Page 15 of Lightningborn

“There’s a good dragon.” Bart’s voice was low, soothing. “See, you know I’m not going to hurt you now.” The old man flicked Remy a glance, then returned his attention to Storm. “They can’t really understand words,” he said, still keeping his voice low and his movements unhurried. “But they do react to the tone of your voice. They can sense if you mean them harm.”

“Storm understands me,” Remy said.

“It might seem that way,” Bart replied. Slowly, he slid his hand along the dragon’s back until he reached the wing joint. “Dragons are fairly intelligent, even the small ones. But they are just animals, in the end.”

Storm let out a snort and moved away from Bart’s hand, sidling up to Remy and glaring at the old man. Remy grinned. “I don’t think he liked that, Bart.”

“Ah, I moved too quickly.” Bart dropped his hand and looked up. “Why don’t you show me the tattoo, then?” he told Remy. “The hatchling is too nervous to let a stranger touch it. Just carefully lift up the right wing; it should be there under the membrane.”

“Come here, Storm,” Remy murmured, opening his arms, and the dragon immediately crawled into his lap. Sliding his fingers under Storm’s wing, he gently pulled it up, revealing the underside of the membrane to Bart.

Bart blinked. Stared at the wing for a long moment. “The tattoo must be on the wrong side,” he muttered. “It happens sometimes. Turn the dragon around,” he told Remy. “Let’s see the other one.”

“Turn around, Storm,” Remy whispered, and Storm did, circling in his lap before lying down again. Remy lifted up the left wing, watching Bart’s face. The old man’s expression went from skeptical, to disbelieving, to amazed. Finally, he let out an explosive breath and sat back, shaking his head.

“And you’re sure you’ve checked everywhere else?” he asked Remy. “All over, even the underside of the belly and chin?”

“Yes,” Remy answered. “There is no tattoo. I told you, Bart. He doesn’t belong to anyone. Storm is wild.”

“A wild dragon.” Bart gazed at Storm with new eyes. “I can see why Jhaeros wants it so badly now. He could sell it for a fortune. Or he could train it for himself, without having to worry about some noble or sky knight coming to look for it.”

“I’m pretty sure Jhaeros killed his mother,” Remy said solemnly. “I thought…I think I saw a dragon fly overhead, right before Storm fell. There was a sky ship after it.”

Bart frowned. “So what exactly do you think you’re going to do with this dragon?” he asked. “Jhaeros is not going to stop looking for it. Where are you going to hide it? Here?” He looked around Remy’s tiny shack. “How are you going to keep it safe? What are you going to feed it?”

“I don’t know,” Remy burst out, making Storm flinch. “I’ll find a way. I just know I can’t let that pirate have him.” He would protect his dragon. He had to. He’d made a promise, and he wasn’t going to abandon a fellow orphan. Especially to someone like Jhaeros.

Bart groaned loudly, pressing a hand to his eyes. Storm gave a soft chirp and slid out of Remy’s lap. Walking up to the old man, the dragon trilled again and tapped Bart’s other hand with his nose. Bart peered at the dragon between his fingers and sighed.

“I am a sentimental old fool,” he muttered, before dropping his arm and rising to his feet. “Get up,” he told Remy. “We don’t have much time. Do you have a blanket or a towel you can wrap your dragon in?”

“Um…” Remy scrambled upright, frowning in confusion. “Yes? Why?”

“You can’t stay here,” Bart said. “You’re going to be found, either by pirates looking for that dragon or by your neighbors, who will rat you out to Jhaeros in exchange for a reward. Here.” He snatched the holey blanket from Remy’s hammock and tossed it to him. “Wrap up your dragon, then put him under your shirt. You can hide it at my place, at least until the initial clamor dies down. Right now, the whole island will be out looking for that dragon. Let’s hope things calm down in a day or two. But we need to move, boy. Hurry!”

Remy nodded, feeling a bit dazed, and glanced at his dragon. “Come on, Storm,” he muttered, kneeling down with the blanket. “We’ll get you to a safe spot.”

He draped the cloth over the hatchling, not knowing if Storm would protest or throw it off. But other than a startled squawk when the blanket fell over him, the dragon didn’t react. Remy wrapped the cloth around him as gently as he could, then picked up the bundle and tucked the whole thing beneath his shirt. His stomach bulged, making him look like he’d eaten a cartful of pork pies, but no one would immediately see a dragon when they glanced at him.

Of course, a dubious person might wonder what the suspicious-looking bulge under his shirt was. Hopefully, they could get to Bart’s place without attracting too much attention.

“All right,” Bart muttered as Remy turned to him, the bundle that was Storm held tightly to his body. “This is a bad idea in a thousand ways, but follow me, and try to stay out of sight.”

Remy had never seen Bart’s house. Before this, he was pretty certain the old man lived in the cellar of the tavern, sleeping during the day and only coming up in the evenings to tell stories for drink. Granted, there were hundreds of shacks and wooden shanties that covered the island, but Remy had lived on Cutthroat Wedge his whole life; he had never seen Bart enter or exit any kind of house, hut, or lean-to in all the years he had been there.

“This way, boy,” Bart muttered, ducking into a narrow alley between two wooden buildings. Remy followed, and Bart held up a hand. “Shh! Don’t move.”

Remy froze, Storm held tightly against him. A few seconds later, two pirates went tromping by. Their swords were out, glimmering in the darkness, as they sloshed through the mud, peering into doorways and down narrow streets. Fortunately, the alleyway Bart had herded them into was pitch-dark. The men sloshed by with barely a glance, turned a corner, and stomped down another street.

Remy clenched his jaw, feeling Storm squirm against him. The search for the dragon had already begun. He desperately hoped Bart had a good place for them to hide, because if gold was involved, pirates were relentless.

“All right,” Bart whispered, peering out of the alley. “It’s clear. Follow—”

“Bart!” called a voice. “There you are!”

Bart shoved Remy back into the alley. He tripped, stumbled, and nearly fell, but managed to plant his feet in the mud and stay upright. In the blanket, Storm let out an alarmed squeak.

Ducking behind a rotting rain barrel, Remy peered out at Bart. The old man still stood at the mouth of the alley, his back hunched and a scowl twisting his face.

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