My heart stumbles and my feet freeze to the forest floor as a red steps into my field of vision, its head just under the canopy of enormous trees.
This is not my dragon. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.
I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound as its head sweeps right, then left, and my gaze plummets to the ground as I bow my head.
For the last hour or so, I’ve seen dragons launch into the air with a cadet—now a rider—on their back, but I’ve also seen more than a couple of plumes of smoke, and I have no desire to be one of those.
The dragon huffs a breath, then continues along its path, its clubtail flicking upward and catching one of the lower-hanging branches. The limb falls to the ground with a monstrous crash, and only after the footsteps recede do I finally raise my head.
I’ve now come across every color of dragon, and none of them has spoken to me or given me the sense of connection we’re reportedly supposed to feel.
My stomach sinks. What if I’m one of the cadets who’s destined to never become a rider? One who’s thrown back time and again to restart first year until eventually something puts me on the death roll? Has this all been for nothing?
The thought is too heavy to carry.
Maybe if I could just see the valley, then I’d get a feeling like Professor Kaori was talking about.
I spot the nearest climbable tree and get to work, scaling branch after branch. Pain radiates from my hands, but I don’t let it distract me. The bark catching the wraps that still cover my palms… Now that’s an annoyance that makes me pause every few feet and pull the cloth free of the bark.
Pretty sure the higher branches aren’t going to support my weight, so I stop about three-quarters to the top and survey the immediate area.
There are a few greens in plain sight to my left, standing out against the fall foliage. Oddly enough, this is the one time of year when oranges, browns, and reds have the highest chance of blending in. I watch the trees for movement and spot a couple more directly south, but there’s no pull, no aching need to head in that direction, which probably means those aren’t mine, either.
Relief hits me embarrassingly hard when I count at least half a dozen first-years wandering aimlessly. I shouldn’t be so happy that they haven’t found their dragons, either, but at least I’m not the only one, which gives me hope.
There’s a clearing to the north, and my eyes narrow as a flash, like a mirror, catches the sun.
Or like a golden dragon.
Guess the little feathertail is still out here appeasing its curiosity. But I’m apparently not going to find my dragon up a tree, so I climb down carefully and as quietly as possible. My feet hit the ground just before voices approach, and I tuck myself against the trunk to hide from being seen.
We’re not supposed to be in groups.
“I’m telling you, I think I saw it headed this way.” It’s a cocky voice I immediately recognize as Tynan.
“You’d better be right, because if we just hiked all the way the fuck over here just to find nothing, I’m going to run you through.” My stomach twists. It’s Jack. No one else’s voice has that physical effect on me, not even Xaden’s.
“You sure we shouldn’t be spending our time looking for our own dragons instead of hunting the freak down?” Recognition tickles the edges of my mind, but I lean out from my hiding place just to be sure. Yep, it’s Oren.
I dart back behind the cover of the tree as the trio passes, each strapped with a deadly sword. There are nine daggers tucked against my body in various places, so it’s not like I’m unarmed, but I feel tragically disadvantaged by my inability to wield a sword effectively. They’re just too damned heavy.
Wait…what did they say they were doing? Hunting?
“It’s not like our dragons are going to bond other riders,” Jack snaps. “They’ll wait for us. This has to be done. That scrawny one is going to get someone killed. We have to take it out.”
Nausea swirls in my stomach, and my fingernails bite into my palms. They’re going to try and kill the little golden one.
“If we get caught, we’re fucked,” Oren comments.
That’s an understatement. I can’t imagine dragons would take kindly to killing one of their own, but they seem to be focused on culling the weak from the herd in our species, so it’s not a stretch to imagine they do the same with their own.
“Then you’d better shut your mouth so no one hears us,” Tynan counters, his voice rising in that mocking tone that makes me want to punch him in the face.
“It’s for the best,” Jack argues, his tone dropping. “It’s unrideable, a certified freak, and you know feathertails are useless in combat. They refuse to fight.” His voice fades as they walk farther away, headed north.
Toward the clearing.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath even though the assholes are out of hearing range by now. No one knows anything about feathertails, so I don’t know where Jack is getting his information, but I don’t have time to focus on his assumptions right now.
I have no way of contacting Professor Kaori, and there hasn’t even been a hint that the senior riders are watching us, so I can’t count on them to stop this madness, either. The golden dragon should be able to breathe fire, but what if it can’t?
There’s a chance they won’t find it, but… Shit, I can’t even convince myself of that one. They’re headed the right way and that dragon is pretty much a shiny beacon. They’ll find it.
My shoulders sag and I sigh at the sky, blowing out a frustrated breath.
I can’t just stand here and do nothing.
You can get there first and warn it.
Solid plan, and way better than option two, where I’d be forced to take on three armed men with at least a combined two hundred pounds on me.
I keep my footsteps silent and race across the forest floor at a slightly different angle than Jack’s little posse, thankful I grew up playing hide-and-seek with Dain in the woods. This is one area of expertise I can confidently claim.
They’ve got a head start on me, and the clearing is closer than I realized, so I kick up my speed, my gaze darting between the leaf-covered path I’ve chosen and where I think—scratch that, where I know they are toward the left. I can make out their lumbering shapes in the distance.
I hear a pop, and the ground falls out from under me, then rushes for my face. My hands fly out to brace myself a second before I slam into the forest floor. I bite into my lower lip to keep from crying out as my ankle screams. Popping isn’t good. It’s never good.
Glancing back, I curse at the fallen branch, hidden by fall foliage, that’s just wrecked my ankle. Shit.
