Threshing Day (The Empyrean, #3.5) — Chapter no 11

633 AU Aotrom—Brown Swordtail (Male) Descended from the Aldayrmar Line

Estimated Age: 21 Recorded Riders: 0

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

RIDOC

My mouth tastes like shit as I make my way through the Threshing Valley.

Scratch that. My mouth tastes like I scavenged up a dead dragon, somehow brought it back to life, then let it shit the contents of its intestines into my mouth. Like decades-old, still-decaying shit. And of course I didn’t bring a waterskin out here.

Are we even allowed to bring water? Or is the general misery of our dehydration mixing with the adrenaline brought by potential death part of the charm of Threshing? I was too busy hurling up my breakfast in front of my squadmates to ask, but water would have been wasted between the second and third bouts of vomiting anyway. At least I was alone for those two shining examples of my excellence under pressure.

Gods, what I wouldn’t give to wash the taste of my own vomit out of my mouth. Pretty sure the smell is right up there with fear when it comes to deterring a potential dragon.

Because that’s what I want, right? A fucking dragon. That’s why I left my continuously arguing parents, put on a black uniform, and now wake up every morning wondering if it’s the last time I’ll see my bed—or whoever happens to be in it with me. All for a dragon.

A dragon who might be just as keen to char me as to bond me. Excellent plan.

What the fuck was I thinking? I don’t want to die today.

Nausea clenches my stomach, and my mouth waters again as I pass some coniferous tree I’m sure only Sorrengail knows the name of and move deeper into the forest. What could possibly be left in my stomach at this

point?

Focus. I’m better than this.

Scratch that. The dragons in this forest would be lucky to have me as their rider. I’m funny. I’m smart. I keep things interesting, and I’m scrappy as hell when it comes to the mat. I can be positive about this whole thing.

I breathe through the worst of the nausea, and my shoulders drop with relief when I spot the small stream ahead. Thank you, Zihnal. Lucky indeed.

The trees to my right move.

My stomach abandons threatening to eject its innards and flat-out attempts to flee the premises, dropping to the forest floor as my head

swivels toward the motion.

All movement ceases.

Huh.

Well. Fuck. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

I begin walking again, and the trees stay where they’re supposed to as I approach the shaded creek, but I keep one eye on the branches as I crouch beside the little brook. Once I’m sure nothing’s following—or stalking— me, I cup my hand and dip it into the cool running water. Then I pull the

time-tested swish-and-spit before actually drinking. The water is crisp and — Movement catches my eye a second before water splashes all over me, smacking into the side of my face and dousing my hair before dripping down my cheek.

What the fuck? I wipe the water off my face as I spring to my feet to confront whatever asshole-shaped cadet decided to douse me.

A giant brown claw flexes in the stream, forming an instant pool as

water gushes around curved talons.

Don’t puke. Don’t puke. Don’t puke.

Wait. Is this…it? I always thought I would bond a green, or maybe a red to force me to take things more seriously, but a brown would be a great fit, too. I look up at its ankle and then keep going, my gaze running past the thicker chest scales and up the thinner, more vulnerable spots on its neck until I find a pair of amused golden eyes studying me.

It’s the Brown Swordtail that stood next to the small golden dragon at Presentation, and it’s looking at me as if it wants to see what I’m going to do next, like it’s…testing me.

Oh, shit. There aren’t enough swear words in the common tongue, because I know exactly which dragon this is.

“Oh, no.” I shake my head and take a giant step back from the edge of the creek, water sliding beneath the collar of my uniform. “Not you. Nope.”

Any dragon but this one.

“Yes, me.” The brown narrows his eyes. “I surely misunderstand you.”

“You surely do not.” I throw my hands up. “And whatever you do, don’t keep talking to me. That’s the stuff you save for your chosen rider.”

He lifts his claw and flicks it forward, sending a wave of water in my direction.

It hits my boots, instantly soaking the leather.

“Nice.” I lift one sodden boot and grimace. Now I’m going to have wet feet all day. Fucking fantastic. “See? That right there is why you and I wouldn’t be a good match.”

“I decide what’s good.” He peels his lips up, baring his teeth.

My stomach asks if I’d like to see what meager contents it still holds.

“Don’t do that.” I sigh and bring my gaze to meet his in a complete breach of protocol, but I can’t really tell if he’s snarling or smiling. “It’s nothing against you personally—”

“As if there could be any deficiency found in me.” He stalks forward.

