Page 14 of Lightningborn

“Cloud,” she whispered into the darkness. “It’s me. Are you awake?”

A sleepy rumble answered her. The floor of the cave dropped away into a shallow pit filled with fine white sand. A scaly lump was curled up in the center of the sandpit, but at her voice, two sapphire-blue eyes cracked open, blinking sleepily.

Gem smiled. “Sorry, Cloud. I know it’s a weird hour, but I’m going to need you to sneak over the walls. I promise I’ll give you all the dried lizard you can eat after this.”

Unfurling from the sand, the white dragon raised his head on a long, elegant neck as he stood, shaking out his wings. Cloud wasn’t large, not like some of the battle dragons in her father’s stables. He was the size of a small horse or donkey, though his neck and tail made him three times as long. He had been “the runt” of a nest, but due to his coloration—pure white dragons were a rare thing in Gallecia—the dragon breeder had decided to “gift” the hatchling to the king. Gem had taken one look at the tiny bundle of wings and scales and instantly fallen in love.

Most people saw Cloud only as “the runt,” or “the princess’s dragon.” Gem knew better. Cloud possessed an almost eerie intelligence, able to understand nearly everything she said. He wasn’t her dragon just because he was pretty and flashy; he was her dragon because she trusted him to do things other dragons couldn’t.

Like fly over the castle walls without being seen in the middle of the night.

The dragon shoved his long muzzle under Gem’s hand, and she stroked his nose. “Sorry I haven’t visited in a while, boy,” she whispered. “I was away at magic school. But something bad is happening, and I need to get back into the college before they shut it down. Think you can help me sneak out of here without being seen?”

Cloud trilled something deep in his throat, and Gem smiled. “That’s my boy. We’re not even going to use a saddle this time.”

Cloud’s saddle sat on a bench in the tack room, custom-made to fit him perfectly while providing the most comfortable of seats for the princess. And while some dragons absolutely needed a saddle to be ridden, particularly when practicing nosedives a hundred feet in the air, Gem had secretly been riding Cloud bareback for a while now. This was not recommended, and if anyone saw her doing it, she would get a lecture on dragon safety. “Those straps, stirrups, and handles are not there for decoration,” Stablemaster Martin would say. “More people die from falling off their dragons than getting blasted with dragon fire.” But Gem trusted Cloud, knowing he would not spook, swerve, or do anything to throw her off his back midflight. And strapping on a dragon saddle took time. Time she didn’t have right now.

Gem cracked open the stall gate and peered outside. All around her, dragons snored and grumbled in their individual sandpits, but she didn’t see any stable hands wandering around. Carefully, she eased back the gate, then gestured to the dragon waiting patiently at her back.

“All clear. Let’s go.”

He padded forward immediately, silent as a ghost, and stopped beside her without being told to do so. Most dragons needed a lead rope or halter when being moved; Cloud never did.

They walked to the closest launch platform, and Gem swung easily onto her dragon’s back. She could feel the muscles beneath his scales, the tendons shifting in his back and wings as he prepared to leap into the air. Still, Cloud waited calmly for the command to go; even when he knew he was going to fly, he wasn’t twitchy with excitement or prancing in place, unable to keep still. Settling herself behind his neck, Gem patted his shoulder, then gazed at the clear night sky and took a deep breath.

No turning back now.

“Up,” she whispered, and Cloud sprang skyward, wings pumping as he climbed into the air. Gem leaned forward over his neck, holding tightly with her knees as Cloud continued to climb. This part of the plan was the most dangerous; someone could easily look up and spot a pure white dragon rising into the air above the rooftops. Cloud was beautiful and rare, but he wasn’t exactly made for stealth missions. Still, Gem would rather have his intelligence than use one of the other dragons, like Blackfang, who had scales the color of night but also the temperament of a sulky viper. More than one stable hand had been snapped at or even bitten by the dragon when she was in a mood, and Gem could not take that risk tonight.

Fortunately, no one shouted or sounded an alarm. The castle grounds remained dark and quiet as Gem and her dragon rose into the air and flapped over the wall, heading in the direction of the college.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Remy’s heart plummeted. In his arms, Storm gave a tiny growl, baring his fangs at the person in the doorway. Bart stood there, white-faced, staring at the hatchling in Remy’s arms.

“You have the dragon,” Bart whispered. “The dragon Jhaeros is looking for. I thought you were acting strangely tonight, asking all those dragon-related questions. You’ve never shown any interest since…since your mother…”

Remy’s jaw clenched. “Don’t say it,” he snapped. “I don’t want to hear it. You don’t have to remind me.”

Bart shook his head, then ran dirty fingers through his shock of white hair. “Are you mad, boy?” he demanded. “It’s one thing to steal a few coins from a pirate, but this is a completely different story. That is a dragon, and Jhaeros is no laughing matter. He’ll skin you alive if he finds you, or worse! You have to give it back.”

Storm growled again, but it turned to a startled squeak as Remy’s arms tightened, crushing him to his chest. The thought of turning his dragon over to that scary, ruthless madman made him sick. “No,” he said firmly. “No way. Storm came to me. I’m not giving him back.”

“Storm?” Bart rubbed a hand over his eyes. “You’ve already named the beast, have you? Boy, you know you cannot keep a dragon. Even if Jhaeros wasn’t looking for it, it obviously belongs to some noble or sky knight on one of the main islands. Just because Jhaeros clearly stole it from them doesn’t make it right for you to steal it from him. It’s still illegal for you to own a dragon, and everyone will know that.”

“He doesn’t belong to anyone,” Remy said. “I checked all over for a tattoo, and he doesn’t have one. Bart, Storm is a wild dragon.”

“What?” Bart looked at him, aghast. “Impossible.”

“Didn’t you tell me just yesterday that wild dragons exist?”

“No, I told you that True Dragons…” Bart made an exasperated gesture. “That’s irrelevant. Wild dragon or not, that doesn’t mean one just happened to fall into your lap! Those kinds of things don’t happen to people like us.”

“Look, then.” Carefully, Remy knelt, putting Storm on the ground. The dragon growled, baring his teeth at Bart and flaring his wings. “It’s okay,” Remy told him, and Storm looked up with a questioning chirp. “He won’t hurt you,” Remy went on. “I won’t let anything hurt you, I promise.”

He looked up at Bart. The old man hesitated, then approached slowly, keeping his movements calm and unthreatening. Kneeling beside Storm, he offered a hand, palm up, in front of the dragon’s nose. Storm’s nostrils flared as he sniffed the long, grimy fingers, and Bart didn’t move a muscle until the dragon turned away.

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