn’t just academy rivalries, or games—this directly impacted my future, my ability to make a difference in our war with Savinia, and I was determined to do well. While this was only the beginner course, a straight shot across an open field with evenly spaced targets and no fancy riding required, it still took practice. I eyed the course and grinned.
My clutchmates would see I wasn’t a complete idiot or an embarrassment.
Renegade sensed my rising excitement and tossed his head, prancing in place in matching eagerness. I easily rode out his little dance and patted his neck with a laugh.
“Ready, huh?”
The rest of my clutch pulled back, Instructor Loffler gave the signal to start, and finally, finally I was turned loose to do something I was good at.
A little inside leg and outside rein, and the bay gelding broke into a fast jog, but at a gentle correction he settled into a perfectly collected canter. A few strides to catch his rhythm, a few more to loop the reins over the saddle pommel and nock the bow.
A deep breath, a slow exhale. Three, two, one, release.
Thwack!
Another arrow, another deep breath. Three, two, one, release.
Thwack!
A slight rise in the ground, a squeeze of the thighs to maintain balance as Renegade pushed slightly harder with his hindquarters.
Last arrow, last deep breath. Three, two, one, release.
Thwack!
Three targets. Three arrows. Three hits.
A wide grin split my face as I slung the bow across my back and picked up the reins. Renegade didn’t want to stop, and I let him stride out a little past the final target before bringing him back in a wide loop toward the start of the course and my waiting clutchmates.
Instead of the expected approval or acceptance, all I saw on their faces was scorn and disgust. My heart sank, and I snapped my head around as we cantered past the line of targets. I’d thought I’d hit them all, but maybe I’d missed one? Relief gusted through me. Only one arrow had found the small red center, but the other two shots weren’t horrible, especially with nearly a month out of practice. So why—
“Show off!”
My smile died and I sat back in the saddle, an unconscious reaction to the disdain in the remark. I wasn’t even sure which of the guys had said it, but another girl, Matthews, shook her head and turned to Foster, the girl next to her. I couldn’t hear what she said, but it definitely wasn’t complimentary.
Renegade slowed to a trot in response to my weight shift, and I leaned forward and patted his neck. “Good boy.”
And if my voice shook a little, nobody was close enough to hear.
“Now that, boys and girls, is how it’s done,” Instructor Loffler called out as I reluctantly rejoined my clutch. “Did you see how she rebalanced her weight without losing sight of the final target? That’s how you need to ride. You need to feel your mount and react, not think.”
The older woman was notoriously stingy with praise. Rather than bask in it, I wanted to sink into the ground. My shoulders hunched defensively, and I felt heat wash across my cheeks as more than one of my clutchmates shot me an irritated glare.
“Why?” Matthews demanded. “When we’re riding our griffins, the bond will let us feel what they’re doing.”
“Because being able to feel your bondmate won’t do shit for you if your body doesn’t know how to react,” Instructor Loffler said. “Training and building that muscle memory is the only way to hone those reactions. And thank you, by the way, for volunteering to go next.” She raised a brow when Matthews just sat on her horse, staring at her. “Well? Get to it, Cadet.”
Grumbling under her breath, Matthews kicked her horse into a lumbering trot and bounced down the range. She missed every shot. So did Elias, and Bex, and Hawthorne. Keaton and Langston did better. In fact, Langston was nearly as good a rider as I was, and while Keaton was arguably a better shot than either of us, his course time dropped his score.
They were the only two to get a passing score.
One by one, the rest of the cadets ran through the target course. One by one, they failed to hit all three targets. With every failure, my shoulders hunched a little further and my face burned a little hotter. While my score would’ve been considered above average among the dragon rider cadets, it was far and away the best out of Echo.
No wonder they thought I was showing off.
“Cadet Tavros, I want you to give the intermediate course a try,” Instructor Loffler said once everyone had a turn. “Everyone else, run through the beginner course until you can hit at least one target or until our time is up. I don’t care if you have to drop back to a walk to do it. Same order as before, minus Tavros, and go.” She glanced at me. “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation?”
