Ashborn Chapter 6
After a flight that left the Order buzzing, Dareya faces suspicion, whispers of disbanding the Riders, and rumors of something far older stirring in the shadows.
The warmth from the fire in my belly didn’t fade, even long after we’d landed and the dignitaries had wandered off. Veyrakh had preened shamelessly under their eyes, letting the golden light glint off his scaled shoulders, flaring his wings just enough to remind them that beauty could still be dangerous.
Meanwhile, I had not been able to feel my legs for a solid ten minutes.
The other Riders trickled in slowly, subdued. Not a single one met my eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was resentment or awe. Maybe both.
Even now, long after the demonstration had ended, the buzz still lingered—low conversations outside the barracks, the clink of gear, the unusually stiff posture of passing staff. There was too much watching going on. The dragon flight had drawn blood, metaphorically. And someone, somewhere, was already deciding what to do about it.
Veyrakh had offered me exactly one sentence after we touched down: “You didn't embarrass me.”
I hadn't known whether to be flattered or insulted.
By dinnertime, Commander Morin’s news of the consideration of the end of the Dragon Riders and the Arakita Order was the talk of the entire Order.
Some, especially those who had not bonded with dragons, thought it was about time. Technology was safe. It would provide wider accessibility without the rarity and risks of the bond.
Besides, those Riders could stand to be taken down a notch. They acted like they ruled the entire Order. A little humbling was long overdue.
Dinner was quieter than it had any right to be. Normally the hall rang with noise. Barking laughter. Boasts as Riders and non-Riders alike tried to one-up one another with stories of their exploits of the day. Tonight, though, silence pooled in the corners like spilled ink.
In the dining hall, the entourage that had observed the training earlier sat at the head table alongside the ranking officers of the Order. Their uniforms gleamed even in the torchlight: black with silver piping, a pattern she didn’t recognize. Military, but not Order. The man seated at the center had medals crusting his chest like barnacles, and his expression was so fixed it might have been carved. To his right sat a woman with a data-slate and no appetite.
Soldiers and attendants who had accompanied them mingled with the members of the Order, filling the room with quiet murmurs and shifting chairs.
I took my tray with shaking hands and scanned for my seat. My usual spot, near the eastern wall, was already taken. Not by other Riders or members of the Order, but by the visitors, from their uniforms, I saw they were junior officers who did not rank high enough to sit with the nobles and Order cadre and leadership.
As I scanned the crowded hall, I caught a few soldiers from the entourage near me whispering amongst themselves, wide-eyed. They looked almost overwhelmed at the hundreds of members of the Order seated in the room.
“Are all these people Riders?” One asked, incredulous.
“Where were they during the demonstrations?” Another whispered.
“Maybe they just had one team out,” someone offered.
“I bet most of them are Riders,” a fourth voice said, tinged with awe.
After determining four empty seats at a table were not reserved, the Soldiers sat.
“How do you like Riding?” one asked their new tablemate.
“I don’t ride.” The statement was matter of fact. “In fact, most of us don’t.”
Someone gestured to our nearby table. “The Riders? Just those eighteen ladies over there.”
“There are so many of you.” The Soldier said.
“Yes,” the man who had let them know who the Riders were and where we sat agreed. “They might be the face of the Order, but it is the soldiers, mechanics, healers, logisticians, and other staff who keep everything running.”
Normally we didn’t sit together, but today we were ordered to do so. In fact, we often didn’t all take our evening meal at the same time. I sat with the other Riders at a table near the kitchens. The wooden bench creaked beneath me.
Veyrakh’s voice slid across my mind. “Try not to slouch. You’ll look common.”
“Well, I am common.” I didn’t bother to move.
“You are mine. That is more dangerous than you know.”
I stared at my tray. The roast looked dry, so I drowned it in the gravy served with the potatoes and roasted vegetables and ate it anyway.
The serving staff bustled about, ensuring the dignitaries and ranking members were well-fed and that their wineglasses never ran empty.
“I heard the frontier girl’s dragon cracked one of the noble’s flight lines.” I overheard one of the non-riders talking to one of the visitors. “Had to be peeled off the west tower’s wall.”
I kept chewing. Pretending to not hear took less energy than responding.
Someone dropped her tray near me. A Rider I vaguely recognized offered a brief nod.
“Impressive flight.”
I blinked. “Thanks.”
The man in the black robes sat to the left of the Elder Warden, Serina Bracksmit, his eyes still boring on me. Ageli sat on the other side of him, one arm linked with his.
Other than that one interaction, Veyrakh had been very quiet this evening since we landed and left the field. I was missing his irreverent remarks. And starting to get worried.
The woman hesitated. “Just watch yourself.” She sat. “That kind of attention doesn’t come cheap.”
Veyrakh stirred again. This time quieter. Softer. “Even the smart ones are nervous. That tells you something.”
“What should I do?”
A beat passed.
“Smile. That hate that.”
“There are rumors,” I overheard another one of the Soldiers gossiping, his voice low but eager, “of a possible Ashborn bond in the Riders cohort.”
The words hung in the air.
“I thought that was just bedtime stories.” One of the women at the table set her fork down. “My Nana used to tell me about those legends of the olden days of Ashborn children whose fathers were dragons. Besides, I doubt they are real.”
Someone else laughed softly, but it didn’t reach their eyes. “If they are real, it means something is about to change.”
Dareya sipped her wine, nearly spilling it with how badly her hands were shaking. This couldn’t possibly be describing her bond with Veyrakh. Could it?
She looked at the other Riders. All were calmly conversing about that day’s events but still getting a bit riled about the possibility of disbanding the Riders.
And killing their dragons.
All the dragons.
After dinner, I lingered in the courtyard, staying just long enough to see the last of the visitors retreat into the central keep.
Torches flickered along the walkways, their burning oil used to repel blood-sucking flying bugs, and casting gold and shadow in uneven patterns. The air smelled of scorched stone and lavender soap and the burning citronella oil.
I turned my gaze upward, where the towers disappeared into the dark. Veyrakh had taken off earlier, claiming boredom. I knew better—he wanted to eavesdrop. Dragons weren’t subtle, but they didn’t need to be when half the world still looked at them with awe.
I crossed the yard slowly, the echo of my boots hollow against the stone. A few other Riders passed by, heads low, voices clipped.
The mood was fractured. Like the entire Aerie was holding its breath.
I didn’t like it.
As soon as I could escape without raising suspicion, I fled to my quarters.
I unbuckled my chest guard and let it fall to the floor with a thump. My hands were shaking again. Not from fear, exactly. It was anticipation without direction. Waiting for the blow.
I knew Veyrakh would be keeping his distance, even though I needed him.
Where did that come from? Is he growing on me?
I shook off the thought as I changed out of my uniform into my sleeping clothes. Tomorrow, we had been informed at dinner, all training events were canceled. We had been told to rest. No explanation. No discussion. Just a sudden pause that felt like the moment before something breaks.
I laid on my bunk, trying unsuccessfully to read my novel. Tried to sleep. The novel slipped from my hands. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for sleep.
Or answers. Or Veyrakh. Whatever came first.
Maybe I drifted a time or two, but every change in air direction and every sound brought me back to full awareness.
If you’re not ready to subscribe but still want to support the saga, consider tipping the scribe — every coin helps keep the story alive. (You’ll be taken to a separate page to leave a one-time tip.)
