Rile
He turned around and spread his wings to create a protective barrier in front of Moira and Ever. His scales changed from gray to an aggressive red-orange, and he bared his teeth to the other dragon. Moira had never seen him change color consciously before, and suddenly, he looked nothing like her friend and entirely like a deadly beast.
She threw herself at Ever, although she could do nothing to protect him from the ice blue dragon. Crawling backward, they pressed hard against the rock wall.
Ever reached for his bow.
“No,” Moira hissed, her heart in her throat. “Don’t. Let Pyrros handle this.”
“And if he doesn’t—”
Her raised eyebrow silenced him. She had never given him such a look before as the naïve girl his family had rescued—but she was a lot more than that.
Yes, Nerida had saved her twice, but Moira had now proven she was also capable—after all, she had gone to Gereon all alone and survived to tell the tale.
The attacking dragon shrieked wildly, twisting his body in the air.
“Leave them alone.” Pyrros’ voice was dark and intimidating.
The blue dragon stopped, tilted its head, and sneered. “If it isn’t Pyrros.”
“Rile.” Pyrros growled the name, and had Moira been the other dragon, she would have backed down, but Rile seemed to take it as a challenge.
“Long time, no see, Cabbage.” With his head raised, he stared over Pyrros’ wings at Moira and Ever, before letting his hungry eyes roam over Nerida up on Pyrros’ back. “Everyone knows you’re a freak who doesn’t eat those lesser than us, but have you turned pathetic enough to let them ride you now?”
The words stabbed at Moira. She knew how it felt to be belittled by her own people; the flashes of an insolent audience muttering about her “indecency” at the royal dinner crossed her mind. The unwilling princess they had called her. A fire burned inside her as if the dragon had insulted her directly and not Pyrros.
“That’s none of your business,” Pyrros said.
“This is the border of Dragondale. What Erhan asks me to patrol, I patrol.”
Pyrros growled. “Then let us leave the border so you can report its safety to my brother.”
Rile snorted. “You’ve got dinner for three dragons there. Why should I let you pass?”
Pyrros raised his head and spread his wings to their full width. “Because you’ll get hurt otherwise.”
Moira wondered why he was going against his clan to protect them. Rile did not appear keen on him, but surely there had to be others in his clan who cared for him? Who loved him? Should blood ties not weigh heavier than friendship, especially friendship that had only lasted under two weeks?
Rile shook his head, grinning confidently—and Moira could see why. When he spread his wings the way Pyrros had, it was obvious he was massive, and a lot more muscular than Pyrros. In addition, Pyrros would have to ensure protection for Nerida, Ever, and Moira. If the dragons fought, the odds would be against Pyrros.
“The only one who’ll get hurt is you, Cabbage. I’m sure Erhan longs to see you again, don’t you think? Everyone knows you left Dragondale because you were so popular.” Rile’s low growl dripped with sarcasm. With a lazy exhale, he set fire to a small bush next to Pyrros, and smoke filled the air. “We’ll have a barbecue tonight, and for once, you’re invited.”
Pyrros threw himself off the ledge so unexpectedly that Nerida almost fell off.
Due to the sudden impact, Pyrros got the upper hand, and he pierced Rile’s throat with his teeth. Rile screeched in fury and pain and threw himself backward, so Pyrros lost his grip. Rile’s throat bled profusely.
“You’ll pay for that,” Rile hissed and hurled himself at Pyrros with an open mouth, claws ready.
Pyrros veered to the side, away from the line of attack, and Nerida held on with all her might as Pyrros rolled through the air in his attempts to stay away from Rile’s sharp teeth. Nerida’s hair flew in the wind, and it struck Moira how wrong it looked—Nerida’s hair should not fly in the wind; it should float around her in the water. She would be thrown off if Pyrros continued. The clouds hid what was below, but Moira knew it would not be a soft landing for Nerida if she fell.
Droplets of sweat ran down Moira’s forehead as she watched Rile’s swift attacks. Pyrros defended himself with fire, making Rile back off for a second, but he did not give up.
Moira glanced at the bow and arrows on Ever’s back. The arrows may be Nerida’s only chance—Pyrros might overpower the enemy, but perhaps not before Nerida would fall.
She wished she could shoot an arrow so she would not have to risk Ever.
“Can you hurt it?”
Ever looked alarmingly determined. “The best way to harm dragons is an arrow through the eye.” Without having to ask him, she knew he was going to try. She wanted to pull him back, wanted to protect him, but her hand fell from his arm, and he took charge.
“Don’t die.” It sounded stupid to her own ears, but she had to say something.
A short bark of laughter echoed in her ears before he lurched forward. In a single graceful movement, he picked up an arrow from his quiver and tightened the bow. Rile was still busy with Pyrros, in a chase with cascades of fire. Moira’s mouth turned dry when she saw Nerida nearly slipping down on Pyrros’ side. With each jerk from side to side, she slid further down, and all that was keeping her from falling to her death was the little strength of her arms as she held onto his spikes.
Rile saw Ever the moment he released the arrow, which zoomed towards the dragon’s eye—but Rile tilted an inch away before the arrow could hit him. His scales were a hard armor, and the arrow bounced off his head without causing damage, falling into the abyss. He looked outraged, baring his teeth, narrow eyes focused on Ever.
“Ever…” Moira’s heart was pounding its way out of her ribcage. “Ever!”
The scream was impossible to hold back as the dragon attacked Ever. Without a thought, Moira flung herself in front of him, expecting Rile’s jaws to close around her. She expected a crushing pain before death enveloped her, and she waited—but nothing happened. Gasping for air, she lay on top of Ever. She turned around to realize Pyrros had shielded her. Blood flowed from a gory wound on his side where Rile had bitten him. With gleaming teeth and sharp claws, they fought furiously, and Nerida hung on Pyrros’ side, holding on with chalk-white fingers, legs scrabbling uselessly in the air.
“Ever, do something!”
Ever did not respond. Instead, he pushed her off, gaze focused on the two dragons, and two steps later, he was back where he stood before. The arrow’s feather fletching lay still against his cheek as he tightened the bow again. Moira did not see the slightest tremor in his demeanor, and despite the circumstances, she could not help being impressed by his bravery.
He released the arrow with careful precision, and it whizzed through the air like a thin bolt of lightning.