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It’s only the fear in her eyes that keeps me from asking her again before she rushes off, leaving me staring at the tome in my lap, realizing how dangerous my “research project” really is.
Violet, Sorry it took me so long to write. I only just realized the date. You’re a second-year!
“She’s been reassigned to Athebyne. She says the food is only a step above our mother’s cooking.” That gets a laugh out of me as I flip the page over, but it dies quickly when I see the thick black lines that eliminate entire paragraphs. “What the…” I flip to the next page, finding more of the same before she signs off, hoping to fly over to Samara during one of my upcoming trips.
“I think it’s been redacted.” I flash it at her so she can see the black lines, then look around to make sure no one else notices. “Someone censored your letter?”
Melgren. Varrish. Markham. Anyone on Aetos’s orders. My mother. The options are endless. “I’m not sure.” It’s not a lie, not really. I slip the envelope into the internal pocket of my flight leathers and then cringe as I button up the jacket. It’s too fucking hot for these things down here, but I know I’ll be grateful for the extra layer in a few minutes once we’re airborne.
A red in the second row huffs a blast of steam in warning at a cadet from Third Wing who gets too close, and we all hurry along.
“Tairn?” If the professor of dragonkind knows about Andarna, we’re screwed. “Only a few dragons saw her before she entered the caves for the Dreamless Sleep. You try keeping her hidden and see how it goes for you.”
Varrish saunters toward me, his arms locked behind his back, and the major must be inhuman because there’s not a dot of sweat on his high forehead. “Ah, Sorrengail, there you are.”
I officially loathe this man, but at least I know Tairn will eat him whole if he tries to attack me on the field.
“Remind him that I threatened to digest him alive.” “I don’t think that would go well for me,” I reply. “It would be fun to watch him eat the pompous one.” Andarna’s voice is groggy. “Go back to sleep,”
“It’s ironic, don’t you think?”
“From what Colonel Aetos told me, your father was writing a book on feathertails—dragons which hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years—and then you ended up bonded to one.”
“I know nothing of your father’s research,” Tairn promises. But Andarna has gone silent.
“I didn’t say we would.” He chuffs. “The dragon-watcher will adapt his request, or I’ll have an early lunch.”
My gaze whips toward him. “Who the hell is Catriona?” He winces and presses his lips in a thin line. “What are the chances that you’ll forget I said that between here and Samara?” “None.” I stumble on a rock, or
“Not even the tiniest bit of a chance? Because the thing about the deal you two have with your dragons is that he’ll be back here next week, and I’m not remotely in the mood to have my ass kicked after fending off another assassination attempt.”
“Cadet Sorrengail, you will delay your launch.”
Tairn growls in answer. Bodhi and I exchange a glance, but we both remain silent as the trio approaches. “What do we do if they try to stop us?” I ask Tairn. “Feast.”
“Nora, search her bag.” “I’m sorry?” I put a step between me and the woman. “Your bag,” Varrish repeats. “Article Four, Section One of the Codex states—”
“That all cadet belongings are subject to search at the discretion of command,”
“As Cadet Sorrengail’s section leader, I am the next in her chain of command. And as Article Four, Section Two of the Codex states, her discipline falls to her chain of command before being brought to cadre.
Tairn lowers his head behind me, angling slightly to the side and growling deeply in his throat. At this angle, he can scorch two of them without touching Bodhi or me, which would only leave one for us to dispatch if we have to.
“Second-year physics text, land navigation manual, and a hairbrush.” “Give me the book and the manual.” Varrish holds his hand out to Nora.
“In addition to the very real attempts on all of our lives—Imogen and Eya were attacked today, too, coming out of a briefing for third-years—we suspected they’d search you but wanted to confirm,” he admits, dropping down to help.
They could have died. My heart stutters in my chest, and I quickly fold that fear into the box where I’ve decided to hide all my feelings this year. Well, all emotions except one: anger.
“Every minute you stay is one fewer that Tairn gets with Sgaeyl.” “Agreed.” “Stop using me like I’m some kind of game piece, Bodhi.”
“You two want my help? Ask for it. And don’t fucking start on me about my shielding abilities. That’s no excuse to send me into something unprepared.”
“Good thing they didn’t search me,” Tairn says. “Are we carrying…” I blink twice. “We are,”
“Now get in the saddle before they change their minds and I’m forced to incinerate your leadership. Later I’ll have more than a few words for the wingleader about not preparing you, trust me.”
“Let’s get to them,”
“Be careful,” Tairn orders me, waiting behind me in the field where he landed. “It’s known to be…brutal as a first assignment.”
“I’ll be all right,” I promise. “And my shields are up.”
“They’re stronger here, and since your signet has manifested, you’re more sensitive to them now.”
“You don’t have to watch my back,” I say, reaching the top of the ramp. “This is an outpost. I’m safe here.”
“There’s a drift on the other side of the mountains, a mile beyond the border. Sgaeyl just told me. You’re not safe until you’re behind the walls or with the wingleader.”
“A friendly drift?” “Define friendly.”
“They’re not acting like there’s a drift across the ridgeline.” “Apparently it’s commonplace.”
This outpost isn’t deserted. There isn’t a horde of venin and wyvern waiting to be spotted from the highest point, either. It’s only the same layout because almost all outposts are built from the same plans.
I push open the door to the third floor without encountering anyone. Odd. One side of the hallway is lined with windows that open to the bailey, and the other with equidistant wooden doors. My pulse picks up as I reach for the handle of the second door.
Xaden’s empty room. Shit. I sigh in pure disappointment as I drop my pack near his desk.
He’s close, but he must have his shields locked, because he doesn’t reach out like he usually would when I’m close. The bond feels like it’s tugging me downward, like he’s actually…under me.
More than a dozen riders—all in black—stand along the sides of the square-shaped, windowless room that looks better suited for storage than occupation. They’re all leaning over a thick wooden railing, intently watching something in the excavated pit below.
I take the empty space on the rail directly ahead of me, finding myself between a veteran rider with a grizzled beard on my left and a woman who looks a few years older than me on the right. Then I see who’s below and my heart stops. Xaden. And he is shirtless.
The rider swings for Xaden’s face, and I white-knuckle the rough railing, holding my breath as Xaden easily evades the punch, delivering one of his own to his opponent’s ribs.
This isn’t sparring. This is straight-up fighting.
There’s a definite sparkle in those dark eyes as he deftly jumps back again, denying his opponent’s strike. My pulse jumps. Damn, he’s fast.
“There’s only one pass for lieutenants this weekend,”
“Jarrett has it, and Riorson wants it.” “So they’re fighting for it?”
“Leave and pride. Lieutenant Colonel Degrensi’s rules. You want it? You fight for it. You want to keep it? You’d better be good enough to defend it.” “They have to fight for passes? Isn’t that brutal?” And wrong. Extreme. Horrible. “And detrimental to wing morale?”
“He won’t take him at all.”
