Dragon of Frost and Flame: Chapter One

Whoooosh. Late winter’s wind whispering of spring and new beginnings whistled past Snowy White Death’s ears. 

Her muscular thighs tight around her dragon’s ribs, Snow straightened in that natural saddle of sticky purple-blue scales. On either side, Stormfyre’s wings pumped in a steady, easy rhythm, and dragon and rider climbed higher and higher into a perfect cerulean sky. Below them, the jagged, snow-capped fangs of the mountains of Pyrembri’s northwestern border faded to almost nothing. 

After one last check that her book was safe and buttoned into the pocket she’d sewn into her cloak for books—it wouldn’t do to escape into Shadowmist Woods for a read and a romp with her dragon and her dogs without a book after all—Snow arched her back, spread her arms out wide to the sides, and lifted her chin. 

Frigid air slammed into her. It defied the heat of the dragon beneath her, and it pierced even her Guard-issued fur-lined cloak, tunic, and breeches. It pricked her cheeks and bit her neck. It stung her hands through her fur-lined leather gloves.

Snow didn’t care. This, soaring through the air on her beloved dragon, was true freedom.

Even Stepmother couldn’t take that away. She’d tried and failed already. She would not try again, not after that first failure. Stepmother never failed twice.

From the side, a gust crashed into Snow. It tried to dethrone her.

On her dragon’s back, Snow whirled.

So did Stormfyre. Together, girl and dragon spun through frozen air, and that gale breathing change this eve of the sacred Spring Equinox swirled around them.

Ink-black wavy tendrils of her hair whipped her face and all but cut into her, but Snow refused to grab Stormfyre’s “mane” of scaly flexible flesh that traced the dragon’s spine. No, she would leave her arms out and rotate with her dragon using only her legs and that sticky saddle to hold on. 

Yes, no wind could dethrone Snow. She and Stormfyre were one, and they were the best of the entire Dragon Guard of the Crown of Pyrembri.

No one could know that.

The world twirled in a blur of blue sky, off-white old snow, and silvery rocks seeking to slice and to crush. Snow shifted her hips. She was a little dizzy.

Stormfyre followed that silent request and caught a current. The dragon used it to straighten her flight.

To straighten it down, down, down.

Oh, you want to play, huh? A smile tickled Snow’s lips. She dipped down to curl over and around her dragon’s neck, Stormfyre’s purplish scales hot as smoldering coals fresh out of the cookfire and that heat more invigorating than the strongest cup of koffyr. Snow was a nigh invisible lump on Stormfyre’s back.

One that would provide almost no resistance to the dragon’s dive-bomb.

Stormfyre’s signature scent of warm, comforting burning metal mixed with cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves—like a blacksmith’s forge in the height of autumn—coiled through the crisp air of winter that seared Snow’s nose and lungs.

And that purged her of the castle and its stale air and that relaxed her and made her forget her useless life.

No, I’m not useless. I refuse to be. No matter what her stepmother said and forced her to do. Or more accurately, forced her not to do.

The snowy top of Mount Pyrembri, the tallest mountain of the Pyrembri-Wyndaerya Range separating Pyrembri from the evil wyvern riders of Wyndaerya to the north, sailed by. In that mountain range packed with razor-sharp cliffs, avalanches throwing boulders, trees, and snow alike, and valleys that were more unyielding rock than lush grass and forest, Stormfyre pinned her wings even closer to her ribs. The dragon’s scales glinted more blue than purple in the fading afternoon sunlight reflecting off the snow. 

Snowy White Death leaned further forward. Her gloved hands rested on either side of Stormfyre’s long neck, and the dragon’s fire-tinged warmth radiated into her fingers and palms despite her gloves. It fused with Snow’s own magical fire pulsing through her.

Like Pyrembri’s fastest arrow, they zipped down between the close-set mountains. If Snow had reached out, her fingertips could have brushed those rocks shining silver. 

At this speed, doing so would likely break her arm.

