Capture (5 page)

Nykin didn’t mind admitting he was excited at the prospect of seeing the elves again, especially up here where he would be in his element. He didn’t know how to adequately describe it, but when Prince Morkryn had touched his mark, Nykin had felt it react like never before. The magic had curled around his arm, reaching out to his fingertips and up along his shoulder. It wasn’t like when he connected with Fimor, but the feeling was just as strong.

Nykin had been terrified at first. He’d never set foot inside the library before. Being in there with Ryneq and Cerylea was daunting enough, but being asked to tell the elven prince all about life as a dragon rider had made him nervous beyond measure.

Morkryn had treated him with the utmost respect, and Nykin had found himself relaxing and eager to tell him anything he wanted to know. By the time Faelon and Avelor had touched Nykin’s wrist, the magic was humming under his skin, and each time they touched it, warm spikes of pleasure shot up his arm. He’d been almost positive they were flirting with him—the way they smiled and stroked over his mark, listening to his every word as though he was the most important person they’d ever met. It had been a heady feeling, and Nykin had shamelessly indulged it. The elves were a beautiful race—Faelon and Avelor especially, with their light-blond hair and blue eyes—and Nykin had reveled in being the focus of their attention. But then Ryneq had stepped in to put a stop to it all and had sent him back up to the Eyrie. At least he’d get to see them in the morning.

Nykin was almost at the landing caves. Figuring he might as well use them now he was up here, he ducked into the first empty one he came across to call for Fimor. It took a while for him to answer, but eventually Nykin felt the familiar tug and Fimor’s soft, lilting voice in his head.

“Good evening, Nykin. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you again tonight. Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing’s wrong.”
Nykin leaned against the cave wall and closed his eyes. Focusing was easier this way.
“I met with King Ryneq and the elven contingent from Hervath.”

“Oh?”

Nykin could feel the pieces fitting together in Fimor’s mind.

“Hmm… I imagine they are keen to visit the Eyrie for themselves. Am I correct?”

“Yes
.
”
Nykin smiled as he thought about showing them what he and Fimor could do together.
“They want to meet you and see how we interact.”

“I don’t doubt it.”
Fimor paused, letting the silence stretch out before speaking again.
“You appear very pleased with this request, Nykin. I see their elven magic has already had an effect on you.”

Nykin blushed as he thought of long, pale fingers gently rubbing over his wrist, and felt his heart flutter.
“I… it was—”

Soft, rumbling laughter echoed in his head.
“Calm yourself, young rider. Elf magic is very powerful and difficult to resist for the young and inexperienced.”

Nykin frowned.
“Are they trustworthy? Should I talk to Ryneq?”

“No. They mean no harm by it. The elves are a peaceful race, but you must not read too much into their actions. And try to resist the pull of their magic, if you can.”

Nykin felt his cheeks heat up again but shook it off and vowed to try and keep a rein on his emotions tomorrow.
“They want to come up here just after sunrise. Is that okay?”

Fimor let out a put-upon sigh before answering.
“I will be here. We will show the elf prince and his men exactly what we’re capable of.”

Fimor’s words had a teasing edge to them, and Nykin was suddenly a little worried about what his dragon had in mind.
“Fimor?”

“Good night, Nykin.”

The connection ended, and Nykin shook his head. Whatever Fimor was planning, he would no doubt find out tomorrow. He just hoped it wouldn’t get him in trouble.

N
YKIN
WAS
up just before the sun. He ate a quick breakfast of fruit and cheese and finished off with a chunk of bread as he hurried toward the steps of the Eyrie. The sky was beautifully clear, shot through with the odd cloud, but otherwise just blue as far as the eye could see. The early hour meant it was still a little cool out, and Nykin fastened his jacket as he climbed up to the top.

“Morning, Nykin.” Selene appeared in the entrance to the Eyrie, her dragon’s harness already slung over her shoulder. “I hear you and Fimor are entertaining the elves today?”

Nykin walked up to her and grinned. “Yeah. They want to watch us together.” He felt the excitement bubbling under his skin and couldn’t wait to connect with Fimor and get started. “I’d better get ready. They’ll be here soon.”

