Page 128 of Flameborne: Chosen

He didn’t smile or wink, or anything. But when I thanked him, he nodded once, then turned back to face Ronen. But I was uneasy. For him to have offered the cure, he must have known I’d been drinking the night before.

Oh no.They knew.

I wanted to weep. Then I wanted to sink into the floor. My hair was down because I hadn’t taken the time to braid it, so I let it fall to hide my face and tried to keep my eyes down on my desk.

“…don’t have a lot of time, so let’s get this covered quickly. Bren, you need to understand the differences between Wings and Squads as you make it through the trials, because a Furyknight’s family is his squad, but his purpose is determined by his—or her—Wing. I’m going to cover this quickly this morning. I want you to keep studying though. Talk to your brothers. Visit the library. Get it all straight in your head. The closer you get to being raised Furyknight, the more important it will become…”

Twenty minutes later, my stomach was sickandmy head spun as my brother’s tried to help me understand.

“Each Wing has a role to play, and no matter what squad you’re in, your role in battle, or on a mission will be determined by which Wing you’re in. Whether you’re with your squad, or sent out as part of a special team…”

Flyer, Flame,andFang.Because of Ruin, I already knew the names of the Wings, and that each had a Captain who oversaw every Furyknight within that Wing. Gunnar was Captain for the Flyers, Mont for Flame, and Olve oversaw the Fang.

Each Wing also had a slightly different pin. The pins with etched bronze on the Commander and Ronen during my acknowledgement were the exception. All the normal Furyknights had pins that identified their Wing.

A Flyer’s bronze-set pin of a sleek dragon head with wings rising above, and flames between the wings, was all black enamel with only the wings in red.

A Flame’s pin had the fire in red but the dragon all black. And the Fang riders dragon’s head and snout were red, while the rest was black.

I understood that a Wing was selected for a Furyknight and their dragon when the Furyknight was finally raised—part of the Trials assessments were for the leaders to identify where a Flameborne’s skill, and their dragon’s talent leaned to assign the Wing.

But that was where my head began to spin. There were Furyknights and dragons of every color in every Wing. The Wings all had specific purposes, yet their duties converged.

“…every Furyknight is a fighter, but we battle in different ways,” Ronen explained patiently, my brothers nodding along, or nudging each other. “The Flyers are, well, flyers. Their skills focus on the skies, and they’ll bring weapons and strategies against enemy dragon pairs, to attack ground forces from above. In our squad, Jhoare and Harle are flyers. If you have questions, ask those two.”

Harle pumped his fist, and Jhoare nodded at me.

“The Flame are fighters, through and through—both ground and flight. Our dragons have the longest reach and hottest flame, and while they may use other weapons, their focus in training and battle is on combat—reducing our enemy’s numbers by any means necessary. My self and Oros are Flame. You can reach out to us to better understand how and why we fight differently from the others.”

Oros, my massive brother, built like my father’s favorite bull back at the farm raised his hand while Ronen gestured at his own chest.

“…Then the Fang are our stealth wing—still fighters, though many Fang focus on tracking or scouting. The Fang sends pairs ahead of battle to find our enemies and set up ambushes. They’re used as the flanking ranks when we’re on the offensive. Fang pairs hide in plain sight, but when they’re revealed, they fight dirty. Gil, Einar, and Voski are all Fang, so you can talk to them—but watch out, they’re sneaky fuckers.”

Gil grinned. Einar snorted. But Voski turned his head enough to catch my eye, a menacing expression on his face.

“Okay, thanks,” I said when Ronen kept staring at me like he was waiting for a response. “I guess I’ll talk to you later?”

My Wing Captain gave a half-smile. “Bren, part of becoming a Furyknight is learning how and when to use your initiative—andalwaysbeing prepared to serve your squad, your Wing, and your Kingdom. Don’t wait for someone to offer—you ask for what you need, be thoughtful and responsive to help, and just as ready to offer yourself to others as they are to you.”

I nodded quickly, my cheeks heating because I knew he meant my brothers and learning about the Furyknights, but the moment he saidoffer yourself,my mind flashed on Donavyn and that kiss and—

Ronen nodded, then clapped his hands once to get everyone’s eyes back on him. “Brothers, be ready to aid your sister when she comes with questions. But now it’s time to move on. Since you’re here, let’s cover announcements. The first is, our sister is now cleared to fly!”

A great whoop went up in the room. As they cheered and clapped, my head ached, but I couldn’t help feeling warm. I hoped my smile told them I was genuinely grateful.

They cheered their congratulations and my belly flipped at their applause, but it was short-lived. Soon, Ronen was droning about shifts and patrols for the coming week, and other details that didn’t relate to me.Yet,I reminded myself.They don’t relate to meyet.Soon, I’ll be able to fly with them. If the Commander doesn’t kick me out for misconduct.

“…That’s all I have for next week’s schedules. Talk to Gil if you’ve got any conflicts, but—” Ronen broke off with a glance towards the open door, then bolted to attention. “Furyknights,Attention!”

Chairs and stools screeched on the stone floor as my brothers shot to their feet. I blinked and leaped off my stool a beat behind them when Donavyn strode into the room.

Time slowed, and for a long, slow breath, my head emptied of every thought excepthe’s here.He entered the room like he owned it, his dark hair tied back, handsome face stern, shoulders broad and flat, hands casually at his sides…

Strong hands that had grasped me, held me, helped me.

Piercing hazel eyes that watched, shadowed with concern if I was hurt.

Lips that curled into a smile when I did something right—and tripped over his tongue to spit his regret when I’d kissed him—