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My mind is still fragmented. Many memories lost, he reminded me. And yet, I theorize that dragons required riders as interpreters. We may speak mind to mind only with other dragons or with a single rider. Most humans cannot hear us. They feel only awe and terror in our presence. As it should be, he added.

So, I’m basically your translator? I said with delight. That was much more to my liking than trying to believe I could actually direct a dragon in any meaningful way—especially as some sort of a warrior team.

You have pacifist tendencies, little scholar. Do not let them get out of hand. His voice was stern yet gentle.

I suppose I just don’t see how having me as your rider could possibly make you a better fighter than you already are alone. If anything, having me on your back might be a distraction. A weakness.

He dipped a wing, and for a moment I gasped, clutching his scales, my whole body pressing tight against his spine. Then we slid through an updraft, every motion perfectly synchronized. Still, I could sense something troubling him.

A dragon’s talons are built for rending, not for the finer points of warcraft, he pointed out. In close sieges, riders might leap from our backs to deliver firebombs or to shoot a volley of arrows down with precision. I once— He broke off.

Yes?

I once had a rider leap from my back with a ropehook to open enemy gates from within. He paused, and the memory of what he described ghosted through our bond. Another body, sitting where I now sat, bracing herself against Nyxaris’s shoulders. Something in me rose up, hot and quick, put off by the image. Jealousy.

Strength is nothing without focus. You, small as you are, give an edge to my claws. I carry you across the sky. I deliver fire upon your enemies. You carry my will where I cannot.

Highblood enemies, you mean, I said uncomfortably. We’re both in service to highbloods in the end. I don’t understand that part of things either. Why did the dragons even want to work with highbloods?

He was quiet for a long time. I tried to be patient, thinking about my project, admiring the view.

I have had … highblood riders.

I stiffened. What? You mean …

Soulbound, yes. Just as the Avari woman described.

So … I began to tremble.

A highblood soul in a blightborn body, yes. Nyxaris sounded as if the idea troubled him, too.

And you … accepted them as your rider?

I had no choice.

There was something missing here. Something he wasn’t saying.

You were loyal to your house, to House Avari, over your rider, I stated, trying not to make it sound like a judgment.

I continued to carry my rider, he said stiffly.

Their body, you mean. Where did their soul go? What happened to it once they were soul-bound?

Their own soul was … suppressed. Yet present.

That sounded horrible. And the new soul? The highblood’s? You grew to accept it. This time his silence stretched so long I began to wonder if he’d speak again at all. Nyxaris? I prodded tentatively.

A low growl vibrated through him. He banked so abruptly my stomach lurched. Enough questions, he snapped.

His show of temper surprised me. He was often stern, but rarely angry. I’m sorry, I murmured. I tightened my knees again, trying to remember to hold to the position he’d taught me. Even so, my thighs were beginning to ache a little.

My memories, he said grimly, they are intense. Confusing. At times I see things from perspectives that … should not be possible.

What do you mean? I asked cautiously.

He didn’t answer. The air seemed to crackle with frustration.

I tried a new tactic. What’s the last thing you remember … before being turned to stone?