Fireborne by Rosaria Munda EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Rosaria Munda
- Language: English
- Genre: Teen & Young Adult Dystopian eBooks
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
MESSAGES FROM THE MINISTRY
Nine Years Later
LEE
Morning is our favorite time to fly. Today, even with the tournament
looming and the empty arena below us a reminder that soon we’ll be
watched, for the first time, by thousands, it’s still possible to savor the
city sprawled beneath a dragon’s wings. When we pull tight on a turn,
I glimpse one of Pallor’s black eyes, depthless, turned on me. The line
between us, of shared emotions and thoughts that are usually latent in
the saddle, goes taut. Yes. Today it begins. Today we’ll rise.
But in order to do that, I’ll need a clear head. I gently extricate
myself from Pallor’s simmering anticipation and refocus on the arena.
Two other dragonriders fly with us, each riding one of the other two
breeds: Crissa and her skyfish are in the air above us, while Cor and
his stormscourge glide below, bellowing ash over the arena stands.
We’re on our last rehearsal, this time with just the squadron leaders.
I lift my voice over the wind. “You’re taking her too low, Cor.”
Cor grunts, frustrated, and urges his stormscourge higher. We’ve
rehearsed the choreography of the tournament’s opening ceremony
over and over with ministry officials, and every time, the question of
how to demonstrate the might of the stormscourge breed becomes
tricky. Before the Revolution, the dragons of Stormscourge House—of
my family—were known for terrorizing the countryside; but in even
older days, they were our island’s greatest defense against aerial
invasion.
“They told us to fire low,” says Cor.
“Not that low. It’s risky for the audience.”
Our dragons are immature, barely horse-size, and can’t yet breathe
fire. But the smoke they produce can still burn.
Crissa and her skyfish, long, slender, and pale enough blue to blend
with the morning sky, circle above us. “You want to impress the
people,” she calls down to Cor. “Not roast them.”
Cor waves a hand. “All right, all right . . .”
The fleet is still in training, dragons and riders both. Known now as
Guardians, the new regime’s dragonriders are lowborn, commoners,
even former serfs. No longer the sons of dragonlords.
Except for me, though I’m the only one who knows that.
Because in the wake of the Revolution, to be dragonborn is to be
wanted for dead. I was born Leo, son of Leon, dragonlord of
Stormscourge House and Drakarch of the Far Highlands—but, since
the orphanage, I’ve been Lee. Not even the First Protector, who saved
my life and then welcomed me, without recognition, into his Guardian
program two years after that, knows the truth.
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