Chapter Text
Getting on wasn’t a problem. Even with Nan’s constant groaning that something was off, something was going to go wrong, that this was downright stupid, Dives had no issue being taken from her stall to one of, he assumed, the Rinaldi’s many arenas.
She took the lure, so he was already further along than he had been with Alights. He just went through his pre-ride routine, patting her flank, measuring the temperature of the flesh with his palms as he did. She responded well (not violently). The steam from her nostrils was warm but not boiling, at least not through his layers of fireproof armour and protective gear.
Out in the light, he could see how incredible a dragon she really was. Possibly a relation of Alights, maybe bred from the same brood. She was anatomically perfect. Hawthorne struggled in classes that hadn’t anything to do with dragons, but he recalled the charts from his Reptilian Care class in photographic detail, at least the ones that had dragons. Her shoulders showed that she was bred for steep dives, which would explain her name, at least in part. Her wings tucked around her tight enough to be a second skin. She had the suggestion of horns on her brow, or, rather, one of her ancestors, way, way, way back had had horns that her skull was holding onto the memory of.
She didn’t trust him. He could see that. Not just in her eyes but in the way she held herself. He wasn’t sure she trusted anyone in this building. She was so stiff, trying to spread her shadow, making sure he had a healthy fear of her. Unfortunately for her, between his fondness for midnight snack runs and staying up too late because he’d gotten distracted doing something or other, he couldn’t be described as particularly healthy. And while he’d definitely been scared in his life, there was nowhere he felt less fear than in his familiar fireproof armour, the sand of the arena underfoot, and a dragon saddled up in front of him.
He took a run at her, hitting each point perfectly as he settled himself in her saddle. It was all completely textbook. Everything he’d practiced, since before he could walk, if his dad was to be believed on the topic. So when she bucked before he could lock his legs in fully, and he went flying — without dragon — through the air.
He had about half a second to think ah fuck, this is it, is it? I hope someone lies to Baby Dave about this and makes it much cooler when she’s older before he just stopped. Something was holding him in place, in the air, and Hawthorne had never been more grateful in his life to have someone else’s knack controlling him.
“What the fuck?” It was half-question, half-exclamation.
He heard Nan’s sigh. But he’d nearly just died. He should get to swear at the Rinaldis. At the very least.
“That’s Sven,” Cosimo said, far too calmly for the absolute calamity that just happened. He almost sounded resigned. “Thank you, Sven. Could you put him on the ground now?”
“Of course, sir.” Hawthorne followed the deep voice to see a tall man with his hands outstretched, clearly lowering him down. He didn’t have a W imprint, nor did Hawthorne recognise him from the Society, but he clearly had a knack.
He sometimes wondered what people who didn’t get into the Society did with their knacks, if they incorporated them into their lives or if they just moved on and tried not to think about how they hadn’t quite cut it. He didn’t think about it much, but Helena had once asked the question at dinner, and while he was fine answering I don’t know, to pretty much anything, including, but not limited to where did Mum go, when’s your train today, and what’s 2+2? Maybe not the last one but it wasn’t his usual vibe to get annoyed by not knowing the answer for the question. Regardless, this was clearly part of the answer. Sven, whose job apparently was stop dragonriders from dying when their dragon inevitably tries to kill them. How nice for Sven, genuinely.
“Thanks,” he said up to the stands once he was lowered back onto the comforting, slightly crunchy sand. “For not letting me get smushed into the wall, I mean.”
“Oh thank the Divine,” Nan said, rushing over to him and wrapping her arms around him for one tight, very comforting, second-long hug. “I did not want to explain to your mother that you had been killed by a dragon today.”
“Sven understands the parameters of his job,” Cosimo said, striding over to him. “Now, since it seems like that was a resounding failure—”
“NO!” Always there at the site of Hawthorne’s failures. Perhaps that was ungenerous but he needed a minute before he could get his thoughts back into shape. Not they ever really were, but that didn’t mean he didn’t find these disparate, quite terrifying feelings comforting either. “No, you can’t.”
“Vesta,” Cosimo said out of the corner of his mouth. “This is serious, you can’t just.”
“He’s going to have her put down,” Vesta said, the legs of her travelling chair — Spiderlily, Morrigan said was her name — almost flying over the sand in an effort to reach them. “You have to ride her. If she doesn’t have a rider, there’s no point.”