The thin, winding valley between those sharp peaks rushed up to greet them. Chunks of rock dotted it, their ridges and cracks outlined with ice-encrusted old snow. A few scraggly trees and bushes joined them. On either side, pebbles raced down the mountains with her.

At least no avalanches tumbled down too.

For now. If one did, she and Stormfyre would have to avoid it, so close to the ragged edge of the ragged mountains did they fly.

A hawk shrieked above them, and somewhere, hurried paws crunched through snow.

Until they didn’t. Deep in the Range, a shadowpanth trumpeted. It announced a fresh kill to its mate. 

With the music of the mountains and their valleys twining around them, Snow grinned. The wind tore at her chapped lips, but who could care in the face of such wildness, such freedom? Nothing could compare to riding her dragon without the Guard, without her responsibilities, without any secrets to hide. Nothing ever would.

On Stormfyre, Snow inched higher. The ground surged up toward them. Soon they would smash into it.

I want to wait longer than last time.

“Hold,” she murmured into Stormfyre’s slit of an ear.

Her skin tingled, and goose bumps covered her arms and legs. This last blast of winter’s cold had long conquered both her fur-lined clothes and Stormfyre’s blazing heat beneath her, but the goose bumps weren’t from the cold. They were from the excitement of pushing her and Stormfyre to the limit. 

Not that being cold could ever bother Snow, not like it did the rest of Pyrembri. A people of fire magic, they hated being cold. 

Snow was the rare exception to the rule.

It was why the Guard had given her the mockery of a name of “Snowy White Death.” She couldn’t kill and she liked the cold too much.

I can do something about one of those.

And she would.

“Hold.”

Those boulders down in the valley loomed larger than she’d thought. If she and Stormfyre weren’t careful, they could break themselves over those merciless rocks.

A little more.

“Hold.”

Around those stones, every brownish blade of dormant grass stood out from the others, as did the smaller rocks dwarfed by the boulders outlined in snow. She could have counted them if she’d wanted to.

“Hold.”

Her hands trembled, and she drew a steadying breath. Had she been standing on the ground on her tiptoes, she could have reached up and skimmed her fingertips along the lavender underside of Stormfyre’s barreling-down chin. 

Her heart beat and so did Stormfyre’s beneath her, in time with her own heart as usual. The faintest citrus-and-spice whiff of an early spring buttercup rode the cruel wind hurtling by them.

“Now!”

Stormfyre snapped her wings out and caught the updraft. That autumnal smell of cinnamon and nutmeg dissolved in molten metal puffed out around them. The tips of the dragon’s claws—tips that could eviscerate nearly anything save an adult wyvern with its shield of ice—skidded over and cut through the crisp old snow of a few of those fallen boulders.

Stormfyre and Snow zipped up, up, up. The silvery cliffs of the mountainside zoomed by once again, but now dragon and rider veered around them and shot between them. Again, Snow swept her arms out wide and held on with only the thick, well-conditioned muscles of her thighs. As one, she and Stormfyre twisted and turned through the air, darting and dashing, swooping and swinging.

And always daring.

At the peaks of those mountains, a magical fire hotter than any Stormfyre could exhale herself—but not quite hotter than Snow’s forbidden magic—crashed into dragon and rider. White-blue flames licked over Snow and Stormfyre, and fiery orangish gusts sought to ignite both rider and dragon. Together, they tried to force Snow and Stormfyre to join them in the searing, scorching, scalding defense of Pyrembri, to become nothing but fire. All around dragon and rider, the Beloved Breath cackled and crackled and roared. Nothing existed but the fire, the dragon, the rider.

Snow’s cheeks burned. 

No, not solely her cheeks. Her whole body burned beneath her smoldering fur-lined cloak, tunic, and breeches. Over her brow, sweat sizzled. She shuddered.

So did the dragon beneath her.

***

What was your favorite part of this epic dragon joy ride?

Comment below and let me (author Betsy Flak) know! I read every comment and would love to hear what your favorites are.

And maybe I'll include more of that type of dragon riding in future chapters. 😉