Page 132 of Ashborne: Defiance

Grace was quiet. Too quiet. She pressed at the twisted net above her head and helped me burrow through until finally, I made a gap and she tumbled out.

“Grace!”

She’d caught one toe on the netting and tipped out, catching her weight on her hands with a little cry. As I swept her up, her head tipped back. Her eyes closed.

I was frantic—had she passed out? “Ronen, call a healer—”

I froze, cutting off, as her face screwed up into a grimace… and she laughed. “I’m fine. I’m well,” she spluttered. Pawing at me so I’d let her down. I hadn’t realized I’d lifted her, held her to my chest. But she turned in my arms and grasped my shoulders, putting her feet to the ground and holding onto me only until she had her balance.

Horrified by the amount of blood on her shirt and leathers, I took her face in both hands and made her look at me.

“Open your eyes, and focus,” I snapped.

She went still, eyes wide—and even brighter because those huge, blue oceans were surrounded by red smears and the beginnings of freckles.

I thumbed up her eyelids to check how her pupils responded to light—contracting as they should, thank God—then turned her head slowly, cupping her neck to make sure nothing moved in her spine that shouldn’t.

“Does it hurt?” I snapped. “In your neck? Your head? Is your nose broken? Are there other tender spots—” I pressed thumbs to her cheekbones and along the edges of her brows looking for soft spots that would indicate bone-shatter, or if she flinched against pain.

“Please don’t worry,” she said thickly. There was only a small trickle of blood from her nose now, but it was clear there’d been a great deal more just a short time ago.

“I’m not worried, I’m concerned,” I muttered, knowing it didn’t make sense, but ignoring the niggle of unease as I touched both sides of her nose with flattened thumbs, feeling for protrusions or soft spots. She winced at the pressure, but it appeared that she hadn’t actually broken it. Just given herself a good slam. Her eyes were already beginning to bruise. Tomorrow she would look like she’d been in a fist-fight with a man.

“We didn’ havta land,” she said, her voice partially muffled by my hands. “It hurd at first, but now I’m fine. I can go again. We can do id again. I’ll do bedder!”

I scowled at her, shaking my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not flying until you’ve seen a healer. Can you see clearly?”

“Yes, I’m—”

“Follow my finger—and tell me how many I’m holding up.”

She blinked, then focused. “One finger. And I told you. I’m fine. We don’ haveto stop.”

“Assess, Flameborne,” I snapped. “You are probably in shock. Your body may be masking pain. Sit your ass down and assess.”

Brows pinching over her nose, she did as I’d said and settled to the ground, but she didn’t stop staring at me with brows high, her expression pleading. “I can do id! I was winded when I landed on Koa. But I’m not hurd, except bruises. Please, don’t gib up on me—I know I can do it. If you take me back up—”

“There’s no need to go back up, Grace. You did well,” Ronen said calmly.

She whipped her head around to stare up at him.

“Harle could give her instructions on how to clean her leathers when she gets back,” Gil called from a few feet away. He’d been next to land, and trotted toward us, grinning.

“Hey!” Harle called, almost falling off his dragon in his rush to get down and defend himself. “How long are we going to do this? For real? Two Flameborne and you’re still trying to say—”

Something in my chest snapped, I whirled on him and roared, “Slow down, we have an injured Flameborne.” Then I turned on Gil. “This isn’t the time for fucking jokes!”

Both men stopped in their tracks. Harle flinched, but Gil’s eyes narrowed and that competitive gleam entered his gaze.

“Dear Lord, I’m not sure if you all need a good sleep or something more energetic,” Bren said dryly as she walked up behind the others. But she ignored the rest of us as she squatted next to Grace, murmuring. Grace continued with the hushed assurances that she was fine to keep flying, but I glared at Ronen—who glared right back, like I was the one not taking this seriously.

More voices, more jokes, more relieved whistles and cheers as the others joined us, then Ronen offered a hand to help Grace to her feet.

“Congratulations, Flameborne,” he said, smiling. “That was the most impressive display I have ever seen from someone who hasn’t trialed.”

“Don’t encourage her!” I rasped, but the others cheered and crowded her.

Ronen shot me a look, and Gil folded his arms. Grace smiled, though was clearly confused. Bren was overjoyed. The others were impressed and celebrating her. None of them were worried. She’d almost died, and they were celebrating?