Page 42

The days leading up to the Skyfall race all seemed to blend.

The trails were warded off in preparation for the race.

Malachi mentioned earlier how flying overhead was forbidden, and those who attempted to do so would be scorched.

And death would be kinder than the mangled mess your fried brain would be if one tried.

Dozens of visitors from across Verdonia flew in to witness the race.

Various quells rippled through the air as cloaked figures strutted through the courtyards.

We were told not to converse with them. A few Serpents showed, and I waited for frost to brim the windows as Father’s loud boots entered, but he never came.

Knox spent the last day trying to convince me to back out, telling me how dangerous the race was. Naraic nearly cindered his pants when he wouldn’t take no for an answer .

The Serpents left two nights before, likely to ensure their borders were secure with the influx of riders making their way to the academy. Archer knew today was important—knew I needed him, even if I couldn’t admit it. Even if he’d warned me this race would draw unwanted attention to Naraic.

No one wanted me to race. But as I stood on the fields with two dozen riders, listening to the headmaster explain the rules, the nervous jitters in my gut only grew stronger.

He wore a grey cloak sewn with gems down the side and black slacks.

His yellow eyes, matching the dimming sunlight, darted toward the guards stationed near the castle doors.

“The map goes through every realm. Silver ribbons are worth one point, and gold ribbons are worth two. If a rider falls, do not save them; that will only slow you down. If your feet touch the ground, you are disqualified. If your dragon dies, you are disqualified. You can kill and dismount other riders, and using quells is encouraged.” The headmaster stared at the clouds as he continued, “I must warn you that the wards are down, meaning creatures and beasts of all sorts will lurk through the skies.”

I glanced at the edge of the field, where a hundred or so students crowded with binoculars, their white-knuckled hands gripping tightly. Most of the bird riders stared at the dragons in the field’s core. Myla’s lingering smile caught my eye, keeping me focused.

I would not die.

A few Valscribe journalists jotted down notes, their pens flying across parchment as they documented the arena and our names. The fear of my name appearing in the Serpent Press frightened me. But it also… intrigued me. I assumed Cully hadn’t written an article worthy of earning his access here yet.

Oh, how I missed Cully.

The headmaster cleared his throat, raising a single hand high. “Does everyone understand? ”

We all nodded. Malachi, standing to my left, ran a hand down Astoria’s sleek grey scales that matched her leather jacket. The dragon snarled low, its neck rolling with a tremor. Malachi nudged me in the ribs and whispered, “The king has arrived.”

I glanced back, spotting Knox first, then the king a few rows ahead, surrounded by armored guards stationed at each corner of the castle.

They were fully encased in silver swords and steel.

The king’s long ashen hair, streaked with blonde highlights, glinted in the sunlight.

He leaned on a black snake-shaped cane, his golden-scaled suit shimmering with jewels and rings adorning every finger. He reminded me of a snake.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. “How many riders normally die every year?” I asked Malachi.

“Depends on how brutal the race is—usually three.”

“Those odds are terrible.”

“Did you think we flew through a few hoops and called it a day? This is called Skyfall for a reason,” she hissed back.

A chilled breath of shadows filled my lungs when Ciaran’s wings breached the academy wards.

The other five Serpents followed close behind.

I forced myself not to stare, not to care that this was the first full breath I’d taken in two days.

He knew I’d need him today, but his appearance wasn’t to reassure me—it was to impress the golden-scaled man whose eyes lingered on Malachi.

Was it selfish to put Ciaran through this?

Knowing my odds of death, knowing it coursed through my mother’s blood?

But I couldn’t back down. Not with a hundred eyes fixed on me and my trembling hands.

I gripped the chain around my neck, and Damien caught my gaze, giving me a tight nod.

I knew he was upset—knew we were already shattered.

Not into brilliant glass shards he could shape into art, but into pieces that never fit in the first place .

Light clipped the sun, and the king appeared beside the headmaster with a snap of his fingers—daylight.

The king wielded the quell of light.

“Welcome to the hundred-and-first Skyfall race,” he began in a rasped voice.

“As another year comes before us, I’d like to reflect on the greatness our Continent has strived for—for the students who became warriors and leaders, for the memories forged during their time here.

The Skyfall race is a deadly obstacle course, and we are reminded every year when a rider does not return.