Selene smiled. “I’ll see you later, then.” She turned and waved over her shoulder as she headed toward the landing caves. “Good luck, Nykin.”

“Thanks,” he shouted after her retreating form. He hurried down through the tunnels to the storeroom to collect Fimor’s harness. He carefully removed it from the wall and draped it over his shoulder before making his way back up to the caves. Selene was already harnessing her dragon, Kalesh, so he took the next free cave farther along.

Nykin was just placing his harness onto the floor near the wall when he heard voices in the tunnel.

“Nykin.” Ryneq appeared, followed by Princess Cerylea and the four elves. “Have you called for Fimor yet?”

“No, Sire. But I was just about to.”

Prince Morkryn smiled widely and before addressing Nykin turned to whisper something to his men that Nykin had no hope of understanding. “We would like to witness you making the connection to your dragon, if that’s all right with you?”

“Yes, of course.” Nykin stepped a little closer to the edge. “But I’m not sure there’s much to see. I hear Fimor in my head, so….” He looked between Morkryn and Ryneq for a clue as to what they were expecting.

But it was Cerylea who stepped forward, put her hand on Nykin’s arm, and smiled up at him. “I believe Prince Morkryn and his men will be able to feel the magic of the bond, Nykin.” She glanced back toward the elves, and they nodded in agreement. “And if you don’t mind, I think they’d like to touch your mark as the connection is made.”

Faelon moved closer, and Nykin’s body hummed in the presence of the elf magic. He thought back to Fimor’s warning and struggled to ignore his body’s reaction, taking several long, deep breaths and concentrating hard on his surroundings.

Faelon smirked and inclined his head ever so slightly. “I see you’re learning, Nykin.” He maintained a respectable distance between them but reached out to take Nykin’s wrist. “May I?”

Nykin nodded and held out his arm before closing his eyes and searching for Fimor in his mind. “Fimor?” he whispered aloud, conscious of those around him.

“Good morning, Nykin.”

His mark throbbed, and Nykin heard Faelon gasp beside him.

“I see our guests have arrived. Are you ready to perform?”

Nykin grinned. “Yes. Ready when you are.”

“I’m on my way, Nykin. Let’s have some fun.”

Nykin opened his eyes and was met with Faelon’s intense stare.

“That was… I could feel the magic pulsing through your rider’s sigil, getting stronger each time you spoke.” Faelon looked at him a little in awe. “What did your dragon say?”

Nykin smirked as he thought of Fimor and his teasing tone. “Um… he said he’s on his way.”

Faelon raised his eyebrow, clearly knowing that Fimor had said a little more than just that, but he let it go. The elves whispered excitedly among themselves, and Nykin took the opportunity to glance over at Ryneq and his sister.

The king was watching the elves, Faelon in particular, with a deep frown marring his features. Nykin was idly wondering what the problem could be, when he felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He looked up to find Cerylea watching him, a small smile on her lips, before she turned to talk to her brother. Nykin had no time to ponder what that might mean, if anything, because he could hear the familiar beat of dragon wings getting closer and closer.

He moved nearer to the edge of the cave and grinned as he saw Fimor flying through the clear sky toward him.

“Step aside, Nykin. I feel like making a grand entrance today.”

Nykin laughed but dutifully stepped back as far as the entrance to the tunnels and suggested that everyone else do the same. Ryneq gave him a pointed look—he knew as well as Nykin did that this was a little unusual—but Nykin just smiled and shrugged. He could hardly tell the king that it was just Fimor showing off and having a little fun with the elves.

The sound of wings was loud now. Fimor should appear any moment, and Nykin smiled widely at the anticipation written over the elves’ faces. He couldn’t blame them. It still had the same effect on him, even after all this time.

“He’s here.” It was a pointless thing to say, considering the noise, but Nykin couldn’t help himself. Moments later Fimor flew into the cave with his wings spread wide, teeth bared and a small plume of flame jetting from his mouth.

“Nicely done
,
”
Nykin muttered in his mind so only Fimor would hear him.

Fimor inclined his head in Nykin’s direction, his mouth curling up in what Nykin knew to be his version of a grin.
“I do try.”

Nykin disguised his laugh with a cough and hefted the harness high on his shoulder, intending to walk over and get Fimor ready to fly.

