Flight of Dragons(349)

Ignoring her bubbling laughter, he turned and headed for the kitchen. Walking away from that sound of unadulterated joy was a surprising challenge. Equally hard was sending out more food with Mikka and sticking to washing up duty for the rest of the night.

Even in her challenge, she’d been…polite wasn’t the right word. Respectful. Pushy, opinionated, and with a galling lack of propriety, the dragon rider was still unerringly respectful—of the dragons and the mountain anyway.

The poor man who lost his drink probably wouldn’t think she was that nice.

On the other hand, as Bjorn snuck a look through the pass-through window between the kitchen and longhouse style dining room, he saw her moving from guest to guest, ensuring their mugs were full and their spirits high.

They might not live in the same world, but Bjorn still felt drawn to this woman as a kind of kindred spirit.

A race up the mountain would be ridiculous. He had nothing to prove. But time spent with someone who had passion for the wilds of The Outerlands?

He suddenly wanted that more than anything.

As his pulse picked up and his mind raced to catch up with the ache in his chest, he realized he was in a galaxy of trouble.





3



Britt’s first thought on waking was that her head hurt.

Then she remembered she’d insulted a monk the night before, and possibly challenged him to a race. With a groan, she rolled over and buried her face in the duvet.

Taking a deep breath, she blinked her eyes open again. Dawn was breaking and her room glowed with the purplish grey light of early morning.

She needed water, and then a healthy serving of humility, because she probably owed that monk an apology.

Climbing out of bed, she went to the small sink in the corner and washed up. With each splash of water against her skin, she woke up a little further, thoughts of the monk filling her mind.

It wasn’t unlike her to be fiery, but as the details of the night before flooded back, she felt different about Then she braiding her hair and pulling on leather riding breeches and a heavy tunic.

Riding clothes.

That didn’t mean anything. She didn’t own apology clothes.

She left her cloak in her room as a sign of good faith to herself that she had no intention of actually racing the poor man up the mountain.

In the dining room, some of the group had already gathered and were setting the table under the guidance of some of the brothers.

Not the tall one, though.

Suddenly irritated that she didn’t know his name or where he might be this morning, she distracted herself with talk of the plans for the day.

Their group had arrived two days earlier. A group of cultural leaders from Ny København, all ostensibly interested in learning more about The Outerlands and the dragons. The gentle beasts that populated the mountain range were at risk from alien poachers and encroaching tourism from Earthlings. In reality, when the storm drove the group from the capital inside after only one tour of the area on foot, most had been more than happy to drink mead and only give half an ear to the official topic of their trip.

And once The Monk, as she’d started to think of him, had started poking her again, she’d joined them, and with each sip of the honeyed alcohol, her tongue had loosened.

Not that her tongue was ever really held back. She’d always had a problem with speaking first and regretting it second.

But today she was going to be a professional and work as an ally with the monks to ensure the group got some hands-on flying time with the dragons.

Flying was the dragons’ most favourite thing to do, and miracle of miracles, they really enjoyed having a passenger when they did it. But there was a real danger that people might see the dragons as animals to be domesticated.

Britt wasn’t sure that anyone quite got how much the dragons understood—or how dangerous it would be to treat them like horses or donkeys.

Dangerous for anyone who thought they could be lord and master over the winged native fauna of the mountain range, but also for the dragons—as smart and strong and capable as they were to defend themselves, they didn’t have technology on their side. And to date, nobody on Midgard had been a threat in that regard. But that would change as tourism from Earth increased, and as their corner of space got busier and more connected to the intergalactic geopolitical quagmire.

Hence this political junket, encouraged by the king’s son, Reinn Ragnarson, who had always been a strong advocate for protecting native species, big and small. If his wife weren’t massively pregnant with their second child, they would have led this trip themselves, Inge had told Britt.

That was how she knew everything—told by someone else. She wasn’t in any inner circle. If it weren’t for her riding skills, she wouldn’t even be here, hoping for the storm clouds to break so she could soar to the heavens for the first time in three years.