“Sorry, ma’am.” I swallowed hard and guided Renegade away from my sullen clutchmates and toward the trail to the left of the open field, where the intermediate course wound through the trees. I felt eyes on me the whole way, though when I glanced back, the only person still watching me was Keaton. Once again, his expression was unreadable.
Atticus sensed my distress as he woke from his nap, his sleepy contentment falling away in a heartbeat. “Harpy okay?”
“I’m fine, buddy. Just some training stuff I’m working through.”
“Harpy sure?”
At his concern, I compartmentalized every last bit of my dismay. I didn’t want it touching him.
“I’m sure.” I forced a smile, not just for my griffin, but for anyone still watching—like Keaton. “I just got a little too excited. Go play.”
Blowing out a bracing breath, I urged Renegade into a canter and rode into the trees. Any pride I’d felt in finally doing something right was long gone. Even my happiness at getting back in the saddle had drained away. All that was left was determination to finish the training session without giving in to the burning in the back of my eyes.
The first target flashed into view.
A deep breath, a slow exhale. Three, two, one, release.
Thwack!
That evening, we had the late shift for dinner. The chow hall was brightly lit, coated in layers of grease, and packed full of long tables. A low hum permeated the open space, with roughly half the tables occupied, a full buffet table at the rear, and a half wall separating the kitchen area.
I just picked at my food, because while it was usually somewhat edible, it currently tasted like crap. I wasn’t the only cadet barely eating though, so it probably really was the food rather than my shitty mood. Honestly, it looked like the kitchen staff had taken leftovers from breakfast and turned it into an unholy casserole of overcooked potatoes, soggy vegetables, and sadness.
So much sadness. There wasn’t even cheese, let alone bacon.
With a sigh, Keaton pushed back from the long bench running along the scuffed, heavily graffitied metal table.
“I don’t know about you guys, but I think I’m done.” Our team leader picked up his tray and tilted his head toward the door. “Let’s go get our griffins and call it a night.”
For once, Echo Clutch was in complete agreement. We all dumped our trays and headed outside without argument. The lingering daylight was long gone, and a harsh wind whistled through the hills and cut through my riding leathers. Goosebumps raced across my skin as I breathed in the night and exhaled frost, my breath vaporous like the ice-breathing dragons of children’s bedtime stories.
A faint smile creased my face. I drew in a deep breath to do it again—and an ear-piercing wail shattered the quiet. The air-raid siren, impossible to ignore, impossible to miss. For a breathless moment, we all froze, waiting for the split tone that would tell us it was yet another training exercise.
It never came.
Training kicked in, and I ran for my assigned fire brigade—only to be pulled up short by Keaton. He gave my arm an urgent shake, but his eyes were focused on Reese.
“Not our place, not anymore,” he barked out loudly enough to be heard by the entire clutch.
Reese was held back by Hawthorne, and Langston had frozen midstep. They’d also tried to run to help, but Keaton was right. The unbonded cadets were primary on fire-brigade duty for a reason. As cruel as it was, they were easier to replace than the griffins or dragons who would die with us if we fell to the flames. And there would be flames. Deep raids like this were rare, but whenever enemy dragons managed to slip through our lines, they always carried firebombs in their talons.
A shudder wracked my frame. The instructors had demonstrated what white phosphorous and napalm could do earlier that year.
The academy’s lone blue dragon rose into the sky with an eerie cry, riderless. Where she was going, her bonded couldn’t follow. High, too high for humans to breathe, high enough to see what was coming for us through strange, multifaceted eyes that could see better than even the sharpest-eyed griffin. The intel she gleaned would be relayed through her rider, safely on the ground.
Or as safe as the ground could be when we were under attack.
“Move!” Keaton bellowed, and we all took off running for the hatchery, where our bonded griffins slept off their dinners in the crèche . . . though the air-raid siren was loud enough to stir even meat-drunk cubs.
“Harpy?” Atticus mumbled. Sleepy confusion weighed down his normally quick mind, and the first yellow tinges of alarm colored his thoughts.
“Stay where you are, we’re coming to you,” I said hurriedly, too busy running and scanning the night sky for incoming threats to spare him more than a moment’s comfort.
