Page 57 of Bride of the Black Dragon
The Drake turns his head, his long neck arching with liquid grace. One massive golden eye fixes on me, filled with a kind of gentle inquiry.
“I’m all right,” I tell him. “It’s fine—you can, er, take off now. I’ll hold on tight. See?”
I lean forward and grasp the curved spine in front of me with both hands. It’s thick and smooth, like a bull’s horn—warm to the touch and easy to grip. I could hang on even in a storm, I think.
Apparently satisfied, the Drake exhales once—a gust of hot wind that sends my hair streaming behind me. Then he turns his head back around and crouches, almost like a cat preparing to pounce.
I feel his huge body quivering beneath me and then…we launch.
The world falls away beneath us as the Drake springs from the ledge, and I swear my stomach gets left behind. My heart leaps into my throat, and the sudden rush of speed is dizzying. I’ve never gone this fast before—not even when Mirabella went crazy and started galloping because of the burrs under her saddle. And I’ve never been this high before either. The cliff disappears in a blur of stone and shadow, and we’re flying.
Oh my Goddess, we’re really flying!
The wind roars past me, cool and wild, tangling my hair and making my eyes water. It lifts my breath right out of my lungs. The Drake’s wings unfurl with a sound like sails catching the wind—a deep, resonant whump that echoes through the air. Each beat of those wings feels like a thunderclap beneath me, propelling us upward in a powerful, graceful arc.
The sky is so big up here. Endless and open, pale blue bleeding into gold as the sun climbs higher. Below us, the world looks like a painting—tiny green fields…toy-sized houses… and the Citadel itself is nothing more than a gray stone blur.
I cling to the Drake’s spine, laughing out loud as we bank to one side. The wind slides around my body, pressing me against the Drake’s back. Every inch of him is hot beneath me, radiating strength and life and something more—a sense of rightness, of belonging.
This is what freedom feels like, I think. Only I know he’s not free—he’s held to the Kingdom and the Citadel by magic. It seems wrong to me, to chain a creature that’s meant to fly free.
The Drake circles lazily above the palace and I spot movement below—tiny figures pointing and running. A few of the braver ones wave but most of them scatter like ants.
I get a feeling from the Drake—something suspiciously like glee. A moment later, he folds his wings and dives.
We drop like a stone.
I shriek—half in terror, half in exhilaration—as the wind howls around me. My stomach flips and my heart slams against my ribs. The ground rushes up to meet us, and I see the faces of the Nobles below—wide-eyed and terrified as they dive to the grass, screaming.
Then—whoosh—we’re climbing again, soaring high into the sky, and I laugh with delight.
“That was wicked!” I shout, though I know he can’t hear my words. Still, he seems to feel my joy because the emotions rolling off him are matching my own—warmth, amusement, and something that feels like… pride. They might hold him here against his will, but he can still scare them.
We level out, gliding now, the world spread like a quilt beneath us. I see patches of farmland…lakes glittering like mirrors…hillsides flecked with autumn gold.
I wish I could do this forever. I wish I could fly on my own.
The thought hits me like a stone in the chest. It’s not just a passing fancy—I feel it as a longing—sharp and soul-deep. There’s something inside me, something stirring. A part of me that wants this, that needs this.
Wings.
I feel them. Not on my back, not physically—but inside. Inside me is something ancient…something caged…something waiting.
What’s happening to me?
I’m so wrapped in the strange, confusing feelings, and the rush of wind and sky, that I don’t even notice the cold until I shiver.
The wind bites at my arms and cheeks now, and my robe is no match for the altitude. I press one hand against the Drake’s side, his body as warm as a hearth, and murmur into the wind,
“Maybe we should land now.”
The feeling that returns is gentle agreement. He curves his wings slightly and begins a slow, spiraling descent.
When we land back on the ledge, it’s with a powerful downbeat of his wings that sends dust flying in all directions. The impact is solid but controlled. He’s careful not to jar me.
I exhale a long breath and realize I’m trembling—not from fear, but from awe and exhilaration. I’ve never had an experience anything like flying on the Drake’s back—I strongly suspect that nothing in the world could ever top it.
I slide from the hollow of his back, awkward but safe. The moment my feet touch the stone, he lowers his head again, resting it near me like before.
