Page 24

24

Rhea

I sit at the edge of my bed, staring at my hands. They shake uncontrollably, all the stress from the day hitting me at once. It’s been a long day, and the pressure has gotten to me.

I nearly died. Again.

But Zephyros was there to save me. Again.

I never tried to kill you. If I had, you would be dead.

With a grunt of frustration, I admit he was telling the truth.

Zephyros wasn’t happy about the stunt but assured me I was never in real danger.

“Thank the Goddess!” I exclaimed when he caught me in one of his large wings, gently slowing down my deadly descent.

—No need to thank her . I am the one who is here, not Heratrix, he sneered.

“That bastard tried to kill me.”

—You were never in danger, human. Fragor knew I was nearby. Clearly the only reason the man dropped you. He would not have dared otherwise. He would not risk becoming my next meal.

But I was so angry at Vaylen that Zephyros’s words barely registered, and as soon as my dragon landed, and I slid down his front leg, I went in search of the fucking, obey-me-I’m-your-master High Prime.

I sigh, clenching my hands into fists to stave off the trembling. Glancing around the chamber, I finally notice its similarities with the Academy. Last night, I was too exhausted to pay attention. Same standard issue narrow bed, same foot locker, same thin wardrobe. The only difference is that the room is private, not a shared dormitory. I guess the nearly identical design makes sense. Everything we’ve been through so far was meant to prepare us for the Sky Order. Maybe I expected things to be different, but of course that was irrational. Even though I’m a Skysinger now, I’ll be inhabiting the same type of facility, taking showers in communal stalls, and receiving orders through a metal board hanging in the corridor. So much for the privilege of being a dragon rider.

I sigh again.

Today, I’ve seen ghosts and monsters. I nearly died. And now, Cindergrasp’s murder investigation is headed straight in my direction.

Heratrix, help me!

Before long, they’ll retrieve the official records and find that Cindergrasp was my Neutro, that things went wrong at my Cleansing, that my mother and…

I shake my head. No. I have to trust Cindergrasp’s corruption. He must have figured out a way to lie about what happened and file a false report. If he hadn’t, he would have faced consequences, right? At least that’s what I’d like to believe. Hopefully, the corruption doesn’t run deeper than that.

Shaking my head, I stand and head for the showers. We’re due at the mess hall at dawn—only three hours from now. There, we’ll get breakfast and further instructions. If I don’t take a shower now, there’s no way I’ll sleep.

* * *

What feels like only seconds after my shower, I scramble out of bed. I have the vague recollection that the general alarm clanked already. I must have gone back to sleep. Wyrm’s rot! How long has it been?

My dirty uniform lies on the floor. I look through the wardrobe’s open door. Six additional clean uniforms await inside, along with two freshly polished pairs of boots, and two sets of leathers. I snatch a set of the latter and get dressed in record time.

Still buckling my jacket, I exit into an empty corridor.

Shit! I’m really late.

Running down at full pelt, I pass the closed doors of my mates’ quarters. I try to picture the map they gave me after the medics took care of my injuries. It depicted Sky’s Edge layout, but I barely looked at it. I come to a stop at the crossroads of four corridors. I have no idea which way to go. Straight ahead? Left? Right?

As my head whips in all directions, I tie my hair in a knot, then notice someone walking down the corridor to the right. I follow, still running.

A female rider with a pristine tight bun walks ahead. She has red hair and walks ramrod straight.

Wait! Is that…?

My steps slow. Noticing my approach, she glances over her shoulder.

“Phoebe?!” I breathe out in surprise.

A broad smile spreads across her lips. She turns, walks in my direction, and wraps me in a hug. I stand stiffly at first, then return her embrace.

“Phoebe,” I hold her at arms’ length, and inspect her black uniform. Yes, that’s a Skyrider’s uniform for sure. “You… you made it?”

“I did. They recalled me.” Her face must hurt she’s smiling so broadly.

Before I know it, my smile matches hers, a genuine rush of satisfaction rolling over me. I’m happy for her. I’m happy for me. I’ll have a partner through the training. Someone I like, even.

Her smile falls abruptly. “But we should go, or we’ll be late.”

She grabs my hand and rushes down the hall, taking each turn confidently. We laugh like idiots, and I feel lighter than I’ve felt in weeks. As we approach a set of large doors, we slow and compose ourselves. A minute later, we step into a spacious room, lined with long tables and saturated with the rich aroma of bacon and freshly brewed coffee. The familiar aromas put me further at ease. We made it on time.

