of us, undoing the damage Falka did to the guard and to the council,” Tauran said. “Starting today, no Sky Guard dragon or rider will ever again raise hand, claw or teeth in aggression against another. Our purpose is to care for the people of Valreus and its neighbors, to aid and rescue when our help is needed, to use the strength of our dragons to build a better home for ourselves. Never to fight or threaten, unless we ourselves are threatened, and even then,” he paused, looking into the eyes of each rider, “striking to harm or kill will be our very last resort. From now on, the dragons who wish to leave are free to do so. If we want the companionship and trust of our dragons, we’ll have to earn it. No more wing straps.”
“Fuck yeah!” Jasper pumped his fist into the air.
Tauran smirked when all eyes turned on Jasper, who awkwardly lowered his hand and turned impossibly redder.
“Sorry for swearing,” Jasper murmured.
“How will we educate future riders?” a young woman asked, resting her chin on the handle of her broom.
Tauran hesitated. He didn’t yet have all the answers. He wasn’t even sure what would happen a week from now. To his relief, Kalai came forward, stepping up alongside Tauran and taking his hand. Tauran laced their fingers together, not caring who saw. The rule of abstinence would be the first to go.
“If we don’t succeed at hatching eggs here in Valreus, future recruits will have to put in the work themselves to earn the trust of a wild dragon enough to ride it,” Kalai said.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Do we even know if that’s possible?”
Tauran smirked. “You’re looking at two people who did it.”
EPILOGUE
Tauran gripped the delicate fountain pen like a dagger, leaned back in his chair, then flicked the pen into the air. It spun three times before he caught it between two fingers, inches from his face. Glancing at the papers spread out on the old bloodwood desk, he sighed. He wasn’t good with words. He especially wasn’t good with letters.
The front door across the main room of the archive clicked and swung open. Kalai entered with a paper bag of groceries in his arms.
Behind him, Sparrow cradled a second bag, kicking the door shut after them. He was smiling. Always smiling. Ever since Tauran and Kalai had found him curled into his makeshift shelter near Tauran’s old apartment following the eruption a month ago. Sparrow had been so scared, wheezing after sleeping outside in the toxic air. Tauran had gathered him into his arms and carried him back to the archive. There, Kalai had offered him a bath, a meal, and some proper clothes, and Tauran had offered him a home in his old apartment, and a job as a messenger for the Sky Guard. Tauran had a uniform tailored to fit Sparrow. When Sparrow wasn’t on the guard grounds, he was at the archive, working as Kalai’s assistant.
“Just take that bag upstairs,” Kalai said, angling his chin toward the upper floor. “If you could unpack, too, that would be great.”
“Sure thing!” Sparrow hugged the bag tighter and disappeared past Kalai up the stairs.
“Welcome back,” Tauran said, mirroring Kalai’s smile when Kalai walked past the desk to the kitchen.
“What are you working on?” Kalai called, and when Tauran didn’t answer, paused his unpacking and returned to the doorway. He shrugged off his jacket. Underneath, he wore one of Tauran’s shirts, one shoulder half-exposed due to its too large size. In the past month since moving into the archive permanently, Tauran had learned to look for most of his wardrobe among Kalai’s belongings.
“It’s, uh…” Tauran gestured vaguely to the papers on the desk. “Not working.”
Kalai went to him. Sitting sideways on the desk, he reached out. “May I?”
Tauran hummed and handed him the most recent draft of his letter.
Kalai’s eyes skimmed over it with practiced speed, softening when he looked at Tauran. “Don’t you think you should visit her instead?”
Tauran sighed. He rested his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands.
He hadn’t visited his mother since the battle. Following it, he had done everything he could to avoid her. She sent letters, and he hadn’t read them because he knew her kind, understanding words would break him as easily as his leg had in the fall. She had always been good to him, even when he hadn’t deserved it. “What if she won’t want to see me?” he asked, gazing helplessly