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)
“No shit,” I respond. “Oh, and if you haven’t noticed, she already hates me.”
“I cannot be in the same squad as her!” Sloane glares at me with pure hate-fire in her eyes, but hey, her hair is still braided, so I’m calling that a win. She might loathe me, but maybe she’ll listen at least enough to stay alive.
“Stop disrespecting your squad leader and get in formation, Sloane,” Imogen hisses. “You’re acting like a spoiled aristocrat.”
“Imogen?” Sloane startles.
“Get. In. Formation,” Rhiannon orders. “I’m not asking, cadet.”
Sloane pales and steps into line in front of Nadine, taking our last first-year slot.
Rhiannon slides past Nadine and leans in close. “Pretty sure that girl wants you dead,” she whispers. “Any particular reason I should know about? Should I see if we can trade her to another squad?”
Yeah. I got her brother killed. He was sworn to protect me, and he lost his dragon—and his life—keeping that promise. But I can’t say that any more than I can tell her there are venin beyond our borders.
My stomach twists at the idea of having to lie to her.
Selective truths.
“She blames me for Liam’s death,” I say quietly. “Let her stay. At least if she’s in the squad, Codex says she can’t kill me.”
“You sure?” Her brow furrows.
“I promised Liam I’d take care of her. She stays.” I nod.
“Between Aaric and Sloane, you’re collecting strays,” Rhiannon warns quietly.
“We were strays once, too,” I answer.
“Good point. Now look at us. Alive and everything.” A slight smile curves her lips before she returns to her place in formation.
The noon sun beats down on the courtyard, and it hits me how far back we are from the dais, where the wingleaders wait with Commandant Panchek. Tufts of his hair catch in the morning breeze as he takes in the formation with wide, assessing brown eyes. This is the height of enrollment this year. We’ll start dying pretty much immediately.
But not me. I’ve danced with Malek more than my fair share over this last year and told him to fuck right off every single time. Maybe Sloane is right and he doesn’t want me.
“You’re agitated.” There’s worry in Tairn’s tone.
“I’m fine.” That’s what we’re all supposed to be, right? Fine. Doesn’t matter who dies next to us or who we kill during training—or war. We’re fine.
The ceremony finally starts with Panchek’s ominous-yet-pompous welcome to the first-years and our new vice commandant, and then Aura delivers a surprisingly inspirational talk about the honor of defending our people before Dain takes the lead, clearly trying to step into Xaden’s boots.
But he’s no Xaden.
The sound of wingbeats and the gasps of first-years fill the air, and I breathe deeply as six dragons—five belonging to the wingleaders and a one-eyed Orange Daggertail I don’t recognize—land on the courtyard walls behind the dais.
That orange looks temperamental, his gaze darting over the formation as his tail twitches, but none of them are as menacing as Sgaeyl or as terrifying as Tairn. I glance down and pick a piece of stray lint off my dark uniform.
First-year shrieks echo off the stone walls as the dragons’ claws flex, digging into the stonework. A heavy rock falls, missing the dais by a mere matter of feet, and yet not a single rider up there flinches. Now I understand how Dain was so blasé about all of this last year.
There’s not a single dragon up there who would risk Tairn’s wrath by torching me. Are they beautiful to behold? Absolutely. Daunting? Sure. There’s even a slight elevation in my pulse. And yeah, Aura’s Red Clubtail is eyeing the cadets like lunch, but I know it’s mostly to see if she can weed out the weak—
The redhead directly ahead of me vomits, puke splattering the gravel, then Aaric’s boots, as she bends at the waist and heaves, emptying the contents of her stomach.
Gross.
Sloane wobbles, and she shifts her stance like she’s about to bolt.
That’s a bad idea.
“Don’t move and you’ll be fine, Mairi,” I say. “They’ll torch you if you run.”
She stiffens but her hands curl into fists.
Good. Pissed is better than scared right now. Dragons respect anger. They exterminate cowards.
“Let’s hope the rest aren’t sympathetic pukers,” Ridoc mutters and wrinkles his nose.
“Yeah, that one isn’t going to make it if she does that at Presentation,” Imogen whispers.
These first-years would shit themselves if Tairn did so much as a fly-by. He’s almost twice as big as any of the dragons perched on the wall.
“Didn’t feel like loaning your sheer intimidation skills to this show?” I ask Tairn.
“I do not participate in parlor tricks,” he responds, his derision making me smile as Dain prattles on about something. He’s trying desperately for Xaden’s charisma and coming up woefully short.
“What do you know about Major Varrish’s orange? He looks…unstable.” And hungry.
“Solas is there?” His tone sharpens.