There it is. Human “self-defense” as if they didn’t walk into her cave planning to hurt Nity to begin with.
“No,” I whisper as dread fills me.Please, no.I’ve never begged for anything more. The six of them could turn away, fly away. And hundreds more would flock here looking for the golden dragon. The thought lodges in my head like a wicked seed. If we don’t end this today, get her safe, and then get her away from here, there will never be another day of peace.
Nity beats her wings into action, moving us farther out to sea. The lead poacher stays with us, closing in. I think he means to jump onto Nity’s back. All I can see is the vicious hatred in his eyes as he carves his way closer.
I reach out to craft his Sprinter away, but spears rain down from the other riders and I direct my attention to the projectiles. They miss Nity by a few feet. It’s a distraction. I swivel back to the leader and he’s flying right beside me.
“You are dead, little bird,” the leader says as he rises to his knees. A sword of silver blooms in his hand.
Bang!
Metal crunches like a car accident. Another silver dragon tackles the leader’s dragon. Hort! James and Hort tangle as they fall through the air. Nity banks right and I crash sideways before I can see or sense what happens next.
“James!” I scream as I try to scramble back up.
Below us, the two dragons roar and screech at one another as they fight, Hort’s cry louder to my ears. What are they doing here? They should be with the hatchlings. I finally climb back to my knees and scour the dark skyline. But night has finally fallen. Only the gleam of moonlight on metal illuminates the dragons around me.
James doesn’t know, I realize. He doesn’t know the poachers have discovered the hatchlings’ existence.
The other riders show their loyalty as they swoop in to help, mobbing James five to one as Nity heads in the opposite direction.
“Nity, wait. Please, he needs us,” I shout. But she charges ahead, devouring the sky. “Nity!” I scream.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINEWHEN YOU FIGHT
JAMES
At least this way Farren and Nity have a chance.
Art curses me out as we fall through the air. It’s like the tumble with Colm all over again. But instead of trying to part us, I urge Hort to dig in, to hurt.
I can feel Art crafting to untangle us. I craft in opposition. And I’m more powerful. Hort is bigger and stronger, too. This is why racing demands weight and wingspan regulation, because he can now overpower his opponents through sheer force.
Wind lashes as we twist in the air. I can hardly keep my seat bareback on Hort and yet I’m not concerned. Hort knows my plan as if he’s part of me. Get close enough to the ocean waves to throw Art into the sea, then swoop upward. It would be better if Art bailed to save the dragon Hort holds in a death grip. But I already know he would never do that, never sacrifice himself to save a dragon.
“You spoiled brat, you trying to get us both killed? Let go!” Art bellows.
Let go.It’s what I begged of my father as he encased my arm in silver. As he broke it in three places all while Art stood there urging my father on.I still hear Art’s advice to my father.You might have to give up on him, John. He’s weak.
Those words made it so much worse. My father didn’t let up and didn’t let me go. How dare I not only show weakness, but do it in front of another man, another silver-crafter. I never understood why my father felt the need to impress men like Art Whimbley. But then again, I do. I’ve been under the shackles of their brand of masculinity my whole life. Be the best. The richest, the fastest, the cruelest. As if those things represent real strength. As if being the best at something really means you’re better.
We hurl toward the point of no return. “You’re going to have to jump,” I yell over the wind, my voice calm.
Art screams and he wrenches his mask off. “You wretched—This is all for you. For your own good, and you don’t even understand that!” There are only moments left. I watch him decide what to do, for what I’ll have to do. It’s how I notice his panicked expression slither into a smile.
I jerk over my shoulder and five other riders bear down on us, diving to rescue Art. But closer than that is a bronze spear aimed right for my head. I release my crafting to throw the spear off course. Right as I do though, Art’s crafting wins out, wrenching away from my hold.
Hort doesn’t expect it. I should have already been yanking us upward. The black-as-night ocean rushes toward us, just feet away. I’ve done it again. I’ve fumbled and put Hort in danger.
But then Hort stops. Just stops, suspended above the water.
“James!” Farren cries, voice strained. She and Nity hover above.Farren.Farren’s crafted Hort from falling into the rough ocean. Farren has saved me again. With all my strength I craft Hort away from the waves. His wings beat the air, and we’re airborne.
Farren’s hold releases and I watch as she sinks back against Nity, relieved.
“This ends now!” Art roars, seeing I’m not at the bottom of the ocean. “You three, return to the cave. Find those hatchlings,” he calls out. “I’ll handle the girl.”
Farren shouts. And because I know her, she isn’t panicked about Artcoming after her. It’s the hatchlings, the job I promised I’d achieve. “I’ve got them,” I yell. “They aren’t going anywhere.” I swerve Hort toward the incoming men, already feeling the metal they plan to shoot at me.