“—but I read over the cards Kaori gave us,” I try to explain, my palms out. “And you’re only twenty.”

He pauses and tilts his head a dozen feet above me, and I have no choice but to crane my neck to look up at him. “So are you.”

“Exactly.” I point my finger at his face. “That’s, like, what in dragon years? Five?”

“Dragons mature infinitely faster than humans.” A giant glob of saliva drips off his fang and lands on my shoulder.

Gross.

“Really proving your point there.” I run my fingers over my arm in an attempt to shove the goop off me. “Look, I’m self-aware enough to know I need a dragon who will keep me in check, and a guy who’s only seen as many summers as I have isn’t a responsible choice.”

“Responsible or not, you are my rider.” He lowers his head and inhales, lifting my hair.

“I’m not.” One very weird sniffing session later, he raises his ginormous

head.

“You are,” he insists.

“Am not.” I shake my head.

“Are too.” He narrows his eyes.

“See? Look at us. You’re mentally five years old.” I throw my hands out

at my sides.

“If I’m five, then you’re four.”

A reluctant smile tugs at my mouth. He’s got me there. “Precisely why you’d be better off with someone like Rhiannon Matthias or Sawyer Henrick. They’d be more responsible choices for you.” They wouldn’t appreciate his sense of humor, but not everyone is as comedically evolved as I am. Then again, not everyone grew up in a house where they had to learn to cut the tension between their parents.

“Have I misjudged you, Ridoc Gamlyn?” he asks, his head rearing back like he’s the one who’s offended when I’m the one covered in water and spit.

My mouth opens, then slowly closes, because if he’s talking to me, that means he’s already seen my thoughts, my memories, seen me. “Probably not.”

“Perhaps I have.” He huffs a blast of steam down on me. Now I’m wet

and sticky. Awesome. “Perhaps we do not share a kinship in being underestimated by those around us.”

My eyebrows rise. Well…hold on, because yes.

“Perhaps I should have listened to my elders when they suggested I choose a more balanced rider instead of one who matched me in energy and

mischief.”

Did he just admit to making a mistake— Wait. Mischief? Now that has my full attention. Is that what splashing me was all about? I absolutely need a dragon less impulsive than I am, which browns are by nature, but I could be down for a partner who doesn’t immediately see me as a project in need of fixing or mentoring. “Are dragons even capable of mischief?”

“Now you’ll never know. Pity,” he says with a haughty tone of sarcasm, then retreats a step. Suddenly I feel like I’ve completely, irrevocably fucked this up, because he’s doing exactly what I would in the same situation, which means we’re alike. Like, really alike.

Am I meeting the dragon version of…me?

“You seek a dragon to keep you in check, while I seek a rider capable of sharpening my edges instead of blunting them like my elders. Too bad.”

He turns in the open space of the creek and begins to walk away, and my jaw drops at the challenge he cleverly disguised as an insult.

A pit opens in my stomach at the realization that he is my dragon. No matter what I thought I wanted, what I thought I needed, Aotrom is him.

And I’m most definitely messing this up.

“Wait!” I shout, but of course he doesn’t, because he’s a dragon, and I just rejected him in what might be my most responsible yet biggest mistake ever. “Aotrom!”

“Aotrom,” he corrects, giving the first o in his name its own syllable while softening the sound of the second as he saunters to the west, his wings tucked against his body. His massive swordtail swings in my direction. “Your attempt at pronunciation is embarrassing.”

Seriously?

“How am I supposed to know the pronunciation? You’ve never bonded before, and I don’t speak dragon— Shit!” His tail splices through the air in front of me, and I drop to the ground, catching myself with my hands. My palm stings, and the giant brown tail swings so close to my head, I feel it ruffle my hair. What the fuck is wrong with him? Is he trying to kill me?

“Are all twenty-year-old dragons assholes?”

“Are all twenty-year-old humans humorless blockheads?” He swings his tail again.

“Whoa! Watch that tail!” I press myself so far into the grass that I may as well start chewing on it like a cow. The tip of his tail swooshes overhead.

“And who are you calling humorless?” Of all the things he could call me, that’s somehow…offensive. I hop to my feet as his tail swings upward and

start running after him.

“You.” He doubles down.

What a dick.

