1
AURORA
I never dreamed of flying until my brother died.
I nursed him through the fever that took him. It refused to take me, though I was with him night and day by the end. I had hoped we might go together into the long night—we had entered the world together as twins, after all and should leave it in the same way—but I never even felt the slightest bit unwell. Our father had ended himself the year before and so when Auren was gone, I had no one.
Death is cruel sometimes, to take the ones we love and leave us to our loneliness.
After Auren passed the dreams began. I lived through the days in a haze of grief but all night, every night, I was soaring and diving, flying through the air on the back of a dragon—a dragon with golden scales who could exist only in my dreams.
I say that because there have been no pure gold dragons in centuries but also because there are no female dragon riders. Those of the female sex simply aren’t compatible with dragons, so it made no sense that the flying dreams would come to me.
But they came anyway—those dreams that only males with the right bloodlines can have. Those who possess the blood of the ancient Dragon Riders who freed our lands from the Madlings long ago.
Auren had just begun having the dreams before the fever started—he spoke to me of them and I remember fearing that I would lose him when the Academy came calling.
And then I lost him anyway—only to the fever instead.
In the dreams, I knew just what to do—how to guide the vast beast under me, which ducked and rolled and soared through the sky on wings so wide I couldn’t see their tips as they stretched out on either side, skimming the clouds.
But how could that be? The dreams made no sense. I’m a woman—incompatible with dragonkind—why would they come to me?
I had no answers, but the dreams didn’t stop. I didn’t begin to understand the implications until a knock came on the front door a month later…
2
AURORA
I was wearing my brother’s clothes when I opened the door.
I had given up dresses during the time I nursed him—it was difficult enough climbing up and down the mountain, carrying the water I needed so desperately to bathe him and make him broth, without worrying about tripping on long skirts. And after he was gone, there was no one to see me, so I kept wearing his clothing for comfort—they smelled like him. I missed him desperately and the worn fabric made me feel closer to the other half of myself—the half that was now nothing but an aching void.
I opened the door, wondering who it could be. My ancestral home was located on a cliff’s edge—who would make the strenuous journey without a good reason? We never got peddlers or salesmen—it was just too much trouble to climb the mountainside for a fallen Great House known to be destitute. There was no money to spend—no reason to come.
The man outside was middle aged, with short brown hair going gray at the temples and a huge, poufy mustache. He was dressed in a uniform that was familiar—I had seen my father wear it when I was younger. The golden dragon crest on his sleeve made my eyes widen.
“Yes?” I asked, uncertain what he could want. “Can I help you?”
“’Course you can, lad. You can come with me—you’re of age now so it’s time.”
“Time? Time for what? What are you talking about?” I took a step back, but he took me by the wrist and pulled me out onto the broad ledge that served as our front step.
I fell forward with a gasp and saw there was someone else on the ledge—a small brown dragon about twice the size of a horse, who snorted when he saw me.
Brown—the least in size and status. Not very intelligent but can be diligent workers and loyal companions. Riders who impress a brown drake at hatching will usually end up in the Courier Service arm of the Academy, whispered a voice in my brain. And there wasn’t even a speckling of gold anywhere on his dull scales. He would hold the lowest ranking among his kind.
It was all from the Book of Drakes that my brother and I had found among our father’s things when we were younger. We had studied that book—memorizing whole passages, desperate for knowledge of the world that took our father away for so much of the year and fascinated by what we learned.
“Someday I’ll Impress an egg and bond with a dragon. Not just any dragon either—one of Royal lineage,” Auren used to boast to me. “I’ll be a rider like Father—I’m going to fly a Silver-wing dragon or maybe even a Gold-wing—you’ll see!”
But up until this moment, I had never seen a dragon up close. Oh, Auren and I had seen one from afar. Our father’s drake, F’lorn, was a Crimson Gold-wing—a deep red dragon with a golden sheen to his scales. Auren and I had snuck out to see him often, but we never dared to get too close. Dragons were bonded to one person only—their rider and they mirrored and amplified their rider’s moods.
We didn’t dare get too close to F’lorn—his flame was hot enough to feel through the stone walls of our home, and we could feel our father’s anger radiating from him as much as we did the heat. He wouldn’t have cared that we were his rider’s children—he would have burned us to a crisp without a second thought, so we steered well-clear of his massive bulk and smoldering malice.
The little brown dragon seemed friendly, however. He pushed forward, nosing at me and his rider didn’t even try to stop him.
“That’s right, G’lornie—have a good sniff,” he encouraged. “Let me know if he’s our lad.”
