Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

NOTE: All of the canonical names listed here are actual words used in the Scottish Gaelic language; they are not names in the traditional sense. I do not speak Gaelic so the way I write the pronunciations may be a bit off. The translated terms are in parenthesis for your convenience. Please refer to LearnGaelic.net and Muireann on TikTok to hear how it’s spoken.

DRAGONS OF THE VALE:

• Teine (fire): chen-yeh
• Tàirneanach (thunder): Tarn-ee-nak
• Andàrnaurram (the second honor): an-dàrna-urrem
• Aotromas (lightness): uu-drem-es
• Cath (battle): kah
• Chràdh (torment): krag
• Claidh (burial ground, cemetery): kl-eye
• Marasgal (marshal): ma-rah-skal
• Codagh (derived from the word "cogadh" which means warfare): koh-dah
• Daoimean (diamond): duy-man
• Deigh (ice): jay
• Sgàeyl (shadow): sc-all
• Furachas (vigilance): foo-ruh-hus
• Glane (clean): glan
• Marbh (dead/deceased): mah-rav
• Sliseag (chip): slee-shag
• Faoileas (sparkle): fea-lias

DRAGONS BEYOND THE VALE (Non-canon):

• Sciathyhur: skah-thi-heur
• Iòsurram: yos-urrem

Chapter Text

PART ONE:

"A Kindling"

Chapter Text

“You are a Sorrengail; you will not fall.”

— Recovered correspondence of Major General Aiden Sorrengail II to Cadet Lilith Sorrengail

---

I can already hear the yelling as I trudge up the flight of stairs towards the twin doors that will inevitably seal my fate.

Tomorrow, thousands of twenty-year-olds will wait in front of the gate to enter their chosen Quadrant at Bàsgiath War College, Navarre’s most elite and prestigious learning institution where dragons bond with only the strongest. The weak don’t fare well in this country, especially if your body has been at war with itself since the moment you took your first breath.

It only makes sense for Mira, of all people, to fly all the way out here from the border in an attempt to keep me off the battlefield. She’s always been a protector first and foremost, and a soldier second.

“You’re sending her to die!” my sister’s voice snarls through the thick blocks of wood.

I try not to wince at her words — or the crushing weight of the pack resting on my shoulders — as I slowly force my way up the obsidian black marble steps. I can’t quite hear the response my mother gives. Knowing her, though, it probably has something to do with destiny and things being set in stone.

I grit my teeth as I pull myself up with the help of the golden railing. My pack threatens to slip off my shoulders as I reach the final step and shove the doors open.

As soon as I step inside, my sister’s strong hand grabs hold of the loose strap to free me of my burden.

“Look, she can’t even carry her own rucksack.”

Ouch.

Trying not to bring too much attention to the sting of her harsh comment, I slip out of the wretched thing and straighten my spine.

“Enough, Mira.” Mother’s voice is authoritative as she frowns at my sister from where she’s seated behind her desk. She’s wearing the standard Navarrian general’s black uniform, adorned with various medals, and an amethyst cloak made to resemble dragon wings at the hem. “Violet has already been accepted into the Rider’s Quadrant. There is nothing that can be done at this point. The gods have approved–”

Mira throws my bag onto the floor and steps closer.

“The gods don’t mean shit to you,” she accused, placing her hands on Mother’s shiny black desk and leaning forward. Unlike me, the two are almost exact copies of each other: flawless pale skin and powerful muscles toned from years of combat and dragon riding. The only distinction between them is Mira's golden brown hair that doesn't quite reach her ears. “The Scribe’s quadrant is right there. You can still enlist her before tomorrow.”

“That won’t be possible.”

“Why?! Is it because you’re so eager to bury another child?”

A powerful thunderclap shakes the glass window, causing me to jump back a little.

Mira flinches slightly at the sound and reluctantly withdraws from the general’s space.

Our mother sits still as a stone, hands neatly folded in the same position as it’d been when I walked in. A lilac hue in her dark hazel eyes is the only sign of her signet’s blessing manifesting.

“You’re setting a poor example for your sister.” Her voice is calm and reasonable but it’s enough to make Mira bristle. “She will be given the appropriate accommodations in order for her to succeed; you have no reason to demand that I pull her out of the role she’s been training for the past six months just to appease your own selfishness. Now, if I am not mistaken, I believe you have a post in the Eastern Wing that needs attending.”

The lieutenant holds her gaze a moment longer, as though assessing the threat level, before deciding to back down.

“Apologies, General,” she says reluctantly, not meeting her gaze. She tosses my pack over her shoulder with little effort and briskly exits the room before I can ask for my bag.

Heavy silence fills the air.

I fidget with the hem of my cream tunic nervously as Mother slowly exhales through her nose.

“Brennan was…extraordinary.” Her words are softer than I expect them to. She almost looks sorrowful, regretful even, but… no. I blink and her face is back to its professional, neutral expression. “His sacrifice was not in vain. He would be proud to see you carrying on his legacy.”

“I know,” I begin, “but my joints aren’t–”

“Yes, it is. Your great grandfather suffered from a similar ailment but that did not stop him from crushing the Tyrrish revolters. Similarly, you’ve endured more physical pain in your life than any other woman I’ve met. Doubting your capabilities only leads to failure; you must overcome it if you wish to succeed in life.”

I blink in surprise. Was that a compliment I just heard?

“It’s a shame your sister doesn’t hold the same sentiment...” Ah.

“She’s just looking out for me–”

“She’s squandering your growth by pressuring you to stay in the Scribe’s quadrant. The only reason I let it slide before was because Cillian thought it was a good idea at the time.”

My heart aches slightly at the mention of our late father. She’d once had a soft spot for him back in the day, or so I’d been told. When he was still alive, she let him get away with all sorts of things like harboring illegal texts and documents. After his heart gave out, she burned everything she could find, including an old fairy tale book I used to love.

“I was also a pathetic child like you when I first came here and, as impossible as it may seem, Mira struggled with taking the lives of our enemies. The Rider’s Quadrant and our bond with dragons molded us into the resilient warriors we are today. You will be no different.” Her gaze holds a strange glint, as though she can already see the perfect version of me in her head standing before her.

I lift my chin a little, feeling an inkling of pride well up inside me. If they could overcome their flaws then so can I, right?

She takes a shiny brooch from one of the drawers in her desk and walks over to me. Upon closer inspection, it appears to be a golden dragon with four wings and a star shaped tail tip carrying a wreath of flowers in its claws. Our family’s emblem.

I stay still as she fastens it close to my heart, only relaxing when she steps back.

“Once you’re done repacking, let me see it so I can make sure you have everything ready for tomorrow.”

“Yes, General.” I consider saluting her briefly before dipping my head respectfully.

She smiles just a tiny bit but it’s enough to raise my confidence as I turn towards the door.

Exhaling through my nose, I trot to the bottom of the stairs where Mira waits, leaning against the wall. Several paintings loom over her, including one of our third uncle. Her brows furrow as soon as she sees me and propels herself off the wall.

“You know, what you said was pretty uncalled for. You’re lucky Dad’s not here; he would’ve had you doing the maids’ jobs for a week straight.”

“Beats getting forced into the rider’s quadrant with a body like yours.”

I lightly punch her in the ribs as we make our way to our rooms.

“Seriously, she knows you’re not meant for these kinds of things. If you go out there and dislocate your pelvis, no one’s going to help you.”

“That’s why I need to go! How else am I supposed to get stronger like you and Mom? At least with a dragon, I can defend myself properly.”

“Defend yourself,” she echoes under her breath.

“Yes! I’ll be able to protect the homeland and push back those Poromish assholes. If you want someone to be mad at, blame them. They’re the reason I’m being conscripted in the first place, not Mom.”

She’s just worried, I know. But sometimes it really does feel a little stifling. I’ve read up on everything related to the Rider’s Quadrant that I could get my hands on in the Archives; I can even recite most of the Codex by heart.

“Just because I dislocate and break a few bones every week doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

“I never said you were, but I’ve heard of people with contortions like yours who’ve died because they didn’t know what their limits were. You need to be careful, especially when it comes to combat.”

“I’m not a baby, Mira.”

“I know.” She doesn’t meet my gaze as she adds, “I’d just hate to be an only child.”

“We’re Sorrengails; we don’t go down that easily. Watch, I’m gonna get the most powerful dragon in the Vale and then you’ll be forced to eat your words.”

“Sure.” Her lips twitch upward as she playfully nudges me toward the intersecting halls that lead to the dorms and library.

We make a left turn and climb a set of stairs to our private living area. My room is next to Mira’s, so we have a long history of poking our heads into each other’s doorway unprompted and getting shoes thrown at our faces in response. Soon, I’ll be stuck with a bunch of strangers in one room for a whole year. At least we’ll get bunk beds.

The door opens by itself and Mira heads in first, dropping my rucksack on the floor in front of her feet.

“First thing’s first,” she announces, dumping all of the contents that were inside. “You can only bring what you can carry.” She kicks a pile of books aside with one of her leather boots. “I don’t know why you decided to take all this to Mom’s office, but they’ve gotta go.”

“Hey!” I rush to scoop them up before any of the pages get damaged. “These are important! Dad gave them to me.”

“You’re gonna have to get rid of a lot if you want to cross the bridge. That shit’s not supporting your weight with all this shit on your back. Trust me, I know from experience.” She inspects a crudely folded sweater and puts it aside next to her on the bed. I scowl but sit next to her as she goes through my clothes. Most of the ones she packs are button down sweaters and pants fit for colder weather. “Don’t worry about your flight gear; they’ll give you those after Threshing. Which weapons are you good at handling?” My brows furrow slightly.

“Don’t they rent you one during your first year?”

“They’re first come first serve, and a bunch of first years are going to be fighting over them so it’s best you bring your own.” Ah. Shit, I haven’t touched a weapon since…last year I think. Long ranged ones are best for dragon riding but I haven’t even touched a crossbow yet.

“I’m pretty good with knives. Dad taught me a few moves in case something happened.” Mira doesn’t respond for a minute but her brows knit together in contemplation as she works.

“Those can last you half of the year at best, but once you get into actual combat you’ll need something with more reach. Can you handle something like a shortsword?” My eyes light up momentarily at the thought of finally being able to use a sword for once, but I hesitate. I’ve never used a real one since scribe apprentices aren’t supposed to have combat training, and even though I’ve seen enough of my brother’s fencing lessons to be familiar with the fighting style, I have a feeling the intensity will have me dislocating my wrists faster than I can sprint up the stairs.

“I think I’ll stick with knives just to be safe.” She nods, placing a few of her knives, some elixir bottles, and one of Dad’s books about dragon riding into a side pocket. She leaves for a moment before she returns with a satchel and stack of letters tied into a neat bundle.

“Is that…?” I begin, recognizing the handwriting on the envelopes.

“Brennan sent me these before he died. I, uh… I’m giving these to you ‘cuz they helped me get through my first few years at Bàsgiath. Just don’t lose them, okay?” She places the packet in my hands as though they’re something deeply sacred. I suppose they are, in a way. His spirit could be possessing them for all I know. The thought is simultaneously comforting and unsettling, knowing he’s still looking out for us but unable to move on to Elysium. I meet my sister’s gaze, knowing how much these probably mean to her. They’re the only things she has left of him and she’s just… giving them to me?

“Are you sure?” She nods silently. “Thank you. I'll keep them safe.”

“I have to head back before Mom reports me for my absence,” she says, clearing her throat a little. She turns to leave but I grab her arm just in time.

“Wait! Can I say hi to Teine first?” Mira opens her mouth, then closes it as she studies me with confliction. It’s illegal for normal citizens to interact with the dragons at Bàsgiath for safety purposes. Normal citizens, not Sorrengails. “C’mon, I might not see him again!”

“Don’t say that,” she sighs, as if we haven’t done this a thousand times before. “I guess, since you’re going to be a cadet tomorrow, it’s…fine. But, you have to remember–”

“No touching,” I finish, rolling my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” She takes my hand and we’re off.

Down the spiral stairway we go, past the towering sculptures of ancient heroes, beyond the gothic arches that lead to the chapel, lies a secret door that leads to the flight field. Mira presses her ear to the stone wall of the piano room next to the furnace and taps a few times. I resist the urge to bounce on my heels as I watch her pull the torch above her head downward. The muffled sound of gears groaning makes my heart soar but I press my lips into a thin, firm line, even as the door’s outline becomes more visible. It gradually slides to the left, revealing a long, dark hall. As we enter, Mira snaps her fingers and a small orange flame flickers to life above her hand.

The door behind us closes once we descend the stone steps. From the mystic flame, I can make out a few carvings of six legged snakes and humans surrounding a bonfire in what I can only assume to be a celebration. Various swirls and intertwined loops decorate the lower part of the wall and ceiling above.

I never got to spend much time here — mostly because traversing through the secret passages was strictly forbidden when we were kids. Dad suspected that Bàsgiath used to be a castle that belonged to a Morraini king before the unification of our country, hence the timeless carvings. My favorite of these has always been the one of a dragon with two legs carved onto the door at the end of the tunnel. Accented with a gold border, the mystical creature bares its fangs at us as we approach. Mira’s flame fades out as we climb a small flight of steps and pull the door open.

I shield my eyes to protect against the warm sunlight pouring into the tunnel before stepping out onto a sea of green speckled with a few boulders and shrubs here and there beneath a golden sunset. Behind me, Mira moves to cover the hidden entrance with moss and loose foliage before taking the lead. I make sure to watch my step as I follow her to a nearby hill with a tree that slanted from the gales caused by passing dragons. I lift my head as the familiar sound of wingbeats from the east grows closer and a gust blows my hair back. Instinctively, I latch onto her so I don’t get blown away and squeeze my eyes shut to keep the dust out.

A heavy thud nearly causes me to lose my footing but Mira steadies me with an arm.

And there, only a few yards away, stands the most majestic creature in the entire continent. A dark green dragon with a tail spike shaped like a long blade tucks in his emerald wings and turns his head towards us. The two rows of frills running down the sides of his neck fold in on themselves as he lowers himself to the ground. “Mira,” he says solemnly, slowly blinking his golden eyes at us. Though his lips don’t move, the word echoes in our minds crystal clear. “Greetings, Violet of House Sorrengail.”

“Hi, Teine! Fought any gryphons for me?” I ask with a grin.

“Aye. Though they appear fierce in numbers, nothing can beat the might of my kind.”

“Naturally,” Mira remarks proudly, using his foreleg to hoist herself onto her saddle. She rolls her shoulders a little and wraps her hands around the horns of the saddle pommel. “Alright then. Let’s pray Zihnal blesses us with the opportunity to meet again at the Winter Solstice.”

“Godspeed! Make sure you bring me a gryphon’s talon next time!” She offers me a quick salute as Teine extends his wings and frills before taking off. His massive form gets smaller and smaller as he disappears into the clouds. If I linger here any longer, I’ll start to miss her more than ever so I quickly scramble down the slope and head back to the secret door. With a grunt, I push the heavy door open and slide it back behind me. My fingertips trace the hard edges of the bipedal dragon’s snout one last time before using the wall’s carvings to trace my way back. Without Mira’s mystic flame, I’m blind as a bat in here. It’s no wonder dragon riders are coveted for their magical skills. While scribes can channel a meager portion of it through small inanimate objects like quills and orbs, riders use their whole body as conduits to manipulate the elements. Their true power, though, comes from their signet’s blessing — the ultimate proof that a human has earned the trust and respect of a dragon. The thought of channeling real magic soon makes me quicken my pace.

By the time I make it back, the sun has already sunk past the horizon. I quickly comb out any leaves that might’ve gotten caught in my hair and brush off the dirt from my sleeves before grabbing my rucksack again and heading back to Mother’s office; the trip, I note, is considerably less arduous than before now that Mira repacked for me. I place my sack on the cushioned burgundy couch next to the doors and toss my hair over my shoulders. Mother flips open the top of the sack and carefully goes through the items, using her long nimble fingers to scoot a few clothes to the side. “Hm. I presume Mira did all the work?” she inquires, giving me a side glance. My cheeks heat but I don’t look away.

“How do you know I didn’t–”

“She’s neat.” I try to think of something to say in my defense but nothing comes to mind. She slowly takes the stack of letters out from between two sweaters.

“Mira said I could keep them,” I explain quickly before she can ask. She stares at the first one for a few seconds before placing them back in its original spot and closing the sack.

“Pack more efficiently next time,” she suggests, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “Before you head off to bed, consider this my only advice: show no weakness in front of the other cadets. You will be the one they look to in times of trouble; if Mira is torn asunder in front of your very eyes, you must not succumb to fear.” She digs her nails into my skin so I know it’s not simply parental guidance, it’s an order. I swallow and nod in understanding. Her grip slackens as I pick my rucksack up from the couch and push the doors open with a foot. “Good. I’m so glad you understand.” Her voice softens ever so slightly as she says this, like she’s relieved at my answer. “Sleep well, dear. You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Morning barely approaches yet I’m already greeted by a burning pain in my right shoulder. Curling the light pink velveteen linen my fingers, I grit my teeth and use my feet to push myself back against the thick wall of pillows for support. “Shit,” I hiss under my breath. And here I thought I’d be having a good day today. I can’t remember sleeping on it. Then again, I have a habit of waking up in odd positions so that could be a cause. Inhaling sharply, I reach for the vial of pink liquid labeled “Nymph’s Elixir” on my nightstand, dig my teeth deep into the cork and twist it open. A sweet, ginger aroma hits my nose when I bring it up to my face and take a tiny sip. A sharp, almost spicy aftertaste bites my tongue, no doubt from the ginger bits floating inside. The pain dulls but remains present as I gently move my bad shoulder a bit until I feel the joints rearrange itself back to its proper position. A soft sigh of relief escapes my lips. Before I get out of bed, I roll my shoulders just a little bit to test the waters and open the gray curtains.

The sky is a deep blue with hints of paleness just on the horizon. Well, at least I woke up early. With a yawn, I put on the most casual yet appropriate wear befitting the Rider’s Quadrant uniform: a long-sleeve black shirt, matching pants, and equestrian boots. Using a brush with rubber bristles, I quickly groom my graying light brown hair and tie it into a braid before pinning my family’s emblem to my chest, grabbing my rucksack from where it hangs on the wall next to the door, and head out to greet my mother who waits for me at the end of the hall. “Good morning, Mother. I’m ready.” At least I hope I am. My heart hammers in my chest and my palms sweat; I haven’t even reached the courtyard and my nerves already feel like coils ready to spring at any second. She studies me from head to toe for a moment before nodding in satisfaction.

“Good morning and good luck, Cadet Sorrengail. May you soar to great heights.” The tension in my body eases; I smile a bit at the warmth in her eyes. I can do this, I tell myself, straightening my spine a little. I offer her a salute which causes her to chuckle softly. She returns the gesture affectionately and steps aside for me. I turn a corner to a set of stairs that lead to the courtyard. Through the windows, hundreds of candidates and returnees gather outside below to say farewell to their friends and relatives on the grassy fields before the gate. Just at the edge of the field, I spot a few dragons stationed with their riders. They stand still as stones, with only their tail tips twitching occasionally as they face the Bridge connecting the Healer’s Quadrant with the Rider’s. I try not to shudder, knowing they’ve been put there to catch any potential cadets who might fall. There’s only a slim chance any of us might actually plummet to our deaths, but it’s happened enough in the earlier days since the college’s establishment, that they’d had to have senior riders catch us in the event it does. You won’t fall, I tell myself. Mother forbade it. I reach the last step and turn a corner that leads to the clamor outside. Flinching slightly at the cacophony of chatter and horse whinnies, I squeeze past a few people and cast my gaze around the area. Instructors with color coordinated flags instruct and herd the cadets to four quadrants: gold for scribes, blue for infantry, green for healers, and silver for riders. I slink into the cluster of black shirts and sweaters being led down the cobblestone path towards the southern turret. In the distance, the majestic stone fortress awaits; its stories-tall structure able to withstand even the strongest dragonfire. The red steeples of the turrets glimmer, as though beckoning us forward.

The herd thins out into a straight line as we enter the tower that leads to the snake-like Bridge. Someone behind me bumps into my back. “Ah, sorry!” a pleasant sounding voice says, catching me by the shoulders as I stumble forward. Don’t dislocate, I pray to my faulty joints as I’m pulled up by large, strong hands. I turn my neck to glance at the woman and blink in surprise. She’s larger than me with obsidian dark skin and matching hair braided close to her skull in swirling patterns. “Are you okay?” She skims my face to make sure and I quickly look away.

“Uh, yeah. I’m good, thanks.” The last thing I need is someone finding out I’m weak right before we even step foot into the clearing to the dragon rotunda where we get sorted into our wings.

“No problem. I got distracted by the Rider’s Quadrant; I’ve seen pictures of it in textbooks but I didn’t think it’d be this huge! Have you been here before?”

“It’s my first time, actually. My older siblings graduated a few years ago but my sister took me to show me where the Bridge is during her last year. I’m…” I hesitate slightly. We might not be in the same wing together so introductions probably won’t be necessary. Still, it feels rude not to. “I’m Violet.”

“Rhiannon. Your family must be proud to see you pick up their profession. I don’t know if I’d be as excited, to be honest.”

“Oh?” I turn my head to see her spare a glance at the citadel across the ravine. “Why not?” Rhiannon shrugs.

“Being a soldier sucks, that’s all,” she says simply. My brows furrow slightly.

“Yeah, if you’re infantry. We get to ride dragons and wield magic. Trust me, I was going to be a scribe; we had to use this giant glass orb to make our pens write for us and it was not fun.” A chuckle escapes her lips. We stop at a wooden table stationed next to the door leading to the stairs and I spot a familiar face scribbling the names of the cadets who pass by on a scroll.

“Next!” he calls, his balding head pressed low to scribble something down. I trot up, chin raised high. “Name?”

“Violet Sorrengail.” Hisgaze shoots up and the edges of his eyes crinkles as he squints. “Hey, Prof– Captain Fitzgibbons.”

“What are you– why are you here?”

“Signing up for the Rider’s quadrant.”

“No, I–” My former tutor stops himself and sighs, shaking his head as he writes down my name. “Your mother’s orders, huh? Here I thought you’d be one of our best scribes.” The sadness in his voice causes my confidence to falter.

“Then I’m going to be the best rider in Navarre,” I assure, trying for a soft smile. “Mother said I passed all of the requirements so there’s no need to worry.” He hums but doesn’t seem all too convinced.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck out there. Next!”

“Rhiannon Matthias,” Rhiannon says and we make our way up the stairs together. Once we reach the top opening, which is nothing more than an oval hole in the wall, I pause momentarily. The sky has begun to cloud over. In fact, those clouds are moving a bit faster than they should be. “Violet? You okay?”

“It’s going to rain,” I say.

“Great,” my new friend mutters under her breath. “I didn’t even pack a hoodie.” Neither did I. My stomach churns as I watch the rope bridge sway dangerously in the wind. When a few students have gone far enough, I carefully make my way to the edge and press my foot against the first step. “Good luck out there,” I hear Rhiannon say. “Just don’t look down and you’ll be fine.” I nod, let out a short huff, and focus my gaze on the tiny dark pinprick ahead.

One step in front of the other. The board creaks underneath my weight as I continue forward. My hands curl around the rope railing when I feel the wind strengthen. “Don’t look down, don’t look down,” I whisper to myself as I dare to take a long stride. The red cloth hanging from the railing to mark quarter of the way flails in the harsh wind. As soon as I pass it, the bridge sharply jerks to the right, causing my heart to leap to my throat. My gaze is forcefully dragged to the river awaiting me miles and miles below. The figures of dragon riders at the base does nothing to keep my heart from ramming itself against my ribcage. Okay, new plan. I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath, and gradually inch forward. “Lord of fortune, master of music, guide my steps in the right way. Don’t let your sheep fall to the clutches of demons.” My voice shakes as I recite one of the prayers my siblings and I had been taught when we needed to call upon Zihnal for luck in a tricky situation. “Weave the threads of fate in my favor… protect the flock…” No, that’s not the right order. “Uh, steady my feet–” The bridge jerks again as a heavy gust sends my braid flailing like a whip in the air. Thunder roars around me, as if the very sky’s threatening to send a bolt of lightning to strike me down. I can do this. It’s just a stupid bridge. I’m almost halfway there.

My body stiffens briefly as a flash illuminates the dark behind my eyelids for a second and I’m reminded of being eight, hiding under my brother’s bed from the raging storm outside as our parents argued. He’d gone out of his way to join me under the duvet and tell the most absurd, nonsensical stories. Mira had come along, squeezed in beside me with a “forbidden” book and flipped to a story of a dragon prince befriending a gryphon. It’s just like that day except there’s no bed to hide under and no older siblings to rely on. There’s only me, the storm, and my brain that can somehow remember an obscure Tyrrish folktale but not a prayer to Zihnal of all things.

“Once upon a time, there lived a dragon prince named Askel,” I murmur to myself, urging my feet to move forward. “He lived in a giant castle carved into the tallest mountain and adorned himself in the rarest, most precious jewels known to man. His scales were black as night and his eyes were like melted gold. He could blot out the sky just by stretching his wings.

“One day, while he was hunting, he spotted a lone gryphon fending off a crazed bear and sought to help the poor thing by torching the foe.” I feel another cloth brush against my hand and pick up the pace a little. I’m halfway there. “The gryphon, whose name was Salair, thanked and offered to him one of his feathers. The two quickly became best friends and dined at the castle in the evenings. Salair returned one night with news of a banquet to be held at the selkie king’s kingdom by the sea.” I dare to crack open an eye and relax a little. The other turret is no longer a tiny dot, but it’s still far away. I’m not safe until I reach solid ground and get inside the quadrant building.

“Askel accepted the invitation and they flew to where the banquet was on the eve of the summer solstice. When they arrived, they were greeted with joyous applause by their gracious hosts; there they drank, danced, and feasted until they grew tired. But they could not lift their wings and fly off — the music forced them to spin and dance against their wills. Far too late, they realized they’d been deceived and felt their power drain from their bodies ‘til they dropped dead. With a triumphant cry, the selkie king ransacked Askel’s castle later and sat upon his throne, claiming himself to be the new king of the mountain.” The bridge sways again, causing my stomach to churn. My foot nearly slips through a hole in the wooden roadway but I manage to safely hop over it. My hands shake slightly as the turret on the other side gets closer and closer.

Finally, my feet land on the hard stone surface and I’m surrounded by the walls of the Rider’s Quadrant’s turret entrance. I glance behind me to see Rhiannon not far off and give her a thumbs up before turning to the woman blocking my way. Half of her face is shrouded in shadow but I can easily make out the burn scars prominent on the right half of her face that seem like they want to crawl to the leftmost side. I try not to grimace as she lifts her right hand — which is also scarred —  to push back her chin length fire-red bangs from her face. Her left eye is an icy blue while her right is dark brown. She’s wearing the signature black leather rider uniform with three silver four-pointed stars stitched in a line across her collarbone. I try not to stare too much as she briefly glances at the pin on my sweater and asks in a deep, slightly raspy voice, “Sorrengail?”

“Violet,” I clarify with a nod.

“How many times have you fallen?”

“None.” She scrawls my name on a scroll hovering in the air and steps away so I can pass. Before I can make it past the canopy shielding me from the rain, she stops me by reaching behind her back to lightly tug on the sleeve of my sweater.

“Word of advice,” she says, not bothering to face me. “Your family’s name holds no meaning here. Don’t go flaunting it around like your predecessors.”

“I’ll…keep that in mind.” I’m not sure if she’s saying that just to scare me or what. I read that third-years always like to intimidate first-years during the starting months as part of the initiation process. Suppressing a shudder at the ominous warning, I quicken my pace to catch up to the other cadets ahead of me who are already halfway down the stairs.

Chapter Text

“Bàsgiath War College is the oldest institution of higher learning in Navarre. Since its establishment, the college has survived countless wars and managed to preserve over 10 million books in their original text dating back to 200 years before the country’s unification in the Archives.” — “History of Navarre” by Colonel Lewis Markham

---

As we gather into the teardrop-shaped clearing, some third years go around passing hand towels and small umbrellas for us. Some of them have a scar or two running down the base of their necks or across their face, but none as visceral as the redhead’s. I take one with a nod of thanks and undo my braid to wipe it down as I head for a corner. I frown at a tiny knot stuck between my fingers, tugging at it a few times before stumbling into someone’s back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to–” My voice dies in my throat when the stranger whips around to glare at me. He’s taller than most of the cadets here with dark brown skin, a large nose, and thick black hair combed back to one side so it falls over his left shoulder to look like a puffy cloud. The brand mark in the shape of erratic swirls crawling down the base of his right ear tells me everything I need to know about who he is. Xaden Riorson, the son of Fenrir II, glares down at me with nothing but pure malice.

“Sorrengail,” he says in a low poisonous tone, narrowing his eyes. I swallow and hold his gaze. The last thing I want to do is cower before a traitor’s son. He should be dead or working in the most dangerous coal mines like the rest of his comrades. Instead he’s here, proudly wearing the Rider Quadrant’s black leather uniform as though doing so might prove his loyalty to the king. As if it could erase the fact that his father and grandfather had attempted to tear down the walls of Bàsgiath not even thirty years ago. “Watch where you’re going.” It’s a warning I’m more than happy to follow. I lift my hands in surrender and he shoves past me, despite the open area, to a girl with short pink hair, pointed ears, and a similar mark burned into the left side of her neck. I don’t linger around to eavesdrop. The tension in my body only eases when I spot Rhiannon a short while later and hand her my towel to dry off.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she comments, patting her hair down.

“A few of the Tyrrish revolters’ kids are here,” I explain, nodding to the two I just passed as I put my rucksack on the ground. “Can you believe it?” Rhiannon raises a brow at them as I continue, “Their parents tried to overthrow the king and now they’re… I don’t even know what they think they’re doing here.”

“Maybe they want to make up for their parents’ mistakes,” she suggested, leaning against the wall next to me. “I heard surviving members have to take an oath of loyalty and get branded if they want to be considered full citizens again.” I scoff, shaking my head. It’s ludicrous. There’s only a handful of Marked Ones in the clearing but just the sight makes my skin crawl. Who knows what they could be plotting behind our backs?

“None of them can ever atone for the sins they’ve committed. Those bastards killed my brother. They deserve more than just a painful death.” I fold my arms across my chest and let out a huff of air. “It’s fucking bullshit.” Rhiannon doesn’t speak for a minute. Her gaze is locked on the pink haired girl who’s frowning as she listens to something Xaden says. I open my mouth to tell her not to stir up trouble when a familiar voice calls my name from afar. I turn my head as a man with sandy brown hair weaves through the crowd to get to us. “Dain, over here!”

“Violet!” he exclaims once he’s close enough, pulling me into a tight embrace. I quickly notice that he’s gained some more muscle over the past few years. He’s grown a beard which looks… a bit odd on him, I won’t lie. I was kind of liking the stubble he’d had the last time we met. Well, whatever. It works for him, I guess. His warm calloused hands cups my face gently as he checks me over. “Mother Amari, what are you doing here?” Concern laces his voice. “I thought you were supposed to be with the scribes! You have to–”

“I’m fine, don’t worry,” I chuckle, prying his hands from my cheeks. “Mom signed me up a few months ago and I passed all the requirements.” His brows knit together and I see his pupils start to narrow like a cat’s. It’s one of the many off-putting quirks being bonded to a dragon brings. Yeah, no. Fuck that. I swiftly spin on my heels to face Rhiannon. “Uh, this is Rhiannon,” I say in a chipper tone. “We met before crossing the bridge.” He blinks, shifting his attention to her. Thankfully, his eyes are normal now. “Rhiannon, this is my friend Dain. He’s Colonel Aetos’ son.”

“Hi,” he says stiffly, shaking her hand. “Can we have a moment, please? We won’t be long.” He steers me away to a separate corner before she can utter a response and folds his arms. “What do you mean your mom ‘signed you up?’” he demands, brows creasing.

“I meant exactly what I said,” I sigh. Gods, I should’ve prepared for this. Dain can be such a mother hen sometimes. “She made me take the test and I passed. Simple as that.” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“No, no. That can’t be right. The Board’s super strict with who gets in and who doesn’t. They’d never let someone like you into the Rider’s Quadrant, let alone Infantry.”

“Well, I’m here now!” I raise my arms to show him I’m perfectly fine. “See? No injuries so far. Nolon and Winnifred can patch me up if something happens–”

“But what if they can’t? What are you going to do if you’re stranded with only your dragon and no one else is there to heal your injuries?” I open my mouth to respond but he cuts me off. “You might survive on the mat during sparring lessons but you certainly won’t last a second in war. It’s hell out there, Vi.”

“I know–”

“No, you don’t! The records in the Archives only scratches the surface about the shit going on at the border. You couldn’t even spend a few days without constantly hurting yourself as a scribe. You’re going to get more than just bruises in here.”

“I’m not some porcelain doll,” I counter. “I already proved myself by crossing the bridge in the middle of a thunderstorm. Have you done that yet?” He doesn’t respond. He just stares at me. “Look, even if you did somehow smuggle me into the Scribe’s Quadrant, Mom would just drag me back.” I let out a frustrated huff of air and jab the toe of my boot into the mud. The rain starts to settle into a drizzle as the last few candidates walk in. They’re all bulky or built well enough to have a good chance in hand-to-hand combat. I almost envy them. Almost. “This place is supposed to make you strong, right?” Dain looks away from me. “Right?” I prompt.

“Sure,” he sighs, voice softening just a bit. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

“Okay, so I get stronger. Then you won’t have to hover over me like an obnoxious fly.”

“I am not –”

“Mom will be happy and I’ll finally be able to follow in Mira’s footsteps.”

“Is that what this is all about?” he asks, raising a brow. I blink, tilting my head slightly as I study him.

“Yeah, why?” He hesitates for a moment before exhaling through his nose.

“Nothing, I just… I thought you liked being a scribe, that’s all.” Oh . Of course I liked it. The Archives is probably my favorite place in the entire college. I love it there but… well, it was never really my passion. Dad always said it was my destiny to be a scribe. There were no ifs, no buts. Just do your book work and one day it’ll all pay off. So, I rose to the top of my class because… well, what else was I supposed to do? Flunk and disappoint my family?

“It was great there,” I tell Dain. “But, you know. I don’t want to be stuck in a dark cave wearing musky old robes for the rest of my life. Someone probably died in those things at least twice.” That gets an amused huff out of him. “You know I’ve always dreamed of flying. This is my life’s goal; I’m gonna achieve it no matter what.”

“The dragons,” he begins, “don’t tolerate weakness.” He nods towards the redhead I met earlier. “See her? That’s Amber Mavis. A scorpiontail did that to her during Threshing and she almost didn’t get a chance to bond because her wounds were so bad. If something like that happens to you…” His expression turns pained. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

“I’ve been through more pain this week than she ever will. You, of all people, should know that by now.” I soften my voice just a little and squeeze his hand reassuringly. “I’ll be fine , trust me.” He finally relents, stepping back with a reluctant sigh. Amber approaches but stops a few feet away from us, arms clasped behind her back, and clears her throat to get our — well, Dain’s attention. She locks eyes with him for a moment until he gives her a small nod and heads off towards the dias where a few other riders gather on a slightly lower platform. “So what was that all about?” I ask.

“They’re going to start soon.”

“No, I mean that look Amber gave you.” I narrow my eyes in mock suspicion. “Are you two fucking?” His cheeks instantly flush and I gasp. “Oh my gods, really?”

“No!” he says instantly, abandoning his anxiety for once. I stand on my toes to get a better look at her. She moves in purposeful strides that scream elegance and authority; her uniform is mostly dry as she stands next to a woman with short black hair and a rapier strapped to her side. “She’s my superior officer. It would be too awkward between us and… well, she takes her job very seriously. Besides, it’s against the Codex anyway.” I roll my eyes. Typical Dain. Facial features aside, her legs are a work of art even from here. “You should go find your friend. We’ll meet up later.” He gives me a pat on my back before joining a group of cadets near the podium. I can’t help but crack a smile as I head over to Rhiannon who’s still by the wall, polishing her greatsword with a black cloth.

“We’re about to start,” I say, grabbing my bag. We follow the other cadets to the edge of four large squares painted on the grass in black. As the bell clangs overhead, Commandant Panchek strides towards the front of the dias above the platform where the four riders stand. His medals glimmer in the faint early rays as he moves.

“Good morning cadets,” he says in a voice loud enough for all to hear, “and welcome to Bàsgiath War College. Three hundred and one of you stand here today before us and, I must say, that is significantly better than last year’s. Many of you are returning to complete your three year course while others are just starting out on your journey to glory. As the Codex says, your true crucible begins at this very moment!” He grins, bearing his teeth, as he stares down at us with pale blue eyes. “The number of cadets the dragons found worthy of being riders were few last year, but I believe this new batch has what it takes to mount our most powerful assets.” His gaze flickers towards me for a split second before they land on someone else. “In this mighty fortress, you will learn and know what it truly takes to be a dragon rider. Your superiors, teachers, and even fellow peers are all here to guide and mold you into strong, resilient warriors. How well you learn from them is entirely up to you. Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. Should I need to get involved…” He pauses for dramatic effect then chuckles. “Well, let’s pray that day never happens. With that, I leave you to your wingleaders.” One of the four below him, a woman with short brown hair steps forward, summoning a large scroll in her hands as Panchek leaves.

“I am Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and head of First Wing. For the uninitiated, this Quadrant — Navarre’s aerial force — is divided into four battalions called Wings. These are split into three sections: Claw, Flame, and Tail.” She nods to the three giant squares in the first painted column before her as she continues in her posh Deaconshire accent, “Each section hosts three squadrons; each squad is led by a squad leader who in turn is led by the section leader. As Panchek stated before, the wingleader has the final say in critical matters and punishment regarding faulty squads. Section and Squad Leaders step forward.” I blink in surprise as Dain steps toward Fourth Wing’s Flame section and stops a good distance from a man wielding dual swords. Holy shit, he’s a squad leader? No way he climbed the ranks that fast. I look up to where Amber Mavis stands over him on the podium. Her face is as emotionless as a stone slab. Hell, she doesn’t even look at him. Guess he was right about her taking her job seriously. If that were me, I don’t know if I’d ever be able to take my eyes off my lover if they ended up in Dain’s position. “When we call your names, step forward,” Nyra instructs.

She starts with Claw Section then down to Tail. The squads are lined up into three neat rectangles before the squad leaders who then turn to face the section leader. This goes on until Amber finally steps forward. My eyes widen as a small spot in front of her warps and births a pitch black hole. She doesn’t even hesitate to shove her hand in and pulls out a scroll. “First Squad: Claw Section — Fourth Wing,” she reads aloud. The black hole vanishes as she goes down the list.

“Was that her signet’s blessing?” Rhiannon whispers next to me, raising a brow.

“No, that’s object storing. It’s one of the lesser magical abilities riders get after bonding with a dragon but I’ve never seen it look like that.” Mira’s usually just looks like a deep blue tear with shimmering stars, not… whatever this is. I guess it looks different for everyone.

“Second Squad: Flame Section — Fourth Wing,” Amber calls without a hint of emotion. “Xaden Riorson…” My heart tries to leap out of my throat as he stalks forward to stand in front of Dain. Fourth Wing. That means... Shit. I desperately pray to Zihnal to put me in Tail when Rhiannon is called alongside him. I do not want to be paired with him, not even in death. “Violet Sorrengail.” My gaze immediately snaps to Xaden who visibly stiffens. He looks like he’s trying really hard to set her on fire with his mind.

“I-I’m sorry?” I squeak out.

“Violet Sorrengail, you now belong to Second Squad, Flame Section of Fourth Wing.” Amber lowers the scroll to look at me. “Step forward.”

“Wh- I… he’s–”

“Step. Forward.” My legs obey and I soon find myself standing a few people behind the Tyrrish bastard, hands balled into fists at my sides. Zihnal hates me. There’s no other explanation. Why else would he curse me with this weak ass body and put me in the same squad as Xaden fucking Riorson? I try to scour through my brain for anything I’ve done in the past to warrant such a fate. Was it because I couldn’t remember that prayer on the Bridge? Was this my punishment for not having a perfect memory? I close my eyes, inhaling slowly through my nose. This is the price I have to pay. Fine. I’m not going to push my luck by insulting him. The last thing I need right now is even worse luck. When Amber finishes listing off Tail’s cadets, she drops her scroll into the black hole of hers as if it were nothing more than garbage.

