Page 25 of Veiled Flames
Saxon turns toward me, and his glaring look stops me cold in my tracks. “I said nocandidatemay intentionally slay another. Surath is not a rider candidate, nor a potential recruit. She is no compeer of any of you, and she does as she pleases.”
I blink. What just happened is horrific, and so was his letting it happen. But Saxon’s reasoning isn’t as inconsistent as I first assumed.
“Should you volunteer for camp.” He addresses the whole group. “You will witness many deaths. You’ll see your fellow candidates incinerated. You’ll see many fall to their deaths or slain during combat training. And, if even asingleone of you becomes a fully-trained dragon rider?—”
“Unlikely,” Prince Tynan interjects.
Saxon’s neck tightens at the interruption. “Once you are dragon riders,” he continues, “you’ll see your compeers come to even more horrific ends while defending the veil.”
A shiver traces through me. I’m now thoroughly grateful I was not chosen.
“Rosshall.” Saxon turns toward me. “Given your boldness, perhaps you should be the next to approach Surath.”
“He’s too thrixing small,” Tynan says. “What’s the point of that runt even trying?”
“Rosshall must either make an attempt right now or leave this field.” Saxon addresses his words to Tynan, but he’s looking directly at me. He’s daring me. He thinks I will cower.
I’m no longer sure that he recognizes me from yesterday, but it’s clear that he wants me either gone or dead.
Looking into his mysterious brown eyes, flashing under the midday sun, I accept his challenge. Last eve, at great peril, I escaped from the castle to save my life. How cruel it would be if my life ended the very next day, felled by a dragon’s yawn.
But I’ll not back down from this challenge.
Trembling, I step forward, thinking about how Saxon spoke to Sky Stallion, how I do so myself, and how Saxon seemed to speak to his dragon. A dragon is a beast like any other, and most beasts respond better to calmness and kindness than aggression.
I draw deep breaths as I slowly approach her. Even though she’s lying down, her lower jaw rises to my height. This dragon would fill our entire dining hall even with her legs bent and wings folded, and no chance could she fit in the room with her wings spread. Her jaws open revealing teeth as sharp as sabers and as long as my forearm, although it’s hard to be precise in this state of mind.
As I get closer, the dragon’s beauty becomes even more apparent than her ferocity. While she seemed a silvery teal from the sky, I now see that each of her scales glimmers with a different metallic hue. And each one moves independently, making her skin flicker, as if her body’s in constant flux, even at rest. As her size becomes more and more overwhelming, I remind myself to stay calm, to show her respect, but not fear.
In this way, it’s not so different from approaching my father.
“Hello, Surath,” I say softly. “I’m Rosshall.”
She turns her head toward me and snorts. Plumes of steam flow from her nostrils threatening to scald me. But while I feel intense heat and moisture, I remain unharmed.
I calm myself, waiting patiently, and she seems to calm herself too. Her head turns away from me and again rests on the ground. One of her eyes is now pointing directly toward me. Its dark, obsidian-like facets are moving, and I detect tiny images of myself reflected back, turned in every which way.
I take another step forward. The challenge is to touch her and live. “May I tell you a secret, Surath?”
She snorts, but this time aiming forward, so I’m well away from the steam.
I step even closer.
“I’m not a boy,” I whisper, as low as I can, so that no one else on the field can hear me. “My true name is Rosomon. But please, can you keep that just between us? It’s a secret.”
The facets of her eye shift, almost giving the appearance that she’s blinked, although her eye has no lid.
“May I touch you?”
Another blink.
Slowly, I raise one of my hands and slide it onto her scales at the side of her massive neck.
I draw in a sharp breath. She’s slightly cold to the touch, but far softer than I could have ever imagined. She feels like velvet. The texture is comforting, and I’m so weary that I lean forward to let her skin brush my cheek.
A surge of energy flows through me, one that’s hard to describe. It’s like I can feel the dragon’s caged power, but also her kinship, her understanding. Surath is not onlylettingme touch her, she’s inviting me to.
Sliding my hand higher, I stroke her neck, loving the sensation of the rippling scales beneath my palm. As if reacting to my touch, her scales flutter, and I add my other hand, my cheek still pressed against her, as if we’re in an intimate embrace.
