Clay never saw Ms. Mauvais slip away with Gyorg, and he didn’t care where they’d gone. For the moment, even Cass and Satya were invisible to him. He only had eyes for the gentle—or gentle-ish—giant that was now landing in front of them. Never in his life had he been so grateful to see another living creature, human, dragon, or otherwise.
He ran up to Ariella, ready to throw his arms around the dragon’s neck. Yet something in Ariella’s demeanor stopped him from taking the liberty.
He settled for a smile and an enthusiastic hand wave; you couldn’t shake hands with a dragon, after all.
“Hey, Ariella,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks, uh, for coming.”
There was no return greeting, only silence. Ariella’s coloring, which was naturally a pale gray, tended to change along with the dragon’s mood and environment. At the moment, it looked like a dark storm cloud was passing over the dragon, even though the sky above was clear.
This was not the reunion Clay had imagined.
His leg started to jiggle with anxiety. Did Ariella not remember him? Had Ariella not come to save him?
Ariella looked from Clay to the inert dragon lying on the ground. Bluebeard’s eyes were closed, but an expression of outrage was frozen on the dragon’s face.
Who did this?
Clay felt Ariella’s fury. It was a deep dragon anger.
Did a human do this?
Desperately, Clay tried to think of a way to respond. Yes, but the dragon deserved it? Yes, but the dragon is only unconscious, not dead?
Before Clay could say anything aloud, there was a low rumbling growl that seemed to shake the ground. Bluebeard was waking up.
Clay exchanged glances with Cass and Satya. Uh-oh. They each took a step back.
Groggily, Bluebeard opened an eye and started to stretch. Then all the dark steely scales on the dragon’s back seemed to rise at once, like hackles on a rooster: Bluebeard had noticed Ariella.* With a quick shake, the no-longer-sleepy dragon pushed itself to its feet.
Seeing Bluebeard waken, Ariella made a low sonorous sound, almost like a whale call, that Clay sensed meant something like Hail, fellow dragon. And then the old dragon bent its neck, lowering its head almost all the way to the ground, in what was unmistakably a gesture of courtesy and respect, though not at all of submission.
Growling, Bluebeard regarded the newcomer suspiciously. Why does this big interloper look so much like me? Bluebeard’s eyes seemed to say. And what are they getting at with this bowing business? It must be a trap.
Then, with no warning but a snarl, Bluebeard pounced—taking advantage of Ariella’s posture to go straight for Ariella’s neck.
“No!” Clay cried.
If you’ve ever watched another dog attack yours, then you know a little bit how Clay felt. (Not that a dragon is anything like a dog! And not that Ariella belonged to Clay! But… oh, just forget I made the comparison.)
Ariella was taken by surprise but was strong and fast enough to throw off Bluebeard before the attacker’s teeth penetrated the scales on Ariella’s neck.
Once free, Ariella barked at Bluebeard—a fast and furious reprimand—then blew a warning plume of fire into the sky. To Clay, the meaning was clear: Ariella was giving the ornery young dragon a chance to apologize to an elder, and quickly. If not, it would be war.
Bluebeard hissed in response. No apologies for this dragon.
Never taking its eyes off Ariella, the mean, unrepentant dragon whipped its tail in the air, making a loud crack. Then, dark wings flapping, Bluebeard lifted off the ground and hovered low over the courtyard, baiting Ariella to follow.
Ariella just watched. The seconds ticked by.
Growing impatient, Bluebeard screeched threats to Ariella, then finally unleashed a long rope of fire. Ariella jumped out of the way, blocking the fire with the wave of a wing.