Page 10 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
Nethenabbi’s blue dragon touched down and was back up in the sky again. The air whooshed at their passing, snatching at Valeraine’s braid. Other dragons came in close behind, churning the hilltop into a frenzy of wind.
This, finally, convinced Lelantos that it was not time to take a nap. He lumbered to the air again. He was wearing thin. He didn’t have the endurance needed for a sprint of this distance.
They were going to lose.
Longbourn house did not have the power to match these young dragons.
As Nethenabbi’s pale blue dame turned about in the air to make the return leg, an incoming dragon slammed into her. They were both flung into disarray, spinning wildly. The attacker was nimble and reoriented quickly, moving onto the hilltop. However, the Nethenabbi dragon had been entirely knocked out of the sky and down again to the ground. Mr. Nethenabbi or the dragon might be injured enough to be out of the race.
Valeraine tried to feel pity for poor Mr. Nethenabbi. She could not summon it. She had the lead again. The elation lifted her heart. Lelantos climbed through the sky, his overgrown wings taking great scoops of air. They were rising faster than any other dragon. This race was theirs.
“You can do this. Fly.” she chanted in Lelantos’ ear.
A mob of dragons was directly before them — the four latecomers approaching the hill. Valeraine aimed Lelantos higher so they could dodge the group. The dragons passed below, scratching at each other and struggling against the turbulence of their neighbors’ wings.
The climb higher had cost Lelantos time, but it put them in an excellent position to dive from.
No matter how she encouraged Lelantos to go faster, they did not accelerate, and the pack was closing in. She first saw the burgundy dragon of Pemberley below her, passing her swiftly. Then, the cunning white, Nethenabbi’s blue, and two others. Lelantos was now in sixth.
He was also, by far, the highest up. This was her chance to extravagantly dive and reclaim her spot at the front of the pack. Netherfield manor was a minute’s flight away. This win was Longbourn’s. The thrill of it sang in her. Everyone would see how swift and cunning their dragon was.
Valeraine pointed Lelantos to the front of the pack, and directed him down. He gracefully dipped in the sky, sliding downwards, gaining more speed than she had ever felt from him. They dropped. Her stomach reacted, jumping up. She held onto the saddle to keep her place.
There was an opening in the jostling dragons below. They could slip through it, reaching the ground first. First to the winner’s laurels. She tilted Lelantos into a steeper dive to slide into the gap.
They passed through the gap, surrounded on all sides by angry dragons. Their wings buzzed to and fro, kaleidoscopic. The wind rushed so loud in her ears that the growls of the dragons were snatched away. Valeraine was surrounded by complete chaos, death a certainty if she fell from her saddle. She should have been terrified. She should have been freezing in fear. She should have been sensible enough to stop this monstrous plan before now. She was out of her depth, risking her life and her reputation on slim hopes.
All she could see was the wonder of wings about her. It was utterly beautiful: a corridor of flashing hues and pure power. She was part of this dance; she felt the rhythm in her heart. The dragons had mastery of the skies, and she claimed part of it for herself.
Valeraine felt an echoing of her feelings, a resonance in her mind. It was joy and triumph, reflected back to her with an alien tilt to it. It felt, instinctively, like Lelantos. It had his slow, ponderous movement and his quick annoyance. It had his easy contentment and his persistent spirit. Valeraine knew her dragon. This was his excitement, his wonder. He was sharing his feelings with her.
She rested her gloved fist (still gripping the reins) on his back, and the feeling intensified. She could physically feel the wind straining against his wings as if they were her own. His fierce competitive streak came alive as they passed the other dragons. After years of working with Lelantos, serving him, training him, becoming familiar with his quirks, she finally knew him. There was a spectral bond between them now. It was glorious.
Happy tears pooled in her eyes. Or perhaps that was just from the wind.
This was what she was born to do. She was of Longbourn, a dragon house. She had spent her life with Lelantos, learninghow he flew and how he liked his food. She had been born for zooming through the skies, for bringing acclaim to her house.
She had been born for this dive, and every one she would take after it.
She was born to be a dragoneer.
Chapter eleven
Agreat force slammed into Lelantos’ right wing, sending them spinning. They were no longer swooping — they were falling out of the sky.
Valeraine lost her seat, her behind bucking away from the safe saddle. Her legs now dangled in the air, ripped to and fro by the wind. Her stomach rose into her chest and her heart seized. The ground was spinning above her now.
Her hands still clutched the reins. She pulled herself back into the saddle, hand over hand scrambling until she could grab the pommel. Lelantos righted himself, hovering in the air, disorientated.
Valeraine caught sight of the pack of dragons, now pulling away from them. Lelantos saw them as well, and flapped to follow. It was evident who had rammed them: the burgundy, horned dragon, ridden by Pemberley. He had been lurking underneath the pack, waiting for a chance to knock some unsuspecting dragon out of the sky. He had probably cheeredwhen he realized it was Longbourn’s dragon he victimized, the one that didn’t deserve to be at this derby. Who cared if it nearly resulted in her death?
Valeraine squeezed her knees, telling Lelantos to accelerate. He did not. He was favoring his right wing. She felt the soreness, tingling and stiff, a phantom wing of her own.
The winner touched down: the white dragon. The fiercest rider had won, after all. Next was Pemberley’s red, then the Nethenabbi blue.
Valeraine landed in the field where they had begun. Lelantos came in seventh. Seventh place out of eight dragons; they had only not been last because someone had been knocked entirely from the air.
They could have won. They had been in the lead several times, but it had been stolen from her. It had been stolen by those who assumed Longbourn wasn’t a dragon house, that Lelantos didn’t deserve to fly in a derby. That if Longbourn couldn’t produce a son as their dragoneer, they weren’t eligible for dignity.