The sound of flapping wings fills air and large shadows momentarily block out the sun. A weyr of eight dragons fly overhead then dip low, tilting their powerful wings as they curve over us like vultures circling a corpse. The wind is so powerful, it almost knocks me back. They hover momentarily before dropping onto the thick outer wall. There are three prickly looking dragons in varying shades of red with scales like a pauldron running down the back of their neck, an upward pointing snout and curved bull horns. Two of them — one navy blue, the other red-orange — have smoother scales and long horns. Judging by the two small horns sprouting from above their eyes, they look like blue-tongued daggertails. The other three are brown and green with the same frills Teine has. My heartbeat quickens as the blue daggertail lowers its head to glare at me with its piercing golden eyes. I focus instead on my new wingleader, feeling my palms start to sweat.

“Congratulations,” she states, “you’re all officially cadets. Look at your squad mates, look at your wing. These are the people you will entrust with your life. These are the ones who will save you from danger should you need it. They are your beating heart and they are the blood coursing through every intricate part of your inner body. You must never fail them, never betray them, under any circumstances.” She gives Xaden a meaningful look that forces him to lower his head slightly in submission. “Navarre is the last bastion of sanctuary in this forsaken world and we are the wall that protects its citizens — not infantry, not the nobles, not the guards patrolling the streets. We are the defenders of the breach, the shelter from the oncoming storm. In this quadrant we are one mind, one body. I expect cooperation and perfect coordination between all squad members by the time you leave these doors as fully graduated riders. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am!” we say in unison.

Nyra steps in to say, “First years, after you eat, you’ll be taken to your dorms to change and report to class. I look forward to seeing your full potential.” The dragons exhale hot blasts of steam from their noses at us before flying off towards the Vale where their dens are. “You’re dismissed.” Gradually, we all flock to the rotunda’s doors that lead to the main hall and dining area. The scent of bacon wafts through the open mahogany doors, causing my stomach to growl.

“I can’t believe we’re paired with Riorson,” I grumble. “It’s like the gods hate me.” I clench my jaw as I watch him weave through the crowd to get ahead. They give him a wide berth as if he’s a leviathan and they’re all minnows. If he wants to atone for his father’s sins, he can do it by bleeding out on the floor.

“I’m pretty sure they’re just trying to test you,” Rhiannon says, shifting her sword from one shoulder to the next. “Gods like to do that all the time. He’ll probably try to make your life hell but he can’t exactly kill you.” No, but we’ll be forced to work together and that’s close enough in my books. The interior of the rotunda is shaped like an oval with five evenly spaced marble pillars carved out to resemble the dragon breeds of Navarre supporting the three stories overhead. Light pools through the stained glass ceiling and the tiled floors are almost as reflective as a mirror. To the left are two massive arched doors leading to the academic wing, echoed by the same on the right, which leads to the dorms. Up ahead between the stairs that climb to the study lounge, lies our destination — two wooden doors that open up to the largest dining hall I’ve ever seen.

 We take a seat close to the edge of one of the long rows of polished tables stationed in the middle of the room. To our left towards the wall sits an extravagant looking table with embroidered purple tablecloth and cushioned armchairs — even the way the napkins are folded on their plates give off an air of luxury. The wingleaders take their seats at the center while section leaders sit at the edge, observing us with curious analytical eyes as they murmur to one another. I wonder if Mira’s ever sat up there. Mother certainly had.

“Hey, look who made it!” a chipper voice says, pulling my attention away from the elites. A boy with rich brown skin and soft brunette curls covering his brows slides in across from us, sporting a giant grin. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon, Rhi.”

“So your plan failed, huh?” Amusement flickers in Rhiannon’s eyes as she sits next to me.

“Plan?” I echo, raising a brow at the two of them.

“Ridoc here tried to avoid getting drafted by pretending to have a fever.” That gets a scoff out of me. “Honestly, what were you thinking?”

“It’s nearly impossible to avoid the draft. You’d have to be severely wounded or clinically insane for that to work.”

“Oh, I should’ve tried that,” Ridoc murmured. “Do you think they’ll let me go if I hit my head hard enough?”

“Doubt it. Why do you want to get out of here so soon? It hasn’t even been a day yet.” I’ve seen a few people piss their pants about getting drafted but those were usually poor commoners. These two don’t look anywhere close to poor. Well, their clothes are pretty bland and seem a bit worn at the edges but they don’t seem too malnourished. Ridoc’s grin falters slightly as he shifts a bit in his seat.

“Ah, well, you know how it is.” He waves a hand dismissively as if I should know. A moment passes between us as I wait for someone to explain. “N-never mind, it’s not that important.” He chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck in an embarrassed manner.

“We live near the border,” Rhiannon explains simply. She unfolds the napkin wrapped around her utensils and places it over her lap.

“So you’ve seen gryphon riders before?” I ask. “I heard they’ve been getting more aggressive in their attacks over the past few years.” Most of the news I’ve gotten have been from the reports brought into the Archives; those bastards have tried crossing the border more than once and even raided a few villages close to the Esban mountains despite the Resson trading post being on their land.

“I guess? We’re not that close but we’ve heard a few stories here and there.”

“That should give you all the more reason to fight back though. If it were up to me, I’d burn every gryphon rider to a crisp.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” Ridoc responds. “Those things spawn like hydra heads. Kill one and five more show up out of nowhere!”

“That’s why we have dragons. If it weren’t for them, we’d be bird food.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nyra get up from her chair. Several servers in gray outfits station themselves outside the doors to the kitchen next to food carts packed with trays.

“Before we begin, would one of our second years like to offer a prayer to the pantheon?” she asks. When no one responds, her dark eyes lock onto the pink haired girl. “Imogen! How brave of you to volunteer!” She smiles as the Marked One begrudgingly rises from her seat.

“Thank you, Mother Amari, for blessing us with another day and for breathing life into the souls of the animals we’ve bred for slaughter,” Imogen begins once we’ve bowed our heads. “Thank you, Zihnal, for blessing us with a bountiful crop season and fair weather; Dunne, we thank thee for guiding the hunt and providing us with bountiful meat. And lastly, Malek — you’ve given us the power to take the lives of our prey whilst sparing our own kind. Bless the less fortunate and guide our hearts. Amen.”

“Thank you so much, dear.” Imogen offers the wingleader a tight-lipped smile before settling down again with a disgusted look on her face. Nyra remains standing as the servers gradually make their way down the table rows to serve our breakfast. Ridoc is about to dig into his meal before a third year sitting next to us hisses at him to put his fork down. The servers finally retreat back to the kitchen — aside from the muffled clatter of pots and pans being washed and hung up to dry, the dining hall is uncomfortably silent. After a minute of waiting, Nyra clasps her hands together and says, “Begin.” Life floods back to the hall and the tension quickly dissipates like melting snow.

“So where are you from?” Ridoc asks, adjusting his slightly worn shawl before digging into his eggs.

“I was born in Akdus, but since my mom got stationed at the school, I’ve basically been living here my whole life,” I explain. “My dad wanted me to be a scribe so I trained in the quadrant over there for a bit.”

“Oh? What’s that like?” I shrug, tugging my knife from the napkin bundle.

“We had to learn at least three languages by the end of our apprenticeship and memorize every major battle since the unification of Navarre. Most of my time was spent reading so we couldn’t really go outside as much as my other siblings.” I spread some raspberry jam on my slice of toast and take a bite. The bread isn’t too dark or crunchy, like the ones served in the Scribe’s Quadrant. In fact, the food itself is much better here. There’s a savory sweetness to the baked beans, the juicy sausage has a hint of asurra pepper that lightly pricks my taste buds, and the coffee that comes with the meal isn’t as bitter as the ones I’m used to. “You know, the food in the Scribe’s Quadrant is mostly tasteless,” I comment before stuffing a spoonful of pudding into my mouth. “We’re told that flavorless meals are what enhances our minds and give our brains more space to retain information.”

“That’s insane! No wonder they look so pale and miserable all the time. You guys have got to eat better.” I laugh a little.

“Which dragon do you think you’ll bond with?” Rhiannon asks, leaning forward a bit. “I’m hoping to get something big like a clubtail.”

“Well, I want a daggertail. That blue one looked so badass.” I hum in agreement and take another sip of my coffee as I listen to them debate over which breeds are better. Ospon clubtails are pretty well known for their strength and ability to endure even the most deadly attacks but they’re also the slowest fliers. In my opinion, they’re not that impressive — they don’t have the kind of ferocity needed to win this war. The blue-tongued daggertail on the other hand? Those things are born to kill. Whoever bonds one is definitely worthy of joining the wingleader table.

I’m not sure which breed I’d want to bond with. Father always said it wasn’t up to us to choose; the dragons have their own way of determining a human’s worth. He considered the presentation ceremony and Threshing as their way of “sorting the wheat from the chaff.” It’s better not to put too much effort into hoping you get the one you want. There’s always a chance you get one that has an insufferable personality. Everything from getting a dragon to earning a signet blessing relies on pure luck. And if the odds aren’t in your favor then you might as well be scorned by the gods. Given the way my day’s starting, I only pray that I get something that isn’t a clubtail.

Chapter Text

"The Children of Fire were the first to descend and raise the earth at the behest of the Conqueror." — translation of an ancient slab found in the Morriane Province

---

The dorms for first year cadets are…not what I originally expected. For starters, they’re not really dorms in the traditional sense — we stand in a large wood tiled room with only two windows for light to filter through. Thirty beds are lined against both walls with just enough space for us to move around; four bathrooms are tucked away in a corner. “So what’s with the lack of privacy?” Ridoc asks, dropping his sack on the edge of the nearest bed.

“You’ll need to be accustomed to each other’s presence for the next three months until you get your dragon,” Dain explains from the doorway. “It helps build the bond and trust of the wing. Once you’re done getting dressed, you have twenty minutes to get to class. Your first one, draconology, is on the third floor, eighth room to the right in the academic wing. Don’t be late.” He’s gone before we can ask any more questions.

“He’s pretty good at pretending he doesn’t know you,” Rhiannon murmurs next to me as she plops down on one of the beds close to the windows. I nod, letting my rucksack slip to the floor.

“Guess it comes with the job,” I say, unfolding the black tunic placed neatly at the head of my bed. The standard uniforms we’re given are significantly less impressive than the one Dain wears. There are no interesting stitch patterns or layers to protect from the high altitude. It’s simple, slightly itchy on the inside, but sturdy enough to withstand the usual weather. Mine is a bit too big but after I make it work by tucking in the hem of my tunic and fastening my pants with a belt. After putting my hair back in it’s usual braid, I head back to the rotunda and quickly trot up the steps to my first class.

“Good morning, class!” Professor Kaori, a burly man with pearly white skin, greets once we’re all seated. “Welcome to draconology. Everything you need to know about your future flying companions can be found in this exact room.” He spreads his thick, muscular arms out to the various posters and figurines of dragons decorating the place. Picking up a stick of white chalk, he scrawls the names of five breeds on the chalkboard that covers most of the wall: blue-tongued daggertail, Ospon clubtail, plated scorpiontail, frilled swordtail, and rhinestar vishap. “These,” he points at the list, “are the main dragon breeds who live in the Vale. You’ll encounter them during Threshing and when you’re deployed on the field so it’s important to remember the temperaments of each.” His eyes glow as he lifts a hand to form an illusion of a seven foot tall daggertail — the same one from orientation. It spreads its medium long and narrow wings, unhinging its jaws in what would be a deafening roar if the manifested blessing could produce sound. Her navy blue and white scales ripple as she prowls around the room, swiveling her head this way and that to sniff us. “This here’s Sgaeyl. Like most daggertails, she possesses more ruthlessness than any other dragon in the Vale.”

“Is that why they’re deployed in the Esben Mountains?” Rhiannon asks, ducking to avoid the dragon’s neck as it swoops over her.

“That’s correct. See her thagomizer?” I lean over a little to get a better glance at the curved claw-like bone structure at the end of her striped tail. “It can disembowel you with just a flick. So unless you’ve got a mender with you, try not to approach one from behind. In fact, I’d advise you not to get behind any dragon unless you get impaled, sliced, or decapitated.” Or if it’s a feathered vishap. They’re the only breed in the Vale that doesn’t have a thagomizer so there’s no risk of getting hurt by one. They’re not listed on the chalkboard though, which is a bit strange since Father would always talk about them whenever he got the chance. I suppose it makes sense, considering how rare they are. He once suspected that most of them fled to the east or Shizuyaka after the war started. “Now, can anyone tell me what makes the daggertail distinct from other dragons, tail features aside?”

“They’re favored by the king and queen for their fierce loyalty to their bonded riders and weyrs,” Luka, a slender woman with kohl rimmed monolid eyes, answers confidently.

“Yes, and?”

“And…”

“Oh! Because of their narrow wings and form, that makes them the fastest fliers,” Rhiannon cuts in excitedly. I nod in agreement.

“It’s also one of the reasons they were so detrimental to quelling the Tyrrish revolt,” I add. “Second Wing’s dragon riders used a tactic they called ‘blitzkrieg’ which utilized the deployed daggertails to raze Tyrrendor’s capital.” From the corner of my eye, I see a few Marked Ones shift uncomfortably in their seats at the reminder.

“Correct!” Kaori grins at me. “You’ll learn more about the fall of Aretia during history lectures, but yes. That is why daggertails were once known as messenger dragons in ancient times due to their high speed.” It’s rumored that they could outfly a peregrine gryphon but since the war, no one’s been able to actually test it since the latter went extinct two hundred years ago. “Now, there have been ten daggertails who’ve shown an interest in bonding this year but the numbers may change by the time presentation week rolls around.”

“How many dragons are there in total?” Rhiannon asks, scrawling something down on her scroll.

“About ten hundred.” She pauses briefly.

“That’s thirty-seven fewer than last year.”

“Yes, well. Like I said, numbers vary from time to time.” I press my lips into a firm line. How many first years joined? No one’s ever said, but I’m sure it’s more than one hundred. Fewer dragons are willing to bond these days. How come? What is it about us that makes them not want to bond?

“How are bonds determined?” I ask, raising my hand. “Are there certain attributes dragons favor more than others?” Kaori shakes his head much to my dismay.

“Dragon eyes can see more than just what’s on the surface; they see into the soul of an individual and decide whether or not they like what they see.” Ridoc fiddles with his quill next to me.

“That’s creepy,” he murmurs. “They can just… see and know everything about you? Isn’t that an invasion of privacy?” Kaori chuckles and makes a swiping motion with his hand as Sgaeyl’s nostrils flare. The illusion turns into colorful smoke that dances in the air before settling into the form of a familiar black dragon with short whiskers hanging from its chin.

“Privacy,” the professor says, “isn’t something you lot should be worried about, especially in the case of dragons. They’re governed by their own rules and don’t take too kindly to humans bossing them around. Besides, if it weren’t for their keen eyes, Fenrir’s coup might’ve succeeded. And where would we be now?” I grimace at the thought. If Tyrrendor had become its own nation, it would’ve allied itself with Poromiel and try to influence the rest of Navarre with its radical ideals. Imagine a government ruled by the common people instead of King Tauri! Most of them can’t even read, for crying out loud! “The dragon you’re seeing here is…”

“Tàirneanach,” a Marked One across from me murmurs. He has the same physical features as Xaden, only less sharp with shorter braids and more youthful looking than most of the new recruits. His dark eyes widen slightly in awe as he stares at the illusion like it’s some kind of deity. “His rider–”

“Ahem!” The professor clears his throat, giving the young man a nasty side eye. “This is Tàirneanach,” he explains. “He’s one of the oldest dragons in the Vale and comes from the Madinndubh vishap bloodline. He’s heralded by many as a dragon warrior and managed to survive some of the bloodiest wars in Navarrian history.” The black vishap shakes his scaly mane and arches his back, showing off his scarred wings, before tucking in his legs underneath his body like a cat. His bony frill curves at the side in a sideways “C” shape and turns into a fading purple at the tips. The violet feelers extending from above his eyes ripple like slow moving flags as he tilts his head to get a better look at us. His thagomizer bursts into sharp purple tinted spikes of black that open and close occasionally.

“Is he related to General Melgren’s dragon?” a student at the back asks.

“Possibly. Vishaps aren’t very talkative creatures so our knowledge on them is limited. What I can say about them though is that they’re one of the oldest species ever recorded to coexist with humans, hence their sharp minds. Fun fact: he and Sgaeyl are a mated pair.”

“So if they breed…”

“You get weapons of mass destruction,” Ridoc finishes, earning a snort from somewhere.

“Yes, the perfect dragons built for exterminating our enemies,” Kaori nods, folding his arms. Interestingly, Ridoc’s brows knit together slightly, as if it bothers him for some reason. I’m not sure why. The more powerful our dragons are, the less those bird fuckers will try to invade. Simple as that.

“What are the odds of bonding with a vishap?” I ask partially out of curiosity. I know the chances of me getting one is low, but it’s not exactly impossible either. My brother rode one into battle before his death eight years ago. Dragons don’t typically bond with a rider’s relative after their death for fear of being too emotionally invested, but it’s not unheard of. If Zihnal ever forgives me for my stint on the bridge, maybe I’ll be as lucky.

“Statistically speaking, you have a 0.6% chance of even encountering one. There are– well, were three known Vishaps who occupied the Vale. The fact that two decided to bond within the same year is in itself a miracle.” His expression softens slightly. “I suppose it makes sense that their riders fell so soon.”

“What happened to them?” A part of me doesn’t want to know. My parents never liked to discuss Brennan’s death. Even Mira rarely, if ever, brings him up in conversation. I can only hope he died courageously. The other half — the scribe part, no doubt — craves answers.

“Brennan Sorrengail, one of our most valued assets in the war against the Tyrrish revolters, sacrificed himself by dealing the final blow to end Fenrir II and everything he stood for.” The professor exhales softly through his nose. “Unfortunately, the rebellion leader managed to drive a lance through his chest using his final breaths. Tàirn’s rider tried to resurrect him using his signet’s blessing but ultimately failed. In the end, Malek burned him alive before anything worse could happen.”

“But that’s impossible.” I shake my head in confusion. No one can bring someone back from the dead. That goes against everything we stand for. It’s an act of hubris. “Tàirn’s rider tried to play as a god? Why?”

“There were rumors that he had some form of madness. In truth, he was just a foolish boy who refused to acknowledge the pantheon and didn’t know his limits.”

“So why would any dragon bond with him? What did Tàirn see in him? I get that Brennan was chosen because he was smart–”

“Dragons choose because they want to,” Luka cuts in sharply. “You’re not special just because you bond with a super rare breed. If anything, it makes you more of a target for the enemy.”

“I’d appreciate it if you refrained from speaking out of turn Cadet Riesse,” Professor Kaori chastises, giving her a pointed look. Luka scowls but tosses her glossy black hair over her shoulder with an annoyed flick of her hand. “Dragons are mysterious beings. Even though circumstances have forced us to become allies, I fear we may never truly know the ways in which they operate. Since Codagh’s the only Rhinestar Vishap in active duty right now, you most likely won’t have to worry about encountering one any time soon. But on the rare chance you do…” He pauses so one one of us can intervene. The Xaden look alike hesitantly raises his hand. “Yes, Bodhi?”

“You’ll need to drop onto your back and avoid eye contact at all costs. Staying still as much as possible improves your chance of survival,” Bodhi answers, keeping his gaze on Tàirn’s tail. Rhiannon hums and scribbles additional notes onto her scroll as the bell rings.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be going over scorpion and clubtails. Remember to read my field guide to dragonkind for additional study and be ready to answer more questions as soon as you walk in.” I hear a few murmurs of affirmatives as I pack my things. Bodhi and I make eye contact for a brief moment as I look up. He presses his lips into a firm line, taking me in as mild concern creases his brow.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Sorry,” he murmurs awkwardly, focusing his gaze on somewhere else. “About your brother, I mean. He’s in a better place now.”

“Why do you care?” I can’t help but ask.

“He was a good man.” That’s all he says before turning and quickly leaving the class. I can see Xaden waiting for him outside in the hall from where I sit. It’s only until they’re out of sight that I finally get up.

“Do you think Tàirn’s rider wanted to overthrow the gods?” I ask Kaori as I pause in front of his desk. His dark gray eyes glitter with amusement as he rubs his mustache with a thumb.

“No, I don’t think so. Only a fool would think to try such a thing.” He sits back in his chair with a sigh. “What he attempted was…sinful in nature and entirely selfish. After all, to resurrect someone is to defy the gods.”

“Why would he risk his own life for Brennan? Wasn’t he already dead?” He hums in agreement.

“I suspect he may have loved him more than he should have. Emotions can make you blind and dispel all rationality; there’s a reason we don’t exactly condone students pursuing romantic relationships here.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“Mm. If you have any more questions, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I will.” I nod in understanding despite the confusion swimming through my head as I check the map of the school for Battle Brief. To commit the greatest sin known to man just so you can see your loved one again… only a blasphemer would think to attempt such a thing. The dead belong to Malek and no one else.

Almost all of the cadets ranging from first to third year fill up the circular, tiered room that is the lecture hall. The new cadets are seated up front while the bonded and seniors are placed in the higher benched desks. A golden chandelier hangs overhead, illuminating the room with a purple hue from the mystic flames lighting the candles. I can see Xaden somewhere in the middle to my right, just two tiers above Bodhi. Imogen sits directly behind me, glaring holes into the back of my skull but I pay her no mind. Professor Devera, a brown skinned woman, stands in the center of the recessed floor before us. A purple patch stitched to her uniform’s shoulders tells me she’s from Flame Section, Second Wing. “In the past,” she begins, clasping her hands behind her back, “riders have seldom been called into service before graduation. If they were, they’d always been third years who’d spent time shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we’re up against.” She paces the floor slowly, examining the first years. “You’ll need to understand the politics of our enemies, strategies for defending our outposts, and have a thorough knowledge of both past and current battles. If you cannot grasp and apply such basic knowledge, you have no right to be on the back of a dragon.”

“No pressure,” Rhiannon mutters next to me, eyeing the twenty foot map plastered onto the wall intricately labeled with our defensive outposts along our borders. I give her shoulder a reassuring pat on the back.

“We’ll be fine. Third years are only sent to midland posts as reinforcements,” I murmur. Imogen scoffs and I hear the sound of paper shuffling then quick quill strokes.

“This is one of the only classes you’ll have every day because it’s one that’ll matter the most if you’re called into service early,” Devera continues. “Since this class is taught every day and relies on the most current information, you will also answer to Professor Markham from the Scribe’s Quadrant.” My former professor moves to stand next to me. His thick dark brows rise as our eyes meet briefly. I give him a small thumbs up but there’s no approving look in his eyes. He just sighs and exchanges a glance with the senior rider before clearing his throat.

“It is the duty of the scribes to not only study and accurately record the events of history, but also relay information from the front lines. Without reliable info and veracious details to document our history, we’re doomed, not only as a kingdom but as a society.”

“First topic of the day.” Professor Devera moves to the map and flicks her hand, bringing a purple flame beside the eastern border with the Braevick providence of Poromiel. “Last night, the Eastern Wing experienced an attack near the village of Chakir by a drift of gryphon riders.” My heart leaps a little as a murmur ripples through the room. That’s where Mira’s stationed. Gods, please let her be alright, I pray as I dip my quill into the ink pot in front of me. I know she’s tough enough to survive this long but that doesn’t stop me from worrying. If a simple human like Fenrir could kill my brother, who knows what things a gryphon rider could do? “For obvious reasons, some info has been redacted. What we can tell you is that one of the wards momentarily faltered at the top of the Esban Mountains, allowing the drift to enter Navarrian territory somewhere around midnight.”

I lift my head up in alarm. Oh shit.

The giant obelisks surrounding our border have been a staple of our nation since the first six riders established Bàsgiath as a place of learning. They’re the only thing capable of sending continuous waves of magic that are powerful enough to nullify foreign creatures’ powers and provide us with an additional physical barrier to prevent them from entering. Since dragons were the ones who powered them in the first place, they’re the only creature capable of passing through with ease. Without those wards, we’re fucked.

Despite our trade agreements, Poromiel has never been satisfied with the resources they have. Those greedy bastards just want more and more, even going so far as to accuse us of stripping them of food and water. They should be lucky we haven’t pushed them back to the Barrens where life is nearly impossible to sustain.

“Thirty seven civilians were killed in the attack in the hour before a squad from the Eastern Wing could arrive, but the riders managed to repel the drift. Based on that information, what questions would you like to ask? First years, I want answers from you first.”

The first thing that pops into my head is an obvious question: why are the wards faltering? They’d never tell us that, of course, but the thought of getting an answer is tantalizing. Thankfully, I don’t have to ask because Luka’s hand instantly shoots up. “Yes?”

“Is this the first time the wards faltered?” she asks.

“No.”

“And how often has this occurred?” Professor Markham’s eyes narrow.

“That’s above your pay grade, cadet,” he answers in an unpleasant tone. He turns toward my squad. “Next relevant question to the attack?”

“How many casualties did the wing suffer?” someone down the row questions.

“One injured dragon and one dead rider.” I stiffen slightly. Gods, don’t let it be Mira. Anyone but her. A few more cadets fire off a few more questions. How many riders were deployed to the site? 26.

How long did it take to clear the village of gryphon riders? Half an hour. The group dispersed after Lieutenant Sorrengail arrived to mow down the drift. I sigh in relief, thanking Dunne for answering my prayer.

What killed the lone fatality? A ranged weapon that appears to fire metal at the target. I blink in surprise. A new weapon? That could spell disaster for us if they make more of those things.

“Was the weapon recovered?” I ask, lifting a hand. Professor Devera blinks at me.

“Yes, it’s currently being held by the royal guards.”

“What was it made out of?”

“Steel, brass, and wood. Why do you ask?”

“If we can replicate it close enough, we might be able to redistribute it to our riders.” A bubble of confidence rises in my chest as I continue, “We can replace our bows and lances with those and even give them to infantry. That way, we’ll have less casualties and gain the upper hand despite the wards faltering. With the right tools, we can even improve this new weapon so we can attach it to our dragons without having to worry about maneuvering and aiming simultaneously. Th-theoretically, at least.” No one speaks for a moment and I fear my idea might be shot down. The two professors exchange glances for a minute before Devera nods, her dark eyes gleaming with interest.

“Yes, we’ve considered the first option. Your second idea, however, is certainly unique. I’ll have to inform General Sorrengail about your proposal.” I can’t help but grin. “Second years, any questions you’d like to ask?”

“What was the state of the village?” Xaden dares to ask. “You said the damage would’ve been worse, but what was the actual condition?”

“Why do you ask, Riorson?” Devera stares at him through narrowed eyes.

“They wouldn’t demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold so the condition matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack.” She raises a brow.

“The buildings they’d already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived.”

“That’s not a gem district, though.” As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. Our mines are located towards the south near Athebyne and Resson. So that means…

“They were looking for something,” Imogen finishes my thought before I can move my tongue.

“And it’s not riches,” I finish. “So what do we have that they want so badly?”

“Exactly,” Devera says, folding her arms. “What were they looking for? Why that village? Were they responsible for the collapse of the wards or not? These are all missing pieces in the puzzle for why our enemies constantly refuse to accept our offers for peace. Tomorrow, next week, next month, there’ll be another attack and maybe we’ll get another answer.”

“What if they never want peace?” Rhiannon asks warily. “What’ll we do then?”

“Then we’ll just have to use more forceful methods,” Markham says simply. “They will have to surrender, eventually.”

“Couldn’t we just offer more land? Isn’t that what they’re after?” Devera shakes her head.

“They’re already crafting advanced weapons with just the resources they have. Who knows what they could do with ours? Keep in mind, they were the ones who attacked first. So until they kneel, we may never know peace.” Rhiannon sits back in her chair with furrowed brows.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to stop this war somehow,” I murmur to her. She tries for a smile but it doesn’t quite land.

Chapter Text

"The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves.” — Major Afendra’s “Guide to the Rider’s Quadrant” (Revised Edition)

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The humid sparring ring reeks of sweat as Rhiannon and I stand on the sidelines of the giant foam mat. I try not to gag at the scent as I watch Ridoc and a girl named Aurelie circle each other through gritted teeth. My feet are killing me. The very center throbs and flares at irregular periods. If I’d have known sooner, I’d take one of my pain relieving potions — especially since we apparently do sparring in the mornings after Battle Brief. Mira should’ve at least warned me about this. Ridoc takes up a defensive pose as the woman prepares to strike. She’s an inch or two shorter than me but almost built like Mira. Her muscles are mostly honed around her legs but her biceps have enough strength to make up for the lack of power in her fists. I try not to stare too long at her pecs and look around for something to distract myself from my screaming feet. The wall behind me is entirely made up of windows and doors. If I turn my head, I can catch a glimpse of the garden Mother likes to tend in her free time. Despite the breeze coming in, I’m still sweating buckets which doesn’t help me in any capacity. Women are dressed in dark gray shorts and tank tops while most of the guys are shirtless because they think shirts give their opponents “something to grab onto” because that totally makes sense. Well, at least it gives me something to focus on besides my feet. The only ones who aren’t shirtless are Dain, Xaden, and Coach Emetterio.

There are three squads from each wing here, including two section leaders. Across our mat, the coach frowns, muttering to himself when Ridoc fails to block a punch. Dain watches next to him with folded arms. Aurelie’s fist comes up sharply from under Ridoc’s jaw, causing him to stumble back for a second before he decides to tackle her. The insides of my stomach flutters nervously and I spare Rhiannon a glance. She’s doing warm-up stretches with her arms but I can tell from the look in her eyes that she’s worried about something, probably Battle Brief. “You okay?” I ask, shifting my weight onto my right side in the hopes that it might alleviate some pain. She scans me for a few seconds.

“Are you?” I try to hide my grimace with a smile as the pain in my feet flare up again. I should probably sit down on one of the nearby benches but I haven’t even fought anyone yet. All I’ve been doing this whole morning is sit in a chair. If anyone sees me like this — if Dain ever notices — the wing will view me as a liability.

“I’m fine. Are you still thinking about what Professor Markham said?” She pauses. “Poromiel’s not going to give in. They’re stubborn bastards who don’t know how to take a hint — they’re all like that.”

“How do you know?”

“My mom did interrogation duty for a while. She says they all refuse to spill their secrets, even while on the cusps of death.” I shrug. “Makes you wonder what shit they’re plotting in those rice fields of theirs.”

“So we’re just going to have to keep killing them until we retire?”

“I hope not. I really want to travel to Shizuyaka one day.” That place looks like paradise on earth. Just staring at the cherry blossoms painted in the Archives’ books never fails to send shivers down my spine. If I could bring Mother and Mira to one of those hot springs, it’d be a dream come true. They at least deserve a two week vacation for their contribution to Navarre. But since the war started, the island nations’ trade routes have been blocked and visitors from the homeland aren’t exactly welcomed there.

“It’s just–” A tooth goes flying and there’s a streak of blood. I flinch when Aurelie stumbles off the mat, clutching her left cheek.

“Okay, that’s enough!” Emetterio orders. He sighs, clearly unimpressed, and looks at Rhiannon. “You and you.” He nods to her and some other guy in our wing. They take their positions on opposite sides of the mat as someone leads Aurelie away to the healers. “Begin!” Rhiannon moves first, striking her opponent square in the chest. She moves fast, knocking him to his knees before he can even land a hit on her.

“Damn!” I whisper. For a moment, I forget about my aching feet. My fingers itch with the urge to write down notes for later. I don’t have anything on me, though, so I just have to rely on my memory to hold onto those moves.

When she has him on his back, she asks, “Do you yield?” The guy squirms, trying his best to remove her foot from his chest.

“No!” he bites back. His legs try to wrap around hers in a way I could probably achieve under different circumstances, but he doesn’t quite reach the right angles and Rhiannon manages to sweep them back with little effort.

“He yields,” Dain says.

“I do not!”

“Yes, you do,” Emetterio says with little room for argument. He points a finger at me as Rhiannon helps the guy up. “You,” he turns to Imogen now, “and you.”

“Huh? Wait, she’s…” I start, but he silences me with a hard stare.

“No powers today. We’re just assessing.” Imogen just grunts in response as she takes her place. Dain shifts his feet anxiously but nods for me to move. Swallowing, I take my place, praying to Dunne for strength. The Marked One narrows her pale green eyes at me with nothing but contempt.

“Sorrengail, huh?” she murmurs, licking her upper lip. I resist the urge to shudder and ball my hands into fists. Show no weakness. “Let’s see if you’re as good as that sister of yours.”

“I’m more than capable of holding my own,” I can’t help but retort. The coach orders us to begin and my instincts immediately tell me to flee. I dodge a pale fist flying towards my face and step back a few paces.

“Keep as much distance as you can when it comes to larger enemies.” I try to recall most of Dad’s teachings from when he trained me in the sparring room at home. “Their hits may be slower but they have a lot more impact.” Unfortunately for me, Imogen is not a hulking beast made of stone and moss: she’s a foot taller than me and her arms are jacked. She’s not as fast as Rhiannon but that doesn’t really matter here. She lunges and nearly catches my shirt. I leap out of the way just in time. We do this a few times. Attack and dodge, attack, dodge, swipe. I get lucky and manage to land a hit on her ribs a few times.

Her foot flies at my head but I duck just in time. Right as I lift my head, her other knee rams into my chest, sending me backwards. I gasp for air as I hit the mat and scramble to get onto my feet. Pain stabs through my legs as Imogen’s body barrels into me. This time, I’m knocked to the floor. For a split second, I catch Dain’s alarmed gaze. No, no. Don’t worry about me. I can’t prove him right. Not here, not on my first fucking day. I can’t go down this easily.

I try to shove her off, digging my nails into her skin. Get off. Get off, get off, get off! Her hands reach for my throat but I twist away just fast enough. My teeth sink into her shoulder, earning an enraged snarl, and grab onto two pairs of stumps — wing bones — just between her shoulders. I can feel the remains of wings twitch beneath the fabric but my mind isn’t on that right now. A fist slams into my eye and for a moment I let go. Just as she’s about to reach for my throat, I shove it away and bite down hard on her arm. Soon, there’s a taste of metal on my tongue and fist knocks my head back. Imogen reels back, fury burning in her eyes. I roll away just quick enough to avoid the punch directed at me but her hand yanks my right arm and my face slammed into the mat. “Yield,” she hisses poisonously, as if she can order me around like a dog. Her grip tightens and my arm is being pulled back.

“Violet, yield!” Dain commands, panic edging his voice.

“Fuck off!” I snarl but pain flares as my arm is pulled back further. The ligaments stretch and I let out a guttural cry of agony. Pain. So much pain.

“Yield!” three voices order above me as the muscles in my arm are pulled apart.

There’s the familiar sound of snapping bones, my bones, and a shocked gasp.

The weight on my back is quickly lifted, I’m scooped up into Dain’s arms, and the world around me blurs. He’s murmuring something, the usual words of comfort, but I’m too focused on the agony coursing through my body. I clench my jaw, inhaling through my nose, trying my best not to break into tears. I will not cry. I am an adult, I’ve been surrounded by pain my whole life. I won’t lose my shit over a dislocated arm. He picks up his pace into a trot, and we’re crossing the shorter bridge. I crack open my eyes as the door bursts open.

“Violet?” Winnifred’s voice raises an octave, her large brown eyes wide with worry.

“Hi,” I manage to say over the pain. She doesn’t waste time with pleasantries and ushers us into the infirmary, her grayish-brown curls bouncing with each step she takes. I catch a glimpse of Aurelie who gives me an awkward smile as we breeze by. We stop at a bed closer to Nolon’s office which Dain gently lowers me onto. The contact causes the pain in my arm to pulse once more, threatening to drag me into unconsciousness. All I can focus on is the agony.

“Tell me what happened to her.”

“She dislocated her arm during sparring,” Dain sighs, pulling the hanging curtain to shield us from any onlookers and takes a seat next to me. Winnifred sighs through her nose as she gingerly lifts my injured arm. An involuntary gasp of pain escapes my lips, forcing her to set it back down. “Is it bad?”

“It’s broken. Go fetch Nolon for me while you’re still here. He should be in the back.” Dain hesitates, probably because he knows it’s against the Codex for a rider to enter secluded areas in this quadrant without explicit permission. The old healer gives him an annoyed side eye. “What? Do you need a permission slip? Go on!” She lightly smacks him on the shoulder and he scrambles to the back rooms. I moan weakly as Winnifred rolls back the green sleeves of her robe and takes out an amber liquid in a spherical vial. “Here, take a sip.” I open my mouth just a bit as thick drops fall onto my tongue. I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut at the bitter aftertaste. It’s not long before a pleasant hum courses through my body, placing enough distance between me and the pain to think clearer.

A minute later, a weary looking old man with dark skin pulls the curtain back with one hand. He leans heavily on a cane as he smiles softly at us then turns an accusatory look at Dain. “I take it you had something to do with this?” he inquires.

“I- no, sir. She was doing a hand-to-hand assessment with another cadet,” the brunette explains, looking me up and down with worried brown eyes. Gods, when he is never fretting over someone? No wonder Amber dumped him.

“Imogen,” I say slowly. My tongue’s starting to feel numb from the medicine. “Marked One… she’s a faerie.”

“The Cardulo girl,” Winnifred mutters. “Honestly, what was Lilith thinking, sending her daughter to the Rider’s Quadrant with those people running around? It’s like she sent her to die–”

“She’d never do that,” I cut in defensively. Nolon rolls his eyes but steps forward, unsheathing a knife from its scabbard. Despite being a healer like his wife next to me, he insists on wearing all black and carries his weapons everywhere. I suppose he likes the thrill of being in a high position and getting to boss people around.

“Wait.” Dain reaches for the old man’s arm. We all meet his gaze as he says softly, “You can’t mend her just yet.”

“I’m sorry?” Nolon asks, voicing my bafflement.

“Just… just let the medicine take care of things. No magic.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because it’s her only way of getting back to the Scribes!” My eyes widen slightly. Dain Aetos trying to smuggle me over to the Scribe’s Quadrant? It’s honestly shocking. “The riders aren’t going to keep her if they find out she’s got contortionist’s disease. You know how they are about picking the right candidates.” His full of such earnestness, it makes my heart hurt. “If she goes out there, she’ll die!”

“Everyone dies, Dain. Why do you think I’m here? Sneaking her in there isn’t going to help anyone in the long run.” Nolon’s right. The window period was last night. If they take me there now, Markham will never let me in no matter how much he wants to. I haven’t taken the entrance exam and sorting me into a squad would derail a whole day’s worth of lessons.

“Mother will find out,” I slur slightly. “Besides, I‘m a rider now.”

“No, you’re a cadet . You’re only a rider if a dragon chooses you,” Dain retorts. I shake my head vigorously. I’m not backing out of this. I’m not going home to see Mother’s disappointed face again after a long day.

“Sorrengails don’t hide, they fly.” It’s a saying my mom always used to say whenever I tried to chicken out of some training exercise that would usually leave me in a cast for weeks. If she’d backed out of becoming a rider at my age, I wouldn’t be here today. I turn my head to the other side, successfully avoiding his gaze

“Vi–”

“No.”

“You’re not going to be the same after this.”

“I don’t care. I’m already twenty, I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Just mend her already,” Winnifred sighs, placing her hands on her hips. He opens his mouth to protest but she silences him with a hand. “If you want to argue, do it somewhere else. This is a place of healing, not confrontation.” He hesitates before sighing in frustration and heads back outside, making sure to close the curtain behind him as he does so.

I nod to Nolon for him to ready his signet’s blessing and Winnifred runs to fetch a leather belt. He presses his cold fingers against the skin of my shoulder once his wife returns with a thick folded belt and places it between my teeth. I readily clamp down it as hard as I can when Nolon makes a twisting motion with both hands, causing the torn muscles and dislocation to right itself. White hot agony explodes past the barrier of Winnifred’s potion and I scream through the leather before darkness consumes my vision.

