Page 45 of House of Ashes
But Rhylan was already moving, his wings unfurling as he leapt from the terrace floor.
The next leap of my stomach was from the sensation of leaving the earth, the sheer brute strength of the dragon shoving us into the sky. I blinked hard, lowering my third eyelids as the wind slapped at us, the sky overhead cold and steely gray.
Rhylan wheeled out over the mountains, and though my seating was secure, I didn’t pat him as I otherwise would’ve done.
All was not well.
He didn’t roar or grumble, soaring with a silent intensity that unnerved me. Even with the rising winds over the mountain, he glided in a straight line, snapping his wings on occasion with harsh cracks of sound that felt like accusations.
Even high above the world, it was hard to forget my guilt and shame. I leaned forward over the saddle, focused only on the horizon, trying to let the wind wash them away.
This time we flew southeast, gliding around sharp peaks. After half an hour, the mountains began to give way to fields and forests, a carpet of green far below.
The sight of all that green was a balm to my soul. Even up here, hundreds of miles away, I could almost swear I smelled the jasmine of Varyamar.
A welcome modicum of peace filled me to take it all in, until I glanced to the left, over the long black slope of Rhylan’s wings.
There was a dark speck in the sky, heading south and dropping as I watched.
I nudged Rhylan sharply with my left heel, shouting at him over the wind. “Dragon on our left! Miles away, below us!”
With the tiniest growl of acknowledgement, he banked, veering left.
My thighs squeezed tightly as I leaned into his motions, maintaining balance the whole way through until we leveled out.
I watched the dark speck as Rhylan glided towards it, dropping lower and lower. Soon the patchwork of green below us became distinct fields, dotted with thick copses. Rhylan’s claws brushed at the trees as he flew over a forest, sending a spray of leaves out behind us.
The dragon we hunted was singular, with a draga on his back. I squinted, trying to pick out the finer details: the dragon himself was ivory-scaled, bulkier than Doric, sharply pointed nubs and ridges growing over his skull, spine, and the arches of his wings.
His rider leaned forward for the descent, but Rhylan ruined my opportunity to see anything more as his wings snapped out wide, catching the wind and slowing our flight.
He descended into a gap in the tree tops, lowering us to the ground within the forest.
I adjusted my seat, leaning back a little to accommodate the change in Rhylan’s spine. Riding a walking dragon made me feel like I was about to pitch forward over his neck; leaning backwards kept me sitting upright. With a blink, my inner eyelids retracted.
Without the wind in my ears, it was easier to speak to him. I kept my voice low, aware that the strange dragon was less than a mile away, with hearing far more acute than mine.
“I want to see them, Rhylan. Who are they?”
He must have recognized the dragon, or his rider; I didn’t believe Rhylan would do something as foolish as engage an enemy, not with me unarmed and untrained on his back.
But he didn’t shift, clearly content to leave me in the dark for his intentions; he simply moved through the forest on silent feet, his wings tucked in tightly at his sides and trapping my legs against him. I breathed deeply as we moved, tasting fresh sap in the air, the thick pollen of fields and pines.
The sounds of civilization reached my ears: livestock, people, the trickling of a water mill.
Rhylan slowed, winding between trees as sinuously as a snake.
When he stopped, refusing to budge another inch, I took that as my cue to dismount. He was kind enough to lower himself, allowing me to clamber over his folded wings, but still he didn’t shift.
I glanced at the dragon next to me, his ember-like eyes focused on the sounds of people, and gave up on waiting. Maybe it was simply easier for him to deal with me in dragon form.
It was definitely easier for me. I climbed up a small hill, Rhylan on my heels, moving cautiously until I hit a patch of brambles. They would be loud to climb over, almost certainly guaranteed to give away our presence.
But I didn’t need to; I leaned against a tree, pressing myself up against the trunk so I could see the Bloodless village beyond through the brambles, and the white dragon.
He had shifted, leaving his harness in the wide, empty area of paving stones that almost all small villages maintained for visiting dragons. The male was tall, well-muscled, his ivory scales nearly blending into his skin. He was young, despite the nearly-white hair cropped short; dark eyes watched the villagers warily as his mate spoke to the village Wyvern-Master.
He circled his draga like she was a star, and he was a necessary, natural part of her orbit.