Ashborn Chapter 5
She was chosen last. He chose only her. Together, they could end the Riders—or become something far more dangerous.
Three months had passed since the bonding ceremony. Winter had firmly set in over Sylphion, with a heavy snowfall for today’s training session.
Three months of drills, bruises, freezing air, fire-breath close calls, and Veyrakh’s nonstop commentary.
You would think, Veyrakh said, they’d cancel aerials in a blizzard. But no. Let’s just send the girls up into the sky blind and half frozen.
“It builds muscle memory.” I muttered into the balaclava covering my face. “And we train as we fight. We can’t depend on the enemy waiting for a lovely spring day.”
It builds frostbite.
We were halfway through a precision dive sequence when three sharp blasts from the horns sounded, followed by a longer one.
Veyrakh banked without waiting for my cue.
Finally. They got some sense in their heads and are having us come in from this storm.
Then we saw the convoy heading to the Citadel through the snow, the banners just vague blurs in the road, the colors barely visible. Blue. Silver.
We landed on the practice field and took our places next to our dragons, forming a line at one end of the field, and waited. Warden Brielle and Elder Warden Bracksmit, who had been at the Ceremony stood in front of us, their cloaks whipping in the wind.
Soon the entourage had made its way onto the field.
Too much pomp for a snowstorm.
They left their vehicles idling outside the gates and walked the rest of the way in, Soldiers wore ceremonial dress uniforms with polished plating that would melt under a dragon’s breath. Nobles came next, swaddled in velvet, brocade, and furs, looking like children playing dress-up, tripping through snowdrifts.
Behind the nobles, scribes and reporters lugged with them recording equipment, cameras, and microphones.
Then, out of place, even among the out of place, came a man in dark robes.
He didn’t rush. He didn’t slip.
He looked like the storm itself parted for him.
He stopped near the center of the field. He didn’t look at Warden Brielle. He didn’t look at Elder Warden Bracksmit. His eyes swept across the line of dragons and their riders. Not admiring. Measuring. Calculating.
When his gaze passed over Veyrakh, the air turned sharp. Tense. Then his eyes found mine.
Do not speak my name, Veyrakh’s voice was low and cold. Do not let him hear it, even in your thoughts.
I shifted but didn’t look away. My cheeks were half-frozen. My boots were wet. My thighs ached from the hours in the saddle. I was hungry and they were cutting into our lunch.
“Does it make you uncomfortable,” I asked, “standing so close to a bunch of dragons?”
The man in robes didn’t blink. He didn’t smile. He made no indication of a response.
You just might give him a stroke, Veyrakh said, dryly. Keep going.
“I’d be nervous, too,” I went on, “if I thought I might get smited for proximity.”
That got a reaction. But not from him.
Warden Brielle’s neck turned slowly in my direction.
Oh, Veyrakh purred, his delight evident. She’s going to eat you alive for that one.
Warden Brielle’s gaze lingered a long moment before she finally turned away. The robed man said nothing. His eyes narrowed slightly before he shifted back to the dragons. The silent standoff held its ground between us all.
Veyrakh’s wings twitched. Brace yourself. He murmured. This visit will not end quietly.
I swallowed. Winter was here, and with it, something far colder than snow.
“Riders,” The Elder Warden sounded, her voice cutting through the snow, “To Saddle.”
Without hesitation, we swung up onto our dragons, our moves now fluid, thanks to the months of daily practice. Veyrakh’s scales were icy beneath my gloves as he flexed his wings, ready to take to the sky.
“To Wing!” The order came through loud and clear.
As one, the dragons surged upward, powerful wings beating through the air, slicing through the heavy snowflakes.
Over the comms, Warden Brielle’s voice crackled steady and calm. “Maintain formation. Eyes sharp. Today’s demonstration is not just for practice; it’s for our guests.”
Veyrakh’s scales shimmered beneath me. Slightly ahead, Jessa and Sorren had taken point.
Show them who we are, he murmured.
I tightened my grip, muscles coiled and ready.
Don’t you dare. I thought, groaning. I just want to get this over with and grab food.
The demonstration passed without incident, and we landed on the field.
Unfortunately, the mucky-mucks were still there.
We dismounted our dragons and formed ranks between the dragons and Warden Brielle. The dignitaries gathered closer.
The ranking member of the group, a tall man with cold, unreadable eyes and an air of quiet menace stepped forward. Ageli Morin stood silently by his side. Her expression was guarded, her eyes flickering with something unreadable.
“Riders,” he spat out, his voice icy, “voices on the Council are questioning the Order’s future. Some are suggesting disbanding the Riders altogether. Technology has surpassed the point at which dragons are needed.”
“This technology,” he continued smoothly, “doesn’t carry the same risk as the dragons. Anyone can be trained to use it.
“It doesn’t depend on a connection,” he wiggled his fingers in mocking air quotes around the word connection, “with a single person. It is much safer.”
Then, sharper than ice: “Of course, the dragons will be humanely euthanized when the program ends.”
My gaze locked with his for a moment. Ageli’s father. Commander of the mechanized Air Forces. The man whose daughter’s dragon never bonded, whose stone never glowed.
Ageli said nothing. She didn’t have to.
Her silence was a blade, honed and pointed straight at us.
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