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Rhea

I clutch my breast, eyes going wide as panic sizzles in my veins.

Everett frowns, confused by my reaction.

I know I should pause to calm my nerves, but the irrational fear of being found out, caught, and thrown in a musty dungeon overrides all logic. Instead of acting collected and coming up with a plan to retrieve my pin, my gaze roves all around, hopelessly searching the dark balcony floor.

“Have you lost something?” Everett asks.

“No,” I blurt out. “Yes. Um… I don’t…”

Breathe, Rhea. Breathe!

Everett’s frown deepens.

He’s suspicious! No, don’t be stupid.

How could he suspect the beautiful woman he just met is a murderess?

He starts searching the floor, blue eyes roving around with quick efficiency.

I stand on shaky limbs, preparing to extricate myself. I need to get back to that privy and find my pin—the evidence that would condemn me as soon as the body is found and the other Rite of Flight candidates are able to produce their pins, while I fail to do so.

Everett’s cool eyes stop and narrow. He crouches and picks something up from the floor. Extending his hand, he presents it to me.

“Is this what you’re looking for? This… Scion pin?” he asks.

A gasp of relief escapes my lips, and without thinking, I snatch the pin from his hand. “Oh, yes! Thank you. I’m so relieved. I thought I’d lost it.”

With practiced efficiency, he straightens, shoulders squaring with his spine. His entire demeanor becomes stiff and austere. Slowly, he faces me fully, turning his left shoulder just enough so I can finally see his rank.

I bite my tongue to stifle another gasp, this one of surprise. This man is no mere Sky Order member.

This is Vaylen Stormsong, the High Prime, second only to Commander Voltguard.

The very man who features in my grand plans as the one I’m supposed to seduce even if it breaks all the rules in the world. Marrying a man like him would certainly help create the type of family I’m interested in.

“My apologies, Ms. Rhealyn.” He bows, heels clicking. “I believe I have made an error of judgment. I apologize for my earlier indiscretion. I trust you’ll forgive me and know that I won’t ever be so callous again.” He pauses, cold blue eyes meeting mine.

“No need to apologize.” I straighten too, holding his gaze without flinching. “No harm done,” I add, trying to lessen the effect of his starched reaction. I don’t want him to think I’m as stiff and proper as all of that—not when my ultimate goal is to make him mine, after all.

“I appreciate your gracious response.” He bows yet again.

I open my mouth to add something that will ease him further and let him know I’m not at all opposed to his previous behavior, but he cuts me off.

“I will see you during the ceremony, Ms. Rhaelyn. I believe it’s about to begin.” He clicks his heels once more, then walks back into the party, leaving me holding my pin with a mixture of relief and disappointment that roils in my chest like a storm.

Hands trembling, I reattach the pin to my dress, murmuring under my breath with relief, “Thank you, Heratrix. ”

The mother of all dragons seems to be on my side tonight. I can only hope she will be with me during the Rite of Flight.

Ensuring all the things that should be put out of my mind are securely locked away, I scrub the smudge of blood from my fingers and rejoin the party. My gaze quickly scans the room until it lands on the tallest guest there. Vaylen Stormsong stands next to the Commander, along with the other five elemental Primes.

Vaylen. Not Everett. Why did he lie about his name?

From across the room, his blue eyes meet mine. Under the candlelight, I discover he’s even more handsome than I first thought. His dark hair is brown, though some of its slightly curled strands shine gold with the glow from the candelabra above him. His eyes are like a clear lake in summer, yellow motes swimming around bottomless pupils. His solid frame is imposing, making all those around him appear anemic in comparison. His eyebrows and lashes are dark, contrasting beautifully with his light eyes. And his lips, they’re surprisingly full and shaped as if with meticulous care.

I had heard that High Prime Vaylen Stormsong was as attractive as he’s powerful, but I dare say the rumors fell short. If he were unattractive, he would still be my target. It is power and position, not good looks, I’m after, but they’ll certainly make things easier.

The Commander heads toward the dais at the front of the room. High Prime Stormsong breaks eye contact and follows. I glance around the room and spot my mates, gathered in clusters. There are a hundred of us—only the best graduates from Aerie Academy. There, we spent four years training for this, and before that, four years at university. That is a long time to prepare given the small reward most of us will get. At most, only two riders per elemental power will be chosen, a high number compared to other years. No more dragons than that are available this time around. Their numbers have been in decline for centuries.

As I move closer to my mates, I take in the guests with one sweeping glance. The mood shows nothing out of the ordinary, not even a furtive glance that might indicate something awful happened to Neutro Cindergrasp in the privy. I doubt his body will be discovered in the next hour. No one wants to miss the Rite of Flight.

The entire city—Goddess, the realm—is waiting to hear who will be chosen. The news sheets will be filled with names and family trees tomorrow morning. Most of my mates come from renowned families with a long tradition of dragon riders, Skyriders as they’re called in general terms. My family isn’t one of them. When I’m chosen—not if, I’ve spent nearly two decades contemplating no other outcome—I will be the first in the Wyndward lineage to become a dragon rider, and I will not be the last.

I join Silas Pyrewing and his friends. He comes from a family with a lengthy line of Skyriders or, more specifically, Skyblazes . Their control of the fire element is legendary, a legacy passed down through generations. He’s the youngest of three sons. His father and brothers were all riders. Lord Pyrewing is now retired, as is his middle son, who suffered a paralyzing injury during battle and can no longer ride. And the oldest Pyrewing brother? Well, he died two years ago in enemy territory. You’d think such a record would prompt the man to spare his youngest the trial, but no such luck. Silas will be competing, though not against me since he’s a Blaze and I’m a Singer—a wind elemental. Still, we went head-to-head plenty of times these past four years. Not that I would have it any other way. Trying to beat him at every turn has made me a better candidate.

He looks down at me from his imposing six-two height. His shoulder-length blond hair is tied neatly in a ponytail, low at the back of his neck, not a hair out of place. It’s a far cry from the normally unruly mess he wore at the Academy. All the physical exertion we were put through made it hard to stay presentable. If he’s chosen, he will lose his beloved locks.

“Where have you been, Wyndward?” he asks.

“About.”

“Ingratiating yourself with High Prime Stormsong already?”

So he saw that. I huff… if he only knew.

“I wouldn’t call it that,” I say with a sly smile.

Silas dislikes High Prime Stormsong. In fact, the entire Pyrewing family does. Vaylen Stormsong, like me, doesn’t come from money and tradition. He rose from nothing to become the most powerful dragon rider in the Sky Order, taking Merrill Pyrewing’s, Silas’s middle brother, High Prime rank—even before the paralyzing accident. Naturally, Silas is bent on regaining the honor back for his family.

“He doesn’t need any more sycophants,” Silas grunts.

“He’s going to be my Prime, Silas.” High Prime Stormsong leads the Skysingers since he’s also a wind elemental, so he’ll be