Threshing Day (The Empyrean, #3.5) — Chapter no 1

624 AU Marbh—Orange Daggertail (Male) Descended from the Fhaicorain Line

Estimated Age: 76 Recorded Riders: 3

—THE COMPENDIUM OF DRAGONKIND, LAST UPDATED BY COLONEL VALIN KAORI

BRENNAN

Today is the day I make my parents proud, the day I become a rider like my mother and her parents before me.

Or I could die and become the greatest disappointment in the Sorrengail line.

Damn, I really hope not.

Somehow, dying is preferable to Mom feeling like she needs to change my last name on my headstone because I didn’t live up to it. Her familial line is so legendary among riders that Dad took her last name when they married, even though his was equally powerful among scribes.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Flynn Ennis asks as first- years scatter into Threshing Valley. The muscular brunet clutches the pommel of his short sword as if the weapon has a chance of protecting him from a dragon.

Unlike Ennis, I grew up close enough to Aimsir—Mom’s dragon—to know that if a dragon wants to kill you, you’re already dead. They couldn’t care less about any weapon smaller than a crossbolt, and raising a sword will just piss them off.

“I’m sure.” I give him a curt nod and a quick half smile to assuage the fear shining in his eyes. We spent a night together a few weeks ago, but I can’t let anything I feel for him sway me from my years of preparation for this moment. Especially when he’s making a stupid choice. “See you on the flight field, Ennis.”

“See you on the flight field, Sorrengail,” he replies, a barely noticeable tremble to his mouth. He turns back to a handful of my squadmates, and the group takes off together into the forest of enormous trees.

Gods, they’re foolish.

I watch as they disappear, and my heart clenches. It’s likely the last time I’ll see some—if not all—of them. They’re making a mistake, choosing the perceived safety of numbers and ignoring Professor Kaori’s advice to conquer this challenge on our own, but nothing I’ve said in the past few days has swayed them. Trying to convince them now would only be an exercise in futility, and today is not the day to expend needless energy or waste time.

The only decisions I can impact are my own. I need to find the highest, most central tree in the valley, then keep watch as dragons move below until I feel the one who’s meant for me. It’s a simple and, hopefully, effective plan. I should be landing on the flight field in the next hour.

A shape moves in my peripheral vision, and my stomach dips as I pivot toward the threat, my head whipping to the right as a figure in the cream uniform of the scribes steps out from behind a wide tree trunk a dozen feet away.

“Dragons loathe crowds. Good choice to handle this on your own,” Dad says with a nod of approval, the dappled sunlight catching the gold threads of the major rank stitched onto the shoulder of his tunic as he walks my way, opening his arms.

“Dad?” There’s barely time to pick my jaw up off the ground before he pulls me into a hug, his hand thumping my back. I grasp on to him, breathing in the soothing scent of parchment that clings to his uniform, and something rights deep within me, steadies me. Mom may be the rigid spine of our family, but Dad is the heart. “What are you doing here?”

“Here as in Basgiath?” He pulls back, gifting me with a wide grin my mother has always sworn we share. We also have the same reddish hue to our hair, though his is slowly turning silver in streaks and mine is given to curl, and identically straight noses. The older I get, the more I look like him, which doesn’t bother me in the least. “Or here as in the valley?”

“Both.” Very few scribes are authorized to enter the Riders Quadrant, but none are given permission to witness Threshing. “I thought you were on assignment somewhere classified.” He’s been gone since May, which isn’t uncommon given that he’s one of the scribe academics more dedicated to historical analysis than recording current events. He’s known to disappear for months at a time, first to research, then to write, but he always brings the best gifts back with him.

“I returned in August.” His brow knits. “I’m sorry I missed Conscription Day, but there was no way I was letting you walk into Threshing without seeing you.”

My gaze darts to the forest around us, and I breathe a little easier when I can’t spot any other riders. “I’m relieved you’re here, but the rules are pretty merciless if you get caught—”

“If I obeyed the rules, my rank would be higher. Don’t worry about me.

