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A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.
Conscription Day is always the deadliest. Maybe that’s why the sunrise is especially beautiful this morning—because I know it might be my last.
“Because scribes are so far beneath riders?” I grumble, knowing perfectly well that riders are the top of the social and military hierarchy. It helps that their bonded dragons roast people for fun.
“She’s batshit crazy,” Mira says from the center of the hallway, right between where two guards are positioned. “They’ll tell her you said that.” “Like they don’t already know,”
“You’re carrying way too much, and your boots are a death trap. You’ll slip right off the parapet with those smooth soles. I had a set of rubber-bottomed rider boots made for you just in case, and this, my dear Violet, is the worst case.”
Decide, Violet. Are you going to die a scribe? Or live as a rider?”
The rule book for the Riders Quadrant is a fraction of the length of the other divisions’. Probably because riders have trouble obeying rules.
“Stay the hell away from Xaden Riorson.” The air rushes from my lungs. That name… “That Xaden Riorson,” she confirms, fear lacing her gaze. “He’s a third-year, and he will kill you the second he finds out who you are.” “His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion,” I say quietly. “What is Xaden doing here?” “All the children of the leaders were conscripted as punishment for their parents’ crimes,”
With a name like Sorrengail, I bet you were the first to volunteer this year.” “I was more like volun-told.”
He’s tall, with windblown black hair and dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble, and when he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, moving in a way that makes me swallow. And his eyes… His eyes are the shade of gold-flecked onyx. The contrast is startling, jaw-dropping even—everything about him is. His features are so harsh that they look carved, and yet they’re astonishingly perfect, like an artist worked a lifetime sculpting him, and at least a year of that was spent on his mouth.
Even the diagonal scar that bisects his left eyebrow and marks the top corner of his cheek only makes him hotter. Flaming hot. Scorching hot. Gets-you-into-trouble-and-you-like-it level of hot. Suddenly, I can’t remember exactly why Mira told me not to fuck around outside my year group.
“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” the rider with the ripped sleeves says. Xaden Riorson? “You ready for this, Sorrengail?” Rhiannon asks, moving forward. The black-haired rider snaps his gaze to mine, turning fully toward me, and my heart thunders for all the wrong reasons. A rebellion relic, curving in dips and swirls, starts at his bare left wrist, then disappears under his black uniform to appear again at his collar, where it stretches and swirls up his neck, stopping at his jawline. “Oh shit,” I whisper, and his eyes narrow, as if he can hear me over the howl of wind that rips at my
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“Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?” A wicked smile curves his lips. “Your turn.”
If Jack wants to kill me, he needs to get in line. Besides, I have a feeling Xaden Riorson is going to beat him to it. “Not today,” I respond to Jack,
Sixty-seven
67
Finally, the wingleaders turn around to face us, and the slight tilt to Xaden’s lips makes me instantly queasy.
We pass another squad on the way from…from… The very breath freezes in my lungs. We’re moving to Fourth Wing. Xaden’s wing.
There’s a fucking smirk on Xaden’s arrogant, handsome face.
“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Xaden points toward the navy dragon and leans forward slightly, like he’s letting us in on a secret as we lock eyes. “To them, you’re just the prey.”
Oh shit. Xaden Riorson is watching me with narrowed eyes, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up his massive arms that remain folded across his chest, the warning in his relic-covered arm on full display as a third-year next to him says something that he blatantly ignores. My heart jumps and lodges in my throat. There’s maybe twenty feet between us. My fingers twitch, ready to grab one of the blades sheathed at my ribs. Is this where he’ll do it? In the middle of the rotunda? The marble floor is gray, so it shouldn’t be that hard for the staff to get the blood out. His head tilts, and he studies
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Liam Mairi. He’s in Second Squad, Tail Section of our wing and already the top cadet in our year. He practically ran across the parapet and destroyed every opponent on assessment day.
