Chapter 28
Ahorn blast tears through the night sky as we approach the imperial palace: three sharp notes that cut through the wind's howl. I feel Zeriel’s muscles tense around me.
“What's happening?” I ask, craning my neck to look at him.
“The Imperial Approach,” he says tightly. “Stay low and follow my instructions exactly.”
Before I can ask what he means, the dragons around us break formation, scattering like startled birds. Blaise's black drake shoots upward in a vertical climb that seems to defy gravity, while another dragon spirals into a dizzying corkscrew.
“Hold on,” Zeriel commands, his voice suddenly hard with concentration. His thighs tighten against the drake's sides, and the creature responds instantly, plunging into a steep dive that makes my stomach lurch into my throat.
The ground rushes toward us at sickening speed. I clutch the saddle's edge, knuckles white, certain we're about to crash. But at the last possible moment, Zeriel shifts his weight, and our drake pulls up sharply, wings snapping wide to catch the air. We skim so close to the treetops that I feel leaves brush against my feet.
“What in the hells—” I gasp, but my words are stolen by the wind as Zeriel banks hard right, sending us into a tight spiral.
Around us, the other champions execute equally impossible maneuvers. The woman in the silver gown clings to her champion as their blue drake performs a backward somersault that seems to hang suspended at its apex. Another drake, emerald green, weaves through a series of stone columns that I hadn't even noticed rising from the imperial gardens below.
This isn't just travel—it's a competition. A deadly aerial dance where one misstep means a fatal plunge.
“Emperor's test,” Zeriel says in my ear, his breath hot against my neck as he leans forward to adjust our trajectory. “Impress him or risk insult.”
A cascade of light bursts overhead: luminous petals of gold and violet unfolding against the dark. The explosions come in slow, blooming waves, each one trailing a shimmer of stardust that drifts and lingers. Crimson flares from the spires of the palace spiral like flaming comets, chased by threads of silver that crackle and split into branching trees of light. The air hums with the orchestration of it, too precise to be mere celebration, too breathtaking to be anything but a display of control.
A flash of movement to our left snatches my attention. Blaise's black drake dives toward us, wings tucked close to its body like a predatory bird stooping to strike. For a terrifying moment, I think he means to ram us, to knock us from the sky in a fatal collision.
Zeriel sees it too. His body tenses, and he yanks the reins hard. Our drake rolls sideways—a complete barrel roll that would have thrown me clear if not for Zeriel's arm locked around my waist. The world spins, stars and earth trading places in a nauseating blur. My stomach heaves, but I swallow hard, determined not to embarrass myself or him.
Blaise's drake misses us by inches, the rush of air from its passage buffeting us as it streaks past.
“He's trying to kill us!” I gasp when we level out.
“No,” Zeriel says grimly. “He's trying to make me look weak. Different objective, same result if Ifail.”
I glimpse Blaise's face as he banks his drake for another pass. He wears a predatory smile, cold as winter frost. This isn't just ceremony to him. It's a chance to eliminate a rival before the tournament even begins.
The other champions have noticed the deadly game unfolding. Some pull away, focusing on their own displays. Others watch with calculating eyes, assessing strengths and weaknesses like wolves sizing up prey.
“We need to respond,” Zeriel says, his voice low and controlled despite the danger. “Silence will be seen as weakness.”
He guides our drake higher, climbing until the air grows thin and cold. My fingers are numb, my breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Below us, the imperial palace gleams like a jewel set in black velvet, its towers and courtyards laid out in geometric precision.
“When I say now,” Zeriel murmurs, “lean back against me and don't fight what happens next.”
I nod, too breathless for words. Our drake hovers for a moment, wings beating steadily against the thin air.
“Now!”
I press back against Zeriel's chest just as he physically signals to the drake. The creature tucks its wings and plummets like a stone.
The world becomes a blur of rushing air and screaming wind. My heart hammers against my ribs, certain that this time we've gone too far, pushed too hard. We're falling faster than seems possible, the palace growing larger with terrifying speed.
But Zeriel remains steady behind me, his body tense but controlled. One arm holds me securely while the other guides the drake with subtle pressure. I feel the connection between them—champion and mount, moving as one, not through magic, but through brutal conditioning. The dragon is trained to obey, to respond without resistance. A creature mastered by physicality, not joined by will.
At what seems like the last possible second, Zeriel issues another command. Our drake's wings snap open with a soundlike canvas tearing. The sudden deceleration is brutal, pressing me back against Zeriel with crushing force. But instead of simply pulling out of the dive, the drake continues the movement into something else entirely—a complex spiral that carries us between two palace spires with barely inches to spare.
The maneuver is so precise, so perfectly executed, that even through my terror I recognize its brilliance. Not just skill, but artistry: a deadly ballet performed with a six-ton predator as partner.
I find myself wondering if Zeriel could have once pulled off such an impressive maneuver with his own wings.
