Page 121 of Black Wing and Shadows
When Bhatta dismissed us, the scrape of chairs against stone echoed like thunder. We filed out in silence, the weight of his words pressing heavier than any saddle. Rules written in blood. The kind you didn’t get second chances on.
I rubbed absently at my bond mark as we left the wing, the ache faint but steady. Esme’s presence pulsed warm at the edge of my thoughts, smug as ever.
“Do you really talk with the other fliers that much?”I asked, keeping my tone casual.
“Of course,”she said, almost bored.“It keeps things entertaining while you humans shuffle about like ants.”
“Do you ever… talk to your mom?”
A pause. The brush of her mind was colder than before.“Not often. We are not close enough for that. Fliers need to be decently close to each other to communicate. And she is busy…”
Her voice quieted, sharp edges blunted by something I couldn’t quite name. Loneliness? Resentment? I couldn’t tell.
“I would rather talk to you,”she added. A flicker of humor returning to her tone.“You are far more entertaining when you panic.”
I rolled my eyes, but my chest felt warm in a way I didn’t want to think about too hard.
The scent of oiled leather and hot metal hit me the moment we entered the outdoor stadium for Professor Yan’s class, which wasn’t quite like a class. All around were racks of straps, buckles, and tools that gleamed under the sun. Long worktables stretched on the side near the benches, already laid out with measuring cords, chalk, and thick parchment sheets.
But none of that held my attention.
It was the silver dragon standing in the courtyard, scales catching the light like hammered moonlight. Enormous—easily double Esme’s size,their wings folded. Its head alone was longer than a cart, and when her gaze swept the room, every cadet went still.
Silvers were rare, and being bonded to one was awe-inspiring. Seeing a second one at the same time.
Esme stirred, a ripple of distaste coloring the bond.“Don’t stare.”
“She or he is incredible.”
“She knows. We are incoming.”
Professor Yan, small and wiry beside her dragon, clapped her hands. “Eyes front. This is Araceli, my bonded dragon. She will be serving as a model today for those of you measuring dragons. Her size is… unusual.” Yan’s smile was wry, her dark eyes flicking toward her dragon with pride. “Most of you will not require this scale, but the method remains the same.”
From the opposite side of the room, a golden griffin strutted in, feathers glinting with bronze undertones. At his side walked a broad-shouldered male with kind eyes and sun-darkened skin—Professor Yan’s spouse, though not a professor himself—a Rider, nonetheless.
“This is Daren and Klythe,” Yan announced. “They’ll demonstrate measurements for griffins and phoenixes. Their skeletal structure is similar enough that the process translates.”
All of our fliers landed in the stadium, shaking the ground. Klythe fluffed his wings, sending a ripple of golden feathers scattering across the ground. A few cadets bent to snatch one up before Bhatta’s voice in their memory stopped them cold.
Yan gestured to the fliers. “Your task today is simple. You will record preliminary measurements for your fliers: wingspan, neck girth, torso length, and saddle ridge. These will guide the custom fittings for your first real saddles.”
Esme’s silver dust eye swiveled toward me, a low rumble vibrating in my chest.“If you make me look smaller than I am, I will bite you.”
“Good thing I am small, making you already look taller,”I shot back.
Her laughter rolled through the bond, low and sharp.
Professor Yan clapped her hands again, her silver dragon’s scales flashing. “Collect your cords, chalk, and parchment. You’ll begin with torso length, then wingspan. Daren and I will correct your form.”
She moved to the side table, her spouse already laying out a coil of cord across Klythe’s golden back. “And before you ask—yes, I am a Rider. No, I do not ride often anymore. My gift manifested as a metallurgist. I can bend, shape, and strengthen metal, which makes me far more useful here, ensuring your saddles don’t split in the sky. Consider me semi-retired, but don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten how to keep you all in line.”
That earned a nervous laugh from a few cadets.
I gathered my cord and chalk, Esme crouching low so I could scramble up her shoulder. She rumbled under me,“Measure carefully, little Rider. Leave nothing out.”
“Stand still,” I said, bracing across her broad back as I chalked her shoulder ridge. “This isn’t a competition.”
“Everything is a competition,”she purred.