Chapter Text

“The continent of Awis is home to two kingdoms — Navarre and Poromiel. Navarre is the larger kingdom with six unique provinces: Deaconshire, Elsum, Calldyr, Luceras, Morriane, and Tyrrendor. The latter is the southernmost and largest province; it shares its border with Krovla within the territory of Poromiel.” — “United Navarre, A Study in Survival” by Grato Brunell, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant

---

By the time I hobble back to the Rider’s Quadrant, the other cadets are already dispersing and transitioning to their next class. Judging by the shadows being cast outside, it looks like I’ve been out long enough to miss lunch and math — not that I’m too concerned. It’s one of my least favorite subjects so I’m a little glad I didn’t have to deal with that after getting my ass handed to me in front of everyone. I lower my head, trying my best not to draw any more attention than I already am. My right arm is cocooned in a cast, hanging in a sling attached to my better shoulder. It’s impossible to hide, almost as impossible as trying to avoid the thousands of stares cast my way. “Look at that. A Sorrengail getting sent to Nolon on their first day,” someone murmurs.

“You’re telling me she’s the general’s daughter?” another behind me asks. I swallow, keeping my gaze on the tiled floor. To the best of my ability, I quicken my pace in an attempt to get away from my peers. Weak, breakable, a future liability to the wing: these are the things my sling says as I traverse beneath the stairwell to room 212 where my next class awaits. History is one of the few classes in which I have an advantage over the other cadets. I should be relieved but all I feel is a pit of dread in my stomach like a heavy boulder as I push open the door with one hand.

Professor Reinhart, a tall older man with weathered skin and a beard that covers most of his mouth, pauses as the hinges announce my presence with a screech and narrows his beady gray eyes at me.

“Cadet Sorrengail, I presume?” he asks in a gruff voice. “You’re late.”

“Sorry, sir,” I mumble, rummaging through my pockets for the permission slip Winnifred gave me. “I was at the Healer’s Quadrant.”

He snatches the paper from my hand once I manage to find it and squints before crumpling it into a tiny ball.

“Tardiness will not be excused in my class. Arrive on time so I don’t have to derail the whole class.”

“Yes, sir.” I avert my eyes and skim the row of desks in front of me. Most of the seats are full except for one close to the door where a blonde Marked One sits, doodling away at the edges of his notes with a thin stick of charcoal. Reluctantly, I slide in next to him, tucking my bag underneath my seat next to the thick textbooks assigned to this class.

He looks up from his current drawing of a scorpiontail and offers me a handshake as he says quietly, “Hey, my name’s Liam. You are?”

“Violet.” I reluctantly use my good hand to return the gesture.

“Let me guess, sparring?” He nods to the cast and I quickly look away. “Don’t be embarrassed. It happens to the best of us. I broke my nose on my first day and got blood everywhere.” Well, at least he could still use his hand to write.

“That fae girl nearly killed me though.”

“Who? Imogen?” I nod. “Ah, yeah. She can be pretty rough around the edges sometimes but she’s actually really sweet once you get to know her.”

His lips twitch slightly but he quickly smothers it down as I mutter dryly, “Yeah, I bet.”

“Anyway, you didn’t miss much before getting here. Reinhart was just going over the curriculum for this semester.”

I ease a little, leaning back into my seat. When it looks like the old professor’s done with the list of essays we’ll have to write, he clears his throat and adjusts his glasses.

“Now,” he begins in a louder voice, “I’m sure most of you are aware of the Tyrrish Rebellion that occurred in recent years considering you were around when it happened.” He knits his bushy brows together as he squints at the sheet of paper in his hands before setting it down on the desk behind him. “Twenty years ago, Findláech Riorson tried to stage a coup in an attempt to have Tyrrendor finally secede from Navarre. Before this, many peasants from the less fortunate areas had begun protesting for a ceasefire to end the war and demanded he put an end to the conscription. He finally caved when one of his consorts, Morag Aiton, suggested he revolt against the unified nation. Despite the military’s numerous attempts to reach out to him for a quick, peaceful solution, he refused to bend the knee. After forming an alliance with Poromiel’s Empress Feng Qing, he sought to form an aerial fleet consisting of both dragon and gryphon riders to rival Bàsgiath’s.” Disdain leaks into Reinhart’s voice.

The two creatures are natural enemies and have been at war with each other since before the First Six established the wards. It’s such common knowledge, five-year-olds could tell you that. Why would Findláech think that’d work?

“Before he could progress any further with this secret operation, Aiton was assassinated while passing through the Krovlan border to Resson, ultimately serving as the catalyst for the four year civil war that’d soon take place.” As I try to jot down as many notes on the Rebellion as I can, I see Liam flex his fingers and quickly wipe them on the side of his jeans.

“Do you need me to copy your notes for you?” he murmurs, leaning towards me a little.

“I don’t need help from a Marked One, thanks.” He flinches slightly, hesitates, then stares down at his own paper.

“I really don’t think you’ll get much progress done with that injury–” I shoot him an ice cold glare.

“I’m perfectly capable of writing with my left hand.”

His baby blue eyes flicker to the shoddy scrawls of ink on my smudged sheet and my jaw clenches instinctively. He’s going to say some snarky comment about it. He’ll probably joke about it to his friends later on. Most of them do, at least. If they don’t, I’m usually given a pitiful look like I’m some poor helpless puppy.

The insult I have ready at the tip of my tongue dies out when he just sighs in resignation and returns to jotting down notes. I watch him for a second longer, waiting for the moment he changes his mind, but it never comes. He’s completely zoned in on the lecture.

“...led to his son taking over as the new rebel leader,” Reinhart is saying. Shit. I can’t believe I missed the part where he talks about my grandfather killing the rebel leader. You already know how that goes, a small part of my brain tells me. Of course I do. Mother would sometimes tell us about how he lured him into a ravine and caused an avalanche using his earth wielding signet to crush him. He received the Star of Navarre, one of the highest awards a soldier can achieve in battle, which sits eternally encased on her desk in a glass box. Reinhart doesn’t go into Fenrir’s reign and assault on Bàsgiath, though, and pulls out a stack of papers.

Handing them out, he orders, “Your task today is to answer the questions on the worksheet I’m passing to you. I expect all your responses to be in complete sentences and turned in by the end of class.”

Liam passes me a sheet, making careful consideration to avoid placing it on top of my drying notes. I murmur a small thanks and he gives me a quick thumbs up in response. Squinting, I try to make out the tiny letters of printed text; it doesn’t help that they’re too thick and squished together. It takes me half a minute to decipher the first question.

We’ve had the printing press for about two years now and yet despite mastering magic, we’ve barely had time to master our own technology. No wonder gryphon riders are making new weapons to kick our asses; minus the wards, our most impressive technological advancements are the crossbow and ballista. Theirs can fire metal now while ours still use wooden bows. I can see why the Tyrrish rebels sought them out as a potential ally.

When we’re finally released from class, Rhiannon trots up to me and asks, “Are you okay? You missed lunch.” Her gaze falls to my arm sling for a second before meeting mine.

“I’m good,” I respond, lifting my right hand lamely. “It’s not too bad, just a little broken.”

“A little? Look how thick that cast is,” Ridoc exclaims. “That’s probably more protective than a knight’s armor.” I can’t help but smile. He’s not exactly wrong.

“Relax, this isn’t the first time I’ve broken one of my limbs.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, it’s…normal.” I hesitate before lowering my voice. “I’m not exactly the strongest fighter.”

“We can see that.”

“Ridoc!” Rhiannon scolds.

“Hey, everyone saw what happened on the mat. It’s not really a secret now, is it?” I try not to wince at the memory of being scooped like a cat and rushed off to Nolon. That’s the issue. Everyone knows now.

“Look, if you want, I can help with your combat training once your arm’s better.” I blink at her. What? My puzzlement must be obvious because she continues, saying, “I heard this place has a habit of weeding out the weak and preserving the ones they consider strong. Call me naive, but I think it’d be in our best interests to help each other out while we still can.”

“You want to be friends?” I ask slowly. It’s not a terrible idea, but keeping friends isn’t exactly my best strong suit. Besides Dain, my only friend, Jesinia, is down in the Scribe’s Quadrant so I can’t talk to her as much as I want to. It’d be good to have a fighter like Rhiannon on my side. I just don’t know what she’d get out of our alliance. “Why?”

“Why not?” She looks at me curiously. “Do we really need to have a reason to be friends?” I can’t think of a good answer to the question so she rests her hand under her chin, closes her eyes, and thinks for a moment before smiling to herself. “Okay, I’ve got it! You’re cute and a quick thinker.” My cheeks flush and I have to look away from her gleaming dark eyes. Ridoc’s laugh only causes my skin to heat from embarrassment.

“I’m not– that’s not what I… whatever. I guess it counts.”

“Awesome!” Ridoc grins and I manage to crack a smile.

Thanks to my cast, I’m excused from most of the weapons training we have later in the afternoon. Our squad’s back in the sparring ring but this time Wingleader Mavis is with us. There’s a large rack stationed against one of the walls where used swords and spears hang. The other side of the room has four archery targets for those of us who want to practice our bow and arrow skills. Fortunately for me, no one seems to be using either of them right now. Holding one of the knives Mira packed for me, I take a few steps over the black line serving as a foot marker and throw it as hard as I can. The blade goes flying and sticks into the outer white circle. Two points. I throw another one which only grazes the giant target. Two more clatter to the floor before they barely reach it. I squint to get a better view and throw three more. Four, two, zero points. Dammit. I heave a sigh as I retrieve my blades. It’s just practice, I tell myself. This isn’t a life or death situation. But if I don’t master my aim soon, I’ll be as good as dead. The other cadets already think I’m weak; I don’t need them seeing my shitty throwing skills. I should’ve taken Mother’s advice about using my left hand more.

With a huff through my nose, I position myself back at the foot marker and roll my shoulders. The target is a bit blurry from here but it isn’t much of a hindrance. I lift my hand, ready to throw, when I spot a fiery redhead coming my way. I stop and straighten myself as Amber Mavis stands at the marker a few feet away from mine. “Evening,” I murmur respectfully, watching her expertly load her crossbow. It’s not like the standard ones I’ve seen in Mother’s armory; hers is more metal than wood and has a scope with aquamarine runes etched into the stock and limb.

“Cadet Sorrengail.” She glances at my arm briefly before firing an arrow. It hits the bullseye before I can even blink. “Dain told me about what happened during sparring. Imogen will be taken care of.”

“Thank you.” That’s all I can think to say at the moment so I continue practicing my throwing skills. It feels awkward, standing here with one of the higher ranking cadets in complete silence. The fact our only connecting thread at the moment is my best friend only enhances the tension between us. After prying my knives free from the target, I work up the nerve to ask, “Are you and Dain close?” She lowers her weapon slightly.

“No, not really. Why?” I shrug nonchalantly. As tempting as it feels, it’s not a good idea to dig into a wingleader’s personal life.

“We used to tell each other stuff all the time back when we were kids.” Nostalgia tugs at my heart as I remember the giant tree we once found back when my family still lived in Deaconshire. “He looks up to you.”

“Does he now?” She fires another arrow, hitting the fourth ring. Eight points. Her voice holds a hint of amusement.

“Yes, why wouldn’t he? You’re a wingleader.” I throw another dagger and it hits the second ring. “That’s like being a general; everyone wants to be where you are.”

“Even you?” The question makes me pause momentarily. Do I want to be in her position? Most of my childhood was spent dreaming of being in the clouds, not behind a desk. Sitting around most days to read missives and reports, barking out orders… These are things I can see Mira doing. But me?

“I was trained to be a scribe most of my life,” I admit, shaking my head. “Leading isn’t something we prioritize there.” Two daggers hit the target but nowhere close to the center, four fly past it. “I’m not sure if I could ever be like my mother.” She’s powerful and persuasive enough to change the tides of war in a heartbeat. It’s not a surprise her signet allows her to control storms.

“You’re not a leader if you’re stuck trying to emulate what your predecessor does. People with that mindset fail to be effective when making critical decisions.” Amber pauses to reload before continuing. “You were quick to come up with a solution to counter Poromiel’s advancing technology in battle brief. Someone with a mind like yours will be useful as a tactician.” I watch her shoot a few more arrows with the practiced ease I wish I had before sliding her crossbow back over her shoulder. She turns without a word and heads over to the weapons rack where Xaden examines a wooden staff. She picks the one next to him and begins a conversation I can’t hear from this distance. Exhaling softly, I focus my attention back on the target in front of me. Note to self: practice using my left hand more.

My arms are sore by the time we make it back to the barracks and weariness threatens to drag me down as I sit at the head of my bed. I dig up my rucksack from the bottom of my bed with my foot and take out the stack of letters Mira entrusted me with. “Gods, what a day,” Rhiannon sighs, rolling her neck to ease her stiff muscles. She has a bruise underneath her right eye, coincidentally matching my broken arm. “Those third years do not mess around when it comes to fighting.” Gingerly, she touches the wound with her fingertips and grimaces.

“You too huh?” I can’t help but chuckle a bit as I reach for a jar of ointment in my sack. “Here, this should help with the pain.” She takes it with a murmur of thanks. Carefully, I loosen the knot keeping the bundle together and pull out the first letter. 

“Are those from someone you know?” Rhiannon asks, glancing at the stack briefly. I nod.

“My brother sent these to my sister before she graduated from here.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” Her voice is soft and slightly sad but I offer her an assuring smile.

“It’s fine. He wouldn’t want me to grieve him; he’s a war hero after all.” When I’m done with these I’ll have to light them at the pyre in the nearby temple as part of the funeral rite. The first letter has a sweet, almond-like fragrance as I unfold the slightly crinkled paper to observe the smooth, elegant cursive strokes of Brennan’s penmanship. A smaller sheet nestled inside falls onto my lap like an autumn leaf. It contains a diagram of what looks like the Gauntlet obstacle course I was told about. The handwriting of the annotations on it aren’t written with the same elegance as Brennan’s. These are smaller, slightly slanted, and written as though the person were in a hurry. Had he stolen someone’s notes? I tuck it into my pocket for later and begin reading the opening:

I can’t help but snort at the memory. This was probably around the time the Krovlan flu was running rampant. I’d been bedridden for weeks and had to drink the most disgustingly bitter teas known to man — no thanks to him. Gods, I can practically hear his voice in my head like he’s sitting next to me. No, scratch that — he’d be leaning against my side with an elbow propped on top of my shoulder and a mischievous glint in his eyes like the little shit that he is.

Oh! So that’s what the other paper’s for. I pull out the other sheet and skim it over. From the looks of it, the obstacle course is vertical instead of horizontal and runs up the edge of a cliff. Each section on the diagram has a line separating it at the edges, going from the first to fifth ascent. There’s a tip in one corner that says, “Speed = presentation order” and “ropes add thirty seconds to time. Grab if needed.” How nice of them. It’s a bit of a shame Mother hadn’t let me train on the mock course reserved for infantry before sending me here.

Despite the carefree tone, I can’t help but feel the familiar stab of grief in my chest. He was always the best at encouraging us to keep going. His passing left a gaping wound in the household, but Mother was the most affected. Why wouldn’t she be? He was her first child, her pride and joy. The wound only got bigger when Dad followed shortly after due to a sudden heart attack in his sleep. Now it’s just the three of us, trying to stitch things back together. Exhaling softly to get rid of the lump threatening to form in my throat, I place the letter back into its envelope and slide it into its original location. The bundle goes under my pillow for safekeeping. I know how to prepare for the Gauntlet. The one thing I really need to focus on right now is the hand-to-hand challenges. Dunne, give me strength, I silently pray. I’m going to need it in the coming days.

Chapter Text

“ It is unlawful for a rider to cause another harm as it will diminish the efficacy of the wing.” ~ “The Dragon Rider’s Codex; Article Three, Section One

---

Sleep doesn’t come easy to me at night. I shift restlessly in my new bed, trying to get into a more comfortable position to sleep in. The springs creak at the slightest move, the pillows are awfully flat, and the hard comforter is anything but satisfying. I clench my jaw, curling the edges of the thin, itchy blanket between my fingers as the boy next to me loudly snores. Shutting my eyes, I try to count sheep in my head in the hopes that it’ll distract me from the sound. When that doesn’t work, I think about reciting random facts from the boring old textbooks I used to read in Father’s library. “The country of Poromiel consists of three provinces: Krovla, Cygnisen, and Braevick. The Esban mountains provide a natural barrier between our borders,” I murmur to myself. “Beyond Krovla lies the Barrens, a desert wasteland known for its inability to sustain life. Navarre offers an abundance of ore from the mountainous region, hardy timber from the eastern provinces, and large game such as elk and deer.” The boy across from me shifts in his bed, grumbling something under his breath as he pulls the blanket over his head. “The Trade Agreement of Resson, signed more than two hundred years ago, ensures the exchange of meat and lumber from Navarre for the cloth and agriculture within Poromiel four times a year at the Athebyne outpost on the border of Krovla and Tyrrendor–”

“Oh my gods,” he groans. He sits up to glare at me and I realize it’s the same guy Rhiannon fought earlier. “Can you shut up? People are trying to sleep.”

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Can’t sleep.”

“Then go on a walk or something.” Right. That actually sounds like a great idea now that I think. After tossing on a jacket I quietly slip out of the barracks and wander down the long hall. Orange mystic flames flicker in their sconces, casting harsh shadows around the area with a faint hint of chestnut in the air that kind of reminds me of the Archives. Portraits of the previous generals who’ve graduated watch me stroll by to the lower stairs. Two third years patrol the floor below; they’re not carrying any weapons but it’s impossible to tell what their blessings might be — not that we’d ever be dumb enough to advertise something like that to our enemies. Quietly, I take my shoes off and keep to the shadows as best I can.

Once I’m in the clear, I make it out the door where the night sky greets me and stuff them back on. Amari’s Thread, a long path of glittering stars clustered together, descends from the black expanse and disappears behind the silhouettes of the Esban mountains. It only shows itself every few decades so it’s typically a sign of approval and good fortune from the gods. I tuck a loose gray lock of hair behind my ear and wander around the premises for a bit. The night is lovely out here; small fireflies dance between the summer flowers, illuminating the path ahead. A gentle breeze tussles my hair and I catch the tune of a night bird’s sweet song in the trees. It’s almost enough to lull me to sleep but I feel a faint tingling sensation at the back of my head and immediately stop in my tracks to look behind me. There’s no one around as far as I can tell, but I know better than to let my guard down. I scan the area ahead of me to make sure I’m not about to get attacked by anyone. The rules of the quadrant forbids riders from ambushing other cadets, but I doubt that’s ever stopped some from being absolute shitheads before.

“You know it’s against the Codex to be out past curfew,” a familiar voice says from close behind. I pivot, nearly slamming the dude’s rock hard chest, and step back just in time. My jaw clenches as I glare up at Xaden, who’s conveniently dressed in his rider uniform. Two four-pointed stars stitched to the collarbone mark him as a second year. At least I don’t have to spend three years with him in my squad.

“Ugh, you again,” I grumble, feeling for a potential knife hidden somewhere underneath my blouse but come up empty. Shit. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same.” He folds his muscular arms and stares at me expectantly as though he’s my boss.

“Didn’t you tell me to stay out of your way? Or were you just saying that so you could spy on me easier?”

“Spying on you? Why on earth would I do that?” He leans forward so that he towers over me. Soft moonlight reflects off his gold rimmed irises and highlights his strong jawline decorated with stubble and scar running down the edge of his right brow to the top of his lower jaw.

“Because you’re a traitor. Isn’t that what people like you do? Follow their target around in search of weaknesses and then kill them once they get the info they need?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re thinking about mercenaries. I don’t have the patience for that kind of thing,” he says. So he’s the fight first, ask questions later kind of guy, huh? Knowing his family’s history, I wouldn’t be surprised. “Besides, I already have the information I need to know all about you.” Great, he’s a traitor and a stalker. Just my luck.

“So what are you going to do? Kill me?” I taunt, invading his personal space. Xaden’s eyes narrow slightly and for a second I think he might actually be considering it. To my surprise, he takes a step back and unfolds his arms.

“Tempting,” he muses, “but no. You’re too easy.”

“Sorry?”

“You’re weak, Sorrengail. It took Imogen not even two minutes to take you down.” I clench my jaw at the insult. “If you think I’d fight someone who can’t hold their own on the mat, you’re dead wrong.” He doesn’t even mention the Codex forbidding cadets from harming one another. No, he’s just concerned about me being fragile .

“I can hold myself just fine,” I retort, glaring daggers at him. “She just… caught me off guard.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes! I’ll prove it once we start proper challenges next week.” I catch a hint of amusement in his eyes as I say this. Does he see me as some sort of joke? Something he shouldn’t take seriously compared to the other cadets?

“Good luck with that.” I open my mouth to tell him to fuck off but a sharp voice cuts in from behind.

“What are you two doing out here?” We both freeze, recognizing the sound of our wingleader’s voice and straighten our backs as she approaches. Her steely gaze flickers between the both of us like she already expects us to be up to no good.

“I was just escorting Cadet Sorrengail back to the barracks, ma’am,” the Marked One says smoothly, offering her a polite smile. “It seems she must’ve gotten lost. This place can be pretty confusing for new recruits, right?” He gives me a side eye which forces me to curl my fingers into fists at my sides.

“Yes,” I respond. “I…the rooms all look the same so…”

“So you somehow managed to accidentally wander this far past the gate?” Amber questions, staring me dead in the eye. I nod, hoping it looks convincing enough.

“It’s her first day, cut her some slack.” Either I’m imagining it or Xaden’s voice actually softens a little. “The poor thing’s already broken her arm, see?” He nods to my cast and the only thing keeping me from scowling is imagining him getting crushed by a boulder. “We won’t cause any more trouble, I promise.” Amber gives him a hard stare before relenting.

“Return to your post immediately and stop terrorizing the first years,” she orders. “As for you,” she points to the door leading to the barracks, “that’s where you’ll be sleeping until Threshing. Any cadet who’s found absent past curfew will be subjected to court-martial. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” we say in unison. I see Xaden flash her a charming smile as I trudge down the path in front of him. His footsteps catch up to mine in no time.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he says curtly.

“You didn’t do shit,” I retort.

“Seriously? If it weren’t for me, you would’ve gotten your ass beat.”

“If it weren’t for my mother, you and your posse would be nothing but piles of ash on the pavement just like your parents. So you should be the one thanking me .”

“I’d rather die than thank a Sorrengail for anything.”

“Then you have no business being here.”

“ I have no business being here?” he echoes with a hard edge to his voice. I pivot to face him.

“Yes. You will show me the respect I deserve, or I’ll report you to my mother and have you sent to the coal mines. I’m sure you’ll fit in much better there than you do here.” For a moment, Xaden doesn’t respond; he just stares at me with nothing but pure malice before letting out a frustrated sigh.

“You’re so lucky I’ve sworn my loyalty to Navarre,” he hisses, curling his lips so I can see the sharp pearly fangs he hides. He wastes no time in leaving me behind thanks to his aggravatingly long legs.

“Bitch,” I mutter under my breath. Gods, give me the patience to deal with this man.

“Who can tell me where scorpiontails originated from?” Kaori asks, twirling a small stick in his hand. His pale brown dragon of the same breed walks to and fro, eyeing us with disdain as he waits for an answer. The poisonous barb at the end of its tail comes dangerously close to my face and it takes me about a minute to remember that it’s not real.

“Their original nesting area was allegedly just at the edge of the Barrens,” Liam says, raising a hand. “There’s been some heavy debate about that though. Most scholars nowadays believe they’re from Tyrrendor, due to the extensive network of underground tunnels.” Kaori nods in approval, setting the stick down on the table.

“These beautiful beasts prefer dry climates and lots of soil. They’re the only breed known to burrow and make their dens in the earth. So rather than build their nests with stone, they dig pits into the earth and cover their eggs in sand until they hatch.” The large thick scales of the scorpiontail, layered over each other like armor, are larger than the palm of my hand. Its horns are thicker than a tree and stretch out horizontally before curving forward at the edges; it only has four toes made for digging, but its long poisonous tail hangs over its head like a lure. “What’s an interesting fact you know about these guys?”

“The poison in their barb is deadly enough to kill an elephant,” I recite. “If you get stung you’ll experience paralysis, foaming at the mouth, delirium, and eventually death. So far, there’s no known antidote.”

“Which is another reason why you should stay as far away from their rear as possible. What else?”

“They have poor eyesight and act irritable if directly exposed to harsh light,” Rhiannon answers. “Only 12 are currently active while the rest have yet to bond.”

“Is that why they’re deployed at night?” a student at the back asks.

“Yes, they’re mostly nocturnal but can occasionally be found wandering around in the day. It’s very rare for some to bond because of this,” Kaori answers. I jot everything I can in my notes. Apparently, scorpiontails are one of the more fickle breeds and should be approached with the utmost caution. Mother’s dragon, Aimsir, is a brown with darker stripes running down his back. I’ve only seen him once with Codagh during the funeral ceremony to honor the fallen heroes of the rebellion. He’s huge for a scorpiontail, almost coming up at the Rhinestar’s shoulder. Even with his shoddy eyesight, he still manages to know exactly where everyone is at all times and won’t hesitate to snap at anyone who gets too close to him. Most of his kind are only half the size of a vishap. I can’t help but wonder what kind of magic crystals he must be eating down there that help him grow so big.

“How cooperative are they?” Aurelie inquires, leaning forward. Her leg bounces restlessly underneath her desk.

“That’s a good question. Most of them are short tempered and like to stick to routines so you need to be able to handle a strict schedule if you end up with one. Unlike scorpiontails, clubtails are more gentle when it comes to interacting with their riders.” Kaori moves his arm in an extravagant manner and the illusion turns into an Ospon clubtail.

The olive green dragon before us is huge with thick, diamond-shaped patterns on its skin and short horns that curve downward. It swivels its broad flat head towards us, lets out a snort, and slams its tail on the ground, causing Ridoc to flinch from the noise. Its legs and hard scales remind me of a crocodile’s. The wrinkly dewlap beneath its jaw hangs low and swings whenever it moves; its neck isn’t as long as the other dragons, and there’s barely any dorsal spines. In fact, there’s barely anything to hold onto if anyone wants to ride it without a saddle.

“This here’s Ceartas. She’s the oldest of her species; they originate from the country of Ospon across the sea. A few of them migrated here centuries before the Unification and gradually began populating the land. They prefer wet areas and stick close to riverbanks. You might even catch them going out for a swim in the Iakobos River from time to time.” The clubtail yawns, opening its massive jaws, and slumps to the floor with a disinterested grunt.

“So they’re like the gentle giants of dragonkind,” Ridoc concludes. Kaori hums in agreement. “I heard they’re great for ground assaults since they’re shit at flying.”

“I wouldn’t say that , but they are slower than most breeds. Their strength lies in the bludgeoning power their tails and jaws provide. They have the strongest bite power out of all the other breeds and can withstand even the most deadly gryphon attacks.” Luka’s hand goes up. “Yes…?”

“Will we ever learn about Poromish gryphon breeds here?”

“No, unfortunately. We don’t have enough information on the more…exotic breeds save for the standard eagle-lion hybrid we often see at the border. Even if we did, this wouldn’t be the class for it.”

“But if you did…?”

“Heh, I’d tell you they’re the most bloodthirsty and vicious creatures on the whole planet. How those barbarians managed to tame them is a mystery.”

“That’s it?” the first year asks, folding her arms like she knows he’s lying.

“Unless you want to see me get demoted, that’s all I’m telling you. Alright, who can tell me something I haven’t said already about clubtails?”

“Their wings are better suited for gliding,” I answer. “It might have to do with them choosing to nest in lowland areas, like Deaconshire. It also makes their ability to breathe fire weaker.” Though I’ve never seen one in action before, the textbooks and scrolls have always depicted their fire breathing as fireballs.

“Don’t let that little fact make you lower your guard though. Any fire from a dragon can disintegrate humans, no matter the strength level. Speaking of which…” Ceartas turns into dust and spirals back to Kaori’s hand. The olive mass coalesces together before suddenly bursting into purple and blue flames.

“Holy shit!” Ridoc exclaims. His dark eyes go wide and he leans forward in his seat. I can’t help but stare in awe at the giant ball of fire. It leaps out of the professor’s hand, into the air, and grows brighter, blasting us with heat. The sight alone sends chills down my spine.

“This here’s what we call dragonfire,” Kaori explains proudly. “It’s the deadliest weapon they have. Unlike the ones found in nature, this is made from a dragon’s inner body and contains massive amounts of magical energy. Getting anywhere near it would be a death sentence for unbonded humans.”

“How come?”

“Pure magic, like the one you’re seeing here, holds phantom aura that can kill your internal system if you’re exposed to it for longer than necessary. You won’t notice until it’s too late and starts eating away at your skin; that’s why when we bond, we receive dragon relics to channel our signets through.” The fire grows smaller and smaller, drifting back to Kaori’s hand before clenching his fist around it. When he opens it again, the illusion and heat are gone. “No other creature on Awis can hold such immense power. To dragons, we are nothing more than ants; remember that the next time you see one.” The room falls silent as we let his words sink in. If that’s the case then surely there must be a reason they chose to bond with us instead of those across the border. Kaori clears his throat to get our attention. “Remember to study for the test in two days. I’ll be looking forward to seeing how well you score.”

Luka deftly pulls her hair up into a bun as she strides to the other side of the mat. Her chin’s raised and her dark narrow eyes stare at me with something I’m scared to call excitement. From what I can tell, she’s the shortest out of everyone, only coming in about an inch shorter than me. It might be a malnutrition thing but that doesn’t stop her from staring me down like I’m her prey. That should be the only indicator I need to know I won’t be winning this fight. I don’t let that intimidate me though; I’ve already taken an elixir to stall the bout of pain I’m going to have to endure later to spare the healers a couple of hours. Taking a deep breath, I hold my fists up and nod to Coach Emmetiro. He glances at Luka who doesn’t get into a battle stance. “Go ahead,” she says with a casual wave. When he blows the whistle for us to begin, she has the audacity to spread her arms out in invitation, as though expecting a hug. Her hands move to beckon me forward — an action that actually catches me off guard for a second. “C’mon, big girl. Hit me as hard as you can.” She smiles in a taunting manner and I aim for that stupid face of hers.

She ducks, side stepping away, and folds her arms behind her back. I go for another hit but she dances around me like some kind of dancer. It doesn’t take long for me to understand that she’s pulling the same tactics I used with Imogen. “You…” I mutter under my breath.

She blocks my punch by grabbing my fist with a hand, tosses it aside, and takes a step back. This bitch is just stalling, trying to drag this out for shits and giggles. I shoot my leg out as fast as I can and manage to hit her in the stomach. Luka gasps, stumbling back in surprise. I land a quick punch to the jaw. She nearly falls to the floor but predicts my next attack and moves out of the way faster than I can move. The little laugh she does makes my blood boil. “Boo, that didn’t even hurt.”

“Shut up and fight me.”

“You sure? I don’t want to break anything.” Her gaze skims my body, as if she can see everything wrong with it. She uses her leg to sweep me under and my head meets the mat. Unlike Imogen, she doesn’t pin me down. Her sadistic grin spreads further and I only have seconds to dodge the foot flying towards my head. I grab her ankle and roll, effectively dragging her down with me. “You’re really pitiful,” she murmurs close to my ear. I manage to elbow her in the face which gives me enough time to stand up again. Luka rises as though nothing happened. There’s barely a bruise from where I hit her. Lucky bitch.

I throw a few punches. She parries them. I try for a few kicks, she blocks those as well. It’s like she’s already memorized my movements just from that one fight. I only get a moment to see the sadistic glee flash in her eyes before she spins and her foot smacks the side of my head with more force than necessary. I hit the floor again. The air in my lungs escapes me as I struggle to get up. Luka holds me down, her hot breath uncomfortably close to my ear. “Just give up,” she says. “We both know you won’t make it far.” I can’t shake her off no matter how hard I try. She shoves my face down against the mat, digging her fingernails into my scalp. “Do you yield?” Her other hand subtly moves to my right shoulder. I want to gouge her eyes out but I’m in no position to do so. “If you have any dignity in you…”

“I give in.” She huffs in (what I can only assume to be) amusement as she releases me from her grip. A few first years clap and she takes a bow. Emmetiro just rolls his eyes before calling out the next pair. Rhiannon helps me up and it takes everything within me to not wince from the pain in my jaw.

“You’re bruising already,” she observes.

“That’s nothing new,” I mutter, limping to a nearby bench. “Let’s train later. I need to get better at blocking.” From the corner of my eye, I see Luka saunter off to chug from a waterskin. I roll my recently healed arm and press my sore back against the stone wall.

“You did pretty good. Luka’s definitely not someone you should underestimate.”

“No shit. She looked like she was having the time of her life beating my ass.” Rhiannon raises a brow at me, as if I’m supposed to know why. “Don’t look at me like that. She’s probably just a sadist or something.”

“Vi…”

“I’m serious. Someone like her shouldn’t have access to a fire breathing weapon of mass destruction. Imagine the shit she could pull out there. You think she’d give a shit if she hurt one of her squadmates on the battlefield?”

“It’s too early to tell. You want me to walk you to the healers?” I shake my head and my body responds with an ache in my neck.

“I don’t want to be late for history. Besides, I’ve dealt with worse before.” May gaze drifts over to where Xaden’s sparring with an older looking third-year. They move much faster than first-years — thanks to their dragon bonds — so to me, they look like nothing more than a blur of fists, kicks, and jabs. But even with my untrained eyes, I can see how Marked One moves with precision as he aims for the other man’s weak spots. I can’t help but wince at the sound of his head hitting the wooden floor. Xaden offers him a hand but he smacks it away and struggles to his feet on his own. The younger rider heaves a heavy sigh as he watches him disappear through the door to the healers and adjusts his sweat soaked shirt. Our eyes lock momentarily before he turns away with what I can only assume to be disinterest. I take it as a sign of good luck from Zihnal and rest my head against the wall.

Chapter Text

“As for the 107 innocents, the children of the executed officers, they now carry what shall be known as the rebellion relic, transferred by the dragon who carried out the king's justice. And to show the mercy of our great king, they shall have the choice of either being conscripted into the Infantry or Riders Quadrant at Bàsgiath in order to prove their loyalty to our kingdom with their lives, or offer up their service to work within the mining districts.” — The Treaty of Aretia, addendum 4.2

---

Rhiannon has her hair put up into a puffy ponytail this afternoon as I wrap my limbs with black protection cloth that shimmers in the light. The Old Tyrrish runes lining the edges dimly glow for a few seconds and I feel the material tighten around my skin, perfectly securing my loose joints. I’m technically not supposed to have these — anything related to Tyrrish witchcraft have been outlawed since the beginning of Navarre’s Unification — but Bàsgiath’s Board of Directors let it slide when Mother argued that they’d been recommended by the healers. I can only have three accommodations during my time here as a cadet: the wraps, my elixirs, and extra time on the flight field. Anything more than that will make my peers jealous and start whining about not getting “better treatment”. The rest I’ll have to do on my own.

“Ready?” Rhi asks, stretching an arm over her chest. I nod and get into position. “Okay, try blocking my attacks for now.” Her closed fist comes flying at my face and my instincts immediately kick in. I lift both my arms to block the coming attack. The wraps tighten when they come into contact with her hand and I can’t help but wince from the pain. Her other hand hits my lower jaw before I even get the chance to recover. “Sorry, I thought you saw that coming.”

“It’s fine,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t go easy on me just because I’m not as strong as you.” Gods know the Cygnis across the border sure aren’t. Rhiannon hesitates for a second before nodding and prepares another strike. I’m nearly powerless against the five-hit combo she delivers but I manage to parry the last attack. She launches another attack straight at my chest; my hands connect with hers in an attempt to stop it. A split second is all I have to avoid the next move. I stumble out of the way just in time to feel her fingerless gloves graze my cheek. The world spins briefly, causing my legs to stumble, and I press the palm of my hand to my forehead. I shut my eyes in an effort to still the unexpected spell of dizziness. Ugh, not now.

“You good?” I swallow down bile before opening them again.

“Yeah, just… how are you so fast?”

“Practice, I guess. My sister and I had to learn how to fight as teens in case of an invasion.”

“Huh. Mine started when she was eight.” Rhiannon looks at me oddly.

“Why?”

“Why not? My mother wanted me to start training around that age too but my dad told her it wouldn’t be worth it since he figured I’d be with the other scribes.” I push back a strand of silver hair from my face and take a quick sip of my water before returning to the mat. “Alright, let’s go.” We do a few more rounds of blocks, parries, and dodges until I eventually tire out. I collapse on one of the benches with a heavy sigh as the all too familiar ache of various bruises overtakes me.

“Rough day?” a nearby voice asks. I turn to my right to see a tall, lean first year with brown hair sit beside me. Thousands of freckles line his cheeks, jaw, and nose like clusters of stars. I offer him a weak smile.

“Something like that. I want to get some extra training in before challenges start in a few days. What’s your name?”

“Sawyer. You?”

“Violet.”

“As in Sorrengail? I heard your sister single-handedly saved an entire company of infantry soldiers at Strythmore.” His eyes widen in excitement as I nod. “No way! I can’t believe we’re in the same squad!” Rhiannon laughs a little as she stands next to us.

“I take it you’re a big fan?” she asks with a smile.

“Oh, you bet! Her family’s one of the reasons I always wanted to be a dragon rider.” His grin falters slightly as he reaches to rub the back of his neck. “I, uh, didn’t get the chance to bond with one last year. I did everything right but…”

“Hey,” I rest a hand on his shoulder reassuringly, “chin up. There’s a new batch of dragons this year, remember? I’m sure there’s bound to be one who wants you. Dragons are just a little picky with who they choose.”

“They let you restart the year if you don’t bond?” Rhiannon asks curiously. “What do you do after Threshing? Just sit around all day?”

Sawyer laughs a little and explains, “No, you just get transferred to the infantry quadrant. They have separate courses for us to complete; when we graduate, they give us a certificate then ask if we try to repeat the year to become riders or continue as regular soldiers. We get a couple of lessons in horseback riding for cavalry training too.” From what I’ve heard, it’s basically mandatory for infantry soldiers to take a class called Equestrian Studies which is basically Draconology and hands-on flight practice but without Kaori’s illusion tricks. So while they don’t have dragons, they do have unicorns which are much more temperamental and notorious for gouging people they aren’t familiar with.

He goes on to talk about how in land navigation, all four quadrants of the military are dropped in the middle of woods with only a map and supplies to make it through the three days they’ll be out. In order to pass the class, they have to make it from Point A to Point B within the time frame. Then there’s the Karst, which is basically an earlier version of the Gauntlet that went through a ton of modifications after too many people started dying on it. The rules are relatively the same except there’s no Presentation or Threshing to look forward to.

“Wow, that’s…pretty cool,” I slowly comment. Save for land nav, that all sounds pretty underwhelming. No wonder riders get more perks in the military. “At least you’re not running in blind like the rest of us. My dad wanted me to be a scribe since he didn’t like that my other siblings were fighting in the war.”

“You guys made the right choice choosing this quadrant though,” he assures with a nod. “Infantry’s cool in its own way, but Threshing? Oh, just you wait. In about a month or so you’ll be a completely different person from now.” The pearly grin he sports is enough to get me excited just thinking about the possibilities of what could happen.

“We’ll be real riders,” I murmur. I glance over at Rhiannon who’s watching Ridoc and Aurelie debate over which dragon breed would win in a death match. There’s a distant look in her dark brown eyes and her left boot taps the floor in quick repetition. “You okay, Rhi?” She jerks suddenly, as if I’d startled her awake from a dream.

“Hm? Yeah, just thinking about my family. I’m starting to miss them already,” she responds. “My sister’s expecting a kid sometime soon but every time I try sending any letters, my request always gets denied.”

“Mm. First-years aren’t allowed to send or receive messages from outside until we become second-years,” I explain with a sympathetic nod. “It’s to prepare us for when we get to the field and can’t communicate with people as easily. If we can’t get over our homesickness, we might as well quit and do manual labor.” Rhiannon scoffs. “Yeah, I know. I used to be worried sick for Dain last year. Thought he’d get eaten by a daggertail on Presentation Day.” 

“The dragons can eat you?”

“Well, yes, but not really,” Sawyer answers. “The Empyrean — those are the leaders of each breed — they get to oversee the choosing process. If they don’t think you’re worthy of bonding any dragon, they roast you on the spot. That’s why it’s advised to leave at least seven feet between each cadet. But that doesn’t usually happen so we’ll most likely be alright.” Rhiannon doesn’t seem all that convinced.

