Page 143 of Edge of the Wild

The Fangs, it seemed, had made up their minds – but were of two minds about it. A third or so had already turned tail and were making a break for it, scrambling up the steep wooden walls, standing on each other’s shoulders to get away. The rest had braced themselves, lifted their small wood-and-hide shields, and planted the butts of their spears in the snow, ready to defend.

An arrow from a small, crude horn bow whistled toward the drake. Before Oliver could shout in alarm, it had bounced uselessly off the animal’s shoulder, its shaft cracked in two.

The drake kept advancing, head low, until it halted, and took a huge breath that made a sound like a bellows, and lifted its wings.

“Erik, get back!” Oliver shouted. He couldn’t see much, only a flash of dark velvet as his lover took off running.

The drake opened its jaws androared. Blue fire jetted from its mouth; a fire that didn’t burn, but that froze. Just as Oliver’s manacles had sheeted over with ice, so too did the Fangs.

When the roar ended, its echoes dying away against the walls of the arena, the force of cannibals who’d been braced for a fight all stood frozen, still. Their faces and hair and lashes were rimed with frost; icicles dripped from their noses and spear tips.

There were fire-drakes, and there were cold-drakes, just as Erik had told him that day in the library. Andthiswas a cold-drake.

A wild giggle escaped him, and he clapped his hand over his mouth to stifle it.

The drake turned and Oliver thought it – he – looked distinctly proud of himself. He walked back to Oliver, and put his head down low, and it was the most natural thing in the world to reach up and offer a scratch behind his white horns – where the scales gave way to much softer skin. His eyes closed in obvious enjoyment and he leaned into the pressure, a purring sound rippling up from his throat.Like a cat, Oliver thought, trying to hold in another giggle. “Good boy. What a very good boy you are.”

“Ollie.” Erik’s voice sounded a little strangled behind him. Slow footsteps crunched over the snow.

The drake cracked a blue eye open and rolled it toward the interloper.

“He’s a friend,” Oliver told it firmly. “He’s not to be frozen, do you understand?”

He earned a sigh for answer.

Oliver turned to face Erik, and held out a hand toward him, startled by how pale and shaken he looked, how hesitant. Even kings could be afraid of dragons, he supposed.

“Come here,” Oliver said. “He won’t do anything.” And he feltsureof that; that same sureness that had evaded explanation this whole time.

Bastard or not, Oliver was a Drake, and this was his legacy, this gift that had just saved them all.

Oliver crooked his fingers, and, expression caught somewhere between awe and grim resignation, Erik closed the final distance. He gripped Oliver’s palm, briefly, which had the drake lifting his head and turning it toward Erik. Then Erik, throat jumping as he swallowed, released Oliver and held his palm up in offering. The dragon moved in slow, nostrils flaring, and scented for long moments before he finally, with incredible gentleness, touched his muzzle to Erik’s skin – and then licked him.

Erik pulled back, startled, and Oliver laughed.

“He’s like a cat and a dog, then.”

“What?”

“Ignore me, I’m delirious with fever.”

Erik’s gaze sharpened as it moved to Oliver. “Your hand was cool.”

“Was it?” He examined it. Maybe the drake’s icy breath had given him frost bite…but aside from red around the knuckles from the cold air, his skin looked smooth and whole, unharmed.

When he lifted his head, the drake was inspecting Erik’s hair, face, and clothes with curious inhalations that stirred Erik’s braids, while Erik held very, very still. “It would seem,” Erik said, dryly, “that you’ve acquired a new pet.”

“It would seem.” Oliver’s chest swelled with something like hope, like happiness. “I think I’ll name him after my great-great bastard relation.” To the dragon, he said, “What do you think of being called Percy?”

The drake regarded him a long moment, and Oliver was going to call his snort approving.

19

These are my friends and I love them. They won’t hurt you. It wasn’t so much the words as an impulse Oliver tried to convey through the…the bond he felt with the drake. WithPercy. He didn’t like for living creatures to be without names. He had no idea how it worked, only that, as the others slowly approached, Náli being more or less dragged along with Magnus holding him up around the waist, Percy met his gaze, and Oliver let his emotions fill him, his affection for these men who’d once been strangers, but were now dear to him. Percy’s nostrils flared, and he turned to inspect all of them in turn.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Leif deadpanned, holding up his hand to be sniffed over, and then licked. He made a face, but laughed. “Gods, his tongue iscold.”

“Of course it is, he breathes ice,” Birger said. To Percy: “Pleasure to meet you, sir, I’d like not to be eaten, if that’s all right with you.”

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