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“So that wasn’t what I was expecting,” she said, fiddling with her prosthetic so she could take it off.
“Yeah,” he said, picking up his chocolate milk and putting it back down again on the table without taking a sip. Nan’s coffee table was covered in mug rings, the type his dad was apparently so terrified of that they kept coasters in almost every room of the house. “I mean, me neither.”
It had been a dream come true, into some nightmare, into something he didn’t even want to know about. He was going to be Alights’ rider, and break all the tournament records and make his career, all before he turned fifteen. Up until yesterday morning, at least.
Hawthorne knew he wasn’t the greatest dragonrider in the world. He had skill, and talent, sure. He was better than anyone else in the Junior Dragonriding League — that’s why it was his knack, and why he’d gotten into Wunsoc.
Vesta had all of that too. And more. He could see that even before he had inadvertently tried to drug Alights, that she had been cautious around him, and more just tolerant than accepting. And that made sense now. Even with Dario dead, and her period of FSDA-permitted mourning over, she still had another rider. That almost no one had known about.
“We were trying to figure it out for ages,” he said, looking around Nan’s living room. A photo of her with her dragon — Floats Like A Leaf Leaving The Tree In Autumn — next to one of them from the Wundrous Welcome with an ugly jumper he’d had to put in the cupboard so Baby Dave could wear it since he’d more than outgrown it now, was hanging on the wall, the glass of the frame spiderwebbed at the edge, the paint peeling.
Nan grunted, finally pulling off her prosthetic and resting her leg onto a raised footstool, placing her prosthetic down next to her. “Damn thing’s swelling again. What were you trying to figure out?”
“Who the dragonrider was on the night of Dario’s murder,” he said, a little cautiously. Nan and him hadn’t really talked about the murder he’d been investigating — he’d certainly not had the blowouts Morrigan had had with Jupiter over it — but it had been over the news. He’d mentioned it. “We thought they might have done it.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “I mean, utterly unhinged from the view of the hypothetical murderer but I could see it.”
“Thank you,” he put his hands up. “But we were wrong. It was just Vesta.” J ust Vesta probably wasn’t the right term for it. Someone who was prepared to go behind all their living family’s backs to ride Alights and get into Hackerby Hall — something which Hawthorne had only been a little bit disappointed about on Bid Day to not have received a Bid from — and be honestly one of the the best dragonriders he had ever seen, was truly something. “Someone else did it.”
“I saw,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Looks like the Rinaldis aren’t out of the woods though. Between you and me, the FSDA are investigating now what Cosimo confessed at the party.”
“Cosimo’s not a dragonrider though, they can’t ban him in the same way. If Dario had done it then he would have been banned from everything, right? Because he was actually involved in the sport.”
She hemmed and hawed for a moment. “Yes and no. Cosimo’s position in the stable could certainly be stripped from him. But it’s his family’s business.”
Hawthorne’s nose scrunched up, “So it’s like he can still do stuff through Vincenzo? That’s barely a punishment then.”
“It’ll be humiliating for their reputation,” she shrugged. “I know a lot of sponsors have dropped them. Saint Nicholas has cancelled their collaboration for Holly Jolly Toffee this year. It’s not nothing.”
He remained unconvinced. He was fairly sure this was a giveaway.
“Buck up,” she chucked him under the chin. “Even if you’re not the youngest rider in half a dozen Ages, it doesn’t mean you won’t be the best. You were chosen for Alights for a reason.”
“That was halfway into being an assassination attempt,” he reminded her.
“Your name is out there now,” she said. “I’ve recieved inquiries about you from more than half a dozen other coaches from various stables, and Didi Gundry wants to meet you for tea sometime.”
Something in his chest jumped at the thought of the Gundry the Great wanting to meet him, knowing who he was. But a morose poison was still seeping through his veins. It felt like disappointment and it smelled of aniseed. “I’ve never gotten a dragon to reply to me. I don’t think I’ll ever be good at dragontongue.” His throat felt too tight to even breathe through but he said the words anyway, like he was confessing to a murder. “I had to get Mahir to translate everything I said to Alights.”
“But you did say it,” she nudged. “I didn’t manage to get a dragon to reply to me till my third Summer Tournament, Hawthorne.”
“But Vesta—”
“Possibly sleeps in the stable with Alights.”
He snorted.
“But seriously,” Nan continued. “Maybe she’s better than you at some things, but you’re probably better than her at a lot of things too. And both of you are incredible riders. And… if you ask me, it’s good to have a bit of competition. People like to choose their favourites. Back in the day, Didi and I had a whole rivalry in the saddle and in the press, but behind the scenes—”
“You were friends,” he interrupted, getting excited. “Wait, really?”
She made a face at friends, “Sure. We were amicable. It was great for press. Dragonriding isn’t a kind world, you know that already. And you and Vesta are the closest in age, I think the next youngest is Quincy Frost.”
“And she’s twenty,” Hawthorne agreed. Nowhere near his age.
“You’ve got your whole career ahead of you to improve on your flying, and your whole life to learn Dragontongue,” she said. “Don’t let it get you down too far, alright?”
He nodded, making a note to try to make friends when he saw Vesta Rinaldi next, whenever that was. “So what’s this about meeting Didi Gundry?”