“That doesn’t seem like a balanced dynamic. If one party can just torch the other, is it really a bond?”

“Of course it is,” I respond. “They trust us to aid them in their fight against the gryphons.”

“Then why do they even need us if they’re so powerful? What are they getting out of this ordeal?”

“Allies…?” I can’t help but raise my brows at her. “Look, it doesn’t matter. Dragons are the superior species and our country’s just special enough to bond with them. Anyway, I’m sure your sister will be fine.” She still doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t press further on the subject as a section leader from First Wing walks by. “Have you thought about what you want to name the baby?”

“Lukas,” she responds. “We named him after a character from a fairy tale book we used to read from; Lukas the Valiant was a knight who rode around on a winged unicorn and fought monsters from the shadowlands.” A soft smile creeps upon her face. “Ridoc and I used to play this game where we’d hunt down evil sorcerers and pretend the giant sticks we found were magic weapons.” I let out a soft chuckle as I imagine the two of them chasing each other with tree branches. That definitely sounds like something Dain and I would do when our parents were away on business trips.

“That’s a cute name.”

“Thanks. My dad picked it out for us since he knows we love reading.”

“You’re so lucky. Mine wouldn’t even help me name my pet fish when I was ten.” Amber Mavis blows a whistle from the center of the room to signal for us to return to the barracks before dinner. Clenching my jaw, I slowly rise from the wooden bench with a little support from Rhiannon’s strong arm. Gods, I could really use a hot tub right now. “I’m gonna try to get a bath before the line gets too crowded,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m in pain.

“It was nice meeting you two,” Sawyer responds. He offers us a friendly wave as we head towards the door. I stifle a wince as pain shoots up my right thigh whenever I move. I can manage this, of course, so it’s easier to put into my mental box than the time Imogen tore my shoulder.

When we make it back to our room, I resist the urge to collapse on the bed and force myself to fish out my nightgown and rush to the bathroom before anyone else can get there first. Stripping off my clothes, I slide my feet against the smooth black tiled floor to the metal tub close to the open window. The bonded first-years and staff must’ve filled it most of the way while we were in weapons practice. Light steam wafts up from the clear tranquil water and a small bar of soap rests on the lower window ledge next to a clean folded cloth. Thank Amari I got here first. We don’t have a way to dispose of dirty liquid and quickly refill the tub — unless you can wield the element, of course — so we unbonded have to share until one of the peasants comes in to do it manually. And there’s no way I’m taking a bath in some else’s piss water. I let out a relieved sigh as I lower myself into the tub, letting the heat take over my sore body, and close my eyes. There’s not enough space to let my body float but that’s alright. This is enough to keep the daily pain at bay.

An illusion of Teine stands proudly before us as we scrawl notes on our scrolls. His scales have a slightly lighter shade of green but he looks relatively the same here. “Frilled Swordtails descend from the Loidsiguiane line who gave up their ancestral hatching grounds for the good of dragonkind which is now Bàsgiath War College. You’re most likely to come across them more often than other breeds during Presentation and Threshing,” Kaori lectures. “Much like clubtails, they’re perfect for siege attacks; they’re most known to be one of the more rational and intelligent species of dragonkind.” He steps close to point at the frills trailing down the swordtail’s neck and disappear at the base of his tail. “Teine’s frills are primarily used to regulate his body temperature during the summer but they’re also used to attract mates and intimidate other dragons. The best way to determine the age of two swordtails is by comparing the size of their frills; the larger they are, the older the dragon.”

My quill scratches against the rough paper we’ve been given to write our notes on. Swordtails were one of the first dragon breeds I studied with my father back when he was still alive. They’re more keen on sharing information with us than a vishap — probably because they’re a talkative bunch — but that doesn’t mean they don’t have secrets of their own.

“Recent studies have shown that cadets who score highly in academics are more likely to bond with a swordtail than any other breed. That does not mean you’re guaranteed one on Threshing. I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve heard newly bonded cadets complain about not getting the breed they want.” Kaori sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “Remember, correlation does not equal causation. Just because two things happen at the same time doesn’t mean they’re connected in any way.”

“So even though they’re spotted a lot, it doesn’t mean they’re willing to bond,” I say.

“Precisely. Last year, two-thirds of our first years had to go into Infantry because of that.”

“Do you think there’s a reason for it?” Rhiannon asks, lifting her head.

“Whatever that might be, it’s beyond the will of men.”

“Maybe they’re just tired of fighting a bunch of losers,” Ridoc says lightheartedly, folding his arms behind his head. “I bet they’re all waiting for a real challenge to show up. Like, imagine a bunch of three-headed dragons swooping down from the skies and razing a bunch of outposts and the Vale dragons have to band together with us to fend them off.” I let out an amused snort.

“There’s no such thing as a three-headed dragon. They wouldn’t survive a day in the wild.” We can’t even raise two-headed cows; they die off way too quickly.

“You don’t know that. There could be some with two legs wandering around across the border and we wouldn’t know. I mean, when was the last time anyone in Navarre traveled across the sea?”

“What are you talking about? It’s not even possible for bipedal dragons to exist. How would they even move around?”

“Uh, the same way birds do…?”

“I’m pretty sure they use their wings as extra limbs,” Liam chimes in. “If you’ve ever seen a bat crawl around…”

“Or maybe they scoot around on their butts!”

“The joints in a dragon’s wings aren’t long enough for that method of travel,” I say. “Hypothetically speaking, they could evolve to use them as a sort of walking stick, but that would leave them with movement problems and chronic pain or, worse, the inability to fly.”

“For the love of Dunne, this is draconology not build-a-dragon class!” the first-year who sleeps across from me complains, throwing me a harsh look.

“As intriguing as it is hearing you kids speculate on fictional creatures,” Kaori states, covering his amused smile with a cough, “I must agree with cadet Seifret on this one. We’re getting off topic and I don’t want you all to be late for Battle Brief.” He clears his throat before starting again. “Swordtails are highly efficient at stabbing opponents with their thagomizer. It has more reach than a daggertail’s and can easily make its way through a gryphon’s chest. With enough force, they can be capable of slicing through even the toughest metal known to man.”

“They even use their tails to cut down trees and build nests with them,” I add with a nod. “That’s why their family line has the word ‘loidsig’ in it. It means ‘lodging’ in Tyrrish.”

“Then why does it sound like ‘logic’?” a student at the front asks with a hint of annoyance.

“I don’t know, maybe it has to do with a certain major event in history that caused this giant war?” a Marked One responds rudely. “Something to do with the assimilation of six different countries?”

“It was the Unification ,” Kaori corrects. “But yes, I suppose we borrowed a few words from the Tyrrish lexicon back in Navarre’s early days. Regardless, Violet’s right about swordtails building nests and dens in log structures. Ancient fables called them the builders of dragonkind for that exact reason. While I haven’t been able to spot one for myself, the Archives have textbooks dating back to two hundred years before the Unification that depict how these dens might look like.” He turns the illusion into a large carefully constructed dome made of logs and branches. “This is a fairly simple one but there’s records of others that appear much more complex. There’s a popular theory that dragons were the first architects of the world and taught the first humans how to build the first village.”

“Wait, so they have their own towns like we do?” Rhiannon asks in confusion.

“No, they’re more like beaver dens but with the complexities of an underground burrow,” I explain. Leaning forward, I flip over a few pages of her textbook with the tip of my quill and point at a diagram of what a scorpiontail’s underground system might look like. “See?”

“Why don’t all dragons live in huts then?” Kaori shrugs his massive shoulders.

“It most likely has to do with certain breeds not being compatible with different environments,” he responds. “There’s a reason we don’t see scorpiontails living by the coast. Now, it’s fairly easy to approach a swordtail without getting gutted; all you have to do is raise your arms to prove you’re not a threat, lower your eyes to the ground, and wait for their approval.”

“That’s it?”

“Simple as that.” He leans back in his chair when the illusion fades away. “In the case of approaching other dragons, it’s best you avoid sneaking up on them. Make sure you’re in their line of sight but keep a good distance away from them. The last thing we need is new recruits getting squashed before they can prove themselves on the battlefield.”

By the time I make my way to history, fatigue and throbbing pain consume my entire being. I collapse in my assigned seat next to Liam with a heavy sigh. Sparring practice was an absolute nightmare; despite getting more tips from Rhiannon, I feel as though I’ve barely made a dent of progress. Coach put me against a fellow first-year who didn’t even break a sweat as they kicked my ass. It took everything in my body just to get here. For once, I’m not late to this stupid class but I have to struggle to keep my eyes open. Professor Reinhart is doing a lecture on the construction of the ashwood crossbolt, a Poromish ballista weapon shaped like a giant bow, but his gruff voice is so monotonous and boring my attention keeps drifting towards the small block of wood Liam’s carving away at under the long desk we share. He’s not doing a very good job at it considering he’s using a tiny knife. I rest my head on the thick textbook in front of me. If I don’t regain my strength soon, I might have to ask Dain to carry me back to the dorms. It wouldn’t be too bad to have some kind of wheelchair that can take me anywhere without having to do anything on my own. Gods, if only. A heavy sigh escapes me but I resist the urge to openly complain. I’ve been through worse. I just need to close my eyes for three minutes…

“Cadet Sorrengail!” Reinhart’s harsh voice forces my head to shoot up. “Please tell us the year the first crossbolt was invented.” I quickly blink away the fog from my vision and slowly lift my hand to rub my eyes.

“Uh…” I close my eyes momentarily to think. “I believe it was… 104 AU.”

“Wrong. It was 102 AU. You’d know this if you paid attention to what we just discussed.” He glares at me with those icy blue eyes as if I did that on purpose. My jaw ticks as I resist the urge to snap at him. He’s so lucky he doesn’t have to do bullshit challenges anymore. I can only sigh as he starts handing out paperwork.

“Fuck me,” I mumble, letting my head fall to my arms resting on the desk. “When is this class over?”

“We’ve got thirty minutes left,” Liam answers with a soft sigh. “You took a heavy hit during sparring. Do you want to head to the Healer’s Quadrant afterwards? I can walk you there.”

“No, I’ll be fine.” My voice is taut but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just nods with a hum and goes back to his block of wood. I almost feel a twinge of guilt as I turn my head the other way. “Don’t worry about me. I don’t need a bodyguard.” That gets a soft chuckle out of him. “What?”

“Nothing, you just sound like my sister.” I’m not sure if that’s supposed to be a compliment or a dig at my current state. “Just hang in there. The day’s almost over.”

While the day might pass like a breeze, my opponents seem dead set on reminding me that I can’t just brute force my way through certain things when I start getting fed up with their antics. The best I’ve managed to do is break out of a headlock and forfeit a fight against a particularly strong opponent. As much as it pains me to admit, Dain might be right about one thing: if it comes down to a one-on-one fight, I might not last long. The thought sours my mood for the next few days. I can’t find much to say as Rhiannon puts on a bit more pressure during our training sessions. She says I’m making progress but I know it’s not enough. Dragons don’t bond fragile people. If they see I’m weak, they might just set me on fire without hesitation. And I can’t let that happen.

“I’m sure we can make some room for you here,” Winnifred offers one evening as she tends to my wounds with some ointments. “You know this quadrant’s always looking for more healers to train.” I smile weakly through the pain in my knees but shake my head.

“Sorry, Winnie. Healing people isn’t really my thing.”

“It wasn’t Brennan’s either and he turned out to be one of our best students with that ability of his.” He wasn’t just a healer though — at least, not in the traditional sense. Riders with healing blessings are generally referred to as menders but there’s different ways it manifests. Some people, like Nolon, can only heal humans and a few animals; others can fix non-living materials which is much more rare and difficult to master. Brennan was a mix of both. If he hadn’t died, he most likely would have been one of the best menders in history.

“Well, I’m not my brother now, am I?” I murmur, adjusting the pillows behind my head. “Got any tips on how to last in the sparring ring without making a fool out of myself?” The older lady gives me a slightly amused look. “Oh, c’mon. You were an archer back in the day.”

“Knocking an arrow isn’t the same as knocking the teeth out of a flier’s jaws. Besides, those years are long gone now. I’ve no use for a bow in my arsenal.” Disappointment seeps its way into my bones. “Your biggest weapon shouldn’t be your fists, dearest. It should be–”

“I know, I know. My mind is my best weapon.” As if Father saying it a billion times before wasn’t bad enough. “The other riders don’t care about that. They just want someone to beat the shit out of on the mat.”

“Well then, you’d best aim for the groins next time.” Winnifred smiles mischievously before disappearing behind the curtain. Even if I could use my knowledge of the body’s weaker areas to my advantage, there’s no way of telling if it’d work or not. Despite being pitted against first-years, I’m the only one with a less than ideal physique. Sure, I have a few muscles here and there thanks to my six month training, but I doubt I’ll get the same chiseled abs as my fellow squadmates anytime soon. A soft sigh escapes my lips as I close my eyes. Looks like I’ll have to do some late night snooping.

The academic hall is eerily quiet at night. I can’t help but toss a few glances over my shoulder as I round the corner to where Coach Emetterio’s office awaits. Despite there being no one in sight, my brain instinctively assumes something might jump out and nab me. I take a breath to ease my rapid heartbeat. This is easy, I tell myself. It’s like sneaking into Mira’s room to steal her journal while she’s asleep. This time, I’m not trying to find out juicy gossip about the squads in Second Wing’s Claw section. If I’m not wrong, Coach should have a list of upcoming challenges somewhere in his office. There’s no way sparring pairs are picked out at random like some people think. Coach is the one in charge of how things go; he gets to decide who fights who. No matter how many times a cadet puts in a request to fight another member from a different squad, he can easily turn it down without a second thought. All I need to do is find the scroll he carries around whenever he watches us fight.

I slowly crouch in front of his office door to peek through the thin open crack below the base of the door. There doesn’t seem to be any mystic flames on at this time. Taking out a pin out of my hair, I fiddle with the lock for a minute before it opens with a loud click. The sound makes me freeze momentarily. No one comes running. In fact, the sound I can hear is my own breathing. Thank the gods. I slowly open the door so it won’t creak and squeeze in through once it’s wide enough for my body. The room is… smaller than I expected. A standard wooden desk and two chairs on either side sit at the forefront with a collection of books and crates lining the back wall. A small bookshelf sits close by with a ceramic cat figurine decorating the top. As I carefully go through the first crate of scrolls on the floors, I silently wish humans had the ability to see in the dark. This would make things so much easier.

Most of the ones in here are just business papers, letters from the Board about school meetings, and jargon I don’t care to read up on. If it doesn’t have the word “challenges” on there, it’s not worth my time. The next two crates are relatively the same until I pull out the third one. Picking up the first scroll, I unfurl it to see “Bàsgiath War College sparring challenges: year 633” written on the top in bold letters. Holy shit. This is my school year. Even better, all of our names are paired in brackets like the ones I see at jousting tournaments. Which means I was right. “Thank you, Zhinal,” I whisper, skimming the names next to mine. Pryor Barnett, Oren Seifret, Henry Yates, Timothy Millet, Rayma Corrie, Tynan Bradston. I reread them over and over again so they stay in my memory. When I’m finally certain I’ve retained this glorious info, I carefully fold the scroll, place it back in the crate, and rearrange everything before slipping out the door once more. A small smile forms on my lips as I return to the barracks with a new plan in mind. Yes, I know exactly how I’m going to win these rounds. And I won’t have to rely much on Rhiannon’s training to do it.

Chapter Text

“A cadet's discipline falls to their chain of command before being brought to cadre.” ~ The Dragon Rider’s Codex: Article Four, Section Two

---

I sneak past the guards again and double check to make sure Riorson isn’t following before heading out towards the riverbank. I pull the hood over the black cloak I’m wearing as I carefully slide down a steep slope and into waist high grass. The Iakobos’ deadly waters surge, carrying runoff and debris from the mountain peaks. It’s the most dangerous body of water in Navarre; when the tide rises, especially during this time of year, all citizens are forbidden from bathing in the water due to the high death rate. And if you somehow manage to fall in, there’s no chance anyone close by will be able to fish you out. It’s only fitting that it happens to be the gateway to Malek’s realm.

I keep a safe distance away from the dark water and start to move towards the line of ancient oak trees where lavender fonilee will come into season soon. While all parts of the plant are deadly to humans, the berries themselves only contain small amounts of poison. I just have to leave them out to dry and they’ll be perfect for the growing collection of mushrooms and herbs I’ve managed to scavenge around campus. Just as I’m about to reach the specific tree I need — one with branches that sprawl out in all directions — a dark shape suddenly bursts from the river, showering me with ice cold water.

I leap back with a startled yelp as a black clubtail drags itself out of the water, holding a plump shark in its jaws. It’s only about eight feet tall, which isn’t even close to the average height of its breed, but it’s big enough to tower over me. The shark flails helplessly in its jaws before instantly getting crushed and falling limp. Mushed intestines and thick drops of blood drip down the clubtail’s chin as it catches my eye. Shit, shit, shit. Don’t look at it, I tell myself. Remember what Professor Kaori taught us. But I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from the bloody carcass in its mouth. My legs refuse to move no matter how much I want them to. The dragon slams its tail against the pebbly ground where the river’s most shallow, creating a loud sound that causes me to jump back in alarm. A low growl rumbles in its throat as it repeats the motion twice. “Okay, yeah. Got it,” I stammer, finally managing to break contact with it. “I’ll just… go somewhere else.” The clubtail suddenly prowls forward with more speed than I expect before throwing itself into the air and blending into the night sky.

Guess it had other plans. “Thank the gods,” I breathe, quickening my steps a little to get to the tree I’ve familiarized myself with over the course of five years since our family’s been stationed here. My whole body trembles as I slowly begin my ascent, starting with the lowest hanging branch and up to the halfway point. Willing my hands to still, I tug at the twisting ivy-like vine with one and pull out a tiny vial from my satchel with the other. I manage to pour seven berries into one before sealing it with a cork. I fill about two more until I hear the sharp sound of twigs snapping. “For fuck’s sake.”

Two figures in black cloaks silently slink in my direction then stop just under the shadow of the branches. The smaller one leans against the trunk, lifting her hood to reveal bright pink hair. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me. Imogen, the fae that nearly ripped my arm off, lets out a sigh and grumbles something to the other person in… Tyrrish? I can’t exactly hear well with the rushing water close by. Her companion yanks off his hoodie and my blood instantly runs cold.

Xaden. Fucking. Riorson.

Why? Why, why, why!? I grip the branches of the tree a little harder, clenching my jaw. Never in my life have I wanted to talk face-to-face with a certain god more than at this very moment. There’s only fifteen feet between us and I highly doubt Marked Ones would ever care about the Codex or maintaining the efficacy of a wing. I can’t let out a frustrated sigh for fear of rattling the leaves keeping me safe from their sight. The river water soaking me to the bone doesn’t help me in the slightest, either. Gods, what the fuck are they doing here? From what I can tell, Xaden’s not even in his rider uniform this time. A part of me wonders if they might be lovers. My face immediately scrunches up at the thought of potentially having to watch them make out. More riders — also dressed in dark cloaks — make their way towards us and reveal themselves to be Marked Ones as well. For the millionth time in my life, I wonder why the gods have it out for me specifically.

There’s about twelve of them, the same amount I saw on my first day, but that does nothing to ease my growing anxiety. A few of them are second-years, but it looks like a majority of them are first-year cadets. Liam is, unfortunately, amongst the group. I’m not sure why I feel slightly disappointed in him; he’s a traitor, just like the rest of them. But he’s carefully guiding a tall woman with pointed ears, silver hair, and a black blindfold towards the tree. Something about her makes my heart twinge slightly, but I stifle whatever this new feeling is into my mental box. They don’t deserve pity. Carefully, I move over another branch that’s a bit lower to properly hear what they’re saying. Bodhi folds his arms over his chest as he says, “We’d better make this one quick before the wingleader finds us.”

“Relax,” a tall, dark haired second-year next to Xaden assures. “This isn’t the first time we’ve snuck out like this.”

“Not for you, maybe.”

“We’ve done this for a year now,” Xaden responds. “No one’s going to find out shit unless any of you tell.” His head turns towards the first years. “And believe me, I’ll know.” For a split second, the group falls silent. He clears his throat and stands a little taller. “For the sake of time, I’ll make this brief: there are currently twelve of us in this quadrant and twenty-nine with Infantry. Just because you might earn a dragon, doesn’t mean you’re exempt from being targeted in one way or another. Every Navarrian will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail.” His voice has an air of dignity and authority that demands respect. It’s almost reminiscent of a king ordering his subjects around. Despite being stripped of his title as the future duke of Aretia, he still thinks he can boss people around.

“He’s right. Soliel was jumped in the girl’s bathroom the other day,” Liam murmurs, glancing at the girl who presses her lips into a firm line and offers a tiny nod. “Things are getting…bad. I just hope it doesn’t get worse when Sloane arrives.”

“She’ll be fine.” Xaden’s voice takes on a slightly softer tone which is… surprising. “We all will. If we want this to work, we need to stick together. No wandering off on your own. Got it?” There’s a reluctant mutter from the group that makes my stomach turn slightly. At least that Soliel girl hasn’t said anything yet. “Now, how many of you are having trouble with hand-to-hand?” Five hands shoot into the air. Well, at least I’m not the only one with low survival skills. I hear Xaden grumble something under his breath. “Garrick…”

“No, sir. You’re our best fighter,” the dark-haired rider responds with a shake of his head. He receives a look I can’t see from this angle — no doubt a priceless one — that makes him lift his hands a little in mock surrender. “It’s true.”

“I don’t have the time or patience to train cadets.” That gets an amused snort out of Liam.

“Then let Imogen do it. I’ve got kitchen duty in the afternoon.” No fucking way. They let Marked Ones take care of our food?! The two men turn towards the fae who stares at them before sighing.

“Okay, fine,” she relents. “I’ll try to round them up during weapon training.”

“What else is giving you trouble?” Xaden asks the crowd.

“Battle Brief,” a woman admits. “Not that I can’t keep up, but the information…”

“Learn what they teach you. Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to. If you have anymore questions, ask Bodhi.” Woah, wait. Keep what you know? All our non-classified troop movements and battle lines are kept up-to-date by the scribes. What the hell would Marked Ones know that we don’t? “Anyone else? We don’t have all night.” Liam digs the toe of his boot into the soft soil.

“Sloane’s getting conscripted next year,” he murmurs, not looking up at their designated leader. “She’s… more useful in other areas, not in combat.”

“I know, I know.” Xaden almost sounds weary as he runs a hand through his thick hair. “I’m working on it.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Imogen asks skeptically.

“I’ll deal with Sorrengail to pull a few strings for us.” This man is out of his fucking mind. What the fuck makes him think I’d do anything for these traitors?

“I thought we were going to kill her,” a first-year in the back states. His comment makes my blood run cold. I shouldn’t be surprised knowing their parents’ history but it’s still jarring to hear the words spoken aloud with such boldness.

“It’s too dangerous and a waste of time. Even if it wasn’t, we’d have to get…René involved.” He says the name with as much reluctance as a baby otter to water.

“That bitch killed my parents—”

“You think I don’t know that?!” he snaps suddenly, turning to face the cadet. “Everyone here has lost someone because of her, not just you. I will not allow any of my people to go on a suicide mission just because you can’t keep your emotions in check. You want to avenge our parents? Stick to the plan: keep your head down, do what they tell you for now. Is that clear?” A few people mutter their agreements. “Is that
 clear, cadets?” Xaden repeats with more emphasis to his words.

“Yes, sir,” the Marked Ones answer in unison.

“Good. Now, get to bed before one of the guards sees you; remember to leave in groups of three.” Gradually, their little club disperses but that does nothing to ease the growing pit in my stomach.  I need to get out of here and report this to Dain. There’s no way in the pitch black Void am I believing a single word these monsters say. Even if they don’t intend to kill me anytime soon, I can’t say the same for this René person. It shouldn’t be hard to find this man’s name on the roster of candidates; it’s an Osponian name that’ll definitely stick out like a sore thumb. All I need to do is tell Mother and she’ll have the rest sorted out. I just need to wait for Xaden to leave. But he doesn't move from his spot, even as Imogen, Garrick, and Liam head out with the rest. He lets out a heavy sigh before turning to glare up in my direction. “A tree? Really? That’s your best hiding spot?”

“Got any better places you’d suggest?” I quip back with a scoff. “How’d you know I was here?”

“You’re not exactly easy to ignore.” His voice hardens as he asks, “How much were you listening in on just now?”

“I’ve heard enough to report you for traitorous activity.”

“So private tutoring is against the Codex now?”

“You and your friends were just plotting to kill me!” I move down to a branch that’s a bit lower but just not enough for Xaden to easily snag my leg.

“We weren’t talking about you, dipshit,” he responds. “I don’t give a fuck about what you do so long you stay out of my business.” Huh? Then… Mother. Of course, they’d want her dead. She’s the commanding general of Bàsgiath and Fen’s executioner. Which also means…

“Why are you trying to make a deal with my mom? What the hell makes you think she’d listen to what you have to say?”

“It has nothing to do with you.”

“Bullshit! It has everything to do with me; if you’re out there fucking her—” An invisible force suddenly yanks me off the branch I’m perched on, sending me tumbling to the muddy floor. Just as I start to get up, the dark shade around me lunges across the floor in the form of several clawed hands and grab my shadow. I gasp at the invisible force holding me down, slowly wrapping its cold fingers around my neck. Xaden towers over me like a wrathful god. He’s a shadow wielder? What kind of dragon would give him one of the rarest blessings known to man?

“Listen to me, you ignorant piece of shit,” he hisses, crouching low to meet my eye level. “When I tell you it isn’t your business, you stay out of it. The only reason we were out here was to help each other with classes. Just because your mother’s the general, doesn’t mean you’re free from consequences.” My eyes widen slightly.

“Killing me is a capital offense,” I retort.

“And sneaking out past curfew is against the Codex.” Damn it. Even if I could rat him out, I’d be exposing myself and the arsenal of poisons I’ve got on me. We’re at a stalemate.

“…Fine. I won’t tell,” I say reluctantly.

“Swear it.”

“I’m not—”

“Swear on the Iakobos or I’ll throw you in there myself.” I sigh in frustration, digging my nails into the wet earth.

“I swear on the Iakobos River, I won’t expose your little tutoring session.” His shadows keep me pinned for just a moment longer as he studies me through narrowed eyes. A sensation like someone lightly tapping my brain sends a chill down my spine. You better not be reading my mind, you fucking creep, I say internally. It’s highly unlikely a rider might have two signet blessings due to the effects it has on the body, but there’s no telling with this man. After what feels like an eternity, he stands and starts to turn away.

“Try not to eavesdrop next time.” He gives me a withering side eye. “You might hear something you’re not supposed to.” The shadows on the floor shift around him before he takes a step into the nearest “hand” reaching out. His body slides into the umbra as if he were slipping into the deep end of a pool of water and disappears from sight. The hand closes and retreats into the shelter of the tall grass’ shade.

I stare at it for a long while, unsure if he might still be lurking around, before getting to my feet. Not only are my clothes wet, I’m caked in mud from the shoulders down. Fumbling for my satchel, I open up the leather lid and sigh in relief. My berries and herbs are safe for now. I turn back towards the slope I came from and adjust my cloak before setting off into the dark night.

The women’s hall is quiet as I quickly dress for the morning; from the far windows, I can see the faintest hint of light just beyond the mountains. Rhiannon isn’t in her bed today which is a bit odd since she’s usually the first and only person who’s up at this time. She’s probably screwing around with a few second-years, though, considering how often I’ve seen her ogling a girl from First Wing during Reinhart’s lectures. I’ve only spoken to her briefly when we go to our classes, but she’s pretty with short black hair and jade green eyes. She carries herself with the same air of confidence Mira has. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her lose a fight on the mat before.

I tie my hair into a crown braid and grab my satchel on the way out, passing by the rows of beds full of sleeping cadets. I almost envy them; at least they can grab a few extra hours of sleep before starting their morning assignments. When I open the door, Dain’s eyes light up as he pushes off the wall of the hallway. “Morning,” he greets, with more cheerfulness than I’ve ever seen him show at this place. That pearly smile of his is only reserved for me. “Sleep well?”

“Mm, could be better,” I admit. “Those beds are as stiff as a tree trunk.”

“I could ask Nolon to send in some extra pillows if you want.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine, I can manage.” I grab hold of his hand as we head down the empty hallway, past the ones that will lead to our rooms should we make it through Threshing with a bonded dragon. “You know you don’t have to escort me around every morning, right? People are gonna think you’re my dad.” He snorts and I let out a soft laugh, leaning into his arm a little.

“Please. I do not look old enough to be your father.”

“With that beard of yours?”

“Hey! Cath says it makes me look mature.”

“Cath?” I tilt my head to one side. Dain nods proudly.

“He’s the swordtail I’m bonded with.”

“Ooh, look at you, Mr. Smartypants.” I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. “Hey, what’s your signet blessing?” He blinks and looks away briefly.

“That’s classified,” he answers.

“Oh, c’mon! It can’t be that embarrassing.”

“It’s not— it’s a psychic kind.” Holy shit. Those kinds of signets are extremely rare; most riders usually get something involved with natural elements or the physical body, like Mira’s protective barriers and Mother’s storm wielding. Psychic types only show up about 3 percent of the time and even then there’s no telling what kind of blessing it might be.

“Did they send you to the Ranch?” I ask in a low voice. I’ve heard whispers about that place — a plantation where riders with the really dangerous blessings get shipped off to be “fixed”. According to Mira, the ones that go there never come back. But Dain lets out a short laugh and lightly shoves me forward.

“I’m nothing like those guys,” he assures. “I just have to be extra careful with mine.”

“Well then, what is it?! I promise I won’t tell, even if it’s something lame like lie detection or something.”

For a split second, he pauses before saying, “I can read someone’s recent memory — not like how inntinnsics can read minds, though; I have to touch their head for it to work.”

“No way.” With a blessing like that, he’ll be one of the most valuable interrogation tools we have.

“I’m still learning though. It’s easier when Cath’s nearby than when he’s in the Vale but, yeah. It’s incredible. Definitely hard to master but…” He shrugs casually.

“And you can just… see what they saw?” I ask curiously.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that. Imagine you’re seeing and feeling everything from their perspective. It’s kind of like you’re in their body for a moment.” My eyes widen in excitement.

“What kind of signet do you think I’ll get?”

“Mending, probably.” I whack him on the shoulder. “Hey! It’d be useful, wouldn’t it?” It would, but it won’t help me in the middle of a battle.

“I just want—” A door to the right flies open, and Dain darts in front of me to keep it from slamming into my face. Rhiannon curses as she steps out. Her hair’s combed into tight thin braids that curl at the base of her shoulders.

“Sorry!” she apologizes, stepping out of the way. “I didn’t see you there.”

“We have a curfew for a reason, cadet,” Dain lectures. “No one’s supposed to be in the private dorms until after Threshing.” He looks up at the second-year woman who steps out from behind her.

“She was getting her hair done,” she explains calmly, adjusting her uniform collar. Her voice is unusually deep in a way that contrasts with her soft facial features.

“You couldn’t do that later?”

“It takes two hours to wash and untangle it,” Rhiannon protests. “I can only do that without being late if I get up early, like you guys.”

“Just… get back to the barracks and pretend you were asleep.”

“Yes, sir.” She gives the woman a quick smile. “Thanks, Tara.” I fight back a smile of my own as she passes by with an excited look in her eyes. Way to go!

“You signed up for breakfast duty, right?” Tara asks, startling me a little. Dain gives me a questioning look.

“Uh, yeah. I’m pretty good with a pot.”

“Huh. Good luck out there.” That’s all she says before heading down the hallway towards the kitchen. Looks like she’s not much of a talker.

“Pretty good with a pot?” Dain echoes, raising a brow as we follow her direction.

“What? I’m a great chef!” I exclaim. “You just haven’t seen me cook anything yet.”

“Yeah, I saw you cook ants when we were ten. Why’d you choose breakfast instead of any other task?”

“I have my reasons.” Really good ones, in fact. We enter the arched doorway that leads to the rotunda and study area. Two guards patrolling the area give us curt nods as we walk by.

“Are you ready for today? For challenges, I mean?” I hesitate before nodding. “I know you’ve been practicing with Rhiannon, but…”

“I’ll be alright,” I assure, giving his hand a light squeeze. “I can handle myself.”

“Can you?” Worry forms on his face and I’m reminded of the way Xaden nearly choked me to death with his shadows last night. I stuff my hands into my pockets, feeling for the vial of crushed osmorn leaves I’ve prepared for my first challenge. They should be just the right amount to disorient that Pryor guy long enough for me to land a few hits. “I can try to get my dad to talk to your mom—”

“We’ve had this conversation before already. I’m staying here; if I die, it’ll be for my country.” He opens his mouth to say something but then clamps it shut. “It’s just sparring, Dain.”

“Okay. Just… be careful out there.” I give him a tight hug before making my way to the kitchen. A few cooks are already starting to set up their stations as I walk in. I make sure to steer clear of their path considering how grumpy some of them look today. While I may not be the best in my family, I can still make a pretty good chicken salad. The tiny crumbs of osmorn blend right in with the vegetables, making them completely undetectable. I carefully place fresh chicken strips over the mixed bowl and pray to Amari that my plan works.

When it’s finally time for me to push the food cart out, I make a bee-line for where the boy with floppy dark hair sits quietly, gnawing on his nails. Luka sits next to him, chatting up a storm about the different kinds of metal ores found in Navarre’s various mining districts as she paints hers in various colors. “Taenactolite’s pretty much everywhere in Tyrrendor and some parts of the Esban mountains,” she says, holding up an outstretched hand to the light of the chandelier above us. “They look like silver but there’s gold veins all around it.” Huh. She sure knows a lot about rocks no one gives a shit about. I guess even sadistic bitches gotta have hobbies to pass the time. Pryor looks at me with those puppy dog eyes of his that are always covered by his hair; there’s a clear plea for help in them, to spare him from the madwoman’s rambling, but I pretend like I’m not really there. The most I offer is a brief thumbs up before weaving around the table to the drowsy second-years behind them. Luka hasn’t noticed me yet and I want to keep it that way.

I almost feel bad for Pryor as I stand on the side of the wide black mat, watching Rhiannon beat the shit of her opponent. The brunette’s sitting on the floor in a corner with his head in his arms. Luka stands over him with an elbow against the wall, attempting at what might be a pep talk of sorts. Pryor slowly lifts his head, causing his thick curls to fall over his bloodshot eyes. He looks so miserable but I can’t regret my choice. For all I know, he might be hiding some insane fighting skills beneath that meek persona.

I exhale in an attempt to rid myself of the growing anxiety in my stomach and focus on Rhiannon’s match. She makes it look so easy, I can’t help but think as she traps her opponent with a chokehold. It’s one of the many moves she’s been trying to drill into me over the last few weeks. Neither of them seem to stick though. The first-year passes out, and she rises victorious as we clap. “Enjoy your nap,” she says as two third-years drag the boy away. Professor Emetterio hands her the standard prize for winning a challenge, a dagger with a ruby hilt, before turning towards me.

“Sorrengail and Barnett.” Pryor squeaks in alarm as I step onto the mat. Luka rolls her eyes and drags him over by the arm. He trembles a little as the whistle sounds and I move in to kick his ribs. He stumbles over his feet in an effort to get out of the way. Panic flashes in his wide eyes when I land a good punch to his shoulder. I don’t need to knock him out cold to win this round, not with how indecisive he is. This is the same guy who held up the line at lunch yesterday because he couldn’t decide between sausage or bacon.

“Oh, come on!” Luka groans from the sidelines. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with a look of sheer boredom on her face. “Hit her already!” I let out an amused huff as his gaze flickers between the both of us for a second. His breathing becomes labored as he attempts to punch me in the chest. It doesn’t hurt as much as I expect it to. With a bit more force than necessary, I kick him square in the stomach. Pryor keels over with a groan and curls in on himself. His body trembles before he pukes up yellow bile.

“Gross,” I mutter, looking away. Luka curses and storms to the back of the room.

“Can I go home?” Pryor asks weakly, shutting his eyes. “I don’t feel good.” Emetterio sighs and flicks out a dagger I gleefully take before ordering him to go to the healers.

“Holy shit,” Dain breathes as I grin up at him. “You did it!”

“I did!” I exclaim, showing him my new weapon. It’s larger and heavier than Mira’s, but it’s mine all the same. “See? Told you I’d be fine. Now, I think I deserve an apology for underestimating my skills.”

“Hey, hey! Don’t take all the credit,” Rhiannon playfully chides, tossing an arm over my shoulder. “I helped out with training, remember?”

“Okay, sure,” Dain chuckles, tussling my hair affectionately. “I’m sorry I doubted you back there. But just because you won this fight, doesn’t mean you’ll win the next one. Keep up with your training and maybe you’ll get to meet the dragons early.” He smiles proudly before carefully placing my new dagger into one of the sheathes at my side. “And keep this one safe.”

“Of course!” I respond as he starts to head in the direction of Tail Section’s first squad. “As if I’d lose it on my first day.”

“I was talking to the dagger.”

Chapter Text

“Contortionist’s Disease (CD) is an inherited connective tissue disorder that is mainly characterized by hypermobility that affects both large and small joints. Some symptoms include: partial or complete joint dislocation, chronic muscle and/or bone pain, fatigue, dizziness, and headaches. There is currently no known cure.” ~ “The Navarrian Journal of Medicine” by Lieutenant Colonel Morgan Steele

---

Oren Seifert is the second opponent I have to fight next week. He’s a tall blonde guy from First Wing who’s got one hell of a temper. I’ve seen him bully a few of the other first-years by saying they’re not “strong enough” to survive the quadrant. I’m not exempt from being targeted, of course. In fact, he seems to come at me more often than the other weak links around here. I can’t even begin to count the amount of times he’s made snide comments about my body to other people with no hint of subtlety. Unsurprisingly, Luka collected him into her own little squad of assholes. I wrap my arms and legs with protection gauze this morning and add just a pinch of extra fonnilee powder to his scrambled eggs before breakfast.

“Sorrengail vs Seifert,” Emetterio announces. Swallowing back the fear creeping up my throat, I step onto the mat opposite of Oren who’s looking rather green. Good. It means my plan’s working just like I hoped.

“You might as well tap out now,” he says arrogantly as we start to circle each other. “You’ll only be a liability to the wing.” He charged at me, like a bull, but his footwork is sluggish and I land a punch to his kidney after spinning away.

“You sure about that?” I ask, raising a brow. He glares at me and I can see the way sweat beads his forehead. He yanks out one of the knives he brought with him and lunges forward. “Shit!” I grab his wrist just in time to avoid getting stabbed.

“My sister’s a healer. She says your bones snap like twigs.” Of course she does. I clench my jaw and move out of the way to gain some distance between us. I know better than to respond to comments like those. Assholes like these are never satisfied with just one insult. Oren’s chest heaves once before he swallows, blinking rapidly. Then he charges again — because that’s what he’s best at. He stumbles and falls to the floor before he can reach me. Saliva spews from his mouth as he struggles to get up.

Taking the chance, I run up and kick him in the jaw as hard as I can. My foot lands on the back of his spine, forcing him down. “Yield.”

“No,” he snarls, squirming like he did with Rhiannon. But his body shudders underneath my weight and he retches, bringing up everything he’s eaten since breakfast.

“Oh my gods,” Rhiannon exclaims, disgust dripping from her voice as he pukes again.

“He yields,” Emetterio declares, his face scrunched up in revulsion. I step off Oren, avoiding the puddles of vomit, and happily pluck another dagger from the professor’s hand. This one is just to my liking: lightweight and not too noticeable underneath my clothes. Luka slowly claps from where she stands next to Rhiannon.

“Wow, what a coincidence,” she drawls. “Two of your opponents puked on the map before tapping out. How lucky!”

“He’s just sick. Must’ve caught something from you guys,” I say with a shrug. “C’mon, Rhi. Let’s not stay too close to her; she might have something contagious.”

“Excuse me!?” I don’t offer her a response and grab Rhiannon’s wrist as I head to the other side of the room where it’s a bit cooler. I won and that’s all that matters.