” The king raised his cane, and the crowd held their breath.

“Remember, leaders are made, not born. The title is never deserved.”

A distant horn blew.

We all mounted. I ran my hand down Naraic’s scales. “ We got this.”

“Don’t fall,” he said through our bond.

All the dragons took off into the sky. Naraic pounded his talons along the dirt, rising high toward the hoops. I yelled toward Malachi, “Good luck.”

“See you at the finish line.” Her voice drowned within the sheet of rain pelting from the darkened clouds, drenching me—causing me to slip. I clung to Naraic’s ribs as the wind pounded into us.

“Most of the obstacles are in the forests. We’ll need to get low,” Naraic barked down the bond.

“It’s against the rules to know the maps before. Why would you risk that?” I hissed, latching my grip tightly.

“I’ve done this before. Never made it to the finish line.”

I went numb. “Naraic—what are you saying?” I cried as we dove through a hoop, wings tucked tight, and I reached, missing that first golden ribbon by a hair .

Two other riders chased through the same obstacle. Astoria ripped through a hoop further ahead as Malachi tied a golden ribbon around her arm.

I caught one last glance at Knox below; his face said it all. The wide, fear-licked eyes that watched every clench and swerve of Naraic in the sky—watched the wind pound into me as I leaned.

I thought Klaus died in glory. I thought the heavens cried out for him as his body smashed into that lake and the earth devoured him, accepting his noble sacrifice, but his death was for nothing.

He died on this exact day for a race. I gripped Naraic harder as his wings stretched out.

A flame struck from my palm, and I lit the last hoop on fire, along with those six remaining ribbons—a third year halted as his dragon hissed, nose-diving down.

We narrowly missed the last obstacle, circling back as Naraic swooped under, twisting through the willow trees. My ribs smashed into his spine as he flew through, and I tore that golden ribbon off the metal pole, waiting until I caught my breath to tie it around my wrist.

The rain slashed my face, cutting into me like severed glass. We dipped low, and Naraic’s barbed tail scored along the grass as he went through two more hoops.

The crowd cheered as I blew a flurry of blackened smoke toward them. A few students whispered amongst the others. The headmaster had a monocle on—eyes on me as he stood beside the king, bracing for the wave of heat. As I tore past them, I heard his words to the king, “…Fallon’s daughter.”

I was Fallon’s daughter. I knew that statement was a curse. I was the daughter of death, riding on her snow-white resurrected beast.

I met the king’s slivered gaze, which wavered between Naraic and me, devoid of any discernible thought. A hiss of breath whispered through the wind. “Nobody enjoys a show-off,” he said, voice clipped .

Naraic huffed as he dove toward the Day realm.

No lunge of the wards repelled us. No electrified field protected the trails as speckled light broke through the clouds, suffocating the rain with that bright beacon above.

Knox had never struck me as pure radiant with the worms he’d dug with his bare hands and the roadkill he’d made necklaces with from vermin bones. But this was his realm—his calling .

We glided above a large lake, lunging through two more hoops, stealing those golden ribbons each time.

Naraic groaned in pain, snarling his snapping jaw. “What is it?” I screamed.

Then I noticed a shard of metal pierced into his scale by his ribs. A flash of spiked tails slammed into my side. A third-year Night snickered as her silver-tipped fingers threw metal shards toward us. The same woman I’d seen Archer speaking to on the first day during the Rite.

The lead to become his heir.

“Care for a little fun, Sev?” she snickered.

Gasping, I reached toward the fragments lodged near a scale on his ribs. “I’ll tell Archer you attacked us. He’ll never trust you.”

She raised her silver-slicked hand again. “He can’t believe you if you’re dead.”

We dove down, skimming over the water before lurching into the sky. I wielded a leash of flame, hanging onto Naraic’s neck with one hand, snapping the cindering whip toward her with a hiss .

“And you can’t claim his heir if you’re a cindered corpse.”

She choked, eyes narrowing to slits before flicking her wrist, and a shard of metal clipped my ear. “You little, bitch .”

“Naraic!” I cried. “We need to fly.”

Pain , horrible pain, pierced me. A pool of warm crimson trickled down my cheek as she grew two more jagged daggers, sharper than the last, mirroring the trees with the sleekness of the metal. She thrusted, and one tore through across my shoulder, shoving me backward.