Page 73 of The Dragoneers of Longbourn and Pemberley
“Is that your dragon?” Valeraine rolled her eyes. “I’ll check,” she muttered with little grace. She directed Lelantos to land again.
As she approached the red dragon, she reminded herself this one was not nest-tetchy, and was well trained. Amaranth was unlikely to attack. Then, she helpfully remembered this dragon had just been through a rough landing and now Valeraine was stealing her rider, so the chance of irritability and hostility would be quite high.
Lelantos was at her back. It would be all right.
First, she looked for blood. This was futile as the dragon was blood-colored, and she wouldn’t spot it even if it was here. So, she inspected the legs and wings, looking for any parts that looked misshapen or swollen. Nothing seemed amiss, and yet the dragon had not moved from her spot on the ground.
This wouldn’t do.
She returned to her own saddlebags, and pulled out a stick of jerky. Lelantos swiveled his head around and licked the stick, so she gave it to him; it couldn’t be said he hadn’t earned it. She then pulled out another, and walked to Amaranth’s head.
“Amaranth,” she crooned softly. “I have a treat for you.” She brandished the stick ahead of her as if it were a fencer’s sword.She inched closer to the dragon’s mouth. There was no reaction. She placed the jerky right next to the nostrils and waited. If the dragon still had any brain or consciousness, she would eat it. That would be proof enough of her health for now. It wasn’t like Valeraine could do anything to doctor a dragon, anyway.
Amaranth snapped open her eyes and her mouth at the same time, and snagged the jerky, ripping it out of Valeraine’s hand. She munched on it, gnawing and turning it around in her mouth, entirely satisfied. The dragon rolled slowly to her feet and her nose came sniffing around Valeraine, hunting for more treats.
“I’ll get you another,” she placated. She ran back to her saddlebags, and retrieved two jerky sticks. One, she fed to Lelantos and one she threw in Amaranth’s direction. Before the dragon could grow bored with that, she climbed onto Lelantos and said, “Fly, carefully. Back to the house.”
Pemberley didn’t object to her hands on his shoulders — though it must be straining his sense of propriety.
“Amaranth’s fine,” she said.
Pemberley’s face held judgement. He was right to hate her, for her risky flying that had knocked him out of the sky. There was a curiosity in his expression, too, probably worry for his dragon. Then, an urgent panic. “Your mask,” he said.
It had been left behind on the ground. So Lelantos landed again, and Valeraine retrieved it from the snow, tossed another jerky to Amaranth in passing, and finally they were bound for the manor. She was never coming to Pemberley’s rescue again. This was far too much trouble, and he would find a way to twist it and denounce her, she was sure.
Valeraine’s distaste for the whole adventure was simmering in her. She didn’t say anything to Pemberley. What could she say? “Sorry for blackmailing you.” “Sorry I slammed your dragon out of the sky.” “You deserve everything that comes to you, for the harm you’ve given to Alyce, and me.”
Pemberley didn’t say anything to her, either. It probably had something to do with an excruciating leg wound, jostled by the flight.
Valeraine consoled herself that some of the fault was with Pemberley, surely. Honestly, this was the second time Lelantos had rammed into him during a derby. He needed to be more defensive in his flying.
Pemberley’s eyes were closed, but his mouth was moving in soft mutterings. Prayers? Curses? Reciting poetry, or laws? She yearned to put her ear next to his face, to hear what Pemberley clung to when at his lowest, to hear what things he whispered with nobody to hear him. She didn’t move closer to him. What she needed right now was distance from this man. Her curiosity about him could only lead to disaster, him insulting her and perhaps even proposing to her again.
The horror.
She would need to avoid that possibility at all costs. For she was worried, in her most secret of feelings, that she wouldn’t have the strength to reject him a second time, if his proposal was more civil.
Pemberley gave a moan of pain, and she reached out to hold his hand. She didn’t think about it. Pemberley squeezed her hand, tightly gripping, seeming to take some comfort from it.
When she landed in the dragoneer’s field, a simple holler (pitched as deeply as she could) brought help to get Pemberley down and a doctor to tend to him. All she had to do was make Lelantos kneel, and then she slipped away in the commotion. Pemberley would be fine, with all of those people to care for him. He didn’t need her to listen to him, or hold his hand.
She didn’t need him, either. Not the man who had cost her a respectable finish in the derby.
Not the man whose hand she wondered if she would ever hold again.
Perhaps at the ball, when they danced together. If he asked her to dance, and if she accepted him, that is. She wasn’t sure she wanted to. She would love to see his face when she rejected him. But it was time to prepare for the ball, anyway.
Chapter fifty
“Iwas so sure you were dead,” Selaide said, “when you dropped from Lelantos. So I thought: who gets your things? All your gowns?”
The four Longbourn sisters were in a small room in Pemberley manor, preparing for the ball. Alyce was tying Valeraine’s stays. Valeraine was (unsuccessfully) ignoring Selaide. Merna was deftly ignoring them all, scribbling in her notebook.
“Of course, you’re fine,” Selaide continued. “But, if you had met your untimely demise, you aren’t going to be using your clothes — well maybe one gown, to be buried in — but the rest would need a new caretaker. Alyce has plenty of gowns, and Merna doesn’t care, so I would be the best choice.”
Valeraine wanted to say that in the event of her death she would rather see all her clothes shredded and used as stuffing for Lelantos’ nest than go to Selaide. But then she looked at Alyce’s softly amused face, full of care and patience for their sister, and held her tongue. She did not want to be the one who broke thispainfully balanced peace. Selaide was annoying, but she had not yet caterwauled. She could talk all she wished, and it was not harming anything.
It was harming Valeraine’s opinion of her, actually. But that had been so thoroughly ruined already that degrading it further was hardly notable.