The hardest thing about my plan is timing and making sure I’ve administered the correct amount so it doesn’t kill anyone. I manage to win next week’s challenge against a stocky guy from First Wing who can’t concentrate long enough to throw a decent punch thanks to a few hallucinogenic mushrooms I minced and slipped into his food before lunch. He gets a good kick to my knee that leaves me in the infirmary for two days but it’s not the worst pain I’ve been in.

A tall guy from Third Wing stumbles because he looses feeling in his feet, courtesy of the medicinal zihna root that grows on one outcropping near the ravine. Despite this, he lands a few punches to my face, leaving me with a split lip and bruises across my face for the next eleven days.

I win again with some tarsilla leaves that make my next opponent's vision blurry mid-match but he manages to kick me so hard in the ribs, it leaves a boot sized bruise on my side. I almost felt compelled to go to Nolon for that one, but the glee on Luka’s face when she saw me limp for the prized dagger filled me with such indignation, I had no choice but to grit my teeth and wrap my ribs for the coming weeks. That bitch is going to be the death of me. I’ve seen her throwing me looks of contempt and whispering to people about something. I’m not sure what it is, but knowing her, there’s a chance she might be catching onto my plan. A few days ago, I saw her stay to talk to our section leader after weapons practice. The sight sends a jolt of panic through my body but I try not to let it show. I don’t need to give them a reason to make me suspicious, not when we’re so close to Gauntlet training.

By the time week six rolls around, there’s a bit of a spring to my step as I walk onto the mat. I’ve managed to switch tactics, opting to sneak in some galdaberry juice into the next challenger’s milk. This should be enough to weaken her muscles long enough for me to take her down quickly without anyone else noticing. Amber Mavis stands on the sidelines next to Dain with folded arms; it’s the first time I’ve actually noticed how larger she is compared to him. She’s almost an inch taller than Xaden and wears her flight jacket over her shoulders like a cape. As Rayma Corrie attempts to make her way forward with wobbly legs, she stretches out her arm to stop her. “Take the day off to see one of the healers,” she says suddenly, skimming her up and down. My heart plummets to my chest as the stocky blond girl blinks at her a few times in bewilderment.

“P-pardon?” she stammers, moving a foot back to steady herself.

“You look like you’re about to collapse on us. Go see Nolon before your next class.” Amber nods towards the door behind her.

“I– with all due respect,” Emmetiro starts but she cuts him off with a hand.

“As the wingleader of Fourth Wing, it is my duty to make sure our cadets are healthy and fit to fight the oncoming wars. If they can’t stand on their own two feet in basic training, it means we’ve failed as a unit. Cadet Rayma Corrie, you have my permission to leave.” Coach ticks his jaw as Corrie mutters her thanks before stumbling towards the door. Aurelie helps her as she nearly topples over on her way out. Shit.

“Damn,” I say, trying to sound sympathetic. “That’s too bad. Should I just…” I begin to creep off the mat before Amber shoots me a look that pins me to the spot.

“Stay.” My blood runs cold as her good eye narrows and then turns toward the group of Marked Ones trying to catch a breeze by the open windows. “Riorson, step in.” Dain blinks in alarm at the sudden decision.

“Am— Wingleader Mavis, I don’t think—”

“Given Cadet Sorrengail’s streak, I’d say she’s improved enough to warrant going up against a second-year.”

“Don’t worry,” Xaden assures, moving between them. He gives him the tiniest of smiles — no doubt a silent threat. “I won’t bite.” My stomach hits the floor as he walks onto the mat. He wastes no time discarding the knives strapped onto his person and hands them to Imogen before tying his hair back into a secure bun. I take deep breath to still my frantic heart as I take a fighting stance I’ve seen Rhiannon use sometimes. “Whenever you’re ready.”

I throw one of my daggers at his chest but he catches it before it can even graze his shirt and tosses it aside. The blade doesn’t even nick his skin. Shit. I’m going up against a man with supernatural reflexes and a grudge, yet Mavis expects him to play nice with me? I see her watching me expectantly from the corner of my eye. Go on, prove yourself, a small voice at the back of my head whispers. This is your chance to show them you’re not as weak as they think you are. Right. I just need to be faster than him. I dart forward, in a swipe-and-kick combo Rhiannon’s drilled into me for the past few weeks. Xaden dodges my blade and catches my leg. The world spins and I’m thrown onto my back, the sudden impact knocking the air out of my lungs. He flings the knife he’s caught off the mat and circles me as he watches me struggle to get up. With a growl, I lunge, going for his thigh with a new blade. He blocks this attack with a forearm and grabs hold of my wrist with his free hand before yanking it back with such force, it almost makes me gasp from the sudden pain. Metal hits the floor behind me and it takes everything within me not to spit in his face when he lets me go. He could just as easily kick my ass without all this theatrics, but he’s not.

He’s just disarming me for show. Fuck that.

I try to go for a punch to the jaw this time. He swiftly blocks it with a hand and twists my arm behind my back this time and roughly yanks me against his hard chest. “You’ll never learn this way,” he warns into my ear. His breath is warm against the rim of my ear in a way that makes me shudder. I try to pull away but he has me in a tight grip.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond, feeling another dagger leave its sheath and land on the growing pile. He lets me go again and I whirl to face him. He raises a brow slightly but doesn’t comment any further as I throw a series of punches towards his throat. He blocks every strike and knees me so hard in the stomach, I almost hurl up my lunch. My legs stagger back as I clutch my abdomen.

Xaden moves in close to punch me square in the chest — a move that knocks me back down. “Then let me remind you.” He takes another of my prized weapons and tosses it at Dain’s feet this time. “Cheaters don’t make good fighters.” My eyes widen slightly in alarm. “What? Thought you were subtle?”

“Luka… she told you.” He scoffs and steps away to let me catch my breath again. I only have one more dagger left. After that? I’m not quite sure I want to know. Warm embarrassment consumes my body as I struggle to get up. My ribs ache but I suck in a sharp breath. If I can just block it out long enough…

A foot comes dangerously close to my face. I duck just in time for it to graze my hair then go low, kicking out the back of one of his knees. I roll away just in time to avoid getting squashed by his gigantic frame. Once more, my side cries out in pain. Lifting my last dagger, I try for the throat but he predictably blocks it and pulls me forward. “Do you think you’ll be able to slip poison into a Cygni’s food before war?” His tone is taught. I kick him in the crotch as hard as I can in response. Fuck this guy. He can go to the Void no matter what.

Fury sparks in those onyx eyes of his and I’m not prepared for the sharp uppercut that nearly rips my head from my neck. The instinct to dodge takes over as he goes for a high kick this time. I attempt to stab his shoulder just once before he grabs hold of my arm again. The knife is forcefully yanked out of my arm by an invisible force and goes skidding across the floor. Another punch to the face sends me reeling. In seconds, he kicks out the back of my knees and swiftly pins me to the floor with a foot to my back. I struggle to squirm free but he applies more pressure and one of my ribs shifts out of place, causing me to cry out. “That’s enough,” Amber states. Xaden scoffs and turns away, taking his weapons from Imogen as he walks past the professor. Dain hurries to help me up and lets me lean on him as I slowly limp off the mat. Pain erupts in my lungs with each sharp breath I take.

“Ma’am,” he begins.

“Take her. We’ll discuss this when you get back.” She doesn’t need to look in my direction for me to know what “this” means. I can already tell, judging by Luka’s smug smirk as we pass her.

“I’m surprised he didn’t break anything,” Rhiannon says later that evening as her thumbs dig into the muscle between my neck and shoulder. It hurts in an oddly satisfying way that makes me grateful she was willing enough to give me a massage after coming back from the healers. The extra blankets and pillows she’s placed under my stomach and chest are soft as I lay on my bed, bare from the waist up except for the constricting bands around my breasts and ribs. Nolon managed to fix the misplaced bone before History but it still hurts like a bitch, especially when I apply pressure or breathe in too deeply.

“I’m surprised he didn’t outright kill me,” I mutter, turning my colorfully bruised face to the side where it hurts less.

“He couldn’t have; not with Amber watching him like a hawk.”

“Gods, that woman…” I don’t know what she and Dain must’ve spoken about after he dropped me off at the Healer’s Quadrant, I haven’t seen him around since then. Worry gnaws at my heart as I cast a glance at the doorway. Is he alright? I hope I haven’t gotten him in trouble. “Why doesn’t she just kick him out already?”

“Probably because she doesn’t have a reason to.” I do. Or at least I did until Xaden forced me to keep quiet about it. A sigh escapes me as Rhiannon continues working out the taut muscles in my back and wince at the pain. “I still can’t believe she’d put you up against Xaden of all people. Everyone knows that guy’s not to be messed with on the mat.” I close my eyes, relishing the way her hands move down my spine and press into the knots that made my arms almost impossible to lift.

“Can’t believe I got my ass kicked by a Riorson.” She snorts in amusement. “I’m serious! That was so humiliating!” I should’ve poisoned him if I’d known Amber would pull something like that. But I suppose this is my punishment for making a rookie mistake like not paying attention to the amount of poison I administer.

“At least you got few good hits in there.” A smile tugs at her lips as she adds, “I liked the part where you kicked him in the dick. He won’t mess with you after that, for sure.” That gets a laugh out of me.

“I fucking hope so. Otherwise, all that training would’ve gone to waste.” Our conversation gets cut short by the door suddenly opening and the section leaders of Third and Fourth Wing’s Claw Sections step in. “Shit,” I hiss under my breath, tossing on the nearest black shirt I can find.

“Attention!” the first section leader orders, forcing us to stand at our bedside. “We will be conducting a mandatory search of your belongings. Please step outside while we proceed.” She motions towards the hallway with her head. Oh shit. My gaze drops to my rucksack underneath my bed and I feel a pit of dread suddenly form in my stomach. The poisons are still in there! Can I get them out without the section leaders noticing? I quickly drop into a crouch and pretend to tie my shoelaces while flipping open my pack. Shit, shit, shit!

“Vi,” Rhiannon hisses.

“Just go,” I whisper, making a shooing motion with a hand. My fingers dig deep into the rucksack, searching for the smooth vial but I can only feel clothes and Father’s book of dragons. Why’d I put that shit at the bottom of everything else?! Just as my fingertips graze the tip of the first vial, a shadow looms over me.

“Cadet Sorrengail,” my Wing’s section leader says darkly. His grey eyes narrow and it takes everything within me not to shrink from his gaze.

“I-I was tying my shoes.” Completely unprompted, he grabs me by the shoulder that’s still very sore and roughly yanks me forward. The asshole snatches my rucksack from me and dumps the contents on the floor for everyone to see. My heart lurches as the bottles of berries, mushrooms, roots, and dried herbs roll across the floor to Third Wing’s Section leader. She picks it up, shakes the contents lightly, and turns it over in her hand before exchanging a glance with the man. “I-it’s not what it looks like,” I stammer. “I didn’t put that—”

“Your bag will be confiscated for the time being.” What?

“But my clothes!”

“You’ll be given new ones soon enough. Now stand in the hall with the others.” He gives me an intense stare that leaves no room for further discussion. Forcing my reluctant feet to work, I follow orders and trudge over to where my squadmates wait. I immediately stop upon seeing Dain and Amber heading in our direction. My heart feels like it’s about to break out of its rib cage as they talk with the section leaders.

“What’s going on?” Ridoc whispers, pulling me to the side. I don’t have the heart to answer him. I don’t know if I could. The look Dain casts me hurts more than any attack Xaden might’ve thrown at me.

I feel like someone’s dropped boulders into my stomach as we all stand in formation early the next morning. Captain Fitzgibbons makes some minor announcements but I can’t focus on what he’s saying. My attention is entirely focused on the figure standing behind him at the back of the dias. Her features are expressionless but I can tell from the unnatural chill in the summer air that she’s less than pleased. “Holy shit, is that your mom up there?” Ridoc asks, giving me a questioning look. I nod stiffly.

“Mind telling me what all that was last night?” Rhiannon murmurs into my ear. I swallow back a lump forming in my throat and look away. “Are you in trouble?” I don’t answer. Fittzgibbons finishes his announcements and steps to the back of the dias with Mother, which would usually signal the end of formation, but Commandant Panchek takes the podium.

“It has been brought to my attention as your commandant that a breach of the Codex has occurred,” he calls over the courtyard. “As you know, breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated. This matter will be discussed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward.” My chest tightens as Amber strides towards the dias.

“Over the course of this past month, five cadets have been purposefully subjected to poisonous material in their food which affected their abilities in both learning and combat. This is a violation of Article Three, Section One of the Dragon Rider’s Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense.” A collection of murmurs and gasps ripples through the crowd. From the corner of my eye, I see Rhiannon’s head snap in my direction. I keep my eyes on the patch of grass in front of my feet even as the temperature drops and the dew begins to harden into ice. “One recent victim, Rayma Corrie, was severely affected by the contents in her meal and in need of immediate medical attention. By the time she was carried to the Healer’s Quadrant by Cadet Aurelie Donans, she was on the verge of collapse.” Guilt stabs me in the chest like a blade at the reveal. I should’ve given her a lighter dosage. “I was notified by Flame Section Leader Wolstan Strider before this incident who, in turn, was informed by Cadet Luka Riesse who expressed concern regarding a certain squad member cheating during sparring practice.”

“Yeah, right. Like that bitch would be worried about anyone other than herself,” I hear Imogen mutter under her breath.

“I call you to answer for your crime against Cadets Pryor Barnett, Oren Seifret, Henry Yates, Timothy Millet, Rayma Corrie, and Tynan Bradston.” Slowly, I lift my gaze towards Amber who stares at me with such contempt, it makes me wish I was shorter. “Cadet Violet Sorrengail.”

“What?!” Ridoc turns towards me, wide-eyed. “You didn’t…” My heart hammers in my chest as the crowd steps away from me like I’ve caught the Krovlan Flu all over again. I step forward, keeping my head low until I reach the front of the courtroom, fully exposed to the Wingleader. I keep my eyes on the dias even as loud wingbeats fill the air and icy wind threatens to blow me away. One by one, six dragons land on the wall perch, their eyes glowing in the early morning sunlight similar to the gods descending to cast divine judgment on me. Aimsir, Mother’s tabby scorpiontail, stands at the center while Amber’s orange daggertail sits at his right, puffing smoke from her nostrils. I try to take in a deep breath, but my lungs constrict with each inhale.

“As you are the daughter of General Sorrengail, we will give you the opportunity to defend yourself once.”

“I-I have committed no crime,” I stammer. My voice sounds so tiny, I wonder if they’ve even heard me. “I didn’t kill them; I had no intention of doing so. I was only defending myself—”

“By targeting your fellow cadets, some of which are part of your squad?”

“The only person there is Pryor! Besides, I made sure to give them a light dosage.”

“Would you consider Corrie’s case to be a light dose?” Mother asks cooly, stepping forward to stand beside Amber. “I have received the reports from Nolon’s medical team,” she extends a hand and lightning crackles at her fingertips before forming into a stack of papers, “and according to his notes, she was given an almost lethal amount of juice from the galdaberry whose properties are known to weaken joint muscles, cause vivid hallucinations, and forces the victim to fall unconscious. Would you consider this an act of self-defense?”

“Yes!” My voice nearly cracks and I have to swallow back a lump forming in my throat before continuing. “You know I’m not as good as everyone else. It was the only way I knew I wouldn’t get killed!”

“You’re insinuating that because of your weakness, the other cadets would seek to kill you during sparring?” She raises a brow doubtfully. “Do you really think they’d be bold enough to kill my daughter?”

“The Marked Ones—”

“They have nothing to do with this.” I can’t help but blink in surprise. Is she…defending them? Instead of me? “You knew you weren’t able to stand on equal footing with your peers and yet you decided to join the Rider’s Quadrant regardless.”

“Because you made me!” I practically scream, leaning against the edge of the dias. “You made me come here! You took me out of Scribe’s training after Dad died and threw me into the Rider’s Quadrant!” My hands shake as unwanted tears begin to blur my vision.

“I did no such thing. You signed up for the Quadrant, you took the test and passed. I wouldn’t be foolish enough to force you to do anything I knew would hurt you.” She lifts her chin and Aimsir growls low in his throat. I want to scream. I can feel it crawling its way up my throat but I have to force it down. I can’t act like a child in front of everyone. “Now, explain how you managed to get ahold of the poisons found in your rucksack last night. They appear to be local fauna found across Bàsgiath’s premises, correct?” Mother glances at Fitzgibbons who nods grimly. “Did you acquire these personally or were they given to you?” I open my mouth to speak but only a pitiful whimper comes out. She frowns. “Did you get these yourself, Cadet Sorrengail?”

I nod. Amber’s eyes flare with rage and the quadrant murmurs to each other in hushed tones. Her dragon curls her lips as sparks fly from the gaps between her teeth. “Wingleaders,” she orders, “we need a quorum.” Nyra, and the two Wingleaders from Second and Third Wing climb the dias to speak with Amber. Mother doesn’t move from where she stands.

The temperature has gotten so cold, I’m starting to shiver but that doesn’t stop my lungs from constraining within my ribcage. The tears I’ve been struggling to contain start to stream down my cheeks and I struggle to breathe. I gasp for air, for a temporary release of the pressure building up in my chest. Gods, please. Please, don’t let them kill me. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to be burnt to ash like the rebellion leaders. I can’t join them in the Void Realm to be punished for all eternity. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I can’t die like this. “Mom,” I beg, practically throwing myself at her feet. “Mom, please! Don’t let them kill me! Don’t burn me alive; I don’t want to go!”

Mother just stares at me impassively. There’s not even the slightest twitch of her brows, no fidgeting fingers. 

Nothing.

A sob escapes my throat as the realization suddenly hits me. She doesn’t love you anymore. She doesn’t want to help me, her own daughter. Dain moves forward, starts to say something, but I can’t hear. I can’t hear anything beyond the sounds of my rapid breathing. My own heartbeat drums in my ear, keeping time with my desperate, erratic gasps for air. “The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement,” Amber announces, her rough voice cutting through my hysteria. “We find you, Violet Sorrengail, to be guilty of the following crimes: destruction of government property, intentional tampering of culinary equipment and meals, lying, disregarding curfew rules, and breaking-and-entering into areas that are deemed off-limits for cadets.”

“No, no! You don’t understand!” I shout, spinning to face the formation. Someone has to help me. They can’t leave me like this. But there’s only scorn and disgust on their faces. No one in my squad dares to look me in the eye. “Please…”

“As is our law, your sentence will be carried out by corporal punishment.” What? I turn towards Mother who doesn’t meet my gaze. She steps back to where Panchek stands and murmurs something inaudible to him. The other wingleaders step to the side as Amber grabs me by the scruff of my uniform and drags me up the stage with little care for my recent wounds. A newfound sense of horror settles into my bones as I lift my head to stare into her wrathful eyes. The sunlight illuminating the edges of her fiery red hair makes her look all too similar to the paintings of our war goddess, Dunne. Is she really going to beat me in front of the whole Quadrant?

The answer comes in the form of a swift kick to my stomach that sends me to my knees. My breakfast comes back up my throat but that doesn’t stop her from landing another kick to my ribs. The metal tip of her boot stabs into the softer areas like a knife, causing me to cry out in pain. Her fist slams into my face before I can properly recover. Again, she punches me in the cheek where the fresh bruises from yesterday still are. Pain erupts across my features with each consecutive blow that seems to hurt more than the last. “In this Rider’s Quadrant, we have no room for weak individuals,” Commandant Panchek’s voice rings out loud and clear. “The wing is only as strong as its weakest link. If an individual as dangerous as this one cannot properly cooperate with their fellow cadets, they are considered a liability.” Amber jams her knee into my chest, effectively stealing the wind out of my lungs. “All forms of liability, be it minor or major, must be purged if we are to survive. To disregard the lives of your fellow cadets is to disregard the Codex and everything it stands for.” Her attacks leave me in so much agony, I have no choice but to curl into a fetal position on the floor as she slams her boots into my side again, and again, and again. Eventually, I hear the sickening crack of my ribs. My mental box is not enough to shelve the explosive agony that takes over my body. “Consider this an example to remember and avoid at all costs.” I don’t see Panchek leave. Amber leans down to consume my whole vision, her rage and disgust visible on every facet of her body. She wraps my braid around her fist like a rope and yanks my head upward.

“Look,” she growls, turning me around to face the thousands of faces trained on me. I try to close my eyes but she shakes me so roughly, I have no choice but to meet their gazes. “ Look at them, you worthless excuse of a human being.” Her breath is hot against my ear as she snarls, “Do you see? Do you see how vile you are in their eyes? How utterly revolting your wretched existence is? You don’t deserve to be here.” An animalistic growl escapes her lips and I catch a glimpse of her dragon-like eyes staring me down like I’m nothing more than a pile of shit caught under her shoes. No, I didn’t just piss off another human like Luka or Oren; this an emissary of the gods. This might not even be her talking, but her dragon putting words into her mouth. “The only reason we spared you is because of your mother. Had you been any other person, you’d be nothing more than dust and ash.” She — or, they — slam my face into the dias’ floor and finally lets go of my hair before storming off the stage.

Chapter Text

PART TWO:

“To Tear and Mend”

Chapter Text

"The things that happen behind closed doors in the Riders Quadrant in order to turn young cadets into full-fledged riders are enough to turn the staunchest of stomachs. Those prone to queasiness should not pry." — Major Afrenda’s Guide to the Rider’s Quadrant (Unauthorized Edition)

---

The only constant that’s never failed me so far has been, and always will be, pain. Every inch of my body feels like it’s on fire as I lay in the infirmary bed. My left eye is swollen shut, two of my ribs are fractured, and I’m covered from head to toe with bruises that’ll take forever to heal. The growing pain just above my good eye threatens to kill me with each pulse. Winnifred and the other healers have been feeding me all sorts of potions and bitter herbs for the past three days but nothing’s helped. The uncomfortable wet poultices they cake me in every morning and afternoon only make me want to tear my skin off. Only Nolon’s been able to provide an ounce of relief whenever he’s around, but he usually never stays for long. He has better things to do than waste his time on someone he can’t even make eye contact with. Not that I mind.

I’m used to being alone like this. When my siblings were away at outposts or Bàsgiath and everyone else was too busy to pay attention to what I was doing, I had to make do with what I had and entertained myself by trying to read every book in our massive library. I remember I’d almost gotten halfway through before falling asleep on the couch near the hearth. After Father’s passing, I barely had anyone to talk to; Mother buried herself in work and locked herself in her office — something she’d always do after another heated argument that could be heard from across the street. Back then, I’d had my books and porcelain dolls to keep me company. Now, I just have this drab curtain to stare at all day.

The only people who visit are Nolon and Winnifred. I don’t know where Dain is. He’s probably trying to make up for my fuck up and wrangling all the first-years into weapons practice by now. I don’t expect him to vouch for me to not get expelled from the war college. He’d probably benefit from it, actually. Then, he wouldn’t have to worry about me too much if I got sent to shovel horse shit in the countryside. No one in my squad will probably dare to visit either. They don’t have a good reason to and, frankly, I wouldn’t want to associate myself with a murderer either if I could help it.

A small sigh escapes my lips as I close my working eye. I don’t know what’s worse: this unending pain I’ve been cursed to live with, or the fact that no one in this school wants to be around me. Just as I’m about to drift back into sleep, I hear the sound of approaching heels clicking against the floor. They stop for a moment and the curtain is pulled back. When I hear them place something on the small table next to my bed, I hesitantly crack open my eyelids to see a glass vase full of marigolds, azaleas, rhododendrons, and lilies. Mother sits on the wooden stool at the foot of the bed. “Ginnst schelstäg,” she greets in Eleutch, the Elsum province’s native language. “I take it you slept well?”

“...everywhere hurts,” I whisper.

“Of course, it does.” She heaves a heavy sigh and crosses her legs. “You broke the Codex multiple times, all within the span of a month. What did you think would happen? Did you think no one would notice?” When I don’t answer, she raises a brow expectantly. “Well?”

“I don’t know. I…” My voice trails off as I swallow down another lump forming in my throat. What was I thinking? “I didn’t want to make you mad.”

“And yet you’ve disappointed me more than either of your siblings combined. Imagine what could’ve happened if those cadets had died. We would’ve lost five potential riders and perhaps some of the most powerful signet users in recorded history. Their blood would be on your hands. I did not raise you to be so careless; cheating your way through this place will only put you in an early grave. If you really want to bond with a dragon, you have to earn it through your blood, sweat, and tears. Do you understand?” I nod, unable to look her in the eye. She sighs softly and rubs the spot between her brows. “I swear, you do this just to piss me off,” she mutters under her breath. I can’t help but flinch at her words. These kinds of comments aren’t uncommon to hear in our household, but most of the time they’re usually directed towards Mira, not me.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, slowly curling my bandaged fingers in the blanket. Mother stands and yanks the curtains back to let the harsh afternoon light in.

“From now on, I expect nothing but perfection from you.” That’s all she says before leaving me alone once more with the smell of sickness in the air.

Amber Mavis surprises me two days later by stopping by with a pair of wooden crutches. A scowl forms on her face as she hands them to me. “Get up,” she orders, “we’re leaving.”

“I don’t think I can move much today,” I admit, glancing down at the warm soup in my hands. I’ve been taking small sips so it can stay down but I feel too nauseated to continue the rest. Just lifting the ceramic bowl to my mouth makes my muscles ache.

“I’ll help you walk.” I highly doubt that she will, but I keep that thought to myself. Clenching my jaw, I tightly grip the sheets of the bed and slowly lift my head off the pillow. I squeeze my eyes shut as the familiar sensation of my head spinning returns. Amber offers me a firm arm to hold onto as I slide off the mattress and take hold of the crutches. I feel the gravity beneath my feet lighten a little as she leads me back to the barracks. While it doesn’t do much to lessen the pain in my bones, it makes traveling much more bearable. When we make to my bed, the room is completely empty. “Take your things,” she orders. “You won’t be sleeping here anymore.”

“Am I going back to the Scribe’s Quadrant?”

“Don’t ask, just do what you’re told.” She yanks the blanket off the bed and swiftly folds into a neat rectangle. Reluctantly, I reach down to grab my pack which is, surprisingly, still under the head of my bed. Most of the stuff in there is gone but I still have my father’s book in there.

“Where’s…?” I start to ask, flipping the pillows over to find it empty.

“You’ll get your brother’s letters once you prove yourself. Now, let’s go.” She starts walking before I can speak. It’s not fair that she can just take them from me like that but I know better than to complain. Reluctantly, I hobble after her through the dorm halls and rotunda into the academic wing. As soon as I start to think she may be leading me to one of my classes, she makes a sharp right turn down a hall that leads into a secluded area where they keep cleaning products for the servants who usually take care of the spills in the mess and gathering halls. She forces me to go down a flight of stairs before stopping in front of a small room. It’s so tiny, I can’t help but wonder if it was supposed to be a closet at some point. There’s barely enough room for two chairs and yet a pillow sits propped against the wall next to a steel bucket. “Get in.”

“What?” I turn my head to stare at her.

“You’ll be sleeping here from now on,” she explains bluntly, tossing the blanket on top of the pillows. “There’s a bucket for you to piss in; one of the menders will visit to check up on you soon.” Before I can ask about my classes, she shoves me forward and slams the door shut behind me. Total darkness envelops me like a thick blanket over my head. I feel for the door handle and try to turn the knob but it doesn’t budge. This is fine. This is completely fine. I can handle being locked in a closet for god knows how long.

There’s no window to check the time or… anything, really, besides the ominous tally marks carved into the wall above my pillow. There looks to be about twenty-two of them. Whether that’s meant to count the days, hours, or years is beyond me. I don’t let it bother me — best not to borrow tomorrow’s troubles. With a sigh, I rest my crutches against the door and sit on the floor to arrange my new room. I won’t be here for long, I tell myself. It’ll only be a few hours before someone comes to get me.

I have no idea how long I’ve been stuck in this room. The mender who’s in charge of my well-being only stopped by to give me a brief once over before leaving in a hurry without even telling me the time. No matter how many times I’ve tried knocking and kicking down the door, it refuses to budge even a little. I’m not even sure if anyone can hear me considering how isolated this place is. How long has it been since I last ate? Two hours? Four? Or maybe a whole day? My stomach growls as I try to remember the exact details but the putrid smell quickly taking over the room makes me queasy. I pull my legs close to my chest and press my forehead against my knees. The silence is so painfully deafening, I think I might actually go insane. At least in the Scribe’s quadrant, the sounds of quills on paper and turning book pages made it tolerable back then. Now, there’s just nothing and that’s more tortuous than getting my ass kicked in front of everyone.

I take in a slow breath, trying to still the growing restlessness deep in my bones. “The Arctile Ocean to the south of Awis is known for its calm, warm waters and were once lucrative trade routes between Navarre and the bordering island nations of Shizuyaka and Quisque,” I murmur to myself. If I wish hard enough, I might be able to convince myself that I’m still in the Archives. There’s no place more comforting than the underground library consisting of ancient texts from two hundred years before Navarre’s unification. It’s where I can have access to everything I need to know: facts, logic, history. “The Arctile is home to at least two million species of fish and sea dwelling mammals such as ichthyio dolphins, megalodons, and rainbow swordfish. To the north, the Emerald Sea’s harsh tides is home to black kraken, orcas, and the infamous Cirein-cròin, a sea beast so large it feeds on seven whales. Cirein blocks the trade routes between Morriane and Nezu Island, making travel by boat impossible.”

My voice is the only thing keeping my mind from breaking as I continue reciting basic facts about Awis’ geography. Things such as Luceras’ bitterly cold winters and the bountiful megafauna species that keep our dragons well fed are easy to recall. Still, talking so much to myself is making me thirsty. Strands of grey hair fall over my face as I let my head rest against the wall. My stomach growls, reminding me of the meals I’ve been forced to skip, and I close my eyes. They won’t let me wilt away in this dump. I’m the general’s daughter; killing a high ranking official’s child is considered a capital offense and act of rebellion. I will not die here. I repeat these words in my head like some sort of mantra to power through the mental torture that is sitting in a dark room with nothing but a bucket of my own waste. But as the hours slowly trudge by, I start to lose faith in the fact that I might be free one day.

Time might as well not exist in this cell. I spend most of my time sleeping and waking at different intervals. It might be morning or midnight for all I know; there’s no telling when all you can see is darkness at every hour. Sometimes, I end up crying myself to sleep because how lonely it is. At some point, the bucket I’ve been using as a toilet tipped over and soiled the pathetic excuse of a bed that makes up ninety-nine percent of the room, including my clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever sobbed harder in my life because of something so small.

The door opens when I’ve grown too tired to do anything and resigned myself to sleeping in the mess. Amber’s steel tipped boots come into view and her looming figure blocks any chance of escape I might have. She holds a lidded plate in one hand. “Are you done wallowing in your own filth?” she asks.

“Yes,” I answer weakly.

“Are you sure?” She crouches to meet my eye level. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“…please. I don’t want to be here anymore.” She stares at me for what feels like an eternity before setting the plate down next to her feet.

“Are you hungry? I brought you something.” For a split second, I start to feel an inkling of hope until she lifts the lid. The only thing under it is a bright blue slug with black and pink stripes running down its body. Its feelers twitch around, feeling for any food or obstacles that might be in the way. Amber picks it up with a tiny pair of tongs and holds it out for me to take. A faint part of me wants to think this has to be some kind of joke but her expression tells me otherwise. “Go on,” she orders. “Eat it.” The slug lets out a tiny squeak as the tongs press against its sides. Reluctantly, I pinch the thing between my fingers and close my eyes as I shove it into my mouth.

It takes everything within me to swallow the bitter tasting creature, but I eventually manage to keep it down. Half a minute passes before I start to feel my throat sting from the slug’s insides. The stinging worsens to a burning sensation as I struggle to breathe. It travels down to the base of my stomach like a spider slowly crawling down a table leg. I cry out in agony, curling into a ball as the entirety of my inner being seems to set itself alight.

“This,” Amber begins, rising to her full height, “is what your peers felt when you laced their food with poison.” I want to tell her that it’s not the same, that I didn’t just shove a poisonous slug into their mouths with the intent to kill, but I doubt she sees it that way. “This is the taste of betrayal.”

A strangled sob escapes my lips as I claw at my throat. “Please,” I beg in such a pathetic way, she might actually look vaguely pitiful. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good this time.”

“Will you?” I nod frantically through tears and agony. Amber glances over at someone I can’t see and steps aside. Nolon hobbles into the room, carrying a cream wineskin. He refuses to meet my gaze as he uncorks the sack and I have no choice but to let him pour whatever thick, tasteless liquid this is down my throat. The pain doesn’t leave immediately but lessens to the point where the wingleader can grab me by the hair and force me to make eye contact with her. She releases her grip but a new force envelopes me, applying heavy pressure on all sides of my body while my feet remain suspended in the air. Gravity, I realize. This is the work of a gravity wielder. Shit.

“You’re right,” I admit weakly. “I don’t… I don’t belong here.”

“Oh? And where do you think a vapid pig like you belong?” I swallow, trying to think of a good answer. The first thing that pops into my head is the Scribes Quadrant but there’s no way Mother’s letting me in there after all this. “Do you know what you are?” Amber asks when the silence drags for too long.

“…weak.”

“And?”

“Selfish. Stupid, disgusting… unworthy.”

“Do you believe these things?” I swallow down another sob before nodding. Why else would she keep me locked up in this cell like a worthless animal?

“They’re true,” I whisper faintly. A minute passes before she sighs and turns towards the door, using her signet to carry me along like a dog on a leash. The tapping of Nolon’s cane on the ground is the only indication that he’s following along at a distance. We travel down into a tunnel I hadn’t noticed before to an underground network similar to the one Mira and I walked through. Our journey is uncomfortably silent, even as we descend an absurdly long flight of stairs, until we reach the outdoors where the sun has already begun to dip far below the horizon.

“Thank you, Nolon. I will handle it from here,” she says to the mender. “If there’s any trouble, I’ll let you know.”

“Of course,” Nolon murmurs and I hear him shuffle off before I’m yanked forward by Amber’s gravitational force. She takes me to a calmer side of the river and unceremoniously throws me in with a flick of her hand. The current almost drags me away, but I cling to a large branch that’d fallen in and manage to break through the surface. She tosses me a bar of soap which I catch with one hand.

“Ditch the clothes in the river. You won’t need those filthy things where you’re going.”

“Wh– you want me to bathe in here?” I ask. 

“Where else would you shower?” She takes a seat on a nearby boulder, crosses her legs, and summons a thick novel that she cracks open in her hands. “No one wants a foul smelling rat in their halls.” I try not to flinch at the insult and start unbuttoning my blouse beneath the water. I eventually have to take everything off and scrub off the grime stuck on my skin and hair with the soap I’ve been given. It takes about two more rinses for me to finally feel clean enough to tell her I’m ready to leave. She hands me a towel to wrap around myself then proceeds to escort me back through the tunnel entrance. To say the walk was humiliating would be an understatement. Hot shame washes over my body as I make the arduous climb back up the staircase and into the secluded dark hall.

“Where are we going?” I dare to ask after a while. I keep my gaze locked on my bare wet feet because looking her in the eye makes me feel even worse. “Am I going back to the Scribe’s Quadrant?”

“No. You’re staying here for now; if a dragon doesn’t choose you at Threshing, you’ll be sent to some other place.” She doesn’t elaborate on what said place is and, frankly, I don’t really want to know at the moment. “Riorson will also help you catch up with your studies and physical training.” My head instantly shoots up.

“Sorry? What do you mean—”

“He’s elected to be your new tutor. Of course, all of your sessions will be monitored but I expect civility from both of you.” No, absolutely not. Why on earth would Xaden of all people want to tutor me? The man hates me with every fiber of his being. This is the last thing he’d want to do. Unless, of course, Amber’s lying and she forced him into this. But there’s no telling with this woman so I can only swallow and nod grimly. Amari gives her toughest battles to her strongest soldiers.

The chatter of the barracks quickly dies down when I enter the room. Everyone’s eyes are on me and I want nothing more than to shrink to the size of an ant and crawl under the bedsheets. Unsure of what to say, I quietly make my way to my bed and fish out my nightgown before going into the bathroom to change. A few cadets resume their conversations in hushed voices but most have decided to call it a day and rest for the night. Rhiannon is the only one sitting up once I’m properly dressed. Her gaze is filled with something I can’t quite pin down. Concern? Dismay? Or is that wariness? “Are you okay?” she asks when I pass by her bed. I stop and a new wave of guilt threatens to drown me. “You’ve been gone for two days. I thought…” She doesn’t finish the rest of that sentence. Instead, she sighs in what I can only assume to be disappointment. “You should’ve told me you were struggling. I could’ve found some way to help.”

“Sorry,” I say quietly, crawling into bed. “I won’t do that again, I promise.” I don’t know what else to say so turn my back towards her. I just hope she doesn’t feel too bad about my stupid plan. She won’t have to train me anymore so that gives her a chance to distance herself from me a little. Some people in the quadrant might be quick to spread rumors about her being my accomplice. The last thing I need for her to get involved in my mess. I just need to get my shit together to survive Threshing. But will any dragon even think to bond with me? Or will they just incinerate me on the spot without a second’s thought?

Thunder rumbles overhead as thick, fat raindrops pelt my skin. The taste of saltwater is fresh on my tongue as the tiny rowboat I’m in fights to stay aloft amongst the raging black tides. A heavy wave knocks me aside and I have to white knuckle the edge of the boat to keep from falling into the endless ocean. The downpour is so heavy, I can’t even see a hint of land in either direction. Dark clouds consume the night sky yet every now and then, a brief white flash illuminates the dark. In an instant, it’s gone.

“Find me…”

A loud thunderclap causes the boat to lurch. I yelp in alarm as the solid floor gives way to black waves. Terror instantly seizes my heart. No, no, I can’t die like this. I can’t do this again. But there’s nothing to hold onto, no ground for purchase, just the abyss beneath me. I try to scream but water flows into my lungs, causing me to choke and thrash harder. The light… I need to reach it. If I can just…

My head breaches the surface as I gasp for the bitter air. Through the howling winds and roaring tides, I hear something like a faint whisper. It cuts through the chaos like a hot knife to butter. A crack forms in front of the clouds, as if the sky was nothing more than glass. It’s small at first, almost unnoticeable, but I can’t tear my eyes away from it even as I cling to an uprooted tree for dear life.

“Find me…”

The crack grows, spreading across the sky like an ominous spiderweb. With each rumble of thunder, I feel an impending sense of dread and wrongness. Is the sky really there? Why can I feel the rain falling on my skin then? Where am I?

“…the truth of this world.” As if on queue, the “firmament” bursts into a thousand sharp blades that rain down on me, cutting up my skin and just barely missing my eye. I don’t get the chance to see what’s really behind the illusion. Blinding white light suddenly consumes my vision and hot agony burns every inch of my body.

I awake with a start, gasping for air. Splitting pain stabs the back of my left eye like someone’s just rammed a nail through the socket. “Fuck me.” I groan, lifting a hand to my head. Just that simple motion causes me to inhale sharply and set it back down against my side. My heartbeat races like I’ve just run a marathon. I close my eyes to take in a few deep breaths. The migraine throbs in response and I can only clench my jaw as I try to get my bearings. But the uncanny feeling won’t leave, even as I try whispering a prayer to the gods for consolidation and healing. The images of the fake sky lingers still and my stomach churns with the thought of what it could mean.

Chapter Text

“Note that the Gauntlet was meant to be a part of a death tournament before the battle of Maghànbha. Make sure to watch your step on the way up.” ~ Cadet Naolin Coulter’s additional observations regarding the Gauntlet, taken from Cadet Brennan Sorrengail’s first recovered correspondence to Mira Sorrengail

---

A deep sigh escapes me as I stare up at the menacing obstacle course that’s carved into the front of a ridgeline so steep it might as well be a cliff. The zigzagging trail rises above us, climbing into five distinct switchbacks of 180-degree turns, each increasing in difficulty on the way to the top of the bluff that divides the citadel from the flight field and Vale. It’s almost exactly as Brennan’s friend had depicted it in that letter, the only difference being the set of stairs carved into the cliff besides the course which he seemed to have purposefully left out.