The previously quiet academy grounds erupted with personnel as everyone moved with a sense of purpose, reactions well-honed thanks to countless drills. The majority ran for their assigned fire-brigade sectors, while others sprinted for the hatchery, just like us. It was the safest, most heavily reinforced building at the academy, and as much as it sucked, it was where we needed to go. A much smaller group, seniors all on the cusp of graduating, raced for their bonded, dragon or griffin, and prepared to defend us along with the instructors and staff.
Frustration simmered, and I wasn’t the only one to clench jaws or fists as we ran, not to help, but to hide, to stay safe while others fought. We were right in the middle of the most vulnerable part of bonding—our griffins too young to fight, too valuable to lose. Understanding didn’t make it gall any less, and for once, I completely related to Langston as he growled a steady stream of vicious curses.
A deep, booming roar that was felt as much as heard cut through the piercing sirens. Red wings spread wide atop the highest eyrie. Backlit by the dim nighttime lights, they were nearly translucent, a reminder of just how fragile the membranes between the wing spines could be. The dragon they belonged to was far from fragile, a massive beast of war and veteran of countless aerial combat missions with the scars to prove it. His deep, booming roar sounded again.
Commandant Iverson’s dragon, Tiberius, calling the other dragons to battle.
In a matter of seconds, his call was answered by the thunder of wings as every combat-capable dragon and rider ascended into the night sky. The softer beat of feathered wings quickly followed as mountain griffins shot into the air to support, and a handful of forest griffins flew low and fast in all directions to scout. The deep thrum of the anti-air battery to the south of the academy added to the growing cacophony.
With the element of surprise gone, the enemy dragons made themselves heard. I picked out everything from the booming roars of reds, to the harsh roar-screams of grays, and even the deep, wailing cries of coppers. Any hope that this was a training exercise vanished in a burst of fear. Coppers were a bastardized crossbreed born from red males and green females. Lithe and strong like a green, bad-tempered and ruthless like a red, the spiky assholes were deadly little fighters—and the Savinians were the only ones who’d ever managed to successfully breed them.
Ice shivered down my spine as the enemy dragons roared again.
That was no small raiding team bearing down on us—that was an entire wing. Twenty dragons at a minimum.
Fire bloomed in the distance. Men screamed, and the ballistae in the southern quadrant fell silent. Our first line of defense was gone. Shadowy shapes swept across the sky in a staggered line, blocking out the stars, and the first bombs fell across the academy. Shouts rose as flames splashed across the walls and raced across the winter-dry grass, the detonations felt as much as heard. A burst of fiery destruction engulfed the supply shed next to the chow hall, and a fire brigade team rushed to contain the damage.
A hysterical laugh bubbled up beneath the terror—if they’d given it a few more seconds to spread, the Savinians could’ve done us the favor of destroying what was left of that gods awful casserole. Missed opportunities.
Another round of bombs dropped, and I couldn’t help my violent flinch as the explosions reached out and punched me in the chest. Keaton steadied me, both of us coughing violently as the breeze whipped blackened clouds of smoke and ash over us. The instant my legs steadied, he let go, and we ran faster. An outraged shriek snared my attention, and I whipped a glance backward as Reese slung Bex over his shoulder.
“Put me down!” the shorter girl howled, her legs kicking ineffectively at the grumpy cadet’s chest.
“You’re too slow!” Reese grunted as he wrapped an arm around her legs. Elias steadied Reese when he staggered, and then he slapped Bex on the ass hard.
“Quit struggling, damn it!” the lanky cadet roared. Bex’s curses put Langston’s to shame, but she stopped trying to break free, and the trio quickly caught up.
Our dragons finally gained enough height to engage the enemy, and the orderly row of shadows deteriorated into the chaotic swirl of aerial combat. Roars and cries of pain drifted down from the night sky, and more than one firebomb tumbled from talons prematurely or without a proper release trajectory.
“Watch out!” Keaton yanked me backward so hard I slammed into Langston.
The bigger cadet’s snarl of annoyance shifted to a snarl of rage as a poorly aimed bomb skipped off the high walls and detonated in front of us, splashing fire and ruin across the grassy lawn and cutting between us and the rest of our clutch. We were so close to the flames my skin prickled from the heat, and I didn’t object when Langston pulled us back toward Elias, Reese, and Bex. Cries of shock and fear rose up from the rest of our clutchmates, and for an instant, I couldn’t breathe. But then the breeze blew the smoke aside and we saw they were safe on the other side of the flames, if a little singed.