I’ll take my chances with the new commander of the Riders Quadrant.” His grin deepens. “That newly pinned colonel has a soft spot for me.”

I snort. “‘Soft’ isn’t a word I’d ever apply to Mom. At least not to her face.” My expression falls, a freedom I haven’t given myself since crossing the parapet in July, but I don’t have to be on guard with my father. “She only blunts her edges for two people on the Continent, and if I fail today, that number falls to one.”

“You’re her favorite, but she’s her own kind of soft when it comes to your sisters, whether or not the three of you realize it.” Dad clasps my

shoulder, his hazel eyes softening. “And you won’t fail.”

“I don’t want to let her down,” I admit in a whisper. “Either of you.”

There hasn’t been a moment in my life where I haven’t been acutely aware of my father’s accomplishments or the respect my mother commands from every rider I’ve ever encountered. I don’t mind the weight of their legacies, but I don’t want to be defined by them, either, which is really fucking hard given that I chose to wear rider black. “Are you angry I didn’t enter the Healer Quadrant after you spent so much time teaching me about herbs?”

Mom focused on teaching me tactics, as though she always knew I’d cross the parapet.

“Never. Listen to me.” Dad leans in. “You could never disappoint me, Brennan.” He shakes his head, his eyes searching mine. “Your integrity, compassion, and wit make you a man of exceptional character, the kind any parent would be proud of. Your mother will be thrilled to see you land on the flight field no matter what dragon is wise enough to claim you. Her only expectation is that you live, and I think you’ll find that has far more to do with being your mother than being your commander. Our hearts couldn’t take it if anything happened to you.”

I nod, swallowing the knot of emotion trying its hardest to block my throat. “How are Mira and Violet?”

Mom doesn’t give me any special treatment in the quadrant, which means I’ve been cut off from letters and news from the rest of my family just like the other first-years. Never thought I’d see a day where I’d miss my little sisters annoying the shit out of me every minute, but I do.

Constantly. I miss Mira’s footsteps trailing behind me and the way Violet smiles when she learns something new.

“Headstrong and precariously curious. In that order.” Another grin flashes across his face as he drops his hand. “Mira nearly thrashed Dain Aetos last week when Violet fell out of a tree the two of them had been climbing.”

“She’s a little overprotective.” A smile curves my mouth, then quickly falters. “Was Violet hurt?” She’s always been frailer than Mira or me, prone to joint dislocations and broken bones, but the strength of her mind is unparalleled.

A scream sounds from the south, and my head snaps toward the forest, but Dad barely glances. My heart rate skyrockets, and smoke rises above the trees a moment later, scenting the air with a warning of imminent

danger. People are dying out there, and I’m about to chance the same fate.

“Violet’s fine. Nothing that couldn’t be mended,” Dad assures me, jarring me from my thoughts.

“Good.” Thank the gods for menders. The gift is rare, but the riders with the signet for putting broken things back together, like Nolon, are a blessing to my sister. We need more of them.

A tree ignites in the distance, and my mouth goes dry.

“So what color are you hoping for?” Dad asks casually.

“I would have loved a black dragon, but none are willing to bond this year. I’m leaning toward green, given their more reliable, reasonable nature.

It’s probably easier to strategize with a dragon you can depend on. Brown would be great, too.” I rub my thumb along my chin. “Anything but an orange.”

“Never know. A little unpredictability might be good for you. Balance you out and all that.” A smile plays across his face.

“Zihnal, no.” I blanch and send a plea to the god of luck. “Fire and impulsivity shouldn’t mix.”

“Just remember that Zihnal doesn’t favor just those who need luck but those who accept his gifts without hesitation.” Dad rotates a black bead on the bracelet he wears on his left wrist, then pulls it off and hands it to me.

“A dragon is surely the greatest gift a god can give, but I want you to have this.”

“You’ve worn this since…forever.” I slip the bracelet over my hand. It’s still warm from his body heat.