“She’s right,” Cosimo’s nostrils flared and he crossed his arms. Hawthorne knew he was only twenty-one, younger than Miss Cheery, and yet he seemed about ten years older and a hundred times unhappier. “This was Dives’ last chance. You tried. That’s commendable. Rinaldi Stables will remember that.” Hawthorne didn’t want Rinaldi Stables to remember him flying through the air because the dragon wouldn’t let him take a seat but sure.
“It’s a part of the business,” Nan said. He could see her trying to school her expression so Vesta would understand the necessities of the lives they’d all chosen to pursue. “It’s sad. We all find it sad.” Hawthorne didn’t see any such expression on Cosimo’s face, but sure. “But supporting a dragon that cannot be flown and is actively hostile—”
“She’s not!” Vesta’s face reddened. “Pardon, but she’s not.”
“She just threw me.”
She waved a hand, “She doesn’t know you. She doesn’t know anyone. Didn’t we all just see this with Alights? Her rider just died. It’s exactly the same.”
Cosimo coughed, “Frost’s bond with Dives was far less deep than Dario’s was with Alights.” His voice cracked a little when he referred to his brother in the past tense. It was the most human Hawthorne had ever seen him. “And Alights was a much more impressive dragon. Regardless of the situation, without a suitable rider, whom we have not been able to find—”
“Try again,” Vesta said, turning from her brother who scowled at the interruption. At least Hawthorne thought it was a scowl. It also seemed to be Cosimo Rinaldi’s face at rest. Spiderlily’s legs tapped the sandy ground like an anxious racehorse, waiting for the gunshot. “You’re a good rider. Competent. Alights tolerated you. That’s saying a lot.” He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to take this as a compliment or not. “Don’t ride her again, just yet. She won’t have that.” He closed his mouth, for the first time in his life relieved he wasn’t going to be made to ride a dragon. But his stomach was still swooping and he was a little dizzy. “But you can spend time with her. Bond with her. You’re not competing this summer.” Not anymore, Hawthorne’s brain bitterly added. He beat that back. Not the time and not fair at all. “You’ve got time.”
“And if I don’t?” He didn’t really have to ask. Vesta’s distress, Nan’s solemn face, and Cosimo’s resignation all were answer enough. “I mean—” he turned to Cosimo and Nan.
“I don’t want it getting in the way of the rest of your training,” his patron said, her arms crossed. “No exclusivity either.”
“As we’ve discussed already,” Cosimo reminded her. “Same terms. No riding. This won’t win you any sponsorships but it might make your name.”
Nan pulled him aside as they were leaving. “I won’t say I liked any of this today.”
A little shame curdled in his stomach. He didn’t like to let Nan down. “I couldn’t let them put her down.”
“No,” she agreed. “If I were in your position, I would have done the same. I’ll be sending Sven a gift basket from both of us.”
“Thanks,” Hawthorne said, glad he wasn’t going to have to try to work it out from his allowance.
“Don’t sign anything until I’ve seen and approved it. I want to be in the room.”
He nodded. They’d already talked, before the Winter Trials, but also in classes, even before he’d accepted her bid, about predatory deals. Even if something was agreed to verbally, the contract was what the court saw. The written law was king, or something. She’d thought the maxim would stick better than a lecture. Probably right.
She dropped him back home but he didn’t wait around for after she had told his parents about today. His dad would surely smother him in a hug if he’d heard that he’d nearly died and his mum would probably start crying or threaten to embarrass him so badly that he’d never get on a dragon again. They were chill like that.
Instead, he took his station door over to Cadence’s, popping out in the middle of her living room.
“You smell terrible,” she wrinkled her nose at him, lying on the sofa with her book. Another murder mystery with a telephone and a severed hand on the cover. Looked cheerful enough.
“Hello Hawthorne,” he parroted back. “How are you Hawthorne? Did you enjoy your morning,, Hawthorne where you got thrown off a dragon and thought you— I’m good Cadence, thanks for asking?”
She sat up very suddenly. Her book fell to the floor. “You fell off a dragon?”
“I was thrown.” His voice was tight, almost prissy. He shook the feeling off. “I’m fine now don’t worry about it.”
