Of course, that depends on somebody else making use of Sei.
As if he doesn’t want to waste breath arguing, Marek grabs another helmet. “Come on,” he says, sliding it on. He slings a coil of rope over his shoulder and leads the way outside.
This broad stone ledge is north of Ostomar castle proper, stretching along the deep canyon. Mist floats across the crevasse below, but sunlight warms the ledge itself. The sunny weather is unusual for Draskoran autumn. Perfect for dragon-brushing, which Sei still isn’t convinced is a thing.
Very few dragons are regularly stationed at Ostomar. Today, there are only two on the ledge. Loska looms closest, his dark blue scales iridescent in the sunlight. Farther away curls a black and green dragon Sei remembers from the day he met Marek. The dragon is much smaller than Loska, and a rider sprawls motionless on the hump of their scaled back.
“Is that rider okay?” Sei asks. He can’t see any movement.
Marek glances over. “Kamil is just napping.”
“Won’t he fall off?”
“Yavran won’t let him. She’s not a brat like some of these giant lizards.”
Loska swings his head towards them, his massive violet eyes intent.Yavran is a gentle and caring soul. Considerate and merciful. She always decapitates prey animals on the first bite.
“Practically a vegetarian.” Marek pats Loska’s snout. “New crush, huh?”
New perhaps when you count in hours. But you cannot measure destiny in hours and minutes.
Marek grins brighter than the sun. There’s no storm in his eyes now. “That’s very deep for a giant lizard. Ready for your beauty treatment?”
I am already beautiful, but you may brush my scales.
Sei feels like he’s intruding when Marek waves him over. Loska isn’t wearing a harness today, even the heavy leather collar missing from the base of his neck. Sei waits on the ground as Marek climbs up first, moving as naturally without the harness as with it. Once he reaches Loska’s shoulders, he unwinds the rope and loops it over a dorsal spike. He throws the rest down, and it shakes out into a rope ladder, each of the ends looped.
“Keep your feet and weight on Loska when you can,” Marek instructs. “Just use the ladder for balance.”
“Got it,” Sei confirms, and takes a moment to settle his nerves before grabbing the rope. He just said he wasn’t going to fall. He refuses to embarrass himself so quickly.
Gloves would help his grip. Sei’s hands aren’t as strong and callused as Marek’s. Sei manages to climb up regardless. Slower than Marek, even with the help of the rope. But he pauses to regain his balance whenever he’s uncertain, and he never falters. Triumph sparks in his chest when he joins Marek at Loska’s shoulders, and he looks over—
Marek draws the ladder up, then hooks a center loop over Loska’s dorsal spike, instead of the end loop. Half the ladder now hangs on either side of the dragon. Marek is focused on the task at hand. He’s not about to praise Sei for a job well done.
Sei isn’t in the guild anymore, and Marek isn’t an instructor, doling out just enough praise to motivate the grails in training.
“Is there any special way I should stand up here?” Sei asks, shoving down his disappointment. “I don’t want to hurt Loska.”
I am too strong!Loska protests.How can a tiny human like you hurt me?
Marek grins. “Don’t step directly on his spine, and don’t step on the wing joints. You won’t hurt him, but he gets ticklish.”
I do not!
“You can move the ladder along Loska’s back,” Marek continues, gesturing along Loska’s spine. “Brace yourself with it to get any spots farther down his side, or leave those to me.”
Sei pays careful attention. “What spots am I looking for?”
Marek sits at the base of Loska’s neck. He runs his hand along the dark scales, then waves Sei over. “Spots like this. Come and look.”
Walking on a dragon is strange. Possibly stranger than riding one. That was a rush of pure terror, then overwhelming sensation and nausea and so much warmth. This is almost ordinary. A calm, sunny day. A task to learn. Everything is slow enough that Sei canthinkabout the immense, majestic creature beneath him, and the far more intimidating man beckoning him over.
“See the dirt ground in here, and the rougher patch of scales?” Marek asks. He pulls a stiff-bristled brush from his trouser pocket. “Try it here.”
Marek scoots back enough that Sei can take his place. Sei straddles Loska’s back, grateful for his flexibility, and first searches with his fingers for the patch Marek indicated. He doesn’t see any change in the scales at first. They’re smooth but have more distinct ridges closer to the spine and anywhere that doesn’t bend much.
A paler stripe of scales encircles Loska’s neck. The stripe is broader than Sei’s hand, or even Marek’s. The scales aren’t rough, and it’s not the patch Marek pointed out. Just a slight difference in color. “Is this where that big leather collar goes?”