“And now it’s yours. I’ll feel better knowing you have a piece of me with you.”

“Thank you.” I twist the bracelet like I’ve seen him do thousands of times.

Another cadet shrieks to the south, deeper within the forest, and we both

turn in that direction.

I swallow. Hard. “I have to go.”

“I love you, Brennan.” He pulls me into another hug, and I hold tight.

“The next time I see you, you’ll be a rider,” he says, his tone calm as always. There’s no desperation in his embrace, no fear that this will be the last time we see each other tightening his grip.

“I will,” I promise. It’s the certainty in his voice, the reassurance that I’ll live through this day, that allows me to let go of him. Dad’s never been

wrong about anything, and I’m not going to prove him fallible today. “I love you, too.”

“Don’t stress, Brennan. Enjoy today. Dragons love Sorrengails.” He walks away, disappearing into the trees with an ease that makes me wonder how many times he’s faded into other backgrounds of perilous situations in the name of his research.

I turn toward the center of the forest, steady my breathing and my

racing heart, then roll my shoulders.

Let’s go.

Autumn leaves crunch under my feet as I move among the trees, listening for that little voice Kaori mentioned, waiting for my instincts to direct me. Overhead, brown fills the air as a dragon launches skyward.

Guess that one isn’t mine.

“I’m telling you, I saw a blue this way!” someone shouts.

“No blues are on Kaori’s list,” someone else argues.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to warn them to split up when fire erupts through the trees to my left. I leap behind the trunk of a giant pine, my heart thundering as the voices fall silent. A Red Scorpiontail swishes into view, and I hold my breath, instinctively knowing that one is not mine.

I wait until the dragon clears the nearby space, then glance up at the sprawling branches of the tree I’ve taken shelter under. Now this is a tree Violet would love to climb.

And it will give me the best vantage point.

Branch by branch, I scale the tree as quietly as possible, careful not to catch the sword I keep sheathed at my side on any of the rough bark. A dragon roars in the distance, followed by a scream, but I climb with single- minded focus. If I give in to the fear knocking at my heart with all the subtlety of a battering ram, the dragons will be able to smell it.

Dragons don’t bond cowards.

The branches above me turn sparse and gangly with new growth, but none of them look capable of holding my weight, so I plant my feet right where they are, grasp the thinner branch above with both hands, and peer across the forest.

A kaleidoscope of colors fills my vision. The tops of the trees are a myriad of fall tones, the leaves providing camouflage for every color of dragon besides the blues and blacks that have abstained from this year’s Threshing. Branches sway at various locations in the forest, no doubt

propelled by the dragons that stalk beneath the canopy. There are three— make that four—plumes of smoke and one concerning fire to the east that surely deserves the attention of a water wielder. A Green Daggertail splits the air to the west, a rider clinging to her seat as the dragon beats its wings

for altitude.

Mine is out there somewhere.

I close my eyes and listen to my pounding heart, hoping it will tug me in the direction of the dragon I’m meant to bond, but there’s nothing. No tug. No pull. Not even a whisper of a twitch. Just a hot breeze against my face.

My brilliant plan might not be so brilliant after all. Would have been nice if Mom had given me some guidance or warned me about…anything.

Parapet. Gauntlet. Presentation. The futility of climbing trees. I should write all this shit down so Mira doesn’t have to figure it out on her own.

The heat suddenly intensifies, and my eyes pop open.

My heart lurches into my throat.

A scaly, burnt-orange snout hovers six feet from my face, huffing steam through enormous nostrils half as tall as I am. The cloud of heated air hits my face a second before the dragon tilts its head, pinning me in place with inquisitive golden eyes. Its horns sweep back from its face, but I can’t see their tips—or the rest of its body—with its head wedged in the branches of a tree.

I’m supposed to look away, to lower my eyes in supplication, to retreat without intruding on the dragon’s field of vision, but I can’t. My feet may as well be glued to the branch beneath me. For the first time in my life, I do the opposite of what I’m supposed to and stare.