“If they need a fucking pep talk, then we both know they’re not flying out of the quadrant on graduation day. Let’s get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is far more valuable.” He turns his head, and I can only assume he’s looking at the panicked first-year. “In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur. This”—he
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“I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.” He’ll…handle me? My muscles thaw with the heat of indignation. I’m not some inconvenience to be handled. My short-lived admiration of Xaden is over.
the look-alike Xaden
“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents,” Garrick counters, folding his arms over his wide chest. “Not her daughter. Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish.”
A shadow lunges behind me and I open my mouth to scream, but my air supply is cut off by an elbow around my neck as I’m yanked against a hard chest. “Scream and you die,” he whispers, and my stomach plummets as the elbow is replaced by the sharp bite of a dagger at my throat. I freeze. I’d recognize the rough pitch of Xaden’s voice anywhere. “Fucking Sorrengail.” His hand yanks back the hood of my cloak.
“I command shadows, but sure, it was your perfume that gave you away.”
“That stance is really the best defense you can muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.” “I’m more dangerous than you think,” I flat-out bluster. “So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.” The corner of his mouth rises into a mocking smirk. Fucking. Asshole.
“Fascinating. You look all frail and breakable, but you’re really a violent little thing, aren’t you?”
“Interesting,” he says softly. “We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.”
Wait. What? “You’re not going to handle me?” I call after him, shock raising my brows. “Not tonight!” he tosses over his shoulder. I scoff. “What are you waiting for?” “It’s no fun if you expect it,” he answers, striding into the darkness. “Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.” “What?” I gawk after him. “You’re my wingleader!”
The advice is so different from Xaden’s throw-a-few-daggers-at-his-head approach.
Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants.
“And honestly, I haven’t seen him in the last five years,
I unsheathe both daggers from my ribs and flick them in his direction in one smooth movement. They land right where I intended—one nearly nicking his ear and the other an inch beneath his balls. Fear widens his eyes. I shamelessly grin and wiggle my fingers in a wave.
He lifts his scarred brow, and I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips
“I’m happy to step in.” That voice. That tone. That prickle of ice along my scalp… Oh no. Hell no. No. No. No. “You sure?” Professor Emetterio asks, glancing over his shoulder. “Absolutely.” My stomach hits the floor. And Xaden walks onto the mat.
The sadistic ass is enjoying this.
The look Xaden gives him makes me realize he’s been taking it easy on me in the glaring department.
“You don’t think you’ll need those?” I ask, palming my own blades. His chest is massive, with wide shoulders and heavily muscled arms alongside. A target this big should be easy to hit. “Nope. Not when you brought enough for the both of us.” A wicked smile curves his mouth as he stretches out his hand and curls his fingers in a come-hither motion.
I fling a dagger straight at his ridiculously well-sculpted chest. He fucking catches it and clucks his tongue. “Already seen that move.”
“Going for blood today, are we, Violence?” he whispers. Metal hits the mat again and he kicks it past my head and out of my reach. He’s not taking my daggers to use against me; he’s disarming me just to prove he can. My blood boils. “My name is Violet,” I seethe. “I think my version fits you better.” He releases my wrist and stands, offering me a hand. “We’re not done yet.”
his chest rests against the back of my head.
“I’m the one who decides when to grant that favor. Not you.”
“You’d rather I die, no doubt,” I fire back, the side of my face pressed into the mat. This isn’t just painful, it’s humiliating. “And be denied the pleasure of your company?”
Ignoring Xaden’s outstretched hand, I gain my feet and his lips curve into an approving smile. “She can be taught.” “She’s a quick learner,” I retort.
I don’t think. I just act, going low and kicking out the backs of his knees. He goes down like a tree, the sound more than satisfying,
BAHA
His forearm rests against my throat, not cutting off air but definitely capable of it, and his hips have mine pinned, my legs useless on either side of his as he lies heavily between my thighs.
Beautiful. Fucking. Asshole.
“Kidneys are a good fit from this angle, too.” I swallow, refusing to think of other things that are a good fit at this angle.