I glance around and spot Silas and Nate.

“Come on.” I gesture with a nod in their direction.

Phoebe frowns. “Um, I think I’ll sit over there.” She points at an empty table.

“Nonsense. You’re sitting with us. We’re all Skyriders now.”

She doesn’t seem sure about it but follows me anyway. At the Academy, Phoebe associated with a different group of people. None of them even made it to the Rite of Flight. In fact, many were surprised Phoebe made it, though I wasn’t one of them. She likes to fly low, outside of notice, but I made it my goal to know my competition, and I never discounted anyone. I noticed she barely made the cutoffs, performing well enough to remain in the top tier. Sometimes, she dropped a peg or two, but she was never too far down. Then a month before the end of the year, she shot to the fifth rank, securing a spot in the Rite of Flight.

Silas’s gray eyes open wide. “Phoebe?! What are you doing here? Where is Gilbert?” His tone carries a mixture of surprise and something else I can’t put a finger on. Others around the room murmur and point.

“I…” Phoebe is at a loss.

“There’s been a change,” I say. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. The Primes will explain later.” At least that’s what Vaylen said.

“What the fuck?” Silas and Nate wear matching frowns. They are clearly burning with curiosity but manage to keep their questions to themselves.

Silas and Gilbert weren’t exactly friends, but he seems to think Phoebe is weak—a risk to any Clutch and not to mention the Sky Order.

Phoebe stands there, eyes roving over the floor. She wants to flee, but I won’t let her. Wrapping an arm around her back, I guide her to the chair across from Nate’s, while I take my place in front of Silas, who wears a deep frown. With a raised eyebrow, I challenge him to say something. I will make his life a living hell if he does the same for Phoebe. This is a male dominated field, and any woman who’s made it this far has more than proven she’s got what it takes to be a rider.

Silas seems to understand my message because he shrugs and lets it be. Relaxing, I glance around. The smell of delicious food is heavy in the air, but no one has been served.

“Nice haircuts,” I tell them.

Silas runs a hand through his now-cropped blond hair, making a face. It seems he misses his long locks.

“Why isn’t anyone eating?” I ask.

“They won’t serve us,” Silas says. “I guess they’re waiting for the Primes.” With a wave of the hand, as if to say that’s not what’s important, he changes the subject, leaning in to whisper. “Were you two asked about your Neutros?”

My stomach clenches, and I can’t answer. Phoebe simply nods, hands twisting in her lap.

“They suspect one of us for sure,” Nate says.

Silas shakes his head. “Who would be so dumb?”

“Gilbert is dumb,” Phoebe says, then bites her lower lip, looking as if she regrets the quip.

Nate snorts. Silas appears unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to think.

Phoebe stares at her hands, mortified now. How can she look so fearless on a cogwing then so meek sitting on a chair? For the first time, I wonder if she will cower once faced with a real dragon. Maybe that’s Silas’s train of thought.

“But why would anyone want to kill their Neutro?” Nate asks. “Their only job is to keep us safe from another Dual Blight.”

I flinch and hide my reaction by rubbing my forehead. “I just hope all this nonsense doesn’t interfere with our training. I’m?—”

The sound of firm steps from the door cuts me short. I glance back over my shoulder to find the six Primes lined up inside the room, standing shoulder to shoulder. My heart stutters at the sight of Vaylen standing in the middle, his uniform pristine, his stature and wide shoulders making the others appear small.

They stand there surveying us, without saying a word. Vaylen’s blue gaze finds Phoebe and me. He barely acknowledges me, but nods at Phoebe as if in welcome. She stands and salutes. The rest of us scramble to our feet, following suit. Prime Vivienne Rockshield sneers. She’s a Skydune, whose general demeanor suggests she’s perpetually smelling something sour. At the moment, she appears discontent, though unsurprised by our failure to provide a prompt salute. As unfriendly as she might be, maybe I’d be better off with her as my Prime. Vaylen might try to kill me again.

If you stop trying to get in his pants, he might be all right, you idiot .

