Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 54811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 274(@200wpm)___ 219(@250wpm)___ 183(@300wpm)
He snorts, but there’s a surge of approval down the thin whisper of a bond forming on the edge of my mind as he springs forward and launches through the hole in the canopy that he created when felling the tree.
We fly, and the pain in my leg fades under an onslaught of adrenaline as we soar into the wind. Every beat of Teine’s wings propels us faster, makes my smile wider. No wonder Mom pushed Brennan and me to be riders. Nothing on the ground could ever compare to this, the freedom, the speed, the exhilaration. This is worth every ounce of pain the quadrant puts us through.
My leg protests vehemently through a series of spirals, but I mold my body to Teine’s back and hold my seat like any good Sorrengail.
By the time we land, I’m lightheaded from the thrill, the thinner air, and probably a substantial amount of blood loss, and I’ve never been happier.
I breathe a hefty sigh of relief when I spot Cowan standing proudly in front of his Red Scorpiontail, a bandage wrapped around his upper arm. We’ll celebrate later, as soon as the whole world knows that Teine chose me.
Every step across the flight field is excruciating after I dismount, but I keep from the indignity of limping by sheer force of will. My gaze scours the riders who have gathered on the hillside and the dais in front of me as I walk toward the third-year keeping roll. Panchek is here, of course, and even the commanding general of all Navarre’s forces—General Melgren—has taken the time to make an appearance, along with the generals of the eastern and western wings. There’s no trace of my mother.
I swallow the bitter taste of disappointment and remind myself that there’s a war going on and she’s needed elsewhere. Honestly, I’d rather she be at the front with Brennan or at her station at the Torseney outpost, keeping Dad and Violet safe. But still, it would have been nice to see a shred of validation in her eyes.
“My validation is all you shall seek from now on,” Teine lectures.
I roll my eyes, but there’s a grin on my face as I give Teine’s full name to the roll-keeper, officially becoming his chosen.
Tyrrendor had better watch itself. Two Sorrengail siblings now bear the title of rider.
631 AU
Sgaeyl—Blue Daggertail
(Female) Descended from the Gormfaileas Line
Estimated Age: 64
Recorded Riders: 3
Of note: Do not approach under any circumstances.
—The Compendium of Dragonkind,
last updated by Colonel Valin Kaori
Xaden
First-years pour into the forest to the south of us as snow starts to fall, but I wait at the edge of the trees with the other marked ones as the crowd rushes by with an exuberance I’ll never understand.
Then again, those Navarrians probably don’t have to worry about a dragon seeing their deepest, darkest secrets, their thoughts, their memories that wake them up in a cold sweat. They’re all here because they volunteered. None of them has been thrown into the Riders Quadrant because their parents were the leaders of the apostasy—the Tyrrish term for our revolt. That honor belongs to the ten of us here with rebellion relics winding around our left arms—a mark the majority of the kingdom believes was gifted to us by General Melgren’s dragon upon the execution of our parents three years ago.
We’re the ones with something to hide, the ones whose parents led a just rebellion for the greater good, only to lose, the ones every other cadet in this hellscape of a college wants dead.
And as Fen Riorson’s son, I have the job of seeing that we all get out of here alive.
Marked ones. Separatists. Traitors. Those words have been hurled at us for years, but we’ve gotten used to the insults. Victors dehumanizing the defeated is a cliché we’ve learned to live with.
We’ve secretly helped one another where we can, in academics, Gauntlet preparation, and on the mat, but there’s not much I can do about the fire-breathing dragons waiting in that forest for us, and it’s killing me. If any of us die, it will be my fault for putting us here in the first place.
“When are you thinking we should go?” Garrick asks quietly from my right. His lip has yet to heal from the last time Alic Baran ambushed him while sleeping.
I hate that fucking bully almost as much as I hate his fool of a father.
Soleil glances my way from the left, looking for the same answer.
“Not yet.” I keep my tone low. “We’re not giving them our backs if we can help it.”
They both nod, then pass the message to the others on their respective sides.
“Ready to die, you fucking separatists?” Amber Mavis hisses in our direction, narrowing her blue eyes on us before jogging to catch up with a handful of her squadmates. She’s the last of the Navarrians to head into the valley.