The first ascent starts with a fifteen foot log which is held on either end by metal bars that disappear into the pit below the course which is only blocked by a large black fishnet that might not be capable of breaking cadet’s fall if they slip from one of the higher ascents. It precedes four granite pillars spread three feet apart which in turn leads to the first switchback, featuring a giant wheel. Ascent two has 5 metal buoy balls hanging from a thick metal rung that’s been jammed into the cliff wall.

The third ascent has three iron rails hanging from rods lined up end-to-end like battering rams with each rod hanging half a foot higher than the last. Three pillars follow suit like with the first ascent. The next switchback leads to a slanted path made of  seven logs which are three feet wide and jut out of the cliff. This particular one makes my stomach coil slightly as I see what might be a least an inch gap between each individual log. It’s just wide enough that a cadet could get their foot snagged between them if they’re not careful.

The final ascent resembles a chimney-like structure that leans a little to the right; its face is completely open. If I remember correctly, we have to sprint up the ten inch vertical ramp that leads to the top of the bluff.

So… no pressure.

“Amazing,” Aurelie breathes next to me, staring up at the monstrously designed obstacle course. Her normally serious black eyes dance in the morning light as a smile spreads across her face and she shifts from one foot to another. I stare at her like she must’ve hit her head on a rock.

“You think that looks amazing?” Rhiannon asks, turning to face her.

“I’ve been waiting years for this! My dad used to set up obstacle courses like this all the time so we could practice. My brother said it’s the best part of being here before Threshing; it’s a real adrenaline rush.” She points to the log path and adds, “He told me watch out for those giant posts right there. They spin and you can get crushed between them if you’re not fast enough.”

“Seriously?! Who made this?” She shrugs.

“Who knows. They say the school used to have a death tournament to determine who got to ride a dragon or not but that was centuries ago. Tearing it apart and rebuilding it would take too much work, I guess.” Oh, joy. This course is the embodiment of my worst nightmares. I briefly consider sneaking my way into the Scribe Quadrant but shut that thought away into my mental box. You’re so close to Presentation. There’s no way you’re going to call quits now like a coward.

“Got it, thanks,” I murmur with a small nod. I can do this.

“Still not sure why they call it the Gauntlet,” Ridoc says from my right, blowing into his cupped hands to ward off the morning chill. “Death Mountain seems like a more appropriate title, to be honest.” I can’t help the amused huff that escapes me.

“It’s so the dragons keep coming to Threshing by weeding out the weaklings,” Tynan answers from his other side. He makes sure to throw me a pointed look which I hold for a few seconds before turning away.

“What, like you?” His eyes light up with indignation as he turns to face him. “Didn’t Rhiannon hand your ass to you on the mat the other day?”

“That— I was talking about the course, smartass! Our times aren’t just ranked individually. We’re scored as a squad too, which is how the order for Presentation is decided. No dragon wants to choose from a squad that comes in last.”

“When did you become a dragon expert?”

“When you were busy helping that bitch sneak poison into our food.”

Ridoc straightens his spine and narrows his eyes at Tynan as he asks, “Excuse me?” The icy tone in his voice sends a chill down my spine. This is probably the first time he’s been anything but humorous and good natured.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. We all know you and your friend over there were helping her behind our backs.”

“Stop it,” Sawyer cuts in before Ridoc can respond to the taunt. He shuffles between the two and shoves Tynan in the chest so hard, he nearly knocks over the girl behind him. “This is not the time or place to be spreading rumors. Take it from someone who made it through Presentation last year: your time doesn’t mean anything. The last cadet to walk in bonded just fine, while others who came in first were passed over.”

“Mm. Still bitter about that, are we?” Luka hums from behind me.

“Besides, it’s not called the Gauntlet because it weeds out the weak.”

“It’s called that because it’s the cliff that guards the Vale,” Professor Emetterio adds, walking up behind our squad, his shaved head glinting in the glowing sunlight. “Plus, actual gauntlets are slippery as hell and the name stuck twenty years ago. If you two are done arguing, I’d like to hurry things along. All nine of you have about an hour to practice to get to the top before it’s another squad’s turn to practice. From what I’ve seen of your agility on the mat, you’re going to need every second of it. Hand-to-hand and weapons combat are on hold for the next two and a half weeks before Presentation so you can focus here.” He flips a page on the little notebook he carries. “Sawyer, you’re going to them how it’s done. Then it’ll be Pryor, Trina, Tynan, Rhiannon, Ridoc, Violet, Aurelie, and Luka.” He walks past us, waving at someone high up on the cliff.

“How come I’m last?” Luka grumbles. “Shouldn’t it be Violet?” Tynan scoffs.

“Come on, we all know why. It’s cuz she’s fucking our squad leader.”

“Huh?!” We all balk at him.

“Why do you think she gets preferential treatment when we don’t? You saw the way Aetos was trying to vouch for her during that trial.” Dear gods, they’re never going to let me live that down, is he?

“For fuck’s sake,” Rhiannon sighs. “They’ve been friends since they were kids, or do you not know enough about our own leadership to know his dad was her mom’s aide?”

“Hmph. All the more reason to assume they were snogging,” Luka responds, putting her hair up into a bun. “Besides, what’s the likelihood the general herself has been hooking up with the colonel behind closed doors?”

“My mom would never cheat on my dad,” I snap, spinning to face her. The edges of her lips twitch upward into a smile.

“Oh yeah? How would you know?”

“Here we go!” Emetterio’s voice calls out before I can think of a response. He walks to the head of our line. “You’ll get your time at the top of the course, if you make it, but remember, you’ll still have nine practice sessions before we rank you for Presentation in two and a half weeks, which will determine if the dragons find you worthy at Threshing. Any words of wisdom, Sawyer?”

Sawyer blows out a breath and steps forward. “There’s ropes every six feet that run from the top of the cliff side. If you feel like you’re about to fall, grab one, but it’ll cost you thirty seconds.” He points to the aforementioned red ropes.

“I mean, there’s a perfectly good set of stairs over there,” Ridoc says, motioning towards the stairwell. Emetterio sighs in annoyance.

“That is for after you climb the Gauntlet on Presentation,” he explains, then lifts his hands towards the course. With a flick of his wrist, the whole thing slowly comes to life like a giant being roused from its sleep. The fifteen foot log at the start of the uphill begins to spin, the four pillars at the third ascent quiver continuously, the giant wheel at the first switchback starts its counterclockwise rotation. And, as I suspected, the little posts Aurelie warned us about twist in opposite directions. “Every one of the five ascents is designed to mimic the challenges you’ll face in battle. From the balance needed to stay on the back of your dragon, to the stamina you’ll need to fight on the ground and still be able to remount at a moment’s notice. If you can’t make it up, you don’t get to Presentation. Sawyer, take your position. The rest of you will start every sixty seconds after. Now, go.”

And just like that, Sawyer’s off like a Krovlan cheetah. He easily runs the fifteen foot log and raised pillars, but takes three rotations inside the wheel for him to jump through the lone opening, but other than that, I don’t see a single misstep on the first ascent. He turns, rushes towards the buoy balls, and jumps, hugging one after the other until his feet land on solid ground.

At the third ascent, he hangs from the metal bars and moves by using his body’s momentum to swing arm over arm like a monkey until he lands on the first shaking pillar. They don’t seem to be a problem for him, though, as he makes it across without a hitch. He breezes past the spinning log path and halts at the base of the chimney. Sawyer flings himself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with his body and hopping up the conduit until he reaches the top.

 My breath catches in my throat as he sprints forward with all his speed and momentum to carry himself up two-thirds of the way. He reaches up with one arm to hook himself onto the ledge and hauls himself over the edge.

“Perfect technique!” Emetterio praises, loudly clapping his hands. “That’s exactly what you should all be striving for.”

“Ugh, please. He’s only good because he had time to practice beforehand,” I hear Luka mutter.

Pryor struggles on the swinging steel rods due to some predictable hesitation on his part but makes it just fine as Trina nearly falls off the shaking pillars. She reaches for a rope just in time before she hits the net and scrabbles up like a squirrel. Despite the fear on her face, she makes it across the course. Rhiannon passes the first ascent with the grace I’ve come to expect of her before coming to a halt. Tynan hugs the second buoy ball, right where the ground drops out. He shrieks, his arms wrapped around the swinging ball, though it’s impossible to reach completely around it. “He’s going to screw up her time,” Aurelie groans, blowing out a sigh.

“What’s the matter, Tynan?” Ridoc bellows. “Scared of heights?”

“Stop it,” I hiss. “Just because he’s a dick doesn’t mean you have to be.” The smirk on his lips falters slightly as he gives me an indecipherable look before lifting his hands in surrender and backs away towards the starting point. The familiar twinge of guilt resurfaces as I watch.

“Swing to the next one!” Trina shouts from the top.

“I can’t!” Tynan’s shriek echoes down the mountain, making my chest tighten. Emetterio orders Ridoc to start.

“Rhi!” I call out. “The rope is between the first and second!” She nods down at me, then jumps for the first ball, clasping it up top, near where the chains hold it to the iron rail above, and swinging her weight around the side. I make a mental note to copy her style as I move to the starting point. My heartbeat intensifies with each step. Rhiannon gets the rope into Tynan’s hands but instead of using it to swing to the next ball, he uses it to climb down. Okay, not sure if that’s against the rules, but whatever. Better safe than sorry.

“Violet, begin!” Emetterio orders.

“Be with me, Zihnal,” I breathe, running up to the first obstacle. It’s just balancing. You can balance. I exhale, mumbling “Quick feet, quick feet, don’t look down… ” all the way until I hop onto the first granite pillar. This is easy. You’ve hopped across stepping stones before. Right. Stepping stones in a river. They’re totally the same thing. I manage to leap from one pillar to the next without skidding off the ends. I jump into the rotating wheel and run, leaping over the opening as it passes by once, then twice. Is this what it feels like to be a hamster? Ugh, focus! The opportunity comes and I take it, leaping through the opening and turning onto the gravel path of the second ascent. The buoy balls are just ahead, but I’m not going to make it if I can’t stop my sweaty palms from shaking. I take a deep breath and ball my hands into fists to keep them still.

The Sceaona people of Northern Tyrrendor speak of a creature not known to the common folk of Navarre, I begin reciting a page from my father’s unpublished notes and take another deep breath. I spring from the edge of the path onto the first ball, grasping the top like Rhiannon had. The immediate strain on my shoulders makes me tense every muscle in my body to keep the joint from dislocating. They say the Chiramaj, or Lightbringer, carries the sun in its jaws and casts beams of light from its body. Throwing my weight, I force the ball to rotate then jump onto the next one. I repeat the motion, grasping from one ball to the next, focusing on only the chains.

The Lightbringer is believed to descend from the heavens every three thousand years to battle with the Eizazim in order to purge the land of blight and plague. With one last swing, I throw myself sideways, releasing the ball and landing on the shoulder-wide gravel path without rolling an ankle. I line my body up with the first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward. It is forbidden to depict the creature in art due to the belief that, as an emissary of their god, performing such an act would be considered sinful.

“One, two, three,” I mutter under my breath, then launch myself towards the first. The texture gives me something to hold onto as I move forward the way Sawyer demonstrated. The ache in my shoulder grows to a throbbing pain and I have to clench my jaw tight as I can to keep myself from screaming. Keep going, you’re almost there . My fingers nearly slip on the second iron rail and for the briefest of moments, I stare down into the gaping maw of death. Terror fills my lungs and I grasp the rail with all my might. If I have to choose between tearing my body apart to survive this or dying, then the answer is obvious. I swing forward, shifting my hands over each other a little faster to get this over with — a mistake I quickly regret as my right hand loses purchase and I end up getting slammed into the mountainside. High pitched ringing erupts in my ears and the edges of my vision darken.

“The ropes!” someone above calls. “Grab the rope next to you!” I blink slowly then reach forward to clutch the thick thing, bracing my feet onto the knot beneath me and clinging tightly until the ringing fades. I make the mistake of looking down into the abyss below where I’m sure hundreds, if not thousands, of cadets have fallen into. The drop seems ten times worse from this view, like if I dropped a gold coin it might never reach the bottom. One of my feet slips momentarily and I let out a startled yelp, reaching higher to pull myself up like Trina had done.

When I finally feel stable enough, I push off the wall and continue on the final rail until I land on the first shaking iron pillar. My whole body rattles as the uncomfortable vibrations course through my bones; I nearly lose my footing this time due to the unstable ground beneath my feet but I make it onto the blessed gravel path at the end of the ascent. Aurelie lands right behind me.

“C’mon, we’re almost there!” she says cheerfully, giving my back a pat. “Just run straight across the next one. It’s easy.” Yeah, easy for you. I groan and stumble forward to reach the staircase of doom. If you fall off one of these posts, you’d probably drop at least thirty or fourty feet onto the rocky terrain below. “Trust me. If you pause, you’ll roll right off.” Her voice is firm with the seriousness I’ve come to expect from her. I dredge up whatever courage I have left and bolt forward. My feet are quick, making brief contact with each post only long enough to push off and reach for the next one. In a few heartbeats, I’m on the other side.

“Yes!” I shout, excitement coursing through me as I move out of the way for Aurelie. She laughs as she sprints forward, her footwork naturally being more agile than mine. A roar sounds from overhead and I jerk my gaze up just in time to see the underbelly of a green Daggertail as it flies directly overhead towards the Vale. A sudden cry breaks my focus and I pivot to see Aurelie wobble and slip on the fifth post before careening forward. Her left foot slips in between two log posts spinning towards each other and I hear the sickening crunch of bones along with her agonized scream. “No, no, no!”

Without thinking, I lunge forward and grab onto her outstretched arm. Her face contorts into agony as she screams again. I pull with all my might, planting my feet into the gravel path. Her fingers dig into my throbbing shoulder but I can already feel the ligaments stretching past their limit. I can even see my own fear reflected in her terrified dark eyes. But the posts crunch up more than just her foot and her strong fingers threaten to pull me down with her. “Please,” she begs. “Please, don’t—”

I let go. My feet stumble back before my legs give in and my knees hit gravel, knocking the wind out of me. Aurelie claws at the gravel pavement, the skin on her fingertips and hands gradually peeling off with each desperate attempt. Luka sprints up from behind and, in a rare moment of chivalry, wraps her arms around her chest and pulls. I don’t expect her to actually succeed but the horrific sound of tearing flesh mixed with Aurelie’s ear shattering scream tells me otherwise. The two girls collapse next to me and I can only stare in shock and horror at the exposed muscle and bone of Aurelie’s foot. Luka gets up with a grunt, fiery determination alight in her eyes, and proceeds to leave us in favor of completing the Gauntlet.

I sit hunched over in the wooden chair of the infirmary, my trembling hands covering my bruised face. Every inch of my body aches but I know it’s nothing compared to the torment Aurelie’s in. She lays on the bed unconscious. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of her chest, I’d assume the worst. I have assumed the worst already. Her hands are wrapped in bloody gauze while her foot is cocooned in a cast that hangs on a sling from overhead. Her screams still echo in my mind no matter how much I try to shove the memory into the box where I store all my pain. If I close my eyes, her terrified face will be the first to greet me. She’s alive. Even as I tell myself that she’s strong, she’ll live, the images of that morning refuse to go away.

I slowly lift my head as heavy footsteps approach. Amber Mavis stands next to me, her gaze assessing Aurelie’s wounds. “I heard what happened,” she begins solemnly. “Are you alright?” No.

“Yes,” I mumble. “Just tired.”

“It was very brave of you to help her back there. You have my thanks.”

“I was just trying to help a squadmate.” Silence hangs in the air before she opens her coat and pulls out a weathered envelope from one of the inner pockets.

“Consider this a small reward for your efforts. Xaden’s waiting for you at the Gauntlet when you’re done.” 

Gingerly, I take the letter from her gloved fingers and place it into my pocket. If I read it now, I might just burst into tears. When she leaves, I scoot closer to hold Aurelie’s hand for a little while.

Just like Amber said, Xaden waits at the base of the Gauntlet. To be precise, he’s sitting on the bottom steps of the stairs, twirling a knife in his hands. “You’re late,” he announces without bothering to look up at me.

“Didn’t realize there was a schedule,” I answer, annoyed. “Pardon my lateness, professor. I was visiting someone in the infirmary.”

“How admirable.” He stands to assess me then turns towards the obstacle course. “Alright, show me where you’re failing.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Which ascent do you struggle with the most?”

The answer is probably the chimney and ramp but Xaden’s very presence pisses me off so I just say, “All of them, I guess. Never had time to finish since I almost died . Why are you doing this anyway? Don’t you have better things to do than tutor me?”

“Obviously, but if someone’s decided not to take any of their sparring lessons seriously, they’re going to jeopardize the whole wing.” He stares me dead in the eye with all the seriousness of a seasoned veteran as he continues, “I know the Quadrant like to make jokes about the gryphon fliers being weak for not having signets like ours, but make no mistake, they’re one of the most powerful enemies you can go up against. They’re cunning and perfectly capable of exploiting your weaknesses in battle. If what Battle Brief says is true, then they’re finding new ways to beat us without having to rely on magic and they’re doing it fast . Soon enough, they’ll be able to kill our dragons without having to actually be on the battlefield.”

I think back the ballistae from History and the new weapon we’d heard about from Professor Devera. But weapons can’t beat magic. Dragons are at the top of the food chain; they wouldn’t let metal be able to hurt them so easily. Still, there’s no telling what those Poromish assholes might do in the future.

“Fine.” I cast my gaze upward towards the top of the Gauntlet. “The weird chimney thing up there and… maybe the iron rails. That’s what I need to work on. Happy?” Xaden squints like he can tell I’m bullshitting.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Show me.” 

I sigh and head over to the starting point. The course stores awake once more as a new set of butterflies flutter in my stomach.

Chapter Text

“Presentation Day is unlike any other. The air is ripe with possibilities, and possibly the stench of sulfur from a dragon who has been offended. Never look a red in the eye. Never back down from a green. If you show trepidation to a brown... well, just don't.” — Colonel Kaori’s “Guide to Dragonkind”

---

Sweat trickles down my forehead as I gradually inch my way through the third ascent. I’ve trained myself not to look down where the ground disappears beneath my feet.

The iron rails start to feel slippery beneath my fingers but I launch myself onto the shaking pillars just as my grip slips. I don’t hesitate to leap across the gaps and dash towards the wooden staircase that nearly cost Aurelie her leg. My feet are faster than they used to be, barely touching posts for more than a second.

I come to a halt at the base of my greatest foe: the chimney, which is meant to simulate the strength and agility it takes to mount a dragon. Unfortunately, being tall is not something I have as part of my arsenal.

“Quitting already?” Xaden’s voice calls from the stairwell.

“You clearly see that I’m at a disadvantage, yes?” I retort with a huff. I stretch my arms out as far as I can but my fingertips don’t even brush the sides of the wall. I back up a few steps to try to launch myself in an attempt to scale the thing but there’s no purchase on the smooth stone anywhere.

The ruby rope hangs tantalizingly from the side of the obstacle but I keep my focus on the stubborn wall. There are no ropes on the back of a dragon, only rough scales with little to no purchase. 

If I can’t climb this like everyone else, I’m as good as dead.

I back up to survey the perimeter of the chimney, hoping to find some sort of alternate method that won’t guarantee a penalty for my time. The gods give me no insight into this particular issue.

Darkness converges at my feet and solidifies into an ever changing black mass that hoists me up through the opening before dropping me face first onto the floor. I struggle to my feet and glare at Xaden who looks more annoyed than ever. “Quit being difficult and climb,” he orders.

“I can’t!” I yell back at him. “I’m too fucking short to climb this stupid thing.”

“Then you’ll die. Or better yet, you can grow a brain and use the ropes designed to help you.”

“Fuck off.”

“I will, once you prove to me you’re worthy of being called a rider. Now, start running before I get my dragon to torch your ass.”

Pushing the silver strands of hair from my face, I use all my might to bolt up the ramp. My fingers barely skim the edge before gravity yanks me down.

I try again and again until my body can’t take it anymore and Xaden puts an end to the session.

I sit on the floor with an exhausted sigh and bury my face in my hands. Beads of sweat fall down my forehead as I try to catch my breath. The ramp’s shade provides a brief respite from the sun’s evening rays while the obstacle itself looms over me mockingly.

“I fucking hate this thing,” I sigh in frustration. “How am I supposed to get up there without a rope?”

“You have everything you need to scale the Gauntlet,” Xaden responds. “The right way isn’t the only way.”

I turn to stare at him incredulously. “Are you suggesting I cheat? ” After the crap I went through with Amber Mavis?

“Like I said. Everything you need is at your disposal. Use them.”

He starts to descend the staircase before pausing as he catches sight of a figure in the distance.

Once I recognize it’s just Dain jogging towards us, I get up to greet him.

“What are you two doing?” he asks, looking between us with a mix of suspicion and wariness.

Xaden continues on his way. “Gauntlet training,” he explains.

“First-years have practice sessions with their squads in the early mornings. The course is prohibited after that, especially to second-years.”

“It’s fine, Dain,” I assure, quickening my pace to catch up with him. “Amber said it was fine for me to take extra lessons from him.” I shouldn’t be coming to Xaden’s defense, but I really need these extra hours and… Well, it’s the least I can do after he vouched for me on my first time out past curfew. There’s no harm in returning the favor if it saves my ass, right?

Dain blinks in surprise at the mention of his ex. “She would never—” He cuts himself off and falls silent for a brief moment.

Cath must be telling him the same thing because he eventually clenches his jaw and lets out a reluctant sigh.

“Get to your dorms and wash up before dinner,” he orders, throwing Xaden a glare as the Marked One just nearly misses brushing shoulders with him on the way down. “I can’t believe she’d let him tutor you.” He shakes his head in disbelief and sighs. “Honestly, what the hell is she thinking?”

“No fucking clue,” I admit with a shrug. “But she’s the wingleader; whatever she says is basically law. Besides, it’s not like he can do much about it either.”

Dain takes my hand at the last few steps and looks me over, the way he’s done a million times since we were little, for scrapes and bruises. 

I playfully bat his hands away from my hair. “Hey, c’mon. Stop it! Let’s get out of here; I’m starving.”

“Just making sure he didn’t do anything to you.”

“He can’t. Amber’s got people monitoring us to make sure we don’t kill each other.” I motion to a woman who’s partially obscured in shadow at the base of the course. 

She gives us a curt nod before wandering off to report her findings.

Dain looks at me doubtfully as we follow her to the dorms.

“That won’t be enough to deter him,  and you know it. Even if he can’t do anything, that daggertail of his certainly can.”

“Daggertail?”

“Sgaeyl. She’s fucking ruthless, even to other dragons.” I stop dead in my tracks. Her? Tairneanach’s mate? Shit, no wonder Xaden’s a shadow wielder. “She has no qualms with eating bonded cadets when she feels like it.”

 I shudder at the idea of being eaten alive. Dealing with traitors is one thing, but a dragon?

“That’s… They wouldn’t let her do that; We need riders now more than ever.” Dain scoffs.

“Yeah, try telling her that. Sgaeyl doesn’t care about the rules or hierarchy; she does whatever she wants, whenever she wants.” He sighs softly and places his hand against my shoulder. “Why do you think I’ve been trying so hard to get you out here?”

“Guess I just have to trust she won’t find me appetizing, then.” I respond. I continue walking.

“Vi…”

“Look, I’ve already come this far. Threshing is right around the corner. I; if I don’t prove myself…” I shake my head, not daring to finish that sentence. “As much as I hate to admit it, I need to trust that Xaden won’t harm me. And besides, look at me. I don’t even have an ounce of fat in my body; Sgaeyl could probably use me as a toothpick.”

Dain sighs but I see the faint smile on his face as he races to catch up with me.

“I think you should bond with a clubtail,” he murmurs after a moment. “They’re not bad fighters and have easy temperaments. You won’t have a problem getting along with them. The only issue is getting in the saddle; dragons really don’t like accommodating riders.”

I clench my jaw but don’t respond. The choosing process isn’t up to me and he knows it. Why is he suggesting I go for one of the slowest breeds?

By the time I finish bathing and change into my evening clothes, my squad is already seated at their table with bowls of lamb stew and buttered bread.

I sit at the far edge, feeling the other cadets stare. A Marked One stops by with a fresh bowl and sets it in front of me, offering a sympathetic smile. I mutter my thanks before digging in. 

“You don’t have to sit that far,” Rhiannon calls. She pats the empty seat next to her. “C’mon, I saved this for you.”

“I…” My voice fades and I skim the faces of my squad. Most of them don’t even look at me. Sawyer tries for a smile. Ridoc sighs, running a hand through his dark curls.

“Look, I’m not one to hold a grudge, alright?” He lifts his spoon and licks the thick broth away. “What you did was kinda stupid, but I’d probably do the same if I were in your shoes. Besides, Amber Mavis probably tore into you enough already.”

“I-I’m okay here,” I start to say.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Aurelie reaches over and tugs at my wrist. “Come on, you’re our squadmate; we don’t throw members out like that around here. If anyone tries to give you shit, I’ll stab them.” A knot forms in my throat as she sits me next to Rhiannon, patting my shoulders.

“No one here wants you dead, I promise,” Ridoc assures.

“Sorry,” I whisper. Unwanted tears blur my vision and I have to quickly rub my eyes so they don’t see. 

Rhiannon pulls me into a side hug. I bury my face into her chest, fighting back the urge to burst into tears. 

“So sorry…” I feel her hand gently rub soothing circles against my back as I try to compose myself. What did I do to deserve these people?

“It’s alright,” she murmurs. “We forgive you.”

The next practice sessions on the Gauntlet with my squad are no more successful than my last few attempts. Tynan has quit running his mouth since he can’t fully make it up either. The buoy balls are his downfall, the chimney is mine.

With Xaden’s help, I’ve managed to breeze through the first few ascents. He refuses to give me any hints whatsoever with crossing the final stage, however, and that pisses me off more than anything. No wonder he didn’t want to teach those Marked Ones back then — he’s a shit tutor and he knows it.

By the seventh session, I’m ready to burn the Gauntlet to the ground.

I come to a halt at the base of the chimney and glare up at the opening. With all the reluctance of a cat to water, I grab hold of the rope and force my way up through gritted teeth, ignoring the excruciating pain my arms are in. If I have to use this, I might as well complain on the way.

“Stupid bullshit Gauntlet,” I mutter under my breath. “I hope a dragon sets you on fire.”

Below me, I hear Aurelie chuckle as she lines herself up. Gods, I can’t believe she still wants to get on this thing. Her hands are still bandaged and she walks with a limp but her dark eyes shine with determination as she watches me climb.

“Almost there,” she assures with a nod.

“How can you still do this shit?” I ask. “You almost died!”

She shrugs nonchalantly. “Yeah, well, I’m still here. If I quit after something shitty happened to me, I wouldn’t be living. Besides.,” Sshe forms an X with her body., “You could’ve been executed on that stage and yet you’re here too.”

My first instinct is to tell her that that’s different. I can’t leave until Threshing while she can just walk out whenever she wants to.

“Riders don’t quit when they get scrapes and I’m not about to either.”

“Just… take it easy. Pushing through injuries isn’t the best idea.”

“Sometimes, it’s the only option we have.” 

I can’t argue with that kind of logic, not when I’m doing the same thing. 

When we make it to the top, I try once more to scale the ramp only to fall on my ass like a fool. Fed up with this bullshit course, I unsheathe two of my knives and stab them into the wood. My shoulders scream as I yank the first one out and aim higher. Hot agony pours into my arms with each impalement.

I grit my teeth as hard as I can and force my wretched body upward. I don’t care if it gets fucked in the process. This stupid ramp isn’t going to stop me from getting on a dragon. 

My rage fuels me one last time as I hoist myself up with a guttural scream. Scarred ivory hands grab hold of the scruff of my uniform and pull me up over the edge. I collapse unceremoniously at Amber’s feet.

“You can’t do that on Presentation Day,” she says bluntly because of course that’s the first thing that comes to her mind: rules and regulations. Fuck me, I guess. I sigh and wearily stick a thumb up in the air. to let her know I got the memo.

“Great Zihnal, our almighty shepherd, we call upon you at this hour to bestow your light and fortune,” Captain Fitzgibbons prays. He stands before a giant metal basin, his features perfectly clear thanks to the sun being hidden from the clouds this morning. “Accept this offering and bless these young cadets on their journey to reach the heavens.”

He pours a bottle of wine onto the slaughtered lamb inside before sprinkling a handful of rosemary, thyme, and sage around the edge in a circular motion. The basin catches fire and the savory aroma wafts through the air. “Mæg thīn heophonli eag os seyfo.”

“Mæg thīn heophonli eag os seyfo,” we echo solemnly, lowering our heads.

May your heavenly gaze be upon us. It’s one of the few phrases in Old Navarrian that we still use to this day thanks to Leofwyn, one of the First Six riders who helped establish Bàsgiath.

Priests and nuns of the temples are the only ones who get to properly study the language in its entirety since that’s how they read the sacred scriptures. It makes me envy them a little, but I know I wouldn’t survive a day without succumbing to “worldly desires” and getting kicked out as a result.

Judging by the fluency of Panchek’s pronunciation, I can’t help but wonder if he was going to train as a priest before joining the military. 

We slowly lift our heads after a moment and the fire gradually dies down. Taking that as a sign, formation breaks.

“Second and third-years, unless you’re on Gauntlet duty, head to class. First-years, it’s time to show us what you’ve got,” Dain announces, forcing a smile as his gaze sweeps over our squad. 

I try to reassure him with a smile of my own. 

I take a deep breath as the older cadets disperse to their respective classes. The remaining eight of us fall into two lines of four and follow as Third Wing marches for the gate. There’s a bit of a bottleneck at the gate, but then we’re through, walking into the flame-lit tunnel we take every morning to reach the Gauntlet. 

From the corner of my eye, I see Aurelie wince slightly with each step. I open my mouth to ask if she’s really up for this but the unwavering look of determination on her face forces me to keep my mouth shut. If she thinks she can do this with a nearly crushed foot, so can I.

An hour later, my feet fly over the spinning posts of the staircase and land firmly on the gravel path. Four ascents down, one to go. I feel a slight giddiness at the thought of not having touched a single rope yet, unlike Tynan. 

“You can do it!” Rhiannon yells from the top as I reach the chimney structure. Ah, my old enemy. I will conquer you today no matter what.

I feel the eyes of hundreds on my back as I reach for the rope, dragging it horizontally across the surface like last time. Using only the right side, I propel myself up and start to climb one foot after the other, hand over hand. I grit my teeth so I don’t cry out in front of the hundreds of cadets watching and keep my gaze on the opening.

My hands feel like they’re on fire as they pass over the rough texture but I don’t let that stop me. I can’t afford to think about the pain right now.

I use what’s left of my upper-body strength to pull myself up, scrambling to my hands and knees on the path. 

A victorious chuckle escapes me as Ridoc hollers out, “Fuck yeah!”

“Get up! You still have one more!” 

My chest heaves and my lungs ache, but I make it to my feet. 

The final obstacle looms over me like a titan but I spit on the wooden floorboard. I can’t climb my way up like I’d tried before, but fuck it. 

I unsheathe the largest dagger I have from home and take a step forward, bracing my nerves. The only thing I can do now is block out the agony in my hands, the throbbing of my shoulders, and the twinge in my knees from landing wrong after the pillars. 

I lock it all behind a mental wall of steel and spite, focusing only on the ramp ahead.

Blood, sweat, and tears. These are what will earn me a dragon.

I charge forward with as much speed as I can muster. When the incline sharpens, I throw my body forward and momentum carries me upward, running up the side of the ramp. 

I swing my arm up and slam my dagger into the slick wood of the ramp, using it to fling myself the last foot over. A primal scream tears through my throat as the muscles in my shoulder stretches and shifts just as my fingers graze the lip of the edge. 

I throw my elbow over the top and pull myself up and over, using the thick handle of the knife as a final step before lurching onto the top of the cliff. On my stomach, I reach over the side and yank my dagger free before rolling over onto my back. 

I close my eyes momentarily, breathing heavily as drumming footsteps charge towards me. 

“Haha, fuck you, Gauntlet,” I wheeze, sticking my middle finger in the air as a blue daggertail — Sgaeyl, no doubt — flies overhead. Suck on that.

I struggle to my feet and Rhiannon’s arms sweep around me, pulling me up into a hug. Ridoc hugs my back and I laugh, tilting my head back a little to let it rest on his shoulder as he hollers in joy. 

“You made it!” he cheers and warmth fills my chest. Gods, I feel like I could cry.

“She can’t do that!” Tynan shouts.

“Yeah, well, she just did!” Ridoc steps back to glare at him. The other first-year glares at me hatefully before spinning around to face Amber Mavis.

“She cheated! That doesn’t count, right?” The warmth fades as she strides up to me, ready to pass judgment.

“I… expect a thirty-second penalty for using the rope,” I say, my voice steadying.

“As for the knife,” she begins.

“‘A rider may only bring to the quadrant the items they can carry and shall not be separated from said item no matter what they may be—’”

“You dare quote the Codex at me?” The wingleader’s eyes darken. 

I take a tiny step back, avoiding her gaze. 

Xaden stands a little ways off with Garrick, arms folded and face completely imperceptible. 

“I know full well what Article Three, Section Six, Addendum B says,” The wingleader explains “The items you carried with you are not your own nor are they permitted to be used on the Gauntlet.” She holds up my aching wrist to view the blade. “It is also forbidden for undeserving cadets to carry a challenge blade on their person.”

“This one is my sister’s,” I counter, flipping it over so she can see the hilt where Mira’s initials are carved into it just below a triangular Tyrrish rune. “She gave it to me before Conscription Day, therefore, it’s part of me. I never used it to climb the ramp like before, only prop myself up. I don’t think there’s a rule stating that to be illegal. If there is, you can mark me for my ignorance.” 

Tynan seethes from behind Amber as she considers my words.

“She should also be disqualified for using the Gauntlet after hours,” he adds spitefully. “I saw her and that Riorson boy—”

“I gave them authorization to do so,” Amber cuts in. “Unless you have a death wish, I suggest you stop talking.” Annoyance seeps into her voice and for the first time, I see the weasley fuck actually cower. “Since you used your own weapon for an insignificant portion of the course, you will not be disqualified, but your squad will be placed in seventh as a consequence of using the knife.” 

I breathe a sigh of relief as she waves us off. Xaden offers me a stiff nod of approval before stalking off.

There are about 169 of us by the time the morning is over and, even with my penalty for the rope, we’re placed eleventh of the thirty-six squads for Presentation — truly, a gift from the gods. The thought of being so close to dragons, sets me on edge as I remember what Dain said about Sgaeyl eating other riders. 

The box canyon that makes up the training field is spectacular in the afternoon sun, with miles of golden yellow colored meadows and peaks rising on all three sides of us as we wait at the narrowest part which serves as the entrance to the valley. Averaging at around twenty-five feet, the dragons stand in their own formation,  lined up several feet back from the path.

“Let’s go, Second Squad,” our section leader says, beckoning us forward with a wave of his arm. “Get into formation. Hopefully, Aetos has done his job, so you know that it’s a straight walk down the meadow. Stay at least seven feet apart—”

“In case one of us gets torched,” Ridoc finishes from up ahead.

“Correct. Remember, you’re not here to approach the dragons; If you do, you won’t be making it back to the dormitory tonight.” 

I swallow at the not-so-subtle threat and clutch my walking stick a little tighter. 

“Stay on the path. You walk up, wait for the rest of the squad, then walk back down. If you can’t follow those exact rules, you deserve whatever happens to you in there.” He pivots and leads us into a path beyond the canyon wall where the dragons perch and hands us off to Nyra like we’re the most annoying kids ever.

“Single file line,” Nyra instructs. We all shuffle into a line; Rhiannon’s behind me while Tynan stands just ahead of me. Wonderful. “Talk to your nearby squadmates so the dragons can get a feel of who you are and how well you play with others. Feel free to look at the dragons but abstain from eye contact.” 

With that, she steps aside to reveal the dirt path leading through the center of the valley. Up ahead, sitting still as statues, are the one hundred dragons willing to bond this year. The ground is hard beneath my feet as we give each other the suggested seven foot space and the scent of sulfur lingers in the air.

The first trio of dragons we pass are all in varying shades of red. One of them is a small swordtail with two short sails along the side of its neck. Thick burgundy stripes decorate its legs and tail. 

Its two companions are daggertails; one of them has pale scars running down its neck and chest while the other has darker spots speckled across its body. I don’t let my gaze wander past their massive shoulders as we walk by.

As we start to pass a set of brown ones, a clubtail, yawns of boredom and tucks its thick feet in. It studies us through half lidded golden eyes, clearly uninterested in our presence. 

“So, uh, you excited to meet your new cousin next year?” I ask Rhiannon.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, definitely. I’m a little nervous though; boys are… a lot, I hear.” I chuckle a little in response.

“They’re not too bad. I’ve mostly grown up around my brother and Dain though, so don’t take my word for it. Dain was probably a bit more rule abiding than most kids his age. He likes it when things are in order, otherwise he gets stressed easily.” 

Hopefully, he doesn’t hear about me bending the rules earlier. I don’t need to hear him yammering about rules after my debate with Amber.

“And your brother?”

“He was… awesome. He’d bring us trinkets and stuff from Chantara; sometimes, we’d sneak out with my sister to eat ice cream.” I smile fondly at the memory of us scrambling to get into bed before Mother could find out about our little rendezvous. She still yelled at us in the morning but we couldn’t stop giggling after breakfast. “It kind of sucks that we can’t write to our families yet. I’m starting to miss Mira.”

“Yeah, me too,” Tynan comments, turning around and grinning as he walks backward like an idiot. “She’s one hell of a rider, and that ass. I saw her on our first day and damn.” 

I scowl and make a spinning motion with my finger.

“Turn around before one of the dragons decides to roast you.”

“I bet if we pray hard enough, he just might,” Rhiannon starts to suggest. 

An orange daggertail lets out a low warning growl and the three of us freeze momentarily. Tynan spins around so his back faces me. 

A pale blue scorpiontail with nearly white patches snorts out embers from its nose. I can’t help but gasp at the scars that disfigure its narrow face. It used to be beautiful once, I’m sure, but now grayish skin consumes a portion of its features and travels down to its lower jaw like a sickness. Some of the scales on its neck are also missing thanks to the deep bite marks it dons like medals. There’s no way a gryphon could’ve done that much damage. I’m reminded of what Dain said about Sgaeyl attacking other dragons. Did she attack this one before?

I shudder and duck my head before it can notice my staring.

We pass the halfway mark shortly after and make note of all the dragons present. 

From short and stocky to tall and lean, the dragons come in various shapes and sizes. The clubtails take this opportunity to bask in the afternoon sunlight, their wings spread out like giant fans. One of them accidentally hits a green swordtail who retaliates by snapping its jaws awfully close towards its face. I flinch at the sound and quicken my pace a little. 

As far as I can tell, there isn’t a single black dragon present. There are no vishaps either which is a shame but to be expected. They’re the rarest and most solitary of all the known breeds. Still, I can’t help but feel slightly disappointed none of them came to watch us.

The rest of the squad is gathered ahead of us, facing our direction at the end of the path. We pass by the last dragon — a cinnamon brown scorpiontail — and are about to turn around until I stop dead in my tracks. 

“What on earth?” I murmur, leaning forward. 

A little ways off from the rest of the dragon formation, under the shade of a large oak tree sits… something. It’s curled up into a tight mass of yellow fur; a pair of black feathery wings shields a portion of its upper body and face, preventing us from getting a good look at it. Are those horns poking out of its head? 

I step closer to get a better look and stumble into Tynan.

“Get off me, Sorrengail,” he snaps, shoving me back.

I don’t even have time to apologize because Luka points at the creature and exclaims, “What the fuck is that thing?” 

All of our attention is drawn to the mass of fur and feathers under the tree. Were it not for the steady rise and fall of its body, I’d think it was dead. “It’s fucking yellow.”

“Is that a dragon?” I ask curiously.

“Obviously not,” Tynan retorts, glaring at me. “Look at its wings. It’s obviously some kind of…bird thing.” My brain instantly thinks it could be a gryphon but there’s no way one would get so far into Navarre without there being a commotion. 

Tynan moves to approach it but I hit him in the side with my walking stick before he can do anything stupid. “Ow! What the fuck was that for?”

“We can’t approach them,” I hiss.

“It’s not even a dragon.”

