Page 13

Chapter

Eight

ARA

A dull, deep pounding jerks me awake, and for a moment, I don’t know where I am. Then everything comes back.

It’s dark, and the deep rhythmic breathing around me tells me I’m the only one awake.

I planned on showering as soon as everyone was asleep, but that obviously didn’t work. So I’ll remedy that now.

I wince when my bare feet hit the cold stone floor and hurry past the row of bunks to the big wardrobe, taking up one wall of our room.

I collect everything I need from my compartment, and rather than risking waking anyone by putting on boots, I stay barefooted while I hurry down the hallway to the washing rooms.

The hot water and the familiar scent of the soap I brought with me are so relaxing that I start daydreaming. Steps and a door closing snap me out of it.

Shit.

The person who came in is getting undressed behind one of the screens while I scurry over to the one where I left my clothes and hurriedly rub myself down with a towel.

My racing heart only starts slowing down once my breasts are wrapped and my clothes are back on.

I braid up my still-wet hair and grimace when a few drops run down my neck, but there is nothing I can do about it.

I’m on my way back down the hallway, my feet still bare since I didn’t bring my boots and socks, when I pass Centurion Kyronos, and of course, he notices. Great.

Our room is dark and quiet when I return. I put everything away and sit down to put on my socks and boots when the door to our room flies open.

A person charges over to the window, throwing it open. A bloodcurdling screech makes me and everyone else jump.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Joel Cassius, your squadron leader,” the shadowy figure exclaims, and my stomach dips. I was wrong yesterday. This is so much worse.

“Welcome to your life as a runner. Get up and dressed. We’ll meet outside in the courtyard for a quick run when the drum strikes six.”

The door slams shut behind him, and I can only stare.

Shoot me now. Didn’t Ben say Joel went to the Aerie in Avina? What is he doing here?

It’s still dark while we gather in the atrium. Apparently, every runner got the same wake-up call we did because the crowd seems to be the same size as last night. A dull, deep pounding starts, and I count six strikes. This explains what woke me and how the academy keeps time.

Joel—now Squadron Leader Cassius to me, I remind myself—calls out our names to check attendance while the same procedure goes on everywhere around us. We leave the courtyard through the big gate in an easy jog, and I do my best to stay in the middle of the crowd and away from Joel.

“Why the fuck do we need to run when we will fly soon?” a runner grumbles in front of me.

“To get away if necessary,” a rider answers dryly.

“Can’t our bird simply pick us up?” the runner whines.

“Have you ever paid attention to the streets in the center of Telos?” the rider asks.

“They are too narrow for a bird to land or get you,” another runner answers, realization in his voice.

“Exactly, and that is why you need to be able to run. There will be areas your bird can’t get to.”

The grumbling stops after that, at least for now. We run along the fence bordering the academy grounds and soon pass a big tower with multiple arches on different levels. It’s made from the same stone as the academy.

“What building is that?” I ask the rider closest to us.

“The coop,” he replies. “There is one at every corner of the property. This one houses all the Strixes raised here.”

“But I thought the birds always grow up wild?” Mariel, the red-haired girl I met during Assessment, asks.

“The bonded ones do,” the rider agrees. “But if we confiscate eggs from poachers, they have to be raised by hand, and since they never bond or leave, they stay at the academy. You will have your flight lessons with them.”

“Why don’t they bond?” Mariel asks the question I had in mind. The rider shrugs.

“That’s a question for Professor Myrsky. You’ll have Magical Creatures with him.”

I watch in awe as two of the white birds take flight the moment we jog past the tower. They launch from one of the arches, in short succession of another, and, swooping down, pass over us so closely that the wind of their wings whips around us. All runners cower instinctively, and the riders laugh.

“You’ll get used to it,” the same rider from before assures us, but I doubt it. How could you get used to something as magnificent as that?

By the time we get back to the main building, all runners are huffing and puffing, while the riders only show a sheen of sweat and seem fine otherwise.

We still have a long way to go.

At breakfast, we find the same crisp bread, olives, olive oil, and white cheese that we had with dinner the night before, but also a variety of fruit, cold meat, and fresh vegetables.

The food here seems as good as what I had at Sloan’s, which is a welcome surprise.

Right afterward, we are back in the courtyard.

The Aerie in full formation is a sight to behold.

The dark gray of our uniforms, the way we stand in straight lines and blocks.

We can almost be mistaken for marble statues in the dim lighting, except for the occasional movement and whisper, which is much more pronounced in areas occupied by us first years.

The sky still barely shows signs of the coming sunrise, or maybe the sun just hides behind the hulking mountains to the east. Our breaths forming clouds, the dark morning and the snow-capped mountains remind me that it is winter, even if the days here are much warmer than I’m used to from home.

I know I will be thankful as soon as the sun is out, but at the moment, I wish our uniform was thicker, like the one designed for flying worn by the riders in front of us.

There would be no way to hide my curves in that one, though.

Their uniform consists of body armor fitted to minimize air resistance, worn over a tunic and leather pants. Those that seem to head out right afterward also wear bracers and greaves to protect their lower arms and legs, helmets, and next to two swords, their bow and quiver, a shield, and a spear.

Next to them, we runners look like civilians. Only the dark gray of our uniform matches.

While we listen to centurions address matters for the day for each division, the sky brightens slowly from gray to yellow-orange.

By the time the sky is a vibrant blue, only the first years and our squadron leaders are left.

After the surprise this morning, I chose the space behind Calix's hulking figure for formation. While I’m not short for a woman, I’m still one of the smallest in my flight, enabling me to hide in the back.

