But they weren’t ready. Giles still kept timing the wing beats wrong, poor child. That boy wasn’t made for combat.
If Giles died, would it be Evander’s fault? They were all here because of him, because they’d been caught up in his never-ending retreat from Ashkendor. Would he carry that boy’s blood on his hands to his grave?
No. Giles would survive, and so would Samara and Valenna and the others. Evander would see to it.
He tapped the dreadnought’s neck, and she spread her wings.
“I need you to be brave tomorrow,” he said as he ran his hands over the soft, taut skin, checking its moisture, its strength. “You’ll carry us through, won’t you?”
Evander ducked under her belly, feeling the armored scales for gaps or dryness. He tickled her jaw, and it dropped open. He leaned into the shadow of her gaping mouth, inspecting her small, conical teeth and the sharp molars that sparked gas to flame.
“Vander.”
He looked over his shoulder. Valenna leaned against the makeshift fence, her face drawn.
“That thing could crush you,” she said.
“She won’t,” he replied.
Frogs sang in rhythm in some distant pond. Crickets chirped. Far away, a bird sang and a shadow wheeled over the moon.
“Raska is back,” Evander said.
“I can’t understand why she hasn’t snatched you and carried you away,” Valenna mused, watching her.
“I’m beginning to wonder if she’s after me at all.”
Valenna rested her arms on the fence rail. “You can’t lead that band of children into battle. It’s insane.”
Evander straightened, patted the dreadnought’s jaw, and crossed the paddock. “Most of us will survive the invasion. Dread Seven is at our wing’s end, and they’re very good. It won’t be much of a fight.”
“He planned this,” Valenna said, her voice rough. “From the beginning. He sent Haldir along, knowing he would die one way or another, and he could send you into the teeth of the enemy.” She laid her hand on Evander’s chest. “Samara explained about the shirt. Make sure you wear it under your dragon scale vest.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
He placed his hand over hers. “It’s not a pitched battle. A skirmish at worst. I’ve been flying into combat since before my voice changed; I can handle tomorrow.”
“Still,” she said, “there will be scattershot, and shotfires, and maybe even sparksparrows ...”
Shaking his head, Evander climbed over the fence. “There won’t be any sparksparrows. Yes, we’ll have the heaviest fire, but we can evade it.”
“Vander, the last time you fought at Scathmore, you were nearly killed.”
“By you.” He laughed. “And so were you, if I recall.”
She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I can’t lose you.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. She tasted of salt. “You won’t.”
“I don’t trust you to be careful.”
“I will be. Because, more than anything, I want to come home to you.”
She looked upinto his face. “You mean that?”
“It’s strange, I’ve never fought for a cause I cared about. But I care about you and, strangest of all, I care about Cobblepine and Talwaith and seeing the dragons return to their home.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “You, my love,” he whispered, softly kissing her right cheek, “are my cause. You”—his lips brushed her left cheek—“are my future.” He kissed her lips. “You are my kingdom. I will survive. And I will come back to you.”
