Page 55 of Flameborne: Chosen
I tried to reach out for Akhane.
Akhane.
My dragon.
Myfemaledragon. I could feel her. She had saved me. I could feel her heart. She had no nefarious plans for me.
‘Bren, open your eyes. Don’t miss the treasure of the skies!’
I hadn’t realized I’d squeezed my eyes closed until she spoke. But when I opened them we were so high up the Dragonmount cliffs seemed like sand dunes. And the quickly fading Academy buildings like children’s toys.
I sucked in a shocked breath and tried to grab for something—anything—but the netting around me swayed and gave under my hands, spinning faster and threatening to send my ham and cheese roll back up.
I tried again to findsomethingsolid on which to hold. But there was nothing. Nothing but strands of thin twine, woven in blocks. My fingers clawed through, my skin puckering in squares where it pressed hard. But these threads were all that stood between me and certain death.
As the net turned again, I made the mistake of looking down and cried out. My heart slamming in my chest.
We were so high it seemed we might reach the stars.
‘Please, Bren. Find your breath. Live. These men have never lost a Flameborne. I will not allow you to come to harm. Lift your head. This is a memory you will cherish.’
“H-how?” I stuttered. The wind was frigid, and my clothes were thin. No leather jacket as the men wore. No dragon gloves, no hide on my arms or over my head. I was already freezing and the dragons were still climbing.
How long did they want me to scream as I plummeted to my death?
Unable to get any kind of meaningful grip on the thin strands of the net, I wrapped my arms around myself for warmth, and in an attempt to balance my center of gravity and stop spinning. But pulling my arms tight only made it worse. I threw my hands back out to grip the net and shivered.
I wanted to weep. I wanted to scream. I wanted out of this fucking net.
And then I heardlaughter.
“She’s almost as pale as you were, Einar!”
“At least I didn’t shit myself.”
“That was not shit!”
“It’s been four years, Harle, no one believes you brought fudge in your pocket.”
“I told you, the Mistress of Kitchens—”
“Squad,alert!”
I flinched as the leader, riding the blue-green dragon that almost matched the sea, barked at the rest of them flying above and below us.
‘Ronen. His name is Ronen. He’s a good man.’
‘They brought me here to die.’
‘No, Bren,’Akhane chided.‘They brought you here to learn.’
Learn what? That men were cruel, sadistic bastards? I’d already had more than one lesson in that. And Furyknights the worst among them.
How had I let myself be enamored with these men? How had I—
“You ready, Gil?” Ronen called across to the dragon flying wing-tip to wing-tip with his own, the one whose talons held the other ends of the net.
“Ready!”
