Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
My stomach jumps into my throat as the death roll sounds from the courtyard. “I will not die today,” I whisper to myself.
“I really fucking hope you’re right about this,” Garrick says to Xaden as we face the open door. “It would be unfortunate to make it all three years and then die on graduation day.”
“I’m right.” Xaden walks out and we all follow, stepping into the sunlight.
“Garrick Tavis. Xaden Riorson.” Captain Fitzgibbons’s voice carries over the formation as he reads from the death roll.
“Well, this is awkward,” Xaden calls out.
And every head in the courtyard turns our direction.
As dragons ferociously guard both their young and any information regarding their development, only four facts are known about the Dreamless Sleep. First, it is a critical time of rapid growth and development. Second, the duration varies from breed to breed. Third, as the name suggests, it is dreamless, and fourth, they wake up hungry.
—COLONEL KAORI’S FIELD GUIDE TO DRAGONKIND
CHAPTER FOUR
My heart beats fast enough to keep time with a hummingbird’s wings as we walk across the courtyard toward the dais, Xaden two steps ahead of the rest of us. He moves without fear, his shoulders straight and head high, anger manifesting in every purposeful stride, every tight line of his body.
I lift my chin and focus on the platform ahead as gravel crunches beneath my boots, the sound muffling more than one gasp from the cadets on my left. I might not have Xaden’s confidence, but I can fake it.
“You’re…not dead.” Captain Fitzgibbons, the scribe assigned to the Riders Quadrant, stares with wide eyes beneath his silver brows, his weathered face turning the same pale cream of his uniform as he fumbles with the death roll, dropping it.
“Apparently not,” Xaden replies.
It’s almost comical how Commandant Panchek’s mouth hangs open as he turns toward us from his seat on the dais, and within seconds, my mother and Colonel Aetos stand, blocking his view.
Jesinia steps forward, her brown eyes wide under her cream hood as she fetches the death roll for Captain Fitzgibbons. “I’m happy you’re alive,” she signs quickly before grabbing the roll.
“Me, too,” I sign back, a sick feeling taking hold. Does she know what her quadrant is really teaching her? Neither of us had a clue during the months and years we studied together.
Colonel Aetos’s cheeks grow increasingly red with every step we take, his gaze skimming our party of eight, no doubt taking note of who’s here and who isn’t.
My mother locks eyes with me for one heartbeat, a side of her mouth tilting upward in an expression I’m almost scared to call…pride, before she quickly masks it, resuming the professional distance she’s maintained impeccably for the last year. One heartbeat. That’s all it takes for me to know that I’m right. There’s no anger in her eyes—no fear or shock, either. Just relief.
She wasn’t in on Aetos’s plan. I know it with every fiber of my being.
“I don’t understand,” Fitzgibbons says to the two scribes behind him, then addresses Panchek. “They aren’t dead. Why would they have been reported for the death roll?”
“Why were they reported for the death roll?” my mother asks Colonel Aetos, her eyes narrowing.
A cold breeze blows past, and though it’s a momentary relief from the stifling heat, I know what it really means—the general is pissed. I glance skyward, but there’s only blue as far as I can see. At least she hasn’t summoned a storm. Yet.
“They’ve been missing for six days!” Aetos seethes, his voice rising with each angry word. “Naturally we reported them dead, but obviously we should have reported them for desertion and dereliction of duty instead.”
“You want to report us for desertion?” Xaden walks up the stairs of the dais, and Aetos backs up a step, fear flashing across his eyes. “You sent us into combat, and you’re going to report us for desertion?” Xaden doesn’t need to shout for his voice to carry across the formation.
“What is he talking about?” my mother asks, looking between Xaden and Aetos.
Here we go.
“I have no idea,” Aetos grinds out.
“I was directed to take a squad beyond the wards to Athebyne and form the headquarters for Fourth Wing’s War Games, and I did so. We stopped to rest our riot at the nearest lake past the wards, and we were attacked by gryphons.” The lie rolls off his tongue as smoothly as the truth, which is both impressive…and infuriating, because he doesn’t have a single fucking tell.
My mother blinks, and Aetos’s thick brows furrow.
“It was a surprise attack, and they caught Deigh and Fuil unaware.” Xaden pivots slightly, as though he’s telling the wings and not leadership. “They were dead before they ever had a chance.”
An ache unfurls in my chest, stealing my breath. The cadets around us murmur, but I stay focused on Xaden.