“You don’t know that,” Rhiannon retorts, pulling him back by the arm. “It could be a new breed.” Luka rolls her eyes.

“Oh, please,” she drawls. “Dragons have scales, not fur. Besides, if it really were one, it’d be standing with the others.” She points to the line consisting of our most powerful allies. They stare at us expectantly, their tails swishing across the dirt with barely contained impatience. They don’t seem to acknowledge the sleeping beast at all.

“We’d better not approach it,” Sawyer suggests, turning around. “There’s no telling what it might do if we startle it.”

“M…maybe we should head back,” Pryor says, his gaze darting between us. “They look like they have places to be. Um, if that’s okay with you, of course.”

“He’s right.” Aurelie starts forward before Tynan can make a snide comment. “We’re not here to gawk at the dragons, remember? Let’s get going.” 

We take off one by one in a single file line with Rhiannon going before me and Ridoc this time. I’m the last to leave which gives me the opportunity to glance over my shoulder at the creature. 

It shifts slightly and slowly parts its massive wings just a crack to peer through its veil of feathers. Amethyst eyes slowly blink open and squint at me, through me, to the very core of my being before fluttering shut. I swallow nervously and quicken my pace to catch up with the rest of my squad.

Just as I manage to get in line with Rhiannon, a red scorpiontail steps forward. My eyes widen as it parts its jaws. “No, no, no,” I whisper, freezing into place. 

The base of its chest glows an amber color which climbs up its throat before a column of fire streams through the air, cutting into the path ahead of Rhiannon. Heat blasts my face as she cries out in alarm. The scent of sulfur, burned grass and flesh fills my lungs and it takes everything within me not to choke and gag. 

“Rhi…?” I call out hesitantly.

“I-I’m alright,” she stammers out, glancing behind to find me. Her eyes are wide with horror and the color in her face drains. “Pryor’s…” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence. I already know.

“Keep moving!” Sawyer orders from further ahead. 

My hands shake as I stumble forward to Rhiannon’s side. Her chest rises and falls in quick succession at what used to be Pryor’s body. Her hands tremble as she tries to reach out to the charred remains, but I quickly grab her wrist. Nausea slowly sets in and I have to take in slow breaths to keep from puking.

“Don’t… don’t touch him. The fire’s too dangerous.” I remember what Kaori said about dragonfire containing a phantom aura and carefully guide her around the burning grass. One of the dragons lets out an uncanny chortle as we force our quivering legs to move forward. An icy chill races down my spine when I catch a glimpse of amusement in their golden eyes through the edge of my vision.

Chapter Text

“There is nothing quite as humbling, or as awe-inspiring, as witnessing Threshing…for those who live through it anyway.” ~ Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

---

The first day of the month of Gnorel is always Threshing. This year, it lands on Kelurday, the last day of the week.

Before formation breaks, Panchek asks for Zhinal and Dunne’s guidance and offers up a ram as a sacrifice before we’re ushered into the bowel-shaped forested valley southwest of the war college. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach as I lean against the trunk of a tree to shield myself from the sun. I can’t help but grimace as Ridoc pukes out his breakfast next to me.

My gaze flickers over to Rhiannon who shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she stretches her arms one last time.

“You okay?” I can’t help but ask. Ever since the incident during Presentation, she’s been quieter than usual.

“Not really,” she admits, dropping her arms to her sides. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Pryor. Those dragons…”

“Have you thought about one you might want? Those clubtails seem pretty easy-going.”

“Is that what you’re aiming for?”

I shrug.

“There wasn’t really one that struck my fancy.” My mind wanders to the strange animal lounging beneath the tree on Presentation Day. Does that one count as a dragon?

“Remember to listen here,” Professor Kaori says from the front of the group which consists only of first-years, tapping his chest. “If a dragon has already selected you, they’ll be calling. So pay attention not just to your surroundings, but your feelings as well. If your gut tells you to run in the other direction, listen to that too. If you’re not chosen by nightfall, you’ll be brought by a professor or senior leadership so don’t give up and think we’ve forgotten you.” 

He studies us for one final moment before nodding to himself. “Good luck, all of you.” With that, he marches up the hill above us and disappears into the trees.

“Be careful,” Rhiannon murmurs, pulling me into a tight hug.. It might be our last so I squeeze her as tight as my arms allow.

“Don’t die,” Ridoc chimes in.

I step back and exhale as we all disperse into separate directions. None of the second or third-years can help us if we’re in trouble; all they can do is watch and record what’s about to happen. No wonder Dain wanted me to join the scribe quadrant so badly. Well, no turning back now.

It’s been a couple of hours since the dragons flew in, shaking the earth with their massive weight. The anxiety and fear hammering away at my chest has only intensified as I wander aimlessly like a lost child. 

I’ve come across at least six different dragons, none of which seemed even remotely interested in me. I’ve given up wandering the open field in favor of the shady forest. It’s strangely quiet here despite the massive creatures roaming about. Birds tweet and whistle in the treetops above; occasionally, I spot a few squirrels leaping from branch to branch in search of food for the coming winter, but no dragon.

I grimace at the plume of smoke wafting into the afternoon sky. I’m only slightly grateful that I’m not a pile of ash and bones. The heaviness in my heart grows as I trek further towards gods knows what.

I stop to catch my breath and lean against a tree with a sigh. 

Two dragons burst through the canopy in the far distance. 

I hear the excited screams of two new riders. The sound makes my heart ache but I swallow down a lump that threatens to form in my throat. If I never become a rider, what will my purpose be? Can I ever live with myself, knowing I was never chosen?

The day’s not over yet, I tell myself. This isn’t the time to give up.

I push myself off the tree using my elbows and continue on, silently praying to the gods for some kind of sign that will lead me to the right dragon.

Upon pressing further, I stop at the edge of a tiny clearing where a run-down cottage sits. Lichen and vines consume most of the outer wall; its windows have long since been destroyed and the door hangs at an angle that makes it hard to see what’s inside. 

Why is this here? There shouldn’t be any sign of human civilization in the Vale, especially not this deep. No dragon would allow it. 

Curiously, I step closer to the building and grip the rusty handle.

A white fox flies through the open hole decorated in cobwebs as soon as the door moves open just an inch. It scurries between my feet and I let out a yelp before jumping back in surprise. 

The fox halts momentarily at the edge of the clearing and turns its head in my direction. I suck in a breath at the way the sunlight illuminates its snow white fur, giving it an ethereal unearthly glow. Even more striking are its eyes, however. Bright pools of amber stare at me intently for only a fraction of a second before it disappears into the undergrowth, its long bushy tail flicking behind.

My legs move before my brain can even process what I just saw. I bolt, faster than I’ve ever run before, in the hopes of… What? I’m not quite sure, but there’s a growing sensation in my chest, like someone’s lit a candle in a dark room. I just know I have to follow it.

My feet kick up dirt as I race down the path, shoving away stray branches and leaping over logs like my life depends. 

The fox runs at a steady pace, keeping itself just far enough to remain out of reach but not enough that I lose sight of it. 

I burst through the trees and into the open field, running past a few other first-years who haven’t been chosen yet. I keep my eyes trained on the bushy tail waving in the air like a flag, beckoning me closer. 

The fox makes a sharp turn and I nearly twist an ankle as I adjust to the sudden change in direction.

Without thinking, I lunge forward. Its soft tail tip brushes against my fingertips before disappearing into a burrow hidden under a bush. 

I stumble and crash to the ground. Dirt gets into my mouth and I hastily wipe it off my tongue, sputtering out the tiny grains as I get to my knees.

A sharp cry causes me to look up just in time to see a mass of yellow charging towards me. “Shit!”

I duck fast enough for it to leap over me. It lands with a heavy thud and swiftly turns to face me.

Oh shit.

The animal — no, dragon— stands at around six feet tall with long pale yellow fur-like plumage that seems to sparkle in the late afternoon light as if it were made of stars. The only scales on its body are the glittering golden ones that sprout from the tip of its nose and end at the spot just between its eyes.

Two black wings unfurl at its shoulders while another smaller pair close to its lower back slowly rise. It shakes its mane of black-tipped feathers and presses its ears close to its skull before getting into a defensive position.

A high pitched roar rips through the air. A bronze orange daggertail lands directly in front of me. Its only good eye, the right one, narrows as it stares us down with nothing but pure malice and disgust. 

“Shit,” I whisper under my breath. I have no idea if I should stay absolutely still or make a run for it. Kaori never told us anything about what we should do if we ever find ourselves stuck in the middle of two feuding dragons. 

The daggertail curls its lips in disgust and roars. I flinch, digging my fingernails into the soft earth as its hot, revolting breath assaults my senses. As much as my instincts tell me to cover my ears, I stay absolutely still. The last thing I want is to get incinerated.

The feathered dragon — my vishap — lets out a challenging cry of its own. 

I struggle to my feet and feel for one of the daggers at my side.  My vishap steps forward to stand beside me, determination crystal clear on every facet of its body. The iridescent feelers above its eyes flare, wildly changing colors, as it bares its sharp teeth. This thing is barely half the height of One Eye here and yet it has more courage than I can possibly muster at the moment. 

It’s not going down without a fight. 

I brace myself, willing my hands to stay still. The daggertail rears its head back and lunges, parting its jaws to snap at us.

I cry out in alarm and roll to the right. The vishap leaps back and swipes at its opponent’s muzzle with extended claws. The attack barely does anything.

One Eye lunges again but bites at thin air. Its whip-like tail lashes violently and I have to duck to avoid getting decapitated. 

“Up!” a young feminine voice barks into my head. “Get up, now!”  

Terror fills my entire body, but I do as she says. Scrambling to my feet, I unsheathe my largest knife, the same one I used on the Gauntlet, and try to create some distance between me and the dragons.

I need to find an opening; a weak spot that’ll buy us enough time to escape if I hit it just right. But where? 

The wings are an obvious choice. If I can tear a gash just long enough into one of them, I might be able to incapacitate it. But getting that close is an obvious death sentence, especially with a tail like this one’s.

One Eye’s throat begins to glow and I can only scream, “Watch out!” before it blasts fire in the vishap’s direction.

The feathered vishap launches herself into the air at the last second and curves awkwardly before dipping towards me. She lands with a heavy thud, wings outstretched to cover my body. “What are you—”

One Eye jerks its head in our direction, sending the flames across the field. 

A white translucent dome manifests around the vishap and I, effectively blocking the attack, before instantly shattering into sparkling dust.

“We must hold the line a little longer.” Her legs wobble slightly as she says this. I want to shake my head furiously, to tell her that I’ve never fought a dragon before, but I keep my mouth shut. I can’t let her see me as weak, not when she just spoke into my mind willingly. I wasn’t exactly raised to be a soldier nor was my body built for fighting a fucking dragon , but judging by her recent attempt at gliding, I doubt she can fly very well. If I don’t protect her from this freak, who will?

“I need you distract—”

She surges forward before I can finish and leaps onto One Eye’s back, digging her claws into its spine. The older dragons screeches in outrage, twisting about like a mad bull. 

Goldie holds on, regardless. She opens her jaws to reveal long sickeningly sharp fangs and sinks them into its shoulder, just between the space near its right wing. 

With another furious roar, One Eye rolls onto its back in a bid to rid itself of her.

“No!” I cry out in a bout of panic. 

Goldie dislodges from the beast and shakes herself off. She darts this way and that between its legs, slashing at its ankles. 

The daggertail snarls and tries to spit out more fire, but she’s too fast for it to get a good enough aim. Perfect.

I kiss the hilt of my blade and scurry to the left of its blindspot. “Dunne, help us,” I breathe before throwing the weapon as hard as I can into its open eye socket.

The scream that tears through its throat is so loud, covering my ears does little to muffle the sound. Sharp fangs lunge for me, but a heavy force knocks me aside. 

I suck in a sharp breath as my shoulder moves out of place.

Goldie looms over me like a hen shielding her chicks from an enemy. I groan through gritted teeth and try to scramble to my feet but she presses a paw against my good shoulder, forcing me back down. 

One Eye lunges with blazing fangs, hot embers licking the sides of its open maw.

Just as I think we’re completely fucked, a powerful gust of wind slams into my back and a behemoth of a black dragon surges forward, ramming its head into One Eye’s at full force.

It’s Tàirneanach.

The legendary dragon unfurls his scarred black wings that nearly blot out the sky and lets out a deafening roar. 

The copper daggertail staggers to its feet, lowers its belly close to the ground and snarls. 

Tàirneanach rises onto his hind legs in a threatening manner. His forelegs swiftly come crashing down close enough to the other dragon’s head that I have to look away in case something snaps. 

But I hear the asshole hiss again — this time more pitifully — before hastily taking off into the air, leaving behind a trail of blood.

I stare slack jawed as the Rhinestar turns to face us, his long thick tail moving in a wide arc above our heads before it slams onto a patch of burning grass, smothering the flames in an instant. 

“Step aside, Silver One,” he orders, voice deep and gruff like a seasoned veteran who’s smoked more churram than necessary.

Is he… talking to me?

“Yes, you. Move.” He says it like I’m a petulant child which is somehow worse than getting incinerated.

 I struggle to my feet, grunting at the sudden pain in my left ankle and shoulder. 

Goldie instinctively presses close to me for support.

“What are you doing?” the older dragon asks.

“She’s hurt.”

“So are you,” I respond through the pain. Her fur’s disheveled and I notice a few of the feathers on her tail are missing. Blood drips from a gash on her face but she bends down to press her snout against my dislocated shoulder.

“Let me—”

“No,” Tàirneanach commands, stepping closer. “You’ve expended more than enough energy for the day.”  

My body tenses as his giant black snout draws closer to me. The muscles in my shoulder start to move on their own as I feel an invisible hot force pulsate beneath my skin where the wound is. 

I scream as familiar agony courses down my entire arm and neck; just as I think I might pass out, the pain turns into a soft dull. “There. That should suffice for now.” I instinctively reach for my newly healed shoulder. 

He… healed me?

“You could’ve been more gentle,” Goldie suggests, her brow furrowing slightly as she sniffs my clothes.

“She lives, does she not? ” I blink up at the Rhinestar in astonishment.

“Why are you talking to me?” I can’t help but ask.

“Why not?”  

I open my mouth to answer but no words come to mind. Why am I even questioning the choice of a dragon? They can do whatever they want, clearly. 

“You should not have interfered in the affairs of dragons. You could’ve been killed.”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to protect her.” He raises a brow — at least, I think he does — and lets out an amused huff when Goldie presses her cold, wet nose into my palms. With a soft sigh, he lowers himself to the ground.

“Let’s go, Violet Sorrengail.” I stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Pardon?”

“You can hear, can’t you? Get on my back. I’m not going to tell you again.” Goldie makes a short trilling sound as she walks around and nudges my back excitedly. Oh, so…

Oh.

“Go, go!” she presses. 

I hold onto her shoulder for support and slowly rise to my feet. I wince slightly at the clicking sound my ankles make when I move towards him. Even at this position, he’s absolutely massive. 

His scales are larger and thicker than my hand when I place my palm on his foreleg. They layer themselves into the next above them in an intricate pattern that gives me no room to hold onto. I can’t even place my foot onto his knee due to how big he is.

When he realizes I’m having trouble, he lets out a low frustrated grumble from deep within his throat and stretches his foreleg out. Dragons never supplicate for anyone, yet here he is, accommodating me.

“Hasten. We have little daylight left. ” 

I do exactly that, crawling up his leg on my hands and knees to balance my weight and climb over his shoulder, avoiding the sharp spiked mane on his neck. I slide into the smooth scaly divot just in front of his wings and grab hold of the last two plates of scales that make up his mane. 

“My name is Tàirneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Maddindubh line.” He stands to his full height, bringing me eye level with the canopy of trees in the clearing. “But I’m not going to assume you’ll remember all that by the time we reach the flight field, so Tàirn will do until I have to inevitably remind you.”

I don’t have time to ask the golden vishap her name because he suddenly launches into the air with no warning. The ground falls away, Tàirn’s massive wings beating the air into submission and pitching upward. 

My body lifts off his back and I try to dig in, to keep myself anchored, but the wind, the angle, it’s all too much. 

My hands slip and rake down his back. “Shit!” 

He banks left just as I find myself midway down his tail and I’m tossed into the sky. I grasp at cold biting winds. Air rushes past me as I plummet, faster and faster to the mountainous terrain below. No, no, no!

“Tàirn!” I scream at full capacity. Fuck, can he even hear me from this far away?!

The little vishap appears underneath me suddenly. She grunts, beating her fingers faster as she pulls us up. 

I clench her mane in my hands, gripping it as tight as I can, and pull myself forward to throw my legs over the sides of her body. 

“Hold on tight!” she chirps, pushing forward against the wind current. 

Tàirn pulls back to match our pace and chuffs at the golden dragon. It takes significant effort for her to fly closer to his shoulder but she manages. 

“Hop on over,” she says

“You want me to do what?!” I shriek over the wind.

“There’s no need to shout,” Tàirn responds with mild annoyance. “We can hear you just fine. Now, jump. You will not fall.”  

I take a deep breath and shift the position of my legs until I’m in what could pass as a crouch. 

“Whenever you’re ready…”  

Steeling my nerves, I shift to face him and leap as far as my legs will carry me. 

I land with a heavy thud against his rock hard scales and instinctively reach for the thick ridge of scales just below his mane where his neck meets his shoulders. 

I bend my legs into a kneeling position and lean forward due to how wide his shoulders are. 

“Grip harder with your knees. I can barely feel you back there.”

I push my knees in and the muscles in my thighs tremble as he banks left, softer this time, as he changes course in a wide arc back towards Bàsgiath.

Invisible bands lock my legs in place and wrap over my hands to keep them from moving. They don’t hurt; instead, they feel a bit like the Tyrrish gauze I use to wrap my arms before sparring. 

The little vishap trills beside me, her amethyst eyes gleaming with pride and excitement. The sight of her causes me to break into a grin. She tucks her wings in and dives lower before opening them up to catch the wind, hovering miles below. 

“Is she alright?” I ask.

“She’s not as experienced in flight as the rest of us. Regardless, she’s capable of flying on her own just fine.”

“What if that dragon comes back?”

“Solas is no threat to her. If he ever chooses to lay a claw on her, I will tear him limb from limb,” Tàirn growls. My eyes widen slightly but I don’t ask for details. The business of two dragons has nothing to do with me.

I raise my head to the sky, taking in the sight of hundreds of dragons soaring through the open air, tossing and then expertly catching their newly bonded riders with their forelegs in a display of acrobatics. 

Excited screams and triumphant roars fill the air, melding with the sounds of thousands of wingbeats. Various shades of red, orange, green, brown, and blue speckle the sky with color as they perform a series of dips and turns to show off their new partners.

“Sorrengail!” a voice calls from behind. 

I turn to see Liam Mairi soaring close by on a familiar red daggertail, the one with the scars running down its neck and chest. The harsh wind blows back his blonde hair but he sits tall on the back of his dragon.

“Look at you! I knew you’d make it!” the Marked One cheers.

“Really? I thought you’d be burnt to a crisp for sure,” I respond.

He laughs and the daggertail lets out a short bellow before diving under Tàirn. It does a slow barrel roll but Liam remains anchored to its back just like me. He doesn’t even lose his grip on its double dorsal spines. I can’t help but wonder what it saw that made it choose him of all people.

Tàirn snorts.

“Show off,” he mutters and tilts his wings slightly to fly faster. “We’ll have to put on a show of our own.”

Of course we do. 

His wings give a mighty beat and we lurch upward, a motion that makes it feel like my stomach is plummeting toward the ground. 

He crests the top of the snow dusted peaks, and we hang there. For just a second, time freezes and I gasp, inhaling the crisp autumn air, before he twists and dives back down.

He twists again, sending us into a spiral. My body is wrenched this way and that as he performs a series of turns. He weaves expertly through the sea of dragons, even spinning over a blue swordtail, before pulling us out of a dive and banking so hard, the land becomes sky. 

My face splits into a grin. There really is nothing like this.

“I think we’ve made our point.” He pulls us level, then banks right, starting for the valley that leads to the boxed canyon of the training fields. 

I stare up at the belly of a dark brown scorpiontail who does a barrel roll to the left and soars upward. Two daggertails spin and weave around each other in an acrobatic dance that sends my heart soaring.

Various dragons fly alongside us, their wingbeats almost completely in sync with one another. I suddenly feel a fullness deep inside. My heart beats in unison with the beat of their wings and for the very first time I feel like I’m part of something important. 

The warmth in my chest grows to a burning flame. I’m alive, I’m riding a dragon. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision, but it’s not from the wind. I can’t help but cry softly as we soar.

“Silver One…” 

“I’m okay,” I respond, sniffing. “It’s just…”

“You feel it, don’t you? Deep in your heart? This is the song of dragons. Listen closely, let it fill you, and cherish this moment; it may be the last you hear us sing like this.” I nod in understanding. “It’s alright to cry. This is a normal response.”

“Did your other rider cry too?” 

Tàirn is silent for a moment. I start to worry I might’ve touched a sensitive topic when the silence drags longer than I want it to.

“Yes.” His voice is a soft wistful sigh with just the slightest hint of affection.

The sun is setting behind the peaks but there’s enough light for me to see the little vishap up ahead, hovering as though she’s been waiting. 

“Why did you choose me?” I ask as we descend.

“As foolish as it was, you tried to protect the little one when others did not. That alone is admirable.”  

But dragons value strength and cunning over compassion. That was clear from the way Pryor died at Presentation. I am… none of those things. 

“Nonsense. You have as much cunning and intellect as the rest of your year. Strength of courage is more valuable than physical strength.”

Ah, so he can read my thoughts. That’s… fine. Totally not weird at all.

Courage alone isn’t going to help win the war, I think.

“Nor is physical prowess enough to defeat the enemy. A weyr consisting of only clubtails will fall at the talons of gryphons given enough time. A squadron needs a sharp mind to balance out the body’s strength. It’s why Aimsir chose your mother over the others of her year.”  

I let his words sink in as we pass over the Gauntlet and crest the narrow entrance to the training fields.

Hundreds of dragons gather together along the rocky edges of the mountain slopes behind the wooden bleachers that were erected overnight for spectators. At the bottom of the valley are two lines of dragons facing each other.

“They are divided between those still in the quadrant which chose in years past and those who chose today,” Tàirn explains. “We are the seventy-first bond to enter the fields.”  

A ferocious roar of celebration goes up among the dragons as we fly in, every head swinging our way as they step back to make room for the massive black dragon. 

The invisible bands holding me in my seat release and he hovers over the grass for a few seconds to let the younger vishap catch up before landing in the center of the field. The impact is only slightly jarring but I sit up tall. 

“You need to dismount and tell the role keeper my full name.”

I stretch my legs forward before tossing them over the right side of his neck towards his shoulder. Tàirn shifts slightly, angling his front leg. 

“Thanks,” I whisper and slide down the outstretched leg.

The feathered vishap trots over and walks around me excitedly.

“Well? How was it?” she asks, stopping in front me. Her paws knead the soft ground as she waits for my answer.

“It was… exhilarating.” That’s the best way I can describe the flight here.

“Did you feel it? The harmony?”

“You mean the dragonsong?”

“Yes, yes!” She does a cute little hop and flaps her wings. “That means you’re one of us now! You’re a rider!”

“She won’t be if you keep pestering her,” Tàirn scolds. “Hurry up, we don’t have all day.”

“Alright, alright,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “Going.” 

I can’t stop the smile on my face as I trot across the wide field to the small formation directly in front of me. 

Behind me, wind sporadically gusts as more dragons land and their riders dismount to record their names. Dusk falls and a series of mystic flames illuminate the crowd in the bleachers and on the dias.

I halt dead in my tracks as I catch sight of the person sitting in the top center.

Decorated in all her finest jewelry, adorned in an extravagant purple and gold gown sits Her Majesty, Queen Diana. A black veil covers her face and long, black gloves made of silk reach her elbows. Her hair is put up into a heart shaped bun, showing off her light brown hair. The golden crown adorning her head glitters proudly in the pale light of the flames. 

Just below her, above where a redhead is recording roll, sits Mother, dressed in all her military finery, medals and all. Melgren, the commanding general of all the armies in Navarre, sits next her, studying Tàirn intently. 

Their eyes lock with mine and I smile, dipping my head respectfully as I trot up to the roll keeper.

Professor Kaori jumps off the six-foot platform to my left and stares open-mouthed at my dragons, his gaze sweeping across the two, taking in every minute detail. 

Mother slowly rises as I approach. 

“Is that—” Commandant Panchek starts, hovering over the dias with several other uniformed officers who stare in awe.

“Hush,” the Queen smoothly commands in that beautifully deep voice of her. “Don’t be rude.” 

Panchek’s mouth immediately clicks shut. 

The rider ahead finishes, moving aside for me to step forward.

“Violet Sorrengail,” I announce, drawing the redhead’s attention away fromTairn and towards me. She offers me a quick, shaky smile.

"Please tell me the name of the dragon who chose you.”

“Tairneanach.”

“Pronunciation could use some work,” Tàirn’s voice grumbles in my mind. At least I tried. “Try harder next time. Unlike you humans, we take our names seriously. They hold more power than you can possibly imagine.” 

Alright, I’ll keep that in mind.

The woman grins, shaking her head as she jots down the name. “Wow, he’s legendary. You have to be the luckiest girl in the world right now.” 

“Andarnaurram,” the golden vishap murmurs. “You can call me Andarna if that’s too much of a mouthful. Andy’s also fine. Oh! My friends call me Rammy—”

“No one calls you that,” Tàirn cuts in.

“I…” I hesitate momentarily, casting a quick glance at the Queen. What will she think?

“Who cares? Tell the roll keeper her name.”

“Violet, are you alright?” the lady asks, tilting her head slightly.

“And Andarnaurram,” I say, trying — and failing — to roll the second R sound. I focus on her face even as the gazes of the three most powerful people in Navarre bore into me. 

Her eyes widen in shock. “Both?”

I nod.

Chapter Text

“Though this officer considers himself to be an expert on all matters concerning dragonkind, there is a great deal we don't know about the way dragons govern themselves. There is a clear hierarchy among the most powerful, and deference is paid to elders, but I have not been able to discern how it is they make laws for themselves or at what point a dragon decided to bond only one rider, rather than go for better odds with two.” — Colonel Kaori’s Guide to Dragonkind

---

“Absolutely not!” a female officer yells from the dias, causing me to flinch. “This is outrageous!”

“ Two dragons?” another inquires, raising a brow. “That’s… not unheard of, but certainly a rare occurrence.”

“Does that one even count as a dragon?” a third asks, pointing at Andarna with a frown. “It looks more like a bird to me.”

“And it’s yellow. There are no dragons with those scale colors, as far as I’m aware.”

Complete and utter embarrassment washes over me.

The generals have convened in a corner of the field to discuss the situation with Queen Diana away from prying eyes, leaving the rest of the officers to debate Andarna’s validity as a dragon.

Worry gnaws at my stomach as each second passes. In all my dreams, I never considered the idea of bonding two dragons, let alone one as rare as a feathered vishap. With top brass getting involved in all this, I know they’ll be more than willing to experiment on Andarna. The thought of them poking her with rods and running a bunch of tests on her in a secluded area makes me shudder.

Can they even do that?

“Dragons do not bend to the whims of humans,” Tàirn answers curtly, as if that should answer all my questions.

Gods, this is so bizarre. I’m standing in the middle of the flight field with two dragons while the whole quadrant decides whether or not I should be able to keep them. Or rather, whether they should keep me. I feel exposed just like that morning when I was put on trial.

“Violet, come over here,” Professor Kaori calls, beckoning me to a tent near the bleachers. “It’s getting pretty hectic.”

I let out a nervous huff of air.

“Tell me about it. Has anyone ever bonded two dragons?” I ask, following him.

“Hm, let’s see. There’s only a handful I can recall.” His brows furrow slightly as he strokes his mustache. “The only thing they had in common, really, was their terribly short lifespan.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

“It’s presumed that because of their bonds, they developed two signets at the same time which… It never ends well. You’ll learn more about it once you get to studying magic with Professor Carr, but when a rider has two signets, their powers overlap and try to consume the other. The rider becomes a living ball of phantom aura before dying.”

I stare at him wordlessly. A part of me wants to hope this is complete and utter bullshit but he’s never lied to me before and I doubt he’ll start now.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. There’s a reason riders only bond with one dragon; just one signet is enough of a hassle to control. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to have two.”

Andarna sits under Tàirn’s wing, scratching at an itch behind her ear, completely unbothered by the commotion around the field.

“She’s so small,” I murmur. “Do you really think they’ll let her bond with me?”

“That’s not up to the humans to decide,” Kaori sighs, taking a seat on a stool. I sit next to him, watching the dragons pace and murmur amongst themselves in their own language. It’s funny how much they mirror the officers’ restless bantering.

“The Empyrean has its own laws,” Tàirn says, but there’s an edge to his tone. “Stay in the flight field. This might take a while.”

“What might—”

The question dies just as the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen drops out of the night sky like a meteor, startling me so badly I jump out of the stool.

The impact from the land sends up a thick cloud of dust from beneath its massive talons and shakes the earth so badly I nearly topple over.

The black vishap is massive, twenty-seven feet high, with magenta appendages and giant thick horns that curve like a ram’s. A boney crest shaped like a crown rises up from the back of its head and a blade-like horn protruding from its forehead sheens in the faint light.

The nightmare of a dragon swivels its head towards me, narrowing its crimson eyes as it bares its massive fangs.

I instinctively shrink in my seat.

A white swordtail with a dorsal sail so large it droops to the side, elegantly descends to stand next to it. Its irises are pink with dark pupils; the semi-translucent wing membranes and sail are a pale pink that glow slightly in the light of the mystic flames.

All of the chatter and pacing suddenly stops. Dead silence fills the air and I swear even the nocturnal songbirds have stopped singing.

The pair stalk towards Tàirn and Andarna and my chest tightens.

The dragons that are in the way step aside to let them pass and lower their heads in reverence.

The magenta accented vishap growls low in its throat at Tàirn who holds his head high.

He responds with his own series of rumbles, stepping forward to shield Andarna from the bigger dragon. For a good while, they just stare at each other intensely, lashing their tails from side to side. No doubt they’re probably arguing through telepathy.

The white swordtail sighs through its nose and rumbles a command before flapping its wings and lifting itself into the air.

The larger vishap jerks its head towards the southernmost peak before bounding forward. Each step causes the ground to shake as it beats its tattered wings and launches itself into the night sky. The other dragons follow in an orderly fashion until they’re barely visible in the moonlight.

“Stay with the wingleader until I get back,” Tàirn orders.

Surely, he meant to say squadleader.

“You heard what I said.”

Oh.

Okay.

He lifts himself into the air with Andarna following close behind.

The silence hangs for a moment longer before Queen Diana saunters back to her spot on the bleachers, as though the most intimidating dragons in Navarre hadn’t just dropped out of the sky like a giant meteor. She pats the spot next to her and Mother dips her head dutifully, taking a seat next to her.

Mother’s face is about as emotionless as rock. She stares out at the horizon, solemnly nodding to whatever the Queen’s murmuring about into her ear. The latter’s hand casually rests atop her thigh and I don’t miss the way Mother’s pinky finger curls slightly.

“That…” Kaori whispers, drawing my attention away, “...Was Codagh and Daoimean.”

“General Melgren, and Queen Diana’s dragons,” I breathe. 

He nods, grinning excitedly. “Lanntair is the head of the swordtail breed and a member of the Empyrean. They’ve never lost a fight in all my years of living. It’s not everyday you see them out in the open like this!”

And they’re talking about me . “Why are their scales white?”

“It’s probably a case of a rare pigmentation disorder, like albinism. Dragons with birth defects are rarely heard of, so Lanntair’s a special case amongst dragonkind.”

The first-years swarm to the center of the field, chatting up a storm. The second and third-years hang back a little, watching the commotion with fascination.

Xaden stands off to the side with folded arms. The mystic flames illuminating the field cast hard shadows on him which does nothing but emphasize the ridges along his arms and chest.

His gaze crawls over to mineCold onyx eyes bore into my soul and he stares at me like ’d just skinned and eaten his dog in front of him.

Remembering Tàirn’s instructions, I stuff my hands into my pockets and say goodbye to Kaori before heading over to the edge of the clearing where Amber Mavis stands.

“How are you feeling?” Amber asks.

“Um, excited? Nervous, I guess.” I glance at the spot where the dragons disappeared to. I can’t hear a thing in my mind; it’s completely empty. I hadn’t even noticed before, but Tàirn and Andarna’s brief presence made me feel whole, like I’d unlocked a hidden part of myself that wasn’t there before. Now it’s like someone scooped out my heart. “Tàirn said I had to stay with you until he gets back.”

She nods solemnly. “You know, my Threshing wasn’t as exciting as yours.”

“Dain told me,” I admit, looking away. “He said you almost didn’t get to bond.”

“Mm. I thought I wouldn’t live to see another day until Claidh came to my rescue. I owe her my life for that.” I wonder if that’s how Andarna feels about me now. The thought is a little daunting, knowing her fate is in my hands.

“Yeah, I… sort of fought a dragon today. Don’t…  Please, don’t tell Dain. He’s gonna lose his shit if he finds out.”

She blinks in surprise before a ghost of a smile crosses her face. “You have my word,” she assures.

I spot Rhiannon in the crowd and wave over to her.

“Vi!” she exclaims, running up to me. She pulls me into a lung crushing hug, her long braids batting my face until she pulls away. Her dark eyes gleam with joy as she breaks into a grin.

“I bonded a daggertail! I was so scared, but then she spoke to me, and it was… Amazing.”

“Wow, are you serious?” I exclaim. “A daggertail?! Rhi, that’s awesome!”

“Look who just pulled up with the baddest dragon on the Continent,” Ridoc appears from my side, tugging me into a hug. “How’d you do it? I bet you wooed him with your irresistible charm.” I snort, punching him in the ribs playfully.

“Yeah. Sure. Let’s go with that. Who’d you bond with?”

“Aotrom! He’s a swordtail!”

“Sliseag!” Sawyer chimes in, tossing his arms around Ridoc and Rhiannon’s shoulders. “Mine’s also a swordtail!”

The three of us cheer for him and I’m swept into the group hug.

“Have you seen Aurelie?” I ask, stepping back.

“I saw her flying on a black clubtail. No idea where she’s at now, though.”

“What about Trina? Tynan?”

They shrug. And I worry the two might’ve gotten left behind before Luka’s insufferable face shows up in the crowd.

Her eyes meet mine as she passes and, oh, what I’d give to have her shocked expression painted and framed on my bedroom wall for the rest of eternity.

“How are you still alive?!” she asks, baffled.

“Zihnal has favorites, I guess.”

“She bonded with Tàirn,” Ridoc says smugly.

Luka stares at me in disbelief before tossing her hair back over her shoulder with a huff.

“Well, there’s always a chance he might choose someone else if he finds you’re too pathetic as a rider,” she responds with a smile. “ I bonded the biggest scorpiontail in the Vale, by the way.”

“And we’re supposed to care because…?”

Her smile falters.

“I don’t recall seeing you fly in with the biggest swordtail.”

“At least mine’s smart.”

Luka’s jaw ticks, and I can see her physically holding herself back from making a catty remark.

“Tch. Whatever,” she mutters, pivoting away from us. She then runs off to find whatever friends she might have in the crowd.

“Violet!” Dain runs towards me, skidding to a halt and dragging me into a hug. “What was that?”

“Threshing,” Our wingleader answers, taking a swig from the waterskin attached to her side.

“No, I… Tàirn. I’m talking about Tàirn. Cath told me you bonded with him and a…lesser dragon?”

Lesser? Is that what the other dragons think of Andarna?

“You mean Andy?” I chime in. “Yeah, I did.”

“Wh— how?! ” He stares at me with a mixture of confusion and worry. I laugh awkwardly.

“That’s… a long story.”

And, gods, am I tired.

“Did you see the Queen? I had no idea she’d be here today.”

“I don’t think anyone did,” Rhiannon says, sparing Her Majesty a glance. “What’s she doing here?”

“I think she’s just keeping an eye on the Marked Ones.”

“She’s so cool,” Sawyer sighs. “I heard her signet’s blessing is more powerful than General Melgren’s.”

“What could be stronger than precognition?”

“Pretty sure that’s classified,” Dain answers, folding his arms.

His brows knit together into a deep frown as he stares at the horizon where the dragons gathered. He balls his hands into fists, stuffing them into his coat pocket before turning to me. “Can I talk to you for a second?” He stares at me intently and I glance over at my friends. “...Alone?”

“Alright, let’s go find Aurelie,” Ridoc suggests, patting Sawyer’s back like a drum. “I bet she’s losing her shit right now.”

When they leave, Dain takes my hand and tugs to a shaded area just far enough to be out of earshot but close enough for Amber to still see me.

“They’re going to make you choose,” he says gravely. The way his expression hardens makes me pull away slightly. “The Empyrean. They’ll probably offer you a choice since you’re Lilith’s daughter—”

“No human’s ever been able to choose, and I’m not about to be the first,” I interrupt. “I doubt the dragons give a single shit about what we think; I mean, look at Pryor. He literally got incinerated for… for what?”

“For being weak. Hesitating, trepidation. Any kind of weakness is a turn-off for them. You’re…” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “Flexible. Look, you just have to trust me. The little one is your safest option if you want to survive the war.”

Why? Because Tàirn is… Tàirn? Does Dain think I’m incapable of handling a massive dragon because of my ligament disorder?

“I don’t…”

“Cath said her lungs make her incapable of flying long distances,” Dain continues. “She probably can’t breathe fire either, which means command will make you a permanent instructor like Kaori if they see she’s a liability.”

“Even if I become an instructor, I’d still have to be in a combat wing for at least four years before being put behind a desk,” I argue

“No, you don’t understand. Tàirn and Sgaeyl are mated pairs. They’re one of the strongest bonds right now.”

“What does that have to do with Andarna?”

“It doesn’t,” Xaden says, stepping out of the shadows behind us. “Not really, anyway. But it has everything to do with you. Now that you’re bonded, our souls will be forever linked to each other. If you die, I die. If Tàirn dies, Sgaeyl goes with him and vice versa.”

His dark eyes lock with mine and I feel a pit in my stomach. 

I’ve read about mated dragons briefly for one of my assessments in the scribe quadrant. Unlike humans, dragon matrimony is terribly complex to the point where a pair can’t go more than a few days while separated or their health diminishes. Sometimes, they can’t ever be apart for less than a few hours.

I’d been so caught up in the excitement of Threshing, I’d completely forgotten about that fact. I’m basically tied to Xaden for life.

“Oh, fuck me.” 

“Absolutely not ,” he responds in an offended tone. “You’re the last person I want to be tethered to, let alone fuck.”

“Great, at least we have that in common.”

“Tàirn’s bonds are so strong that losing his last rider nearly killed him. Imagine what would happen if Sgaeyl died. It’d set off a chain reaction that’d affect everyone — even those outside our inner circle.”

“Which is why you need to go with Andarna,” Dain presses.

“She’s not going with shit.”

“Excuse me?!” He glares at the Marked One who holds his gaze unflinchingly.

“I’ve dealt with the Empyrean before. There’s no choice with them involved, only the illusion of one.” Xaden tugs down the collar of his uniform to tap the rebellion relic seared into his skin. “We didn’t get these because we felt like it.”

“You only got them because the king was stupid enough to let you live.”

“Actually, they fought for them.”

We all pivot at the sound of the Queen’s voice.

“Forgive the interruption. I heard you chatting and just had to chime in.” She pushes her veil back to reveal her youthful face decorated in a nice layer of makeup as she strides towards us.

We each bow respectfully.

“It’s good to see you again, my liege,” Xaden murmurs, bending elegantly to kiss the back of her gloved hand. “How are you this evening?”

“I’m doing well. You haven’t been stirring up any trouble now, have you?” she inquires.

“Of course not, Your Majesty.”

He’s trying so hard to pretend like he’s her lapdog when everyone knows he’d do anything to sink his teeth in her throat.

“Good, good. As I was saying, the Marked Ones fought tooth and nail for their relics in the presence of the tribunal and Empyrean.” A soft smile crosses her lips as she adds, “It was most beautiful when they finally earned their place in the quadrant. My husband and I spent months carefully considering where to put these unfortunate children; contrary to what most think, it was no rash decision on our part.”