“I have a fucking fantastic sense of humor, I’ll have you know!” I shout between breaths as I race to catch up with him, my boots pounding the fallen leaves beneath my feet.

“Do you?” He halts suddenly between a pair of giant redwood trees and swivels his head back toward me at a freakishly unnatural angle that makes me wonder if the bones in his neck connect. His glare stops me in my tracks.

I skid to a halt somewhere near his back leg.

He snaps his teeth and makes it all kinds of awkward.

“You’ve made this awkward,” he accuses, huffing like I’ve disappointed him.

“My mistake.” I throw my hands out again in the universal sign of surrender, and I note a twinge in my knee that, yep, is bleeding. Huh. I must have landed on a twig or something back there. “Making things awkward is kind of my specialty.”

His head tilts like he’s debating the veracity of my statement. “That is true.”

“All right.” I take a minuscule step forward. “I was wrong. You’re definitely mine. Or I’m yours. However you want to think of it is fine with me. What do you say we try this again?” I attempt to smile, but it feels more like a curved grimace.

He huffs a breath that stinks like sulfur. I take the fact that I’m still breathing as a good sign and forge ahead.

“I could go back to the stream and everything.” I nod vigorously. “But this time I’ll get it right, and we’ll fly off into the sunset together.”

“It’s barely noon.”

“Now who’s humorless?” I cock my head to the side and lift my brows.

“Let’s do it over. Please.”

He blinks. “No.”

“No?” My chest tightens. What in Malek’s name am I supposed to do now?

“No.” His nostrils flare a few times. “If you want to be my rider, prove

it.”

“How?”

“We’ll see if you can keep up with me.” He crouches, then bounds upward, jumping higher than any dragon I’ve seen, flaring his wings when he’s clear of the trees and taking off into the sun.

“I can’t fly!” I yell the obvious as he soars higher.

“Your loss.” He pulls what Kaori likes to call a switchback maneuver as his momentum stalls, flipping his body weight and coming back toward me in a steep dive. At this angle, at this speed, he’s going to land right on top of me in about five seconds.

Fuck. Am I supposed to show him I’m smart and I’ll move? Or demonstrate my trust and keep my feet right where they are? Browns have the fastest reflexes, so he’d probably appreciate me showing that I can match him.

“Choose wisely.” He’s almost on me when he opens his wings, stalling his descent just before the trees, then snaps them in tight and plummets, four claws down.

“That’s not helpful!” I take a single step backward, just enough to show that I can both trust him and be flexible. At least I hope that’s the message it sends.

He lands with a thud right where I was standing, shaking the ground.

The force of impact sends leaves flying, and my vision goes dark.

A heartbeat later, I sputter and rake the leaves off my face. I’m covered in them, thanks to him spitting all over me a few minutes ago.

“You look like a feathered goose.” He chortles. “Where is your sense of humor now?”

“You’ve made your point.” One side of my mouth rises in a lopsided grin as I pluck leaf after leaf from my shoulders.

“Points. Yes. Score one yourself, and we’ll see what happens.” He pivots left and begins climbing up the giant redwood that’s as thick as he is.

Bark falls to the ground as he pulls himself up the tree claw by claw.

“Catch me if you can.”

He has to be kidding me. Right?

“What are you? A damned cat?” My jaw hangs as he climbs the height of his full length, and the tip of his tail swings a few feet off the ground.

“Nowhere in our studies did our professor mention any of your kind scaling trees.”

“Not everything about our kind is meant for human knowledge,” he counters, swiveling his head to look down at me and swinging his tail like a pendulum.

My heart jolts and I jump to the side as it whizzes by, cutting through the air like the giant double-edged blade it is. “Little too close for comfort!”

“You missed an opportunity to gain your seat.” Sarcasm drips from his voice.

“You want me to get up there…like this?” I jump forward as the tail comes back by, swinging at an arc that tells me he knows exactly where I am and can skewer me with that thing if he wants.

“If you can’t think on those clawless feet, we are no match.”

“Got it.” Holy shit is he making me work for it, and I’m all right with that. Or at least, I will be as soon as I figure out how to get through this.

The tree is too big to scale, which means the only way up there is on him.

But rising to a challenge is my specialty, and the faster I prove that, the quicker we’ll fly off into the sunset together like the perfect little pairing we are.

The tail swings again, and I leap out of its path.

“I’m growing bored,” he warns in a singsong voice.