“Only birds belong in the tops of trees.” A raspy, masculine voice fills my head. “Are you a bird, Sorrengail?”

“What the fuck?” I blurt, and my hands jolt, letting go of the branch.

My feet slip, my stomach abandons me, and gravity claims her prize as I fall right off the damned branch.

I smack into the limb below and scramble for a grip, hooking my arms over the steam-slicked place my boots had previously occupied and scraping the bare skin of my forearm. My feet kick beneath me, searching for a foothold, as the dragon pushes his head through the leaves, beating his wings slowly to maintain a hover.

“Precisely why humans should not climb trees.”

“I don’t usually fall out of them!” I shout back illogically as my feet finally find a lower branch. “And you aren’t supposed to talk to humans who aren’t yours.”

“You’re not supposed to look a dragon in the eye, yet here we are.” He tilts his head as if examining me. “Shall we play a game, eldest Sorrengail?”

“No,” I answer instantly, but I still can’t seem to tear my eyes away from him even as my pride prickles. “And it’s Brennan.” Where is the predictable green I’m meant for? Or the subtly sly brown I’ve imagined?

“You have yet to earn a first name while your last overpowers it. Why would you seek a dragon as boring as you are?” he questions.

Holy shit, did he just nail every problem in my fucking life. Wait… boring?

“I’m not boring,” I argue, lowering my hand from the branch above and cursing at the bloody scrape that runs the length of my forearm. “I’m loyal, and smart, and the best tactician of my year—”

“And boring.” His nostrils flare in a deep inhale before huffing another breath of steam. “You need not tell me all the things I already know about you to prove that point. Are you so burdened by your mother’s shadow that you desire the same breed that bonded her?”

My mouth opens and shuts like a fucking fish.

“Do you not yearn for a challenge? For someone who challenges you?

Or is my instinct misguided? Have I found a docile robin in the place of the sharp-minded hawk I sought?” The orange narrows his eyes, continuing to hover in place.

Instinct? Hold on. Is this orange choosing me?

“If you have to ask, perhaps you should rethink your prior claim on intelligence.”

But oranges are erratic, finicky, and—worst of all—unpredictable.

“Thank you, Sorrengail,” he responds.

I ignore the prick to my pride and snort a laugh, which is undoubtedly an inappropriate response to Threshing. A dragon is surely the greatest gift a god can give. That’s what Dad said. If this is the dragon I’m meant to dedicate my life to, who am I to deny such a monumental gift? And how ironic that the best piece of advice I’ve been given when it comes to Threshing came from my scribe father? I take a fortifying breath and then nod, wiping all expectations of how I thought this day would go from my

mind. “I’ll play your game.”

“What if I’ve changed my mind about you already?” He bares sharp, pointed teeth.

My pulse stutters, but I hold my ground. “You haven’t, or you would have flown off or torched me by now.”

“Think of all the battles we will win with that bird-size brain of yours.”

There’s an edge of excitement in his tone, making me question the insult.

“If you can find your seat without touching the ground, I’ll accept you as mine.”

“And if I can’t?” I ask, already mentally calculating the distance from the end of this branch to the nostrils he keeps flaring.

“I do not want a rider who cannot adapt to my unpredictable nature.

Either you’ll fall to your death in the attempt or I’ll see if your curly red feathers burn.”

“So less like a game and more like an ultimatum?” I question, bouncing lightly on the branch to test the movement where it thins out about three feet from his nose.

“Everything is a game if you’re smart enough to see the board.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

“Deal.” I grin. Yeah. This guy is mine. Waiting for him to agree would be foolish—he’d probably retreat just for the fun of watching me fall—so I take off at a run, my feet flying across the branch. I race down the limb, my gaze on the leafy end for the first sign it’s going to dip under my weight.

The second the branch wavers, I leap.