“Apologies, ma’am” Dain murmurs awkwardly. “I didn’t—”

“It’s fine. My husband’s recklessness is a common misconception. As for the Empyrean, I must agree with Riorson on one thing: they’re a difficult lot to bargain with, even amongst each other. While we like to revel in the idea that we control the tides of war, they are the ones with real power.”

“So… I won’t have to choose?” I ask tentatively.

She shakes her head.

“No. Tàirn and Andarna will decide on their own.”

Oh, thank the gods. I don’t know if I could decide by myself. But, I’m not sure if I could live with just one. My mind says Tàirn is the more logical option while my heart yearns for Andarna. Even if she is “lesser”, she fought by my side. I have to repay her somehow.

“Which do you think would suit her best?” Dain has the audacity to ask.

Queen Diana studies him for a moment before smiling sympathetically.

“What will be, will be.”

I open my mouth to ask what she means by that when Amber approaches, dipping her head respectfully towards the sovereign.

“The dragons are returning, Your Majesty. We should return to formation,” she says, briefly glancing at us.

Xaden offers Queen Diana another bow before promptly walking into the crowd of riders when the first dragons descend.

The sovereign’s hands rest on my shoulders as we watch Codagh and Lanntair sit on opposite sides of the dias. The black vishap stares directly at Tàirn when he lands.

“Deep breaths, darling,” Queen Diana murmurs soothingly into my right ear. “Shoulders back, chin high. You’re a rider now.”

I comply with her command and stride towards my dragons, trying not to let the uncanny silence get to me.

Amber stands with the other wingleaders.

Claidh, her red-orange daggertail, positions herself in a way so that she towers over her like a guard dog protecting a small pup.

“Tell me it’s going to be alright,” I whisper when Andarna gently rests her chin on my head.

“It is how it should be,” Tàirn answers cryptically.

“Why couldn’t I hear you before?”

“Humans can’t know what’s said within the Empyrean,” Andarna explains. “It’s a rule.”

So everyone was blocked from their dragon, not just me. The thought is a little comforting.

“Sorry we didn’t tell you before. Codagh’s… not in a good mood today.”

I glance over at Mother, who’s watching everyone but me. 

Aimsir glares in my direction and I quickly look to where General Melgren moves toward the dias. His uniform is dripping in medals. The night air lightly tussles his dustywhite hair.

“Codagh has relayed that the dragons have spoken regarding the Sorrengail girl,” he announces with a smooth swift motion of his hand.

Lesser magic allows his voice to magically amplify across the field for all to hear. “Tradition has shown that there is to be one rider for every dragon. While there have only been three instances of a dragon choosing two, each case has resulted in the rider’s premature death. After much consideration, they have decided to allow Tairneanach and…”

He looks over his shoulder to where his aide rushes forward to whisper in his ear.

“...Andarnaurram have chosen Violet Sorrengail under one condition. For safety purposes, the lesser dragon will not be able to channel magic through her until after she receives her first proper blessing.”

There’s a ripple of murmurs around me but I sag my shoulders in relief.

“I’m not going to explode any time soon, am I?”

“No. We will not allow it,” Tàirn answers gruffly.

His gaze is locked on Codagh as Mother steps forward.

“As this year’s Threshing ceremony comes to a close,” she begins, “Let us take a moment to remember the historical event that began this tradition. Six hundred years ago, on this day, the first six riders of Navarre banded together to defeat a great evil beyond our borders. A member of each breed heeded their pleas for aid, descending from their realm above the clouds to form the very first bonds between man and dragon. Since then, this tradition has been passed down from generation to generation as a symbol of trust between the two species.

“Bonded cadets, you have crossed the chasm separating Bàsgiath from the rest of Morraine, overcame the Gauntlet, and participated as a member of the dragonsong choir. Now, you stand before us with heads held high and the blood of our glorious ancestors coursing through your veins. Congratulations!”

The officers, second, and third-years clap in unison. A grin splits across my face as I hear their dragons voice their own growls of approval ranging from deep guttural rumbles, to higher pitched calls.

Most of their praise is reserved for Tàirn, but I see Sgàeyl dip her head towards Liam’s dragon who lifts his head a little higher.

“To the unbonded,” Mother extends a hand to a group of cadets who stand to the side, “We thank you for your efforts. You will have the option of choosing to apply for another quadrant or try to bond again next year. I promise, your abilities will not go to waste. In this war, we need all the candidates we can get to push back the enemy waiting outside our borders. Continue to strive for excellence and you will be rewarded greatly.”

Her gaze sweeps over the crowd, pausing momentarily to meet mine. I don’t miss the glint in her eyes as she offers me the tiniest nod of approval.

“Stand tall, rider,” Tàirn commands. “You are ours.”

“Welcome to a family that knows no boundaries, no limits, and no end. You are home.”

A cheer resounds across the field, rattling my eardrums. 

“Riders, step forward.”

“About five steps or so,” Tàirn suggests.

I do as he says.

“Dragons, it is our honor to fight alongside you,” Mother calls out. “Now, we celebrate!”

Suddenly, heat blasts my back and I hiss in pain as riders on both sides of me cry out. It feels like my spine is on fire, yet everyone across the field is cheering raucously, some even running to greet us.

“You’ll like it,” Tàirn assures. “Ours is unique.”

When the pain dulls, I glance over my shoulder at the black thing peeking out from the edges of my corset.

Dain reaches me, his smile wide.

“You did it! You got to keep both of them!” He circles me and asks, “Can I unlace your vest real quick? Just the top?”

“Um… sure.”

A few seconds later, the crisp autumn air nips at the base of my neck.

“Holy shit. You’ve got to see this.”

“Tell the boy to move,” Tàirn orders and I relay the message to Dain.

When he steps out of the way, my vision isn’t mine anymore. 

I’m staring at my own back through... Andarna’s eyes. The vibrant colors around me are slightly muted, but I see tiny layered scales glistening in the form of a black dragon with its wings open in flight, stretching from shoulder to shoulder. At the base of its morningstar-like tail, a gold outline of four feathery wings and a four pointed star at the end glows faintly.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathe. I blink and my vision is mine again. 

Dain laces up the corset and moves to face me just as Andarna moves to do the same.

The two collide into each other.

Dain nearly topples over but she grabs him by the scruff using her mouth and pulls him up to his feet.

“Sorry, sorry! It’s just that this is my first Threshing ever and I was really excited to see all the humans with their dragons. I didn’t think they’d let me bond like this,” she explains, flapping her wings excitedly. “Tàirn helped a lot with the talking. He’s really good at that kind of stuff. You should’ve heard him; he was like—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Tàirn interrupts, blowing smoke from his nose. He turns and starts to walk towards Sgaeyl who’s standing near Liam’s dragon. “I’m going to speak with Deigh. It’s been some time since he last bonded.”

“Aren’t you gonna follow him?” I ask aloud.

Andarna shakes her head.

“Nope! I want to stay with you,” she says. She sticks her neck out and presses her forehead against mine. I laugh and dig my hands into her mane, ruffling the soft down.

Dain’s warm brown eyes glimmer with affection and pride as he watches us play.

“Right?” I laugh, burying my face into her mane. She smells like lavender, petrichor, and a sweet scent I can’t quite identify but reminds me of home.

One of her wings wraps itself around me in an awkward dragon hug as she loudly purrs.

“Hey, I know you must be exhausted, but don’t fall asleep just yet,” Dain suggests.

I lift my head to glance up at him curiously.

“We’ve got one more surprise waiting for you in the cafeteria.”

“Cake?” I let go of Andarna’s neck as he grins.“Even better: all the food you can eat and fresh wine from the cellars. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity exclusive only to bonded first-years. You won’t want to miss it.”

Chapter Text

“I’m aware that many of you believe the descendants of the rebel leaders should be punished more severely, but we cannot let emotions rule our hearts. The constitution of this land strictly forbids the killing of children; we must abide by these rules, or die by the King’s sword.” — Excerpt from a speech made by the Honorable Samuel Mavis, the Chief Justice of Navarre, regarding the Treaty of Aretia. Transcribed by Cerella Neilwart

---

There is nothing like Threshing.

The tables at the cafeteria are filled to the brim with layers upon layers of food extravagantly placed on silver platters for our enjoyment. Servants offer ale and wine while a band of bards play upbeat music for us up on the erected platform in the spot where the wingleaders’ table once was.

Tonight, the long table has been pushed back against the wall to hold a giant stuffed boar and smoked rabbits fresh from the oven. Just like Dain said, this feast is only reserved for newly bonded first-years.

I take in all the mouth watering scents.

“Welcome to Elysium,” Ridoc jokes, throwing an arm over my shoulder. His face is somewhat flushed from the lavender wine in his free hand and he leans a little too heavily against my side. “An all-you-can-eat buffet just for us.”

“You just gonna stand there or what?” Rhiannon asks, nudging me forward with an elbow. Her hands are occupied by a plate filled to the brim with a heap of salads, cod, pork, and pasta in a glorious mountain of delicacies.

“I’ve no idea where to start,” I look around at the thousands of options just waiting to be eaten. Everything looks so good! Maybe I should try the smoked lamb first, or the pheasants and quail brought over from the Queen’s castle.

“Come on, let’s find a place to sit while you gawk at everything.”

She guides us through the chaos that is a group of first-years chugging as much wine as they can consume without passing out.

I toss them a friendly wink for fun and giggle at the way their flushed faces instantly turn tomato red.

We take a seat at a table next to Sawyer who’s chowing down on a lobster.

He wipes his mouth when he sees us approaching.

“Wow, you’re seriously gonna eat all that?” he asks as Rhiannon sits across from him.

“Uh, yeah! I haven't even eaten anything since breakfast. That’s probably why they have all this food.”

Aurelie scurries towards us, grinning like a schoolgirl, as she shows off her plate of meat. “I can’t believe it. They actually have stuffed porcupines here.”

“Stuffed what?”

“Porcupine! Here, try it.” She sets her plate down and holds a piece up for me using a knife. I take a sample and stuff it in my mouth, chewing thoughtfully. It has a similar texture to chicken and tastes a bit like pork but sweet and rich at the same time.

“Not bad.”

“Right? Hey, you guys should try some. They’re right over there.” She points to a serving table where a few riders are contemplating which meats to get. Ridoc makes a face.

“Uh, no thanks! I think I’ll stick to chicken,” he says, taking a sip of his wine.

“I heard you bonded a clubtail,” I begin. “That must’ve been cool.”

“Her name’s Forbais,” Aurelie explains, setting her knife down. “She’s a bit of a grump, though. I don’t think she likes Codagh much.”

“Seriously?”

“No intelligent dragon would ever dream of liking that canker-livered glàbh,” Tàirn mutters, startling me a little.

“You okay, Vi?” Rhiannon asks.

“Oh, yeah. Just…” I tap my brain. “The dragons.”

She smiles as she nods and turns back to her meal.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that, either,” she says, taking a bite out of her cod.

“Glàbh?” I echo internally.

“It’s an insult in my mother tongue,” Tàirn explains. “That’s not what it really sounds like, obviously. Your puny brain just translates it into words it’s comfortable interpreting.”

“So that’s how our communication works?” He offers a grunt of approval. “Wait, so do all dragons speak the same language or are there different ways in which you talk to each other? Do you guys have different dialects in other regions? What about accents?”

“Ugh, and here I thought I’d forgotten how loquacious your kind are.”

“Was your other rider talkative?”

“We will not speak of the one who came before.” His voice is suddenly rough and I can’t help but flinch. It only softens when he heaves a slow sigh. “If you listen closely, you will get the answers you need.”

“Yoo-hoo!” Ridoc snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Welcome back to Bàsgiath, Miss Sorrengail! How was your trip?”

I turn my focus back to the squad.

They all watch me with amused expressions.

“What?”

“You looked like you were tripping balls,” Ridoc says with a grin.

Rhiannon smacks his arm. “What he means to say,” she corrects, throwing him a look, “is that we were wondering if you were gonna go eat.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” I rub the back of my shoulder where soft, rubbery skin meets smooth, hard scales. Of all the perks of being a dragon rider, the relics on our backs are, by far, one of the coolest. We get actual dragon scales on our bodies. Infantry could never have any of this shit. “Be right back.”

I hear Ridoc snicker as I scurry off, feeling equal parts embarrassed and content. I wave to the riders who pass me by, relishing in the excitement buzzing through the air. My gaze skims across the tables of food as I decide which one I should choose first. My stomach growls and I go for a fat chicken thigh. Two steaks go right next to it in a matter of seconds. Brown rice, red beans, and minced quail follow soon after.

As I pour myself a portion of wine from a bowl, I catch sight of five Marked Ones gathered at a round table close by. Their eyes are bright with hope and relief as they pat each other on the backs. Liam’s among them, unsurprisingly, with his blonde hair perfectly combed back for the occasion.

A girl who looks younger than I am latches onto Liam, burying her face into his shoulder. Her shoulders shudder and I can only stare, wide-eyed, as the tiny group quietly moves to press their heads against hers and murmur reassuring words to her in Tyrrish. There’s a slight twinge in my chest as I watch the girl break down into muffled sobs, clinging to Liam a little tighter.

They’d fought tooth and nail to be here. Isn’t that what the Queen had said earlier?

“You’ve been too harsh on them,” I hear Tàirn say.

“They killed my brother.”

“Will you let your petty hatred blind you still? Or are you going to let the past go?”

“It’s not that simple—”

“Brennan Sorrengail is dead. There’s nothing left of him, just as there’s nothing left of their parents. Let the dead sleep; they deserve that much.”

I tighten my grip on the cup of wine in my hands and stare at the faint reflection playing on the surface. In my heart of hearts, I know it’s illogical to punish them for the sins of their parents. The rebel leaders are already dead; their bones have been cast into the Emerald Sea, never to resurface again. But looking at them hurts. Watching Xaden stroll down the halls like he belongs here is torturous.

“You… how do you do it?” I whisper in my mind. “How do you look at him with Sgaeyl and not want to set him on fire?”

Tàirn snorts.

“You think I don’t think about it every time he opens his mouth?” he inquires. “Don’t let emotions blind your judgment. If we cannot fully let go of our rage, we are destined to be destroyed by it.”

I look up at the quintet.

Liam presses a soft kiss to the girl’s hair and the others wrap their arms around her in a group hug. She lifts her head, smiling and chuckles a little through her tears. I quickly look away when her eyes meet mine.

Have pity on your enemies and spare those who hurt you . This is what the Amachian Principals, our holy scriptures, teach. I should be able to do that one thing; my friends already have, so why am I having a hard time doing the same?

I take my plate and drink in hand before briskly walking back to my squad. It’s going to be harder to forgive them now that Xaden’s soul is basically chained to mine.

“We should get something for the unbonded,” Rhiannon suggests as we place our plates in the trays that’ll go to the dishwasher. “It kinda sucks they can’t join us to eat. All this food’s just gonna go to waste, right?”

I glance over at the table of food that’s still full. The cooks will probably get to have some of the leftovers after we all leave for bed. The rest is trashed. I slowly rise from the table and head over to where a few riders are picking away at the remains of a pig.

I offer them curt nods as I pass and yank an untouched chocolate cake off the end of the table.

“Oh,” someone says from behind.

I turn to see Liam standing there, his eyes trained on the dessert.

“You’re gonna eat all that by yourself?”

“Do you… want it?” I ask, tentatively holding it out for him to take.

“No, no. It’s fine,” he assures with a soft chuckle. “I was just getting a slice for a friend.”

“You mean Xaden.” I’ve seen them hang out a few times after classes and during dinner. The way they act kind of reminds me of siblings or relatives.

“Mm. He asked–”

“Take it.”

I shove the cake into his hands and turn my back towards him.

“Really?” I hear him perk up a little. “You don’t want to share? I don’t think he’s gonna… Well, maybe he will eat it all. Who knows with that guy?”

I reach over for one with strawberries on top that’s miraculously intact. There’s about five of these that’ll go to the trash soon if I don’t do anything with them. I hope the unbonded cadets appreciate the gesture enough to not let this go to waste. Liam sets the cake down for a second to pour himself a cup of mulberry wine. An awkward silence falls between us. It feels like an eternity before I clear my throat to speak.

“Uh, congrats on the… dragon,” I say, avoiding his gaze.

“Thank you. That really means a lot to me. I’m glad you didn’t get sent to Infantry; I heard they treat the cadets over there like shit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m borderline chained to Xaden for life so it’s still… tough.”

Liam nods, humming sympathetically. I can’t tell if he’s being genuine or just saving face. These guys are really good liars when they need to be.

“Well, I’ll be out of your hair,” he says, lifting his cup to me in farewell. He takes the cake with his free hand and heads back to the dorms with Bodhi holding a basket of breadsticks under one arm.

“See? You’re not dead. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Tàirn asks.

I meet up with Rhiannon at the door. She has a bottle of wine in one hand and a platter of turkey in the other.

We have to be careful when walking through the hall leading to the barracks because several riders are either passed out on the floor or in a stupor. They’re going to be in so much trouble when they wake up late for class.

I carefully balance the platein one hand and knock on the door where the unbonded are staying for the night. The door unlocks and a girl wearing a high ponytail who shares strikingly similar facial features with Amber glares at me. 

“Can I help you?” she asks coldly.

“Hi, we just stopped by to give these to you,” Rhiannon explains, holding up the turkey for her to see. “There’s a ton of leftovers if you want to go grab some—”

“Unbonded cadets aren’t allowed to take food from the cafeteria during Threshing. Besides, we ate earlier.”

“Is that cake?” an upbeat voice chimes in from the back. “Oh, you guys got us food? Awesome!”

A short, plump Marked One trots up to us, her pink pigtails bobbing with each step she takes. Her blue eyes light up at the sight of the strawberry cake in my hands. She reaches for the platter before Mini-Amber shoves her wrist down.

“We’re fine, thanks,” the redhead says.

“Hey! Don’t be rude, Deidre,” the Marked One scolds. “They’re just trying to be nice.”

“They probably poisoned it.” Deidre’s heterochromatic eyes bore into me accusingly.

“It’s not. We got it fresh from the table,” Rhiannon steps in front of me calmly.  “Violet’s learned her lesson already. Look, the turkey’s still warm.”

Deidre stares at it before scoffing.

“Why don’t you give that to someone who actually needs it?” she asks bitterly before slamming the door in our face. I can hear her arguing with the Marked One for a second before their voices fade.

“Well,” Rhiannon clicks her tongue, “That was interesting.”

“My gods, she’s worse than Amber,” I mutter, turning away from the door. At least the wingleader wasn’t this much of a bitch.

“She’s just upset she didn’t get to bond. You’d be too, if you were her.”

“I wouldn’t be a total bitch about it though.” I stick my index finger into the white icing and scoop out a serving for myself.

“Vi,” Rhiannon sighs in exasperation.

“What? It’s not like they’re gonna eat it.”

“You don’t know that.”

I sigh at the sweetness of the icing and wipe my hand against my jeans. The taste is pretty good. It’s not as soft as I’m used to but still delicious. And if no one else wants it, I’ll share it with Sawyer.

We slow down our pace a little as we turn the corner and spot Amber heading our way.

She’s in uniform with a knife tucked away in a scabbard hanging from her belt. Tonight, she’s decorated it with a neat line of patches on her right shoulder for the occasion. Her gaze immediately lands on the food we’re carrying.

“What are you two doing with all that?” she inquires.

“We wanted to share some of the leftovers with some of the unbonded,” Rhiannon answers.

“You do realize that the unbonded aren’t allowed to participate in the feast, yes?”

“Yeah, this girl, Diedre, told us already,” I say. “She was pretty rude about it.”

“Of course, she was,” Amber sighs in an exasperated way that reminds me of my father whenever he was annoyed with something Markham had said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure some time with Infantry will soften up her edges. She’ll be less of a nuisance once she comes back next year.”

I certainly hope so. Dealing with Luka is bad enough; I don’t need another chick pestering me about my worth.

“Now, get some rest, you two. Tomorrow, you’ll learn how to properly fly with your dragons.”

We nod and continue on our way to the rooms that have been reserved for us at the end of the long hall. Rhiannon’s is across from mine so if I need anything, I don’t have to walk very far to find her.

After saying goodnight to her, I open my door with the metal key I was given earlier after the ceremony and step inside. I dig my toes into the soft black carpet after taking my boots off and wander over to the mahogany desk next to my new bed. A wooden chest rests on top with a letter and key next to it.

I break the wax seal and pull out the small square card inside. All it says in fine print is:

“For all your rider needs.”

— General L. Sorrengail

Inside the chest lies two new daggers, flight leathers, and a vest made of dragonscales. The new uniform is thicker than our usual one with a full button jacket and combat gloves.

It’s the vest, though, that really catches my attention. The diamond shaped scales have been shrunk to be half the size of my palm and layered above each other like the ones on Tàirn’s body. They shimmer in the soft glow of the oil lamp next to me.

Mother rarely offers me any gifts, save for the occasional journals that have been collecting dust in my drawers at home. Yet, she sent me my own armor, perfectly tailored to fit my smaller size.

I finally have my very own dragonscale vest. Mira’s going to be so proud.

“You’d better appreciate that one,” Tàirn says. “We don’t give up our scales lightly. They should be able to withstand most weaponry attacks when we’re in the air.”

“Thank you,” I murmur and hang the new clothes in the nearby closet.

Chapter Text

“I once read a myth about a race of humans who had the physical traits of dragons and could walk through fire unharmed. Looking back, I think whoever wrote that might’ve been talking about dragon riders.” — Second recovered correspondence of Cadet Brennan Sorrengail to Mira Sorrengail

---

Something is different when I wake up the next morning. I slowly blink away the fog as I sit up. My vision has gotten sharper than it was last night. It’s like I’ve been given new glasses, only I don’t have to worry about taking them off. Something crawls  behind my eyelids when I blink. At the edge of my bed, I stare into the mirror.

Covering my pupils is a translucent third eyelid — a nictitating membrane — that I can open and close at will. All dragons have these to protect their eyes while flying. It makes sense for them to share this trait with us too.

There’s a new space in my mind where two threads of consciousness feel linked to my soul. The first is like a trail of hot molten lava pouring out of a volcano while the other is a faint trickle of pearlescent light through the white void.

“Good morning,” I greet.

“Silver One.”

Andarna mumbles something unintelligible and sighs softly. She must be sleeping still.

I smile softly and head over to my closet to get dressed for the day. I carefully comb my hair, put it up in my usual braid, and take a deep breath, heading outside.

Rhiannon smiles as she walks out of the room and buttons up her jacket. It’s the same as mine, of course, with only our rank and leadership designation at our shoulder in case we get separated from our dragons behind enemy lines.

“Morning.”

“Hey, how’d you sleep?” she smiles.

“Like a queen.”

A couple walks out from the door next to Rhiannon’s , holding hands. They wave to us as they stroll down the hall, giggling.

Further down the hall, Liam steps out with a tall Marked One. He offers me a playful salute when our eyes meet and mouths “Thanks for the cake,” Before turning back to his partner.

I lock arms with Rhiannon and start for the dragon rotunda. The other riders start to emerge from their dorms. A few dragonscale vests peeks out from under their jackets.

“Good morning, ladies!” Ridoc forces his way through the crowd and slings an arm over each of our shoulders. “Or should I say, riders ?”

“I like the sound of riders,” Rhiannon replies with a nod.

“It certainly has a ring to it,” I agree. My fingers trail along the snarling dragon pillars as we step up to the commons. Even from here, I can smell the breakfast being cooked in the kitchen. “Ready for flight practice today?”

“They’ll let us use saddles this time, right?” Ridoc asks. “I do not want everyone to see me fall off my dragon.”

“You fell?” Rhiannon’s lips twitch in amusement.

“You didn’t? That shit was terrifying. I thought Aotrom was going to leave me to die. Can you imagine how embarrassing that’d be?”

“Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who fell the first time,” I chuckle. “I’m sure plenty of people did; they’re just too proud to admit it. Besides, command wouldn’t be stupid enough to let us ride barebacked. There’s a reason we’re the most elite task force in Navarre.”

We move through the commons and into the gathering hall that leads to the dining area. Instantly, I sense a shift in the air as we head for the Fourth Wing section to take our seats. Some of the cadets who’ve sat together since Conscription and shared each other’s lunch now sit at different tables.

“Mind if we—” Ridoc starts.

“Absolutely! It’s yours!” A couple of guys scurry off the bench as we start to sit beside them. One of them nearly stumbles as he scrambles to find another table.

What the fuck?

“Weird,” Rhiannon murmurs, rounding the other side of the table.

I watch as a girl struggles to find a place to sit. She tries for a table at the center of our section but is immediately squeezed out by Aurelie and a burly girl. She glares at them before finding a place two tables down.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask quietly.

“The morning after Threshing is always a clusterfuck,” Imogen explains from behind me. She blows her pink hair out of her face and takes the spot next to Rhiannon. “Once you bond a powerful dragon, you become more respected around here. Anyone with common sense is going to be scared of you.” She pulls up the sleeves of her tunic to reveal the rebellion relic crawling up her right wrist like a snake and cracks her fingers.

I glance over my shoulder to study the room. Sure enough, social groups have split up and diverged.

“Which is why you’re sitting with us now ?” Rhiannon squints at the Marked One.

“The only reason I’m here is because Tàirn’s paired with Sgaeyl.”

Right. My current situation with Xaden means it’s all of the Marked Ones’ business too.

I look to my right, past the rows of tables to where Xaden sits with Garrick and a tall woman with silver hair. His back is turned towards me, thankfully, but Garrick glances in my direction and I look away.

“Fantastic,” I mutter.

Quinn, a blonde second-year in our squad who hasn’t bothered to look our way since Conscription, takes a seat next to Imogen as Sawyer arrives. She tucks in her thick curls behind her ears and smiles at something Imogen says. She has half a dozen patches decorating her uniform.

My eyes widen slightly as I notice Oren pushing the food cart our way. 

He throws me a cold look as he and another unbonded cadet wordlessly hand us our breakfasts.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise as I stare at the sausage sitting in front of me.

As soon as he leaves, I pick it up with my fork and carefully study the meat for any discoloration or foaming. I don’t see any weird particles or flakes so I take a few whiffs. When I can’t smell anything off, I carefully parse through the eggs and bacon.

“What are you doing?” Sawyer asks.

“Don’t eat anything yet,” I order, lifting a hand for them to stop what they’re doing for a moment. “He might’ve poisoned something.”

“I doubt he’s smart enough to pull off something like that.”

“You wanna bet your life on it?”

No one speaks.

I make sure to go through my squad’s meals first before reaching for Quinn and Imogen’s.

“Can I…?”

“Sure thing,” Quinn says, handing her food to me.

Imogen shoves her plate forward and scowls but says nothing.

When I’m certain none of their food has been tampered with, I slide it back over to them and let myself relax a little.

“Always make sure there aren’t weird flakes or discoloration in your food,” I advise. “If it smells or tastes funny, spit it out and throw it in the trash.”

“Who taught you all that stuff?” Ridoc asks.

“My dad. He did a lot of research on poisons back in the day.” Especially during his last few months of living when his heart’s sickness got to his head.

“Huh. That’s pretty badass,” Imogen begrudgingly says. “After class is over today, you’re coming with me.”

“Sorry?”

“We’re going to practice in the sparring gym.”

“I’m already training her,” Rhiannon starts.

“Good.” Imogen stabs her sausage with a fork. “We can’t afford to lose a valuable rider like her on the field. I’m going to help you with weights so we can strengthen the muscles around your joints.”

She takes a bite before Nyra tells us to rise for prayer. This is the same girl who nearly tore my arm right off during assessment. She shouldn’t give two shits if I dislocate my knee during combat. The only reason she’d have any incentive to help me out is because of Xaden.

As if on queue, I feel a faint tingling sensation at the back of my head. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. He’s watching my every move and I can’t exactly blame him.

I would too if I were him.

Later, all the first-years in Fourth Wing waitin front of our dragons on the flight field. Many of the other dragons give Tàirn a wide berth as he flicks his tail impatiently. The other riders cast wary glances his way and he curls his upper lip to show off his fangs to the ones who stare for too long.

Rhiannon’s dragon, Furachas, doesn’t move from her spot at his side. Her golden horns branch out like deer antlers. A dark brown saddle rests in between her shoulders. Unlike the ones typically used on horses, these are longer and cushioned in leather with cantles that rise like the back of a chair. The pommels are thicker and larger while two metal levers are attached to either side of the front which we can use to maneuver during battles. The only piece missing is the bridle since, according to Kaori’s field guide, “dragons have no use for such lowly equipment”.

She lowers herself to let Rhiannon secure the thick leather straps around her breastplate and shoulders which connect to the saddle. Everyone else is doing the same, though their dragons sigh and grumble, while Kaori showcases the proper way to gear up before a flight.

I’m the only rider exempt from this for the time being until we can find a saddle that actually fits and isn’t too tight for Tàirn. The last one his previous rider owned was burned after the battle of Aretia in reverence to Malek, our god of death.

I glance over my shoulder to look for Andarna but she isn’t here today. “Where’s Andy?” I ask.

“She has no need for flight lessons when she cannot bear you .” His voice fills my head, nearly drowning out every other sound.

“…and at only ninety-two riders, you’re our smallest class to date,” Kaori says from the center of the field. “There are forty-one unbonded cadets who’d kill to be where you are; your dragons also know that your bond is at its weakest point right now. If they find you lacking, they have every right to leave you for any unbonded they might find more compatible. Now, we’re going to mount and perform basic maneuvers your dragon already knows. The only thing you need to do today is to stay in your saddle.”

Kaori turns and breaks into a sprint, racing the dozen feet to his dragon’s foreleg and making the vertical climb to mount, just like the ramp on the Gauntlet. Around me, other riders are doing the same maneuver.

Tàirn dips his shoulder and makes his leg into a ramp for me and I feel some of my peers staring as I make the ascent to the seat.

My thighs ache as I get into position, gripping the cluster of pommel scales.

Kaori’s dragon launches into the air.

“Hold tight.”

Bands of energy clamp around my legs and Tàirn bends for a millisecond before hurling us skyward.

My third eyelids slide over to protect my vision as my stomach falls away.

“We had to go second?” I ask Tàirn as we fly out of the canyon and high up into the mountain range. The chilly air nips at my face as we ascend higher. Everyone’s going to see when I slide off.

“You will not fall. I only agreed to follow Smachd because his rider is your instructor.”

So he’s more of an in-front kind of dragon. Good to know.

“Remind me to visit Calldyr so I can ask for Dunne’s blessing.” I focus on Kaori’s swordtail, watching for when the maneuvers start.

“Your goddess of the hunt and war?” There’s clear disdain in Tàirn’s voice.

“You don’t think we need the gods on our side?”

“Dragons pay no heed to your puny deities.”

Kaori extends his right arm out as he banks in that direction, and Tàirn follows suit, leading us into a steep dive down to the peaks.

“Which gods do you heed?” I ask as we make an upward climb.

“We have Drasiiva and Yrdon. They are the embodiments of creation and destruction.”

“Can you tell me more about them?”

“Another time. Focus on flying first.”

He follows Smachd into a near spiral turn before diving below.

Rushing air fills my ears as we descend towards the glacier. Tàirn unfurls his mighty wings just as I think we’re going to crash and skims the edge of the snow-capped mountaintops. His tail smacks into the peak and sends boulders tumbling down the steep slope when he pulls up at the last second.

I’m yanked back as we ascend and make a sharp left. My stomach churns.

“Don’t you dare vomit on me,” Tàirn warns.

I lean over the side of his neck and hang my head as I’m forced to empty my stomach. I hear him make an annoyed rumbling sound deep in his chest.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

He seems to make everything harder after that. The simplest maneuvers are made more difficult than what Kaori does. I have no idea if it’s because I’m a Sorrengail or if Tàirn just wants to show off to the other dragons after having gone unbonded for more than six years. He insists that it’s for my own good, however, stating that if I don’t adapt soon, I’ll die in the field.

Later that evening, I make my way to the sparring gym. My thighs ache with each step I take but I can’t afford to rest right now. I doubt Imogen will appreciate me being late. I’m through the rotunda when I hear Dain calling my name.

“Rhiannon told me you were headed this way,” he says once he catches up to me, concern knitting his brows.

“I’m just gonna work out,” I explain as we turn the corner where the gym lies ahead of us, its large arched doors open.

“Was the flight not enough for you?”

“I just need to strengthen my muscles so I don’t dislocate them as much.”

Dain stops and I turn to face him. He looks like he wants to say something.

“What?”

He shakes his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Nothing, forget it. How about I train with you? I’m always happy to help.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ve already got someone waiting for me.”

“But Rhiannon’s studying with Aurelie, isn’t she?”

“No, it’s… another squadmate.”

Dain stares at me for a moment before asking, “Who’s—”

“Let’s go, Sorrengail,” Imogen cuts in. She’s leaning against the door frame with folded arms. “I don’t have all night.”

Dain steps back in alarm, his shocked gaze flickering between her and I.

“ She’s training you?”

“She offered to help,” I shrug.

“But she’s a Marked One .”

“Yeah, and? It’s not like I’ll rip her legs off when you’re not looking,” the faerie says. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

“You dislocated her arm in front of everyone ,” Dain challenges, stepping closer to get in her face. “If anything, I should be more worried you won’t snap her neck.”

Imogen’s eyes darken.

Shit.

“Okay, stop.” I squeeze my way in between the two before they can lash out. The last thing we need is a brawl in front of the gym. “We’re not doing this today. If you want to fight, do it on the mat.”

“If our squad leader is done with you, I’d like to hurry things up.” Imogen steps back, letting her arms fall to her side.

“We’ll only be gone for an hour,” I promise. “She’s not that stupid to want to kill me, Dain. We’re squadmates, after all.”

His gaze is doubtful but he sighs reluctantly and gives us some space.

“Fine. Just come back in one piece.”

I offer him a quick smile before walking away with Imogen to a corner in the left of the gym where the glass window meets the stone wall.

She pushes open a door I hadn’t noticed before and steps into a flame lit room filled with a variety of wooden machinery with racks, ropes, and pulleys, benches with levers, and bars attached to the wall.

In one corner, Garrick is helping another Marked One do push-ups on the floor. He looks up when I catch his attention and offers me a curt nod before going back to calling off reps for the sweating first-year.

“Here,” Imogen starts, standing in front of a weight lifting bench.

“Shouldn’t I start with a dumbbell or something?” I ask.

“You want to get stronger, don’t you?” She takes off two weights from the barbell and pats the leather padded seat.

I sigh before tossing my pack down and laying on the bench. I brace myself for when she inevitably drops the bar into my hands like a stick. It’s a little heavier than I thought it’d be but I manage to keep it from crushing my chest.

“Now get to work and give me forty reps.”

The Archives smells like parchment, book binding glue, and ink. Rows of twenty-foot-high shelves tower over me as I hunch down in my seat, staring intensely at the text in the massive book in front of me with the hopes that it’ll change into something less dull.

Father sits across from me, his hands folded under his chin and a placid look on his face. The edges of his chestnut curls glow in the light of the torches.

“Always be sure to check your sources,” he says, reaching over to flip the pages to the bibliography. His voice echoes around the otherwise empty library. “First-hand accounts are more accurate than second-hand ones, but you need to look deeper. See who is telling the story, what they want to achieve with it, and why.”

I sigh loudly, placing my tiny elbows on the wooden table.

“My head hurts,” I whine. “Why can’t I be a dragon rider like Brennan and Mama?”

“Because that’s not your destiny.” Father reaches across the table to squeeze my little hand as he continues, “I know this is difficult, but you’re going to be a great scribe. Professor Markham’s already thinking about taking you in as his apprentice once you’re old enough.”

“Being a scribe isn’t going to help protect the homeland from gryphon riders.”

He gets up with a soft grunt and pushes his slipping glasses further up his nose.

“Riders are the weapons to our kingdom, yes, but it’s the scribes who hold all the power.” He reaches for a few books on one of the top shelves and sets it on the table. “Whoever controls history, controls the world.”

“No one can do that,” I respond, shaking my head. “Scribes are supposed to record history with an unbiased eye.”

“And how do we know if a text is biased or not?”

“If it’s more opinionated than factual or uses extreme language,” I recite from one of our past lectures.

“Mh-hm. What if the text in question does provide facts?”

“Then we…” I pause, wracking my brain to remember the correct answer. “We…”

“Check to see if the facts aren’t skewed towards a favored outcome,” Father finishes, taking down a thick black book and setting it on the edge of the table.

“Right.” Ignoring the sting of embarrassment from forgetting such a simple fact, I slide the massive book over to me.

The golden letters on the spine glitter in the lamplight as he sets it down in front of me. Its cover features a drawing of an outline of a snake-like maned dragon with whiskers curled inside two rings of gold. “Fables of the Barrens: an Anthology” is written in cursive at the top, but there’s no author listed anywhere. Some of the pages are completely blank while others only a passage or two written upside down. Just looking at it makes my skin crawl.

“I don’t think you should have this,” I murmur. “It looks… foreign.”

As if sensing my unease, Father tucks the book into his satchel and gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze as he heads for the door. “It’s getting late. Come on, let's not keep your mother waiting.”

I can smell the scent of chicken cooking in the kitchen and hop out of my chair to race up the stairs. If I don’t hurry, Mira’s gonna take my spot at the head of the table.

“One more thing, dear,” Father’s voice echoes as I reach the middle of the stairwell.

“Yeah, Dad?” I ask, tossing a glance over my shoulder.

“You should wake up now, before you forget how to.”

My eyes fly open and the sight of moonlight glints off the blade of a dagger slicing through the air.

“Shit! She’s awake!” someone shrieks.

I roll to the opposite side of the bed, but not fast enough. The dagger pierces through the blanket and into my side as I move to dodge the attack.

Instant searing pain courses through my body as I cry out. It sends a ripple through the bond, alerting both Tàirn and Andarna.

“Silver One!” I hear him shout in alarm.

My knees hit the carpeted floor as I clutch the wound with my hand.

A dark tether from a corner of my mind I hadn’t known was there instantly responds with a forceful wave of pain, alarm, and anger in such rapid succession, I almost get whiplash.

I meet the wide, shocked eyes of an unbonded first-year as I stagger to my feet.

Shit.

There’s more than just one.

Four are men while the other three are women. No, wait. Make that two as a familiar redhead bolts for the door, shutting it behind her on the way out.

The rest are all armed and Oren Seifert stands front and center with nothing but murderous intent in his eyes.

My eyes widen as I glance between them and my nightstand.

I don’t know what’s more shocking: the fact that the unbonded would ever try to attack a rider, or the fact that none of the people here are Marked Ones.

“Kill her!” Oren snaps at a woman who lunges forward, scrabbling across the bed to get to me.

I yank the oil lamp off the nightstand and slam it as hard as I can into her face before the second woman throws a javelin at my head.

I duck just in time for it to impale itself into the wall before sliding along the pane of the window.

“Tàirn!” I mentally scream, casting the briefest glance outside. “Help me!”

“I won’t be able to make it on time,” he snarls in frustration. “You’ll have to fend them off until Sgaeyl arrives.”

All my weapons are by the door and I’m severely outnumbered.

“Stay away from the walls!

Someone from the left strikes forward, forcing me to grab his outstretched arm with my bloody hand.

I wrestle the knife from him and stab his shoulder.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I wrench the weapon out and use all my strength to block Oren’s sword with it. I shove my knee into his crotch and fumble for his sword but the hilt slips between my fingers.

Blood trickles down my side as I’m forced to fend off another invader by ducking under the swing of a battle ax to slash at his thighs and ankles.

“Don’t just stand there! Go for her fucking throat!” Oren snarls.

I try to get away from the bed but Tynan grabs his sword and swings it at my face.

I dodge and perform a low sweep Rhiannon had taught me.

He goes down with a heavy thud.

But there’s too many of them for me to take on. They surge forward like a tide, weapons raised.

I stumble back and trip on my own feet. Pain shoots through my body as I land on my injured side.

Oren grins viciously as he lifts his blade towards my throat. “Your dragon is mine!”

My bedroom door slams open just as an inhuman shriek pierces my ears.

“Stop!” Andarna screams in such a raw tone, her voice turns hoarse.

All of the weapons aimed at me freeze in place.

Oren and his assassins aren’t breathing.

I’m the only one who can still move.