For a moment, I wonder how I know him so well. How I can understand his thoughts and emotions as thoroughly as I do. But that’s a question for tomorrow. Today, we need to get far away from here.
I turn to start moving toward our camp but the dragon grunts lightly. Swinging his snout toward the trainer, my mind fills with his warning.
“We need to bury him,” I tell Fhord. “Quickly.”
“You’re right.” His voice is so flat, empty of any feeling. Already I miss the short time we’ve had together.
The dragon heaves himself toward the trees, where leaves and dried moss cover everything. We can hide the grave here, I realize. Even in his agony, his thoughts are sharper, more focused than mine.
Fhord and I can’t do much, our hands no match for the claws that easily break into the ground. We drag the trainer and the remains of his torture device over to the grave the dragon is digging, and do our best to hide the blood spilled. Within a few minutes, we can drop his corpse and the chains into it. And then the dragon fills it, his snout and paws moving more dirt than we ever could. When he’s done, Fhord and I cover it up and inspect our work.
If we can get away quickly, not draw attention to this area, we might be okay. We just need to get back to our camp and get Thyra and the horses before anyone realizes he’s missing.
Thyra’s surprisingly blasé about the dragon who follows us back to the camp. Which is probably why Bevin values her enough to send us to retrieve her. She takes everything in stride.
“I owe you my life,” she assures me as we’re packing the horses. “You were doing a job for Bevin, but I know better than most how risky it was. What you sacrificed to get me out. I’ll keep your secret.”
And that’s that. I know her well enough to trust her word.
The rest of the day is brutal. So fucking brutal. I’m tired after too little sleep, but my fatigue pales next to the dragon’s. He drags himself after us out of sheer willpower. Thetraininghas stripped him of muscle and fat, leaving him a shell of the beast he must be at full health. It’s in his claws—the exposed skin scaly and patchy—and the featherless patches along his wings. And I feel it. He’s beaten, almost defeated. But he’s here, with us. And he’ll follow us wherever we go, for as long as it takes.
Finally, hours after the sun sets, Fhord finds shelter for our group, a deep cave with enough growth in front to hide the fire we need to light. As the dragon and Thyra collapse, Fhord and I scout the surrounding foothills, looking for any hint of danger. When I feel Fhord’s relief, I echo it in my thoughts, then turn back to the cave. We’ll be safe here. At least tonight.
My heart settles when I stumble back inside and see the dragon sleeping near the fire, Fhord sitting on a log watching him from the other side. I feel complete, as if I could live and be happy in this strange world, even if my time will be brief. In a ridiculously short period, I’ve forged bonds with these two males. When I go, I’ll leave part of me with them.
Tonight, though, I’m complete.
I sigh as I walk over to settle down next to the dragon. Nestling my back into his side as he shifts to make room for me, I close my eyes. And I sleep.
The cave is light when I wake up, the bushes outside not nearly enough of a barrier to keep out the sun. But I barely notice anything around me.
Instead, my thoughts, my very being, are filled with the dragon. His presence. His existence. His love.
His name.
Astarot. The Leading One, he shares with me. When he came into being, it was foreseen that he would lead his family out of their torment. He would be the first, but others would follow. He would be their leader. And so he was called Astarot.
I sit up, finding soft brown eyes, which watch me with patience. And love. The love I felt when I woke was for me.
Mine. The word drops into my mind, a wealth of meaning buried in that little syllable. I am his. He is mine.
“You gave me your name,” I whisper, unable to keep the awe out of my words.
Mine, he repeats. This time, though, it’s an explanation, not a declaration. I know enough about dragons in this world to realize that outside of dragon society, dragons share their names only with those they’ve claimed—the human (or long ago, elf) who becomes theirs. Who they bond with.
“I am yours. And you are mine.”
His chin drops as his eyes hold my gaze. Yes, he’s telling me. We belong to each other.
I can’t keep the grin from my face. Or hold back the laugh that bubbles out of me.
“We’re in so much trouble.” My hand lifts to stroke the snout that drops to the ground to receive my touch. My grin grows even wider as he leans into my fingers, shifting so they’ll find the sensitive space behind his horn. “They’ll kill us for sure if they find us. We just have to make sure they don’t.”
His eyes blink closed once and then open to hold my attention.Peace, he tells me in a voice rich with satisfaction. He’s more relaxed, lighter than I could have hoped. He believes he was born to change this world, to free the dragons of the Dróttning’s bonds. So he’s sure we’ll live. That certainty carried him through his punishment, gave him the strength he needed to survive without bending.
Fate, he adds after a moment. Again, a single word tells me so much more. If Astarot had let himself be joined to another rider, he would have been stuck with that human. In almost every part of their existence, dragons must give in to their riders’ demands. When they are tied to cruel humans, they manifest that cruelty. Even the most peaceful and solemn dragons become ugly, evil beasts when the Dróttning chooses ugly, evil riders for them.
Once that bond is formed, it can only be broken by the Dróttning, even if the dragon finds its destined rider. Too many dragons have been forced to kill the humans the fates intended for them because the Dróttning compelled them to give themselves to an unworthy rider. The fated bond between Fhord and Tindera is rare in this world.