Last night, I thought about this mess in the shower and decided I’m over-complicating things. Just because seducing the most powerful Prime in the Sky Order was part of my original plan, it doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind. Once Zephyros and I are bonded, I could topple Vaylen from his pedestal, and wouldn’t that be just as fun as?—

I shut my eyes as I remember his lips on my neck, and his fingers pinching my nipple to an aching point. Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind.

Yes, forgetting about my original plan and crafting a new one will be for the best . Time to ignore this man.

Without a word, the Primes walk to the front of the room and sit at the table in front. Immediately, servers rush out from side doors, carrying plates laden with food and decanters full of dark, aromatic brews. The clatter of silverware begins, followed by conversation.

Nate pats his stomach and whispers. “About time. I’m starving.”

We wait, but no servers make their way to us. After a few more minutes, it becomes evident they don’t intend to feed us.

“What the fuck?” Silas murmurs.

Nate appears on the verge of demanding a plate full of bacon. The man is a beast, wide as a barrel and outfitted with tree trunks for arms and legs. At the Academy, his plates were legendary, towering into edible mountain ranges.

“We’re riding our dragons for the first time today,” Phoebe says, a satisfied smile lighting up her face at the thought. “I bet they’re not feeding us because they don’t want us to vomit all over the place.”

Nate huffs. “We wouldn’t. The cogwings gave us strong stomachs.”

I open my mouth to tell him riding cogwings isn’t the same as riding a real dragon. Not at all. But I’m probably not supposed to talk about any of that.

“So stupid.” Silas sets an elbow on the table, rests his head on his hand, and slumps over with a sigh.

We’re all quiet for a long moment, except for Nate’s apologies every time his stomach growls. Slowly, deliberately, Silas’s eyes lift from the table. His gaze roves over Phoebe and me. He wears a heavy frown.

“What?” I ask.

He straightens. “What dragon did you get?”

Oh-uh.

Silas switches his attention to Phoebe. “What dragon did you get? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t at the…” she stops herself and exchanges a glance with me.

“What’s going on?” Silas hisses. “Drifttown isn’t here, and you two are acting strangely. What happened?”

“I told you,” I say. “The Primes will explain later.”

“All right, but at least you can tell me your dragon’s name,” he insists.

“What does it matt?—?”

Silas’s lower lip trembles. “It’s Zephyros, isn’t it?”

I nod. He’ll find out sooner or later.

“Fuck! How’s he still alive?” He slaps a hand on the table, stands, and storms out of the room.

Conversation dies. The Primes’ gazes dash in our direction. Vaylen glares at me, as if I’m to blame for the outburst, but I’m not in charge of Silas’s emotions, so I hold my chin up, while Phoebe shrinks to the size of a child.

Nate gets up to go after Silas.

“Stay put, Skyblaze,” his Prime barks.

Nate’s fists tighten and tremble, but he does as he’s told and retakes his seat. Prime Emberstone stands and throws her napkin atop her full plate and leaves the mess hall. Whether she’s lost her appetite or is going after Silas to discipline him is anyone’s guess.

Nate glowers at me. I glower back. This isn’t my fault. Silas can’t pretend that the Sky Order is going to go around killing dragons for the sake of his aristocratic family. The creatures’ numbers are already at a critical low. We need more of them, not fewer. Otherwise they wouldn’t have scholars, adventurers, and dreamers searching the realm for Heratrix. Each dragon is worth a thousand Screechclaws, and one million Merrill Pyrewings. It’s a tragedy what happened to him, but…

What if the same happens to you, Rhea? a cautious voice says in the back of my mind. What if that dragon is crazy?

Not like I don’t have proof of that already. Being privy to Zephyros’s thoughts and emotions has given me a glimpse of his mind, and it isn’t exactly an idyllic picnic in there—more like a gruesome battlefield of grumpiness.

Except he has saved my life. Twice. And who knows what really happened to Merrill Pyrewing? Silas acts as if it was Zephyros’s fault, but what if it wasn’t? What if it was an accident? The inevitable result of battle? Or worse… what if Merrill is to blame? Silas would never admit to that though, and he’ll be even less inclined to believe it when he finds out Zephyros sent Gilbert to his death with a flick of his tail. I wonder what really happened, if only there was a way I could find out.

“There is, you idiot,” I murmur under my breath.

“Did you say something?” Phoebe asks.

I shake my head, wondering if Zephyros will bite my head off if I ask him what happened to Merrill Pyrewing.