Page 25 of Flameborne: Chosen
Turning into the main hall, towards our Battle room, I nodded to the Furyknights hurrying to answer my call and strode forward as confident and cool as theyneeded me to be. I would not shrink from this challenge. As I turned into the room and was saluted by the men I valued the most in this world, I quietly urged them to relax.
But I squared my shoulders for the battle today: Presenting a young, terrified, physically weakfemale Flameborne to a society that had been exclusively male for as long as anyone remembered. Even the dragons themselves.
6. Resistance is Futile
~ DONAVYN ~
“Is this a fucking joke?” Mont snarled. I had to take hold of myself to not snap back.
Mont, the black-haired, dark-eyed Captain of the Flame—our war-ready Furyknights whose primary role was to fight, and win—was a good man at heart. But he’d been namedThe Hammerby his dragon for a reason. He’d plow through a wall before looking to see if there was a door. His ferocity was unmatched in battle—and a pain in my ass everywhere else.
“No,” I said bluntly and looked to the others. “Kgosi accepted her before we even knew who she was—he named her Flameborne the moment Akhane chose her. This is real. The dragons have already acknowledged her.”
“That was forher?”Gunnar’s tone wasn’t dismissive, but surprised. As the Captain of the Flyers—our eyes in the skies, and archers in battle—he’d been miles away from the Keep this morning and had only barely returned in time to be here. He was still catching up. He stared at me, his sandy hair, bleached by the sun, but plastered into clumps with sweat and sea-spray, and sticking out in every direction.
Gunnar was older than me by a decade, though he didn’t look it. His hair was still a warm brown, just sprinkled with gray at the temples. Quiet and steady, he’d been namedThe Swanby his dragon. He embodied the romantic ideals all Furyknights were expected to be by citizens who didn’t know better: Handsome, rugged, strong, and on the rare occasions he relaxed, a tongue for the ladies that was as graceful and gold-tipped as his dragon in flight. But his easy manner hid a cunning, sly mind. And as a man accustomed to evaluating from high above and strategizing ahead, he could be relied on not to make rash decisions.
I nodded. “Yes. It was.”
“You can’t actually be considering swearing her in?”Mont growled.
A few of the others nodded, but I met his gaze evenly. “Do you want to be the one to tell Akhane herChosenwill not be accepted? Be sure to inform Kgosi you’re rejecting the human he called Flameborne, as well. Just wait until the end of the meeting please, I’d like to be there to see that.”
Mont’s brow pinched and he muttered a curse. But my point was taken. Evenhewouldn’t face off with a dragon—let alone the Primarch.
In my head, Kgosi rumbled his approval and I had to swallow back a smile. After over two-decades in a bond, with him only a building-length away, unless I intentionally blocked him, he could hear what I heard. While we Chosen humans and our dragonscouldhide information from each other, it took practice and effort. I rarely intentionally held back from my dragon, though. If Kgosi and I were physically distant, more than a mile or two, I lost the mental link. I’d have to share my memory with him when we were closer. But here at the academy, his ubiquitous presence in my head was useful.
Most of the time.
“While I am shocked, of course, I find myself more concerned than offended,” Olve, the Captain of the Fang said quietly. The oldest of the Captains by a handful of years, his salt-and-pepper hair was still thick, and his body vital. He’d outpace me in a footrace, though I could defeat him in hand-to-hand combat. Still, the man led every Furyknight and servant engaged in stealth, from trackers and scouts, to the spies even other Furyknights weren’t aware of. He was admirable, and respected for good reason. The quietest and most thoughtful of our leaders, when he spoke, everyone listened. Including me.
Olve rubbed his jaw, his expression serious. “Akhane has clearly identified something unique in her that I’d be hesitant to dismiss. But the consequence of having a female among our ranks could be catastrophic,” he said grimly. “Where will she be housed? Where will she bathe? What boundaries would the others be required to maintain with her that they wouldn’t with each other? Is it even possible to set boundaries when she has to train for battle and camp with her peers? Need I go on? The list of complications is endless.”
“Trust me, I’m already asking those questions,” I muttered. “But I see no way forward except to give her the chance. When I was Chosen by the Primarch at eighteen, many didn’t believe I’d make it this far.”
“Not to dismiss the battles you fought, Donavyn, but it’s hardly the same thing,” Olve said gruffly. “You were young, but strong—in mindandbody. And, if I remember rightly, in need of a battle to fight.” His eyes twinkled with the tease, but he spoke the truth. Olve was fifteen years my senior and would likely have been considered for Commander himself if Kgosi had never Chosen a rider. But he loved his job and had alwayssupported me in growing into mine. “I assume she’s anormalwoman?” he asked.
They all looked at me then, the light of curiosity and skepticism in every eye.
“I don’t know her story yet. She’s still in shock and I didn’t want to pry. But she’s nineteen and comes from farmstock. She’s strong, but shaken. And lacking confidence.”
Olve winced.
Mont cursed. “We will be saddled with a weak child to be watched over at a time when we should be preparing for war!” he muttered.
The thought so closely echoed my own earlier, I had to remind myself not to give in to the irritation the comment sparked. Mont wasexcellentat speaking what others only thought. It was an asset to us all.
“She’s not a child—and was at pains to make certain I knew it. But until I have her story and we know which Wing her gifts lean into, she needs to be oriented to this life.”
“Have you considered that it might not be in her best interests to train? That perhaps Akhane isn’t intended for battle and has Chosen intentionally, for a different life?”
All of us turned to look at Barak, the Furymaster. Our most skilled rider and handler of the dragons, he was one of the few humans that multiple dragons would openly speak to telepathically. Any dragon could reach any human they wished, but the dragons were extremely particular, usually only opening their minds to their bonded riders except in an emergency.
But Barak had an affinity with the animals that was God-given. He’d heard them speak since childhood, and enjoyed conversation with all the juveniles and most of the adults. He’d even occasionally ridden an unbonded dragon—with their permission—an act that was almost unheard of.
He understood them in ways we didn’t, which meant any suggestion he offered about their thinking had to be weighed heavily.
“Do you really think that’s possible?” I asked him, surprised to find a pinch of disappointment hiding under the wash of relief at the problems it might solve.
