“Farren’s used to being every dragon’s favorite,” her mom teases, squeezing Farren’s hands.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” Dr. Walsh verifies, rubbing his chin. “Why don’t you two go up together with Oria. We’ll spot you both down here,” Dr. Walsh suggests.
A jolting sensation slams into me thinking of Farren and me sharing an open saddle.
Farren sighs dramatically for show. “Ugh, fine.”
When we are feet away walking toward Hort, I tease her. “Ugh, fine? That’s the best you could do?”
“Like you could do better?”
She’s got me there because it’s impossible not to be thrilled at the idea of having her plastered to me. The happiness coursing through my body isn’t allowing me to even conceal a smile. I hook a foot into the stirrup, heave a leg over Hort, and offer my hand. “Think you can bear to ride with me, Walsh?”
“I’ll endure, but I’m steering.” She motions for me to slide back on the saddle.
“Who said you could steer Hort?”
Farren leans forward and pats Hort’s neck. “He likes me better anyway.”
I laugh. “Okay, right. I’ll give you Nity and every other dragon. But I’m sorry Oria and Hort just like me better, especially Hort. I know where his loyalties lie.”
Hort then swings around and bobbles his head in appreciation at Farren, nuzzles her outstretched hand. It looks almost like he’s nodding, agreeing with Farren’s assessment. The little traitor.
Hort snorts and straightens, as if urging me to concede. I hand her the reins as baby Oria climbs onto my back. “Fine. I’m clearly outnumbered. Not like I’m a championship rider or anything.”
Farren swings onto the saddle in front of me, her back flush with my chest. “What was that last bit?” she asks.
I don’t remember my own name let alone any grievances. I take in every point of contact. This isn’t the truck where our thighs are bumped together. She’s cradled in my lap more like the night in the kitchen. The night I don’t need to be thinking about in order to maintain the pretense Farren and I are friends at best, not to mention all I think about nowadays.
Then, as if Hort can sense he could make this even worse, he launches into the air, fast. Farren’s entire body pushes back on me. In order to not fall right then and there, my arms wrap around her. Oria squawks behind me, clawing my armor without drawing blood thanks to the silver chest guard.
We climb the skies a few dozen feet. When we broach the height Hort typically races at, Farren levels out. Hort’s wings beat the air to hover, waiting on one of my whistles or a command.
“Is that always how you climb? It doesn’t have to be a straight vertical, you know?” I joke.
“That wasn’t,” Farren announces over her shoulder as if she goes vertical on a daily basis. But then I recall the last race where Farren did climb vertical, to save Ditters. I knock that image out of my thoughts.
“Besides, I thought you’d want an excuse to hold on to me,” she says.
With my arms still anchored to her I can’t exactly object or say that wasn’t a perk. So instead I answer honestly, though I have to clear my throat to do it. “True.”
Oria scrapes across my back, frightened. “But you did scare Oria.”
Farren turns as much as she can. “Oh, Oria, I’m sorry.”
Oria’s draped in silver, a wild look in her eye as I pull her in front of me.Farren scoots up and suddenly there is room between us after all. How interesting.
Heartlessly, we don’t try to calm Oria. We need her metal out, especially for the next bit.
“Hort, forward slow,” I call, and his wings beat the sky in steady brushstrokes.
With an outstretched hand, Farren lifts Oria above her head, crafting her weight. Now the hard part. Waiting for her to trust us enough to open her wings. I’ve watched below all morning as Zilar and Electrum took their first flights. But seeing it so close is something else. I’m itchy with nerves and excitement. And more than anything, I desire for Oria to learn, to be safe.
Twenty minutes later, after Farren and I trade off crafting and switch back again, those timid metal wings open and catch the wind.
“Yes,” I whisper-shout.
Farren adjusts, cradling Oria’s underbelly while still crafting some of her weight. But mostly letting her glide, to feel that wind, to feel how she can trust it. Oria tries to rise out of her palm, and Farren follows, standing up in the saddle in front of me.