“Nykin?” Faelon sidled up beside him and put a hand on his arm, his long fingers curling around Nykin’s wrist to rest on the mark again. “We would very much like to talk to Fimor before you ride. Would you be willing to translate for us?”

Nykin felt the familiar warmth of Faelon’s magic as it crept around him like a soft, warm blanket. His first instinct was to lean into Faelon’s space and close his eyes, but he blinked and shook his head, forcing the feeling down until it was just a pleasant hum under his skin.

“Sorry.” Faelon smirked at him. “I can’t help it. Fimor’s magic is affecting my control.”

Fimor snorted at that and turned his head to glare at Faelon, but Faelon just held his hands up and laughed. “I don’t think I need a translation for that.” He stepped back a few paces, and Nykin felt the magic slip away with him.

Nykin threw a questioning glance at Fimor.

“Well done, Nykin. I see you’re getting better at resisting their magic. But be careful with that one. I suspect he’s interested in a little more than just watching you fly.”

Nykin’s mouth fell open, but Ryneq stepped forward before he had a chance to respond. “Nykin, you will translate Fimor’s answers, and then you can give us all a flying demonstration.” He gestured over to the elves. “I’m sure Prince Morkryn and his men are eager to return home.”

“Of course, Sire.”

Ryneq was still scowling slightly, but Nykin had no idea what that was about, so he just ignored it. He faced the elves and addressed Prince Morkryn this time—Avelor was talking to Faelon in harsh whispers, and Lerran had walked over to talk to Princess Cerylea. “What would you like to ask, Your Highness?”

Morkryn beamed and proceeded to rattle off question after question. How old was Fimor? How many riders had he been bonded with before Nykin? Could he feel their magic, like they could feel his? How did Nykin communicate with Fimor, exactly? Could Fimor understand others? Had Nykin ever used Fimor’s blood to heal himself? Apart from communicating, what else could the bond be used for?

Nykin did his best to translate Fimor’s answers, leaving out the added bits of unflattering commentary that Fimor tagged onto the end of each one. They were mostly easy to answer, and Nykin could have answered nearly all of them himself—all except the last question. Fimor was reluctant to give much information, except to say the bond was a sacred link between dragon and rider and he didn’t care to discuss it further. He made Nykin translate that answer word for word. Thankfully, Prince Morkryn accepted Fimor’s somewhat curt reply with a small smile, saying that dragons were just as opinionated and willful as he’d expected. The elves seemed fascinated by the answers, and despite all his teasing, Fimor seemed to quite like the elves too.

“Thank you, Nykin, Fimor. I think that will do for now.” Morkryn turned to his men, eyebrow raised, and they all nodded their agreement. “Enough talk. Let’s see what you two can do in the air.”

Nykin cast a glance over at Ryneq. He inclined his head, and Nykin took that as permission to harness Fimor and take to the sky. He hurried through, fastening the clasps and buckles, and making sure everything was tight and secure. As soon as Nykin finished, Fimor extended his wing just a little, and Nykin climbed onto it, placed a hand on Fimor’s neck—avoiding the spines just behind his head—and hoisted himself onto Fimor’s back.

N
YKIN
HELD
the harness loosely as Fimor stretched out his neck and shook his head.

“Hold on tight, Nykin. I’m going for a dramatic start to our little display.”
Fimor turned his huge body to face the open mouth of the cave.

Nykin quickly pulled the straps across his thighs, gripped on with his knees, and hunched low over Fimor’s back. “Do your worst,” he whispered into Fimor’s neck and felt the dragon’s rumbling laughter in response.

“As you wish.”

The air rushed past Nykin’s ears as Fimor spread his wings and leapt from the cave. He angled his body down, and they hurtled toward the ground at an alarming rate. Just as the rocks and the sea below were getting far too close for Nykin’s comfort, Fimor leveled out in a large arc and swooped back up into the sky.

Nykin yelled out in delight, his heart pounding with excitement as he clung to Fimor’s neck. “Fuck!” He threw his head back and laughed. “That was amazing.”

“Language, Nykin,”
Fimor chided gently, but Nykin could hear the amusement in his voice.
“Let’s go see what our new friends thought of that.”