“I somehow doubt that,” I mutter as his tail continues its upward swing.

He’s having a grand old time fucking with me. He thinks this is funny?

Hope he realizes I’m going to fuck with him twice as hard. For the rest of my life. Once I get up there, that is.

Think. Swordtails aren’t as sharp as daggertails, but they can still cut a gryphon in half when attacked at velocity…which Aotrom doesn’t have with his stationary positioning. Hands are out, unless I want to risk losing one, and I definitely have to steer clear of the pointy tip.

His tail starts its descending arc. If I don’t get on this time, who knows what he’ll do. I’ll probably have to chase him all the way back to the quadrant.

Fuck it. I’ve got one thing on me that won’t cut as easily as my hands.

Let’s do this.

I undo my leather belt, grab hold of the buckle, and whip it off my waist. Then I take an end in each hand and start running alongside his swinging tail. My heart pounds as I full-out sprint so close that my shoulder rubs against the hardened scale that forms the flat side of the swordtail as it starts to swing upward again. The second the end of the blade is at the height of my shoulder, I hook my belt over the tip of his tail and pray to Zihnal that I miss the sharpest portion.

Then I leap and hold on for dear life. The leather doesn’t have to survive the trip; it just needs to hold out long enough to give me the momentum I need.

“Naturally you’re undressing in a stressful situation.”

I half snort, half laugh, and my stomach dives as I’m swung upward, tearing my gaze from the forest floor that grows more distant with every second. There’s not much to see with Aotrom’s tail blocking most of my view, and considering the rending sound coming from just above me, this ride is almost over.

The belt snaps and falls from my hands as I’m catapulted into the

branches.

This is going to hurt like a mother— “Fuck!” I grunt as my midsection collides with a tree limb that’s about eye level with Aotrom. Not one to miss an opportunity, I wrap my arms over the branch, then haul myself up to stand on the thing. It’s more than thick enough to support my weight, thank Zihnal, and I’ve landed close enough that it only takes a few scurried steps to reach the trunk.

“Close, yet I don’t think this tree will let you ride it into battle.” Do all dragons openly mock their riders? Or just mine?

“Smart-ass.” I grab hold of the trunk with both hands to stabilize myself, then cringe at the sticky substance that courses over them. Fucking sap. I’ve stuck my hands into one of the furrows Aotrom dug with his claws.

A low grumble sounds from his chest, and I swear I can hear him laughing in my head as his gaze swivels to track me.

“I’ll be the one laughing in a second,” I promise, studying the distance to his back. This is either going to earn me his respect or really piss him off, and there’s only one way to find out.

Bending my knees, I jump forward with every ounce of strength I have.

My boots make impact on top of his nose, but by the time his eyes narrow

on me, I’ve already leaped again, this time aiming for his neck.

I miss my intended target by a measly twelve inches and start to fall.

Fuck. Me.

My ribs tighten and my heart thunders in my ears as I drop like a freaking stone, flailing my arms as my vision is consumed by brown scales and spikes. I land on his shoulder with an impact that jars my teeth.

“You jump like a squirrel.”

“You’re the one in the godsdamn tree,” I counter, grabbing hold of his scales with my sticky hands for balance. He’s still clinging vertically to the trunk, which means if I make one wrong step now, I’ll end up on the forest floor with a broken neck.

I wedge my boots into the gaps between his scales, then traverse over his shoulder and onto his back. My stomach churns every time I look down, but step by step, I move sideways across him until I reach the raised scales of his pommel and seat.

By Zihnal, I did it! Laughter trips out of me as I lock my hands around his scales and work my feet up until I’m in some semblance of a seat.

“You’re oddly mirthful for someone who clings to my back like a frog.”

“Consider this my point,” I tell him as my arms start to shake with the exertion of keeping myself in this position. “You may have stuck leaves to my face, but there’s a trail of sap across some very hard-to-reach places on your back. Good luck getting that off.”

Aotrom stiffens, then lets out a chortle.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure you can find some snow up in the peaks to help harden it so it chips away. Ice will do the trick.” I can’t help but laugh again, even knowing I’ve got maybe sixty seconds at this precarious angle before muscle fatigue causes me to fall to my death. “I’d say this calls us even, wouldn’t you?”

“Never.” He lunges from the tree, straight into the sky, taking me completely off guard, though I keep my seat. “But I would say it makes us equals.”

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