Joel is laughing about something one of the other squadron leaders said, and my stomach flips.

Joel Cassius is the son of the weapon master at Fortress Blackstone, Ben's best friend, and two years older than us.

Needless to say, we spent a lot of time around each other growing up.

He had been a good-looking boy with brown hair and warm eyes and was always nice to me.

I had a major crush on him as a teenage girl.

His grin is the only thing boyish on him now. Joining the skyriders only made his shoulders broader and his movement more confident.

Shit.

I’m not surprised to see him climbing the ranks already—he soaked up as much of my father’s lessons as my brothers and I did—but why here?

He hasn’t seen me for three years, and I look nothing like my usual self. That has to count for something, right? Instead, you look like a younger version of his best friend, my inner voice taunts me.

With four brothers as study objects, my gestures and gait are spot-on, so normally I would say playing a boy for three months is easy, but now?

I peek around Calix. Joel separates from the others, and I hold my breath, still hoping this morning was somehow a mistake. I will him to go somewhere else, but he is heading in our direction. I bite my cheek to hold in a string of curses.

How am I supposed to accomplish my plan if the fates laugh at me by sticking me in his damn squadron?

Is there a chance of changing?

We head over to the temple of Otero, the god of power and war, and I do my best to hide between the others by staying in the middle of the crowd.

A huge likeness of the god dominates the temple, his head nearly grazing the ceiling.

Otero is depicted as a powerful man in his prime, in body armor and with a spear and sword, the helmet under his arm, and his shield leaning against his leg.

His eyes are crafted out of blue stones glowing with magic and fixed on a golden bowl in front of him.

I wonder if they have to charge the stones regularly.

The riders leave us in the care of the temple priests, their attire as warlike as their gods.

One after another, we prick our fingers and let the blood drip into the golden bowl. It instantly goes up in smoke while we pledge our allegiance to the skyriders and the crown, repeating the words the priest speaks over and over.

I somehow expect to feel different now, but I don’t. My left shoulder burned for a second, and my body tingled like something brushed against me. The snake in my core shifted, but that was it.

Classes start right afterward, and our schedule is tough. We start with sparring. My body still hurts from Assessment, but since I’m the only one who refused healing, I can’t complain.

My aching muscles slow me down, earning me a nasty hit to the hip, and my ribs and arms sport new bruises. If that streak continues, I’m sure my skin will be all blue and purple at one point.

I sigh in relief when the sparring is over, not only because my body gets a break but also because Joel hasn’t shown up again since the temple. I know this charade won’t last, but I can still hope, right?

Next, we have the lore of the sky, which seems to be a fancy name for skyrider history. Professor Etario fits the name of the class since he uses extra words wherever possible. A habit that drives me crazy within minutes.

Etario is a small man with thinning, cropped dark hair and a bouncy step who uses a lot of hand gestures.

He currently bounces from one side of the room to the other, telling us about the founding of the skyriders about three hundred years ago.

“While there have always been riders not unlike today, the skyriders as a military unit formed relatively late in the history of our realm. Can one of you tell me when that was and what caused it?”

“To finally eliminate the threats born from the mists, as well as the damn cursed ones, and these abortions of half beasts,” says Gorgon, the brutish guy I faced during Assessment.

“That would be wrong,” Etario answers. “Please raise your hand next time—Foley, was it? You wouldn’t happen to be related to our deputy commander, would you?”

“He’s my father,” Gorgon replies proudly.

“I see,” Etario answers in a way that has me overthinking my earlier opinion of him.

Maybe I can overlook his wordy habit after all.

“Anyone else?” Etario asks. And I know I shouldn’t, but my hand is already up.

“Professor, I was just wondering, was there ever a cursed one, shifter, or fae bonded to a bird?” I ask, unable to pass up this opportunity.

“As if we ever would have trusted one of them to protect our back,” Gorgon scoffs, causing agreeing murmurs throughout the room.

“Runner Foley, you have hands. Use them.” Etario admonishes before turning to me. “There are no occurrences of that in the records, but they probably wouldn’t have made it widely known since their social standing was already strained at the time the skyriders formed.”

“So there was a time when that was different then?”

“I like your enthusiasm to learn more about our history, but may I ask what triggered your questions?”

“The healer, during questioning, mentioned something. It just made me curious,” I answer as casually as possible.

“Our records don’t mention any singling out or persecution of one or more magically gifted groups during the rule of the gods or the rule of the demi-gods, but they don’t mention the mists either, so it is hard to say if it didn’t happen or simply wasn’t mentioned.”

What a complicated way to say I’m not sure.

But if it is true…what changed?

I’m still marveling at that question while walking down the corridor next to Calix when I hear a familiar voice in front of us. I slip behind Calix, skirting around him so he is always between me and Joel. I release my breath once we pass, and Calix looks at me quizzically.

“I … uhm … just … never mind,” I mumble, having no idea how to explain that .

Calix shakes his head and grins at me.

He will either start asking questions soon or decide I’m crazy.

I’m sure of it.

During two other near misses, I duck behind Mariel, pretending to tie my shoe and slip into an empty classroom when Joel comes down the hallway.

The fact that I managed to avoid him so far should calm me down, but it doesn’t. It’s like I’ve already heard the thunder and am waiting for the lightning to strike. I know it’ll happen. I just don’t know when and how.

Two days later, I run out of luck.

It happens while I hurry down an empty hallway. A door opens, and someone steps out right in front of me.I look up.

Dammit.

“Ara?” Joel's eyes widen.