He studies me for a moment while adjusting a buckle on his gauntlet. He’s sweaty from training and a few wisps of his white hair have escaped their tie. “You were frightened?”
I nod.
“A dragon bites another dragon who draws too close. Speak with the armorer about being issued a sword.”
I’ve noticed that Stesha and the other dragonriders carry swords whenever they leave on missions, and sometimes around the castle as well, but I’m only a trainee. “I’m allowed to carry a sword?”
“A dragonrider is permitted to be armed wherever she goes.”
I think I would like to carry a sword, but I don’t see how it would have been useful just now. “I can’t go around threatening people with a sword.”
“I find I rarely need to draw it.” To demonstrate, he shifts on his feet, so his right side is toward me, and rests his wrist on the pommel of his sword. Then he grips the hilt. He manages to look threatening without actually baring steel. “It will send a clearer message than staring at your own feet.”
The dragonmaster’s blunt words clobber me with even more embarrassment. “Yes, dragonmaster. I-I don’t know why I’m not able to tell them to leave me alone. I used to enjoy yelling at my brothers.”
In a more lenient tone, he says, “The sword may help until you get used to the attention and find your voice.”
The soldiers staring at me are bad enough, but it’s King Aylard and Prince Emmeric who really frighten me. Gripping a sword hilt and looking haughty isn’t going to help around them. I can’t threaten nobles unless I want to be flogged or hanged.
“But why am I getting this attention?” I burst out.
Stesha rarely looks surprised, but now both his eyebrows rise. “Because you’re…” He lifts his hand to gesture at my face, but then he drops it back to his side. “Ask your mother.”
I watch him stride away, feeling more confused than ever. Still, I am grateful for the dragonmaster’s advice. I speak to the armorer, and he issues me with a sharp, silvery sword that’s as long as my arm. I like its weight in my hand and the way the edge whispers threats as it cuts through the air.
That night, I stand in front of the mirror and practice gripping the hilt of the sword and unsheathing it. I don’t look anywhere near as intimidating as Stesha, but I like how it makes me feel.
The following morning we have a riding lesson, and at the end, we assemble to receive Stesha’s criticisms. He addresses thecrown prince first. “Scourge flies as if he’s barely aware he has a rider. Zabriel, are you flying with your dragon, or are you just sitting on him? Onderz, you may have hoped otherwise, but I did notice you nearly fall from the saddle. Stop showing off. Mirelle, if you and Dianthe don’t climb any higher than a haystack, you may as well walk into battle. Emmeric, Shar cannot follow seven orders at once. You’re confusing him with your demands.” He turns to me. “Zenevieve, Minta is flying even faster than she was last week. Your connection with each other is making her more confident. Does the speed frighten you?”
“No, dragonmaster. I hope she can fly even faster still.” Leaning over Minta’s neck as she speeds through the skies is the most exhilarating sensation I’ve ever known.
He nods sharply and turns away, signaling that the lesson is over.
Zabriel and Onderz roll their eyes. Emmeric shoots venom at me with his nasty expression.
I rest my hand on the hilt of my sword and turn away, my chin lifted. I can’t help it if the dragonmaster has nothing to criticize me with today.
“Don’t hurt yourself flying sobeautifully, Zenevieve,” Zabriel calls after me, and it’s so like what one of my brothers would say that I burst out laughing.
I don’t care if the others tease me. Stesha treats me like a dragonrider, and he has plenty of corrections to humble me with on other days. But perhaps not quite so many as the others.
Mother has been coming down to the edge of the dragongrounds to watch me fly, and I enjoy waving to her from atop my dragon. She looks happy enough to see me in the skies, so I take this as a sign she’s accepting the future that I want for myself.
After dinner that night, I’m helping her wind balls of yarn when she says to me with a smile, “I’ve noticed Prince Emmericwatching you. Now that he’s bonded with your dragon’s sibling, perhaps it’s a sign that the two of you are fated to become closer.”
I just about drop the ball of wool I’m holding. Alphas and Betas can’t be fated to one another like Alphas and Omegas, but I know what Mother is getting at. People claim that the gods are sending them signs and fating their unions all the time.
My stomach swoops in panic. What if she and King Aylard have been making plans for me and Emmeric in secret?
I grasp Mother’s arm. “Please don’t make me mate Prince Emmeric. I don’t want to be mated to him. He frightens me. He—he—” My throat feels like it’s closing up.
Father has been listening, and now he sits down beside me and takes my hands. “Zenevieve, what’s wrong?”
I look nervously between my parents, confusion roiling in my stomach. I don’t know if what Prince Emmeric and King Aylard did to me is wrong, my fault, or nothing at all. It doesn’t feel like nothing. It felt horrible to me, but maybe I’ll get into trouble for running away from them both.
“I don’t like the prince. He frightens me.”
Father shoots a fierce look at Mother. “I told you there’s something not right about that boy.”
