Page 35 of House of Ashes

“Yes?” I asked impatiently, pulling my gloves on. We still had to go through the process of fitting a harness that would keep me from falling off before we could fly, and he hadn’t moved an inch.

He finally shook his head, reaching for the harness Viros had brought out. “You were…different in the Training Grounds.”

As they pulled it into the middle of the open space in the terrace, I found myself watching him with a frown, mulling over his words.

Of course I’d been different. I’d been a royal princess, secure in my position, confident of my inheritance, still ignorant of starvation and terror and grief.

In the Training Grounds, I’d had to watch every step, every word that came out of my mouth, for fear that Yura would use them against me. I’d had to be the perfect draga for Tidas, knowing that any misbehavior on my part might cause the Razored Cinders to reconsider our mate bond arrangement.

I chose not to say any of these things. They didn’t matter now, and I didn’t owe Rhylan an explanation.

Tidas was mate bonded now, and to be truthful with myself, I had to admit that I didn’t care in the slightest. In fact, all I felt at knowing I had no obligation to him was relief. He was not who I would have chosen for myself.

Rhylan stepped beneath the stiff upper half-circle of the harness and began to shift, the bulk of his dragon form taking up much of the eyrie’s breathing room.

He crouched, giving us access to his chest as Viros showed me how to buckle the harness around him.

I ignored the warmth of the dragon’s scales, focused purely on maintaining a cool distance as I buckled the massive straps.

The harness was designed to be stiff, so that a male could step beneath it before shifting and end up with the seat roughly where it should be, and the rider could simply buckle it into place with a few adjustments.

I patted the buckle when I was done. “Is this comfortable?”

Rhylan showed me all his fangs in a dragon grin.

“It’s lined,” Viros said, showing me the edges of the straps. A much softer leather was used for the inner lining, to prevent a dragon’s scales from being chafed, and the outer leather was treated to withstand the elements and combat.

Before mounting, I made an effort to remember my time in the Training Grounds. My practice saddle had been much smaller; the training masters had given me a practice dummy modeled on Tidas’s dragon form, per the request of my mother.

I’d gotten used to leaping up and landing in a saddle on a dragon nearly half Rhylan’s size.

Rhylan stretched, settling the harness into place, and knelt for me. He bent one leg, giving me a convenient step up.

I planted my foot there, jumping up into the saddle the way I remembered. The muscles in my legs protested, but it wasn’t as bad as I’d expected. All of the food I’d devoured in the past day had given me a burst of energy I hadn’t had on Mistward for that first awkward mounting.

Viros raised his brows. “I expected…well, something a little clumsier.”

I wriggled a little, taking up the reins attached to the saddle while I ensured the harness wouldn’t slip sideways. “There was a time I could’ve done that in my sleep.”

Literally. The Groundskeepers had roused us from our beds at times with pots and pans, forcing us to run out to the ‘stable’ of dummy dragons to mount up. I’d developed most of my strength in those days.

Fortunately for me, what little body mass I’d retained on Mistward was mostly muscle, wasted though it was. The years spent hunting and foraging had ensured I wouldn’t be entirely out of shape.

Every day that I drank the horrible slop Kirana made, I would gain a little strength back. The successful mounting made me resolve not to complain about it any more.

“Now, let me show you the modifications,” Viros said, dragging over a step-stool to reach my height. “These were pulled from the designs of a wyvern-rider’s harness and saddle, which fully buckles the rider into place. Obviously, they need to have much stronger connections at the cost of mobility, but I managed to tweak them a little.”

He had attached thin leather bands to the saddle itself, their darker color almost hidden against Rhylan’s hide, with silver hooks attached to the ends.

As I watched, he slid a finger into the seam of my pants by my inner knee, revealing a strip of fabric I hadn’t noticed before.

“How delightful,” I murmured, copying his movement on my other side. The tailor had stitched reinforced flat loops into my riding leathers, all but invisible against the seams. The bands on the saddle hooked through them, effectively holding me in place.

“They won’t hold up against anything more turbulent than an average flight,” Viros warned. “That would be impossible without the bonds being more visible, and if we tie you to the saddle like the Prince is a wyvern, we may as well announce our deception to the world. But they should be enough to give you peace of mind in the air.”

He climbed back down, pulling the stool aside.

Rhylan rose on all four legs, his tail thrashing. This time I was far more comfortable, holding reins that were securely attached to my saddle, rather than looped around his neck.

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