Block the pain. Block it. But there’s no mental trick to keep the shooting agony from turning my stomach as I drag myself to my knees and rise carefully, keeping my weight on my left ankle.
There’s nothing to do but limp the final dozen feet to the clearing, gritting my teeth the whole way. The tinge of satisfaction that I beat Jack here is almost enough to make me smile.
The meadow is big enough for ten dragons, ringed by several large trees, but the golden one stands alone in the center, like it’s trying to get a suntan. It’s just as beautiful as I remember, but unless it can breathe fire, it’s a sitting duck.
“You have to get out of here!” I hiss from the cover of the trees, knowing it should be able to hear me. “They’re going to kill you if you don’t leave!”
Its head pivots toward me, then tilts at an angle that makes my own neck hurt.
“Yes!” I whisper loudly. “You! Goldie!”
It blinks its golden eyes and swishes its tail.
You have to be fucking kidding me.
“Go! Run! Fly!” I shoo at it, then remember it’s a godsdamned dragon, capable of shredding me with its claws alone, and drop my hands. This is not going well. It’s going the opposite of well.
The trees rustle from the south, and Jack steps into the clearing, his sword swaying in his right hand. A step later, he’s flanked by Oren and Tynan, both their weapons drawn.
“Shit,” I mutter, my chest tightening. This is now officially going horribly.
The golden dragon’s head snaps in their direction, a low growl rumbling in its chest.
“We’ll make it painless,” Jack promises, like that makes the murder acceptable.
“Scorch them,” I whisper-shout, my heart pounding as they draw closer. But the dragon doesn’t, and somehow, I’m certain in the marrow of my bones that it can’t. Other than its teeth, it’s defenseless against three trained warriors.
It’s going to die just because it’s smaller, weaker than the other dragons…just like me. My throat closes.
The dragon backs up, its growl growing louder as it bares its teeth.
Stomach pitching, I have that Parapet feeling again—whatever I do next has overwhelming odds of ending my life.
And yet, I’m still going to do it because this is wrong.
“You can’t do this!” I take the first step into the shin-high grass and Jack’s attention swings my way. My ankle has a heartbeat of its own, and agony streaks up my spine, chattering my teeth as I force my weight onto my ruined joint so they won’t see me limping. They can’t know I’m hurt, or they’ll just attack faster.
One at a time, I stand a chance of holding them off long enough for the dragon to escape, but together…
Don’t think about it.
“Oh, look!” Jack grins, pointing his sword my way. “We can take out both the weakest links at the same time!” He looks at his friends and laughs, pausing their advance.
Each step hurts worse than the last, but I make it to the center of the clearing, putting myself between Jack’s group and the golden dragon.
“Been waiting a long time for this, Sorrengail.” He walks forward slowly.
“If you can fly, now would be a good time,” I shout over my shoulder at the small dragon, drawing two daggers from the sheaths at my ribs.
The dragon chuffs. So helpful.
“You can’t kill a dragon,” I try reasoning, shaking my head at the trio, fear lacing my veins with adrenaline.
“Sure we can.” Jack shrugs, but Oren looks a little uncertain, so I pin my gaze on him as they spread out slightly about a dozen feet away, setting up the perfect formation for an attack.
“You can’t,” I say directly to Oren. “It goes against everything we believe in!”
He flinches. Jack doesn’t.
“Letting something so weak, so incapable of fighting, live is against our beliefs!” Jack shouts, and I know he’s not just talking about the dragon.
“You’re going to have to get through me, then.” My heart thunders against my ribs as I raise my daggers, flipping one to pinch the tip so I’m ready to throw and measuring the twenty or so feet separating me from my attackers.
“I don’t really consider that a problem,” Jack snarls.
They all lift their swords, and I draw a deep breath, readying myself to fight. This isn’t the mat. There are no instructors. No yielding. Nothing to stop them slaughtering me…slaughtering us.
“I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions,” a voice—his voice—demands from across the field to my right.
My scalp prickles as each of our heads swivel in his direction.
Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is Sgaeyl, his terrifying navy-blue daggertail.
In the six centuries of recorded history of dragon and rider, there have been hundreds of known cases where a dragon simply cannot emotionally recover from the loss of their bonded rider. This happens when the bond is particularly strong and, in three documented cases, has even caused the untimely death of the dragon.
—Navarre, an Unedited History by Colonel Lewis Markham
