Page 42 of I Dream of Dragons
I take a step toward the pale drak—pale like Remi—and I have to wonder if it was chosen on purpose.
“Your coloring fits,”he’d told me about the darakin.
And then,“White hair, like something old and dead…”
Regaining my anger, the only spark of warmth inside me, my only anchor in the shifting sands of this regained world, I prepare to climb the drak and get into the saddle, fear be damned.
A rumble comes from the drak and it takes me a moment to realize it’s an actual sound, that it’s not inside my head.
Taking it as permission, or agreement, I suck in a breath and step right up to the giant reptile. I place a hand against its scaly hide, my pale hand almost blending with the white scales.
The scales are warm, uncomfortably so, reminding me that draks are fire creatures, unlike the Great Daras that are reputed to be cold and warped, made of animal parts and metal, alien chimeras, strangely beautiful and utterly powerful.
“Climb onto his leg first,” Jai instructs, and that hardness is still present in his deep voice, “from there to the shoulder. Use that as a stepping stone to climb onto the back and click the keyin as quickly as possible so you can grab the reins as you get into the saddle.”
“Got it,” I grumble. “I saw you do it, remember?”
“And talk to him, for fuck’s sake,” he grouses, ignoring my answer, anger pulsing in his voice. He approaches my drak. “Tell him where to go. Use that advantage.”
I nod. “I will.”
How did he know I was hesitant to do so? I’m not even sure why I hesitate. I’m finding it easier now with Remi, but Remi is like a cat. Keres is… different. Or maybe just larger. And unlike anything I’ve ever ridden.
A hint of… amusement tugs at my mind, and somehow I know it’s coming from this drak.
Keres.
“Tell him…” Jai takes another step toward me and stumbles. Curses. Then he stands still, breathing hard for long moments as I try to wrestle the worry back and not reach for him.
“Are you okay?” I ask, proud of the steadiness of my voice.
“I’m fine.” Said through gritted teeth.
Not that I should worry about him. Not when he looked at me like that, with that dread and disgust.
Besides, he’s Athdara, the dragon speaker. Fairly indestructible.
Here I choose to ignore how he’d looked when I had dragged him out of the squid’s tentacles, how he’d floated on the surface of the arena, pale and still.
“It won’t be the first time he died, if it’s any consolation.”
I also refuse to think about all the riddles Phaethon has gifted me with. About all they imply. All that can be read between the lines, between the words.
I look up at my drak. One of his tucked-in wings jerks a little. He’s watching me still, one blue eye fixed on me.
Let’s do this.
Deep breaths.
As Jai instructed, I climb onto the drak’s folded leg, fully convinced he’ll twist his neck, turn his head, and snap me in half for daring. But nothing happens, and after another breath, I clamber up to the shoulder.
I pause, panting a little, mostly from fear rather than exertion.
“Rae?” Jai is still there.
“I said I’m okay,” I call out. “Get in the saddle. We don’t have much time.”
I itch to turn and look, make sure he doesn’t fall, that he makes it to the other drak. But of course he’s fine. He said so. We’re almost done with this trial, this game—and I’m not only talking about the Death Games.