“Keep going!” Keaton bellowed to them. “Hawthorne has lead!”
The burly cadet glanced back, flames highlighting the determination etched into his face. He nodded sharply and got his half of the clutch moving.
“Langy, rearguard,” Keaton snapped as he led us around the rapidly spreading fires.
Langston grimaced at the griffin name but obediently fell back behind the others, while I ran at Keaton’s heels. Another bomb bounced across the quad, and we were forced further from our path. Smoke grew thick in the air, and my throat burned in irritation as we wove a jagged line between the flames.
A triumphant roar shook the skies, and a shattered scream followed on its heels. There was so much soul-rending anguish and pain and loss in that terrible cry that we all stumbled, the echo of grief reverberating down our own bonds. A red dragon spiraled out of the sky and crashed to the ground in front of the dragon gates, not a mark on him . . . but his rider was missing his head, his gore-streaked body still strapped to the saddle.
Kill one, kill both, and riders were always the softer target.
“Fuck,” I breathed out as my steps slowed, caught in the horror of it all. From a distance, I couldn’t tell if it was a Savinian or Tennessan dragon, and in that moment, I couldn’t say if it mattered. At a low thrum just at the edge of my hearing, my eyes widened. “Everyone down!”
We all hit the ground as silvery-gray wings flashed by directly over our heads, that low thrum the sound of wind over membranes stretched taut as the dragon hit the low point of his dive and pulled up, his wings precisely angled to gain height as rapidly as possible. The dragon’s neck arched back and his back legs swung forward, releasing the firebomb clutched in his talons in a perfectly timed release. The boom rattled my bones as fresh flames raged across the academy—and then the gray’s tail snapped out to balance his flight as he shot back into the sky, so close overhead we felt the wind of its passage.
Adrenaline flooded my system. If we’d been standing, we would’ve been hit. Keaton darted a glance at me, his amber eyes wide as he gave me a little nod. Then we were back on our feet and running hard. Another dragon dove low and arced up in a bombing dive, then another. The flames and the smoke thickened until we were all coughing and hacking, desperately trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep running.
“They’re aiming for the barracks,” someone cried out in horror.
But if they had meant to hit the dragon rider dorms or eyries, they missed, whether through luck or interference from our own dragons. Instead, the bombs hit the empty griffin barracks, most slamming into Alpha and Bravo. None came near the hatchery itself.
And then there were no more diving dragons, no more low thrums of wind over wings, no more explosions.
The sounds of aerial combat drifted further afield as our dragons drove the enemy away, and the grass fires were burning themselves out as they hit the paved paths cutting across the quad. We still had to skirt around the blackened patches, as the heat rising off them was considerable, but our path to the hatchery was finally clear.
Relief whispered through me until one last gray dragon vented a roar-scream, almost a warning cry, as she cut through the air in a fast dive. She smoothly released her bomb with perfect timing but horrible aim. Flames splashed uselessly over an already scorched section of the quad, and she swiftly rose back into the star-speckled night sky.
Shadowy shapes converged on her before she could complete her escape and tore into her in a frenzy. Moments later, a blood-streaked gray dragon crashed to the ground between us and safety with a sickening crack of breaking bones and an agonized cry, wings little more than shreds of membrane clinging to shattered spines.
We drew up short, barely fifty yards from the hatchery, as the dragon thrashed and moaned in agony. Grays weren’t the largest of dragons, but she was more than large enough to pose a real threat to us.
My eyes quickly took in the details. Savinian harness, but no saddle. New injuries overlaid on top of still-healing wounds and old scars. She rolled slightly, just enough for the gaping wound in her gut to show the slippery shine of exposed intestines, and I fought back a surge of nausea even as pity and sadness rose up to take its place.
She was dying. Alone and afraid and abandoned by her wingmates.
“Where’s her rider?” Bex mumbled as Reese finally let her slide off his shoulder and onto the ground. Her elfin features drew taut with horror and reluctant sympathy as she crept up to stand next to me. Savinian or not, none of us liked to see the bonded suffer.
