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)
“Flew off on a Brown Clubtail,” he answers, cleaning his glasses for the third time since Sgaeyl steamed us.
“Good.” A smile creeps across my face. With one dragon calling to me, another bonding Soleil, and Sgaeyl considering Xaden, that means we were right. There are dragons here who are on our side and this isn’t a death sentence of a day. There’s hope, and not just for the ten of us but for the ninety-seven yet to come.
There’s hope for her next year, and that’s what matters.
I’ve loved her from the first time she punched me in the face at nine years old for suggesting she saddle a reliable horse over the barely broken one she’d selected, and I could never live with myself if I thought she was coming here only to die.
I find myself glancing south, toward home—the opposite direction of the dragon tugging at me. The yearning hits so deep, so hard, that I splay a hand over my chest to try to muffle the ever-present ache. It took weeks to travel here on horseback, and I would give anything to cross those hundreds of miles and mountains if just to see her face for a heartbeat. She needs to know we have a fighting shot here, that all our training isn’t for naught. She’s lost more than most of us, and she deserves to taste hope.
Wingbeats fill the air, and my head snaps upward as the Blue Daggertail flies overhead, banked at an angle that reveals Xaden secure in her seat.
Relief nearly takes me out at my knees, so profound that I can’t bring myself to speak or even smile. All I can do is nod as my oldest friend flies off. Xaden’s bonded Sgaeyl. If he can hold her to the flight field, Tyrrendor still has her hope, and Aretia—while wounded—still has her heir. At least until some Navarrian noble decides to claim the ruined land out of spite. We’re one step closer to not only surviving the test that was meant to kill us but coming out of the crucible more powerful than even General Sorrengail could have imagined when she struck that deal with Xaden.
“Yes!” Masen shouts, throwing his fist into the air.
Thank you, Dunne. The goddess of war surely favors Xaden in a way she never blessed his father.
The sound of pounding footsteps draws our attention eastward.
A first-year from Second Wing races in our direction from about fifty yards away, her blond braid swinging as she screams, “Help!”
“Run.” My stomach lunges for the ground, and I brace for movement, but Masen reaches for my forearm and grips. Hard.
“No,” he whispers as an Orange Clubtail comes skidding around a tree, its claws leaving deep trenches in the forest floor as it turns to face us. “We stay.”
Shit. He’s right. We should help. Not sure how, but…we’ll make it happen.
“Not me!” the cadet shouts over her shoulder, her arms pumping as she sprints in our direction. I vaguely recognize her as one of the squadmates who like to taunt Bryn. “Kill them! They’re the separatist dogs!”
Any instinct to help evaporates instantly.
“That’s not the insult you think it is,” Masen calls out. “Dogs are quite loyal.”
What in Amari’s name? My entire body is poised to run as I glance Masen’s way, my eyebrows shooting upward. “We have to run.” I prepare to shove him if I have to. Hell, I’ll pick him up and throw him over my shoulder. Oranges are unpredictable as fuck, and I’m not about to let us become its next target.
“No,” he insists, planting his feet.
What is it with stubborn Tyrrish friends today?
The Orange Clubtail takes three bounding steps, then opens its massive jaws and curls its tongue. I suck in a sharp breath and hold it as fire spews from its mouth, incinerating the cadet. The heat from the blast washes over us, singeing my skin and blowing our capes back.
I take in the sulfur-scented air only once the orange closes its mouth.
“Want to run now?” I ask Masen.
He shakes his head, lets go of my arm, and starts to walk toward the orange as the steam fades from his glasses. “She’s mine.”
Oh. Now, that’s something I understand.
“I’ll see you on the flight field!” he calls back over his shoulder with a wide grin.
“You’re testing my patience.” The tugging sensation returns twice as strong as before, pulling me westward again.
I lower my eyes when the Orange Clubtail glares in my direction, then obey the instinct pulling me to the right. For the second time today, I leave a friend to stare down possible death.
But possible is immeasurably better than certain.
I’m coming. At least, I think I am. I was sure I’d locate the source of the voice in the clearing, but all I found were two angry blues, and one glance told me neither of them was him. I send up another prayer to Dunne, this time on Masen’s behalf, and continue west toward a grouping of enormous boulders.