Time slows to heartbeats for the brief seconds I’m airborne and the orange beats his wings, preparing to push back. These are either the first moments of the rest of my life or the last of my existence. My arms swing through the air as if I can claw my way across the distance, and my feet kick as momentum hurtles me toward the dragon.

This is definitely not the way Kaori taught us to mount.

I slam into the space between his nostrils, air gushing from my lungs on impact, and I grasp the first handholds I can find, which happen to be the edge of one scale and the ridge of one nostril.

“Little birdie can fly,” he taunts, and sure enough, we’re sailing through the air, his head already moving away from the branch.

My fingers dig into the crevices between scales, and every muscle in my upper body strains as I haul myself upward, unwilling to stick my feet

anywhere near those teeth. The ground rushes by, or maybe it’s the canopy.

Either way, I’m not losing focus long enough to look as I crawl up this dragon’s face in the most unorthodox technique known—and unknown—to mankind.

The angle shifts, and suddenly we’re plummeting, making it even harder to haul myself up between his eyes. “Seriously?” I shout, keeping my attention on the scale beyond the one I have a hold on. “Because this wasn’t hard enough already?”

“If you want easy, you should have joined the infantry,” he quips.

Got it. The only thing I can expect when it comes to this dragon is he’ll do whatever I’m not prepared for.

“You’re learning.” He pulls up out of the dive as branches skim the side of his face and I reach the top of his head. The abrupt change in direction sends me careening between his horns to slide down his neck. It’s all I can do to throw my weight side to side, narrowly missing the sharp neck spikes that form no visible pattern down the length to his shoulders.

By Dunne, he must be in a near-vertical climb, because the treetops of the valley lie beyond the deadly tips of his razor-sharp daggertail, and if I don’t stop this momentum, I’ll slide straight off to my death. There’s no surviving a fall from this altitude, just corpse recovery. Adrenaline floods my system as I slam my hands down, accepting whatever damage his scales might do in the name of gaining a second of traction. Pain ripples up my arms, but I catch the edge of a ridge of scales just before his shoulders and dig the heels of my boots into the next set long enough to roll to my stomach.

Wind hits me head-on as the dragon continues to climb toward the midday sun, and I ease my body down one scale at a time, making sure to wedge my toes between scales as I climb toward his seat. Gravity doesn’t give a shit that I’m Lilith and Asher Sorrengail’s son. It’s only on my own merit that I’ll make this happen.

My feet slide across his pommel scales, then slip over the smooth dip of his seat. There’s no foothold here, no way to ease myself into position.

Leaping from the tree was one thing, but I’ll need Zihnal’s own luck to pull this off. My heart pounds so hard I feel it in my ears, my vision pulsing in time with the beats as I reach for the next ridge of scales, holding on to him with only my hands.

The second I grasp his pommel scales, I let out a shout of victory. “I

win!” I yell into the wind as it rips the moisture from my eyes.

“There is no longer an I,” he corrects me as he levels out and my ass settles into the seat. “There is only us.”

I bend my knees, then lock the toes of my boots between his scales just like Kaori taught us, securing my seat.

Then the damned dragon dives into a spiral.

“Marbh,” he tells me. “Not damned dragon. Though I will answer to Glorious One, Brilliant One, or Zihnal’s Chosen should you prefer.”

“I’ll stick with Marbh!” I shout. The ground spins like a pinwheel, and I shove back against the pommel to maintain my seat, defying both centrifugal motion and gravity to prove myself worthy.

“Your worth is no longer in question,” Marbh lectures. “Now it’s only the strength of your stomach we need to test.”

Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

He climbs, then dives until my face is green and I regret every single choice I made at breakfast, but I hold my seat. I earn my black leathers.

When I look up, the flight field is in the distance, the floor of the box canyon speckled with every color of dragon that has gathered to watch and those who have already landed with their cadets. I can only hope that my squadmates—that Ennis—can be counted among those riders.

“There is only us,” Marbh tells me again as we fly for home. “Marbh

and Brennan.”

I’m no longer just a Sorrengail.

I am Marbh’s rider.

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