At the sound of Bex’s voice, the dragon’s eyes flew open, and everything stopped—because her eyes were the color of a sunset before a storm, a swirling mix of purples and oranges and reds. They were unique, and I knew exactly who she was.
“Zathrid,” I gasped, stumbling forward a step toward the dying dragon before Keaton yanked me to a halt. I glared up at him. “She’s one of ours!”
“How do you know that?” he demanded with an air of frustrated bafflement.
“Captain Chance Mikkelsen, middle-aged male, blond, scar on left side of face. Bonded partner Zathrid, gray dragon female, average sized, missing a talon on right wing. Eyes the color of sunset.” I recited it all from memory as if it were a damn classroom test before I glared up at my team leader. “They were on the last MIA dispatch I saw when I was still in the dragon rider classes. They went down over enemy lines a few months back.”
Keaton stared for a heartbeat. His grip loosened as he turned back to the dragon.
“Look at her legs,” Elias whispered, the color washed from his face.
Raw, weeping sores banded her legs just above her clawed feet. Horror sank icy claws into my soul. She’d been chained. I shook off Keaton’s hand and stepped closer to the gray, who had gone very still, her eyes focused on mine with unmistakable desperation.
“Zathrid?” She dipped her head in a nod. I took another step. “Where is your rider?”
Zathrid moaned, the sound full of pain and heartbreak, but of course she couldn’t answer me. Even as I cursed our inability to directly communicate, I snapped my gaze to the sky, searching for friendly wings and finding nothing but stars peeking through the smoke. All of our dragons were occupied driving off the invading force, and none of them were near enough to hear Zathrid. My eyes drifted past the suffering dragon to the hatchery behind her, but the current crop of dragon hatchlings were all too young to speak. Except for maybe—
“Jasper!” I spun back to Keaton. “We need Bethany.”
“Why?” Langston muscled forward and shot a pointed glare around the academy, at the scorch marks and flames, the destruction and death wrought by the attack. Shouts and screams drifted through the haze, human and dragon and griffin voices melding into a symphony of pain and rage. “Why should we help her?”
“Because she has intel we need, and without her rider, another dragon is the only way to get it.” I bit back the “moron” but I’m sure it came through loud and clear regardless. “Also, she’s Tennessan.”
“Then she’s a traitor,” Reese said as he tugged Bex behind him, his eyes hard.
“No, she did what our griffins would do for us if we were in enemy hands—anything,” Keaton said grimly. “Tavros is right. She has intel we need. Elias, you’re fastest, get Bethany and her hatchling.”
Elias shifted on his feet, the air-raid siren still screaming its unrelenting warning, louder now that the sounds of battle were further away.
“The Mavens will never let her out with—”
“Tell them we have a dragon down and we need Jasper,” I said quickly, feeling time slipping away with every gasping breath Zathrid took. “They won’t stop her. Dragon Down protocols supersede everything else.”
“Go,” Keaton barked, and Elias took off at a dead sprint. I knelt next to Zathrid and slowly held out my hand.
“Can I . . . ?” The dying dragon blinked at me before she shifted her head to lean against my side with a pained sigh. My eyes burned from more than the smoke as I stroked a comforting hand over the top of her wide skull and along the ridges over her eyes.
“You guys get to your griffins and hunker down,” Keaton said firmly.
Langston jogged off without comment, his large form quickly disappearing in the thick haze. Bex let out a muffled protest, but Reese nudged her into a run, and the sound of their boots quickly faded under the wailing drone of the sirens.
“Tavros—”
“No.” I didn’t even bother to look up at my team leader. I just kept stroking Zathrid’s head, ignoring the blood trickling from the side of her mouth, soaking into my pants and the ground equally. “I’m not leaving her.”
To my shock, he dropped down into the dirt and blood and sat next to me.
“Wasn’t going to make you.” His jaw tightened as he glanced at me sidelong before redirecting his amber gaze up to the sky. “I was just going to say, keep your eyes up. This isn’t over until the all clear has sounded.”
“. . . oh.”