“I’m going to get Morrigan,” she said, getting up and pushing him down the hallway into her bathroom. “For the love of god, use as little shampoo as possible, same as the conditioner, go nuts with the soap I don’t really care for it. Towels are there, be out in ten minutes max.”
Then she was gone.
Hawthorne took about two of those allotted ten minutes to work out how to turn on the shower. It started at glacial temperatures that made him squeal, then, when he tried to adjust the heat, boiled him so his skin turned lobster-red. He had to maneouvre himself so he was half-standing out of the shower while he waited for the temperature to calm down to a normal level that he, as a human being without any kind of protective armour, could withstand.
Cadence’s shampoo was nice, it smelled of apples and the amount he took was so little that he had to go in for a second dollop. The conditioner was the same, he enjoyed rubbing it through the length of his hair, pulling out bits of soot and ash as he did so. The soap smelled very strongly of cinnamon, a bit like a Christmas spice cake. He lathered it on. In the end, he did have to wipe down the inside of the shower from the hair and the mess he left but he was warm and now that the general scent of dragon, scales, leather, et cetera wasn’t stuck in his nose, he found that he did smell much better.
“Fifteen minutes,” Cadence said, tapping her watch when he reappeared, hair freshly rubbed with a towel, padding around the house in his socks, shoes in hand. “I said ten.”
“Your shower tried to kill me for the second time this day,” he groused. “Sorry.”
“What?” Morrigan asked. She’d been sitting next to Cadence on the sofa, dealing out three piles of cards, but she was up in a flash, cards flying, and in front of him. “What?”
“I’ll put on tea,” Cadence said and pointed at him a little too sternly for his mood. “Don’t start without me.”
“Whatever,” he said and landed his body onto the armchair so that his legs were folded around one of the arms, his head craned over the other.
He told them everything, hands curled around his steaming mug, three biscuits devoured, four more on his plate. Morrigan gasped. Cadence looked highly concerned and had started writing in her notebook the second he mentioned Quincy’s death. When he got to his agreement with Cosimo, they both started talking over him.
“— stupid.”
“What exactly did Vesta say?”
“But you’re just… spending time with Dives right? Don’t—”
“Cosimo’s not to be trusted. He was blackmailed by Tobias and— he already tried—”
“To kill you Hawthorne!” Cadence finished, panting hard.
“Right,” he put his hands up. “Yeah, I suppose he did… do that.”
“You suppose,” Morrigan said doubtfully. “He was definitely going to do it. He poisoned the lure.”
“Soft spined coward,” Cadence agreed, crossing her arms. She interlinked one of her ankles’ with Morrigan’s so they looked like they had been tied together. “Don’t get on that dragon again.”
“You’re the biggest threat to his sister’s career,” Morrigan agreed.
“You think he wants to take me out?” Hawthorne choked. “I mean if you’re suggesting that—”
“I don’t know,” she threw her hands up. “Maybe. Maybe. You’re the one who said that dragonriding was a dangerous business. What if Dives eats you?”
“What if that’s the route?” Cadence said, more to Morrigan than to him. She passed her her notebook, pointing at some writing in it. Hawthorne got up and went to stand over them so he could read Cadence’s spidery handwriting.
Quincy Frost — promising young dragonrider. Was supposed to ride Alights before Hawthorne got in.
Hawthorne Swift — was going to be the youngest rider in the Tournament before Vesta Rinaldi showed up. Was also supposed to ride Alights.
Vesta Rinaldi — Cosimo’s younger sister. Hawthorne’s only competition.
“I wouldn’t say I’m her only competition,” he said, face heating up at the half-compliment. “And I don’t think they’re trying to kill me. Really. Cosimo’s not a good liar. He was going to put Dives down.”
“Don’t you have to be a good liar for business,” Cadence asked doubtfully.
“Not in the way he does it,” he said. “He was embarrassed at what Vesta was doing. This could backfire on him way more than it would on me.”
“Unless Dives eats you,” Morrigan pointed out helpfully.
“Thanks,” he tightened his jaw and went to collect the fallen cards. “I’m just going to see how it goes. Nan’s helping me with the contract. I’m going to be okay,” he was pretty sure he was persuading himself as much as he was the others. “Now, what are we going to play?”