“Yeah, oh. Dragon Down protocols are clear. It’s our duty to get whatever intel we can out of her before she dies.” His words were stern, almost cold, but his voice had softened into something barely audible over the sirens and the dying dragon’s labored breaths, and he stretched out a hand to stroke Zathrid’s neck.
“I don’t understand you at all,” I admitted quietly, darting my gaze between the impassive expression on his face and the kindness in his eyes. He took his gaze off the sky long enough to frown at me.
“I’m beginning to think the same—”
THUD.
We both snapped our heads around. Keaton’s hand dropped to the long knife strapped to his hip before he stilled . . . because what good was a knife against a dragon. Fear shot through me, leaving me frozen in panic. Atticus surged forward in response, his terror adding to my own until it felt like I’d drown under the icy waves.
“Harpy!”
“Not now,” I said, my mental voice a shaking whisper and my eyes burning as they adjusted to the weight of his soul.
“Help Harpy,” he shot back, determination pushing aside his fear. No. He shielded his fear from me and helped me control my own. The panic receded, freeing my limbs, though my hands still trembled in reaction.
“Get ready to run,” Keaton breathed out, his amber eyes just as bright from the presence of his griffin, Tavi. Slowly, I braced my shaking hands on the ground and tensed my legs, as ready as I could get from a kneeling position. Keaton shifted his weight slightly so his shoulder pressed against mine in silent support, and together, we stared up at the copper dragon crouched on the roof of the hatchery. “On three. One.”
The copper bared fangs easily the length of Keaton’s knife, gleaming in the light of the spluttering fires, mantled his wings, and roared. His deep, wailing cry rattled the deadly spikes running down the length of his spine and lashing tail, sending a fresh wave of terror through my soul.
“Two.”
The copper, enraged blue eyes focused on the dying gray, dropped his head low—revealing his rider, strapped securely to the saddle just in front of the wings. The Savinian dragon rider eyed us with cool detachment as he whipped up his short recurve bow, arrow already nocked.
“Son of a bitch,” Keaton snarled.
Three things happened nearly simultaneously, so fast I had to replay what happened in my mind to sort out the blurred impressions.
Keaton threw himself over me, shielding me like the stupid team leader he was.
Zathrid jerked her head up, her eyes unnaturally bright with the presence of her rider’s soul, and swept what was left of her wings in front of us, shielding us both with a defiant roar.
And Tiberius swooped out of the darkness like a silent red wraith and slammed into the copper talons-first, saving us all.
The much larger red carried both dragon and rider off the hatchery roof, crushed them into the unforgiving ground, and proceeded to mercilessly rip them apart.
“Tavros.”
I couldn’t look away.
“Tavros.”
The copper and his rider died together. Horribly. Painfully. Messily.
“Look at me, damn it,” Keaton snarled and forcibly wrenched my head away. “Harpy, look at me!”
Wide-eyed and shaking, it took me a long moment to focus on him, and an even longer one to realize he was just as wide-eyed, just as shaky. I flinched when Tiberius let out a bloodthirsty roar of triumph, and cursed at the unmistakable sound of massive wings launching the red dragon back into the air, but I didn’t try to look again.
“Should’ve asked Commandant Iverson for help,” I mumbled.
“I don’t think he would’ve heard us over . . . that,” Keaton replied, swallowing hard.
We both froze as a deep sigh whispered behind us, the sound laden with so much relief it was painful to hear. With a rustle of torn membrane, the gray dragon’s wings went limp with an awful sort of finality. I didn’t want to look, but when Keaton turned his head, I slowly followed suit.
Zathrid’s glorious sunset eyes had slipped closed.
She was gone.
A wordless growl made up of equal parts rage, denial, and sorrow escaped Keaton as he dropped to one knee to rest a hand on her head. Hot tears born from anger as much as grief spilled over onto my cheeks. Somewhere in Savinia, a Tennessan rider had drawn his last breath—but for a brief moment, Captain Chance Mikkelsen had been here, with his bonded, with us. He’d helped Zathrid save us.
My hands clenched into fists as recrimination and anger won out over the grief. Dragon and rider had given everything they had left, for us, and now they were lost.
And whatever intel they’d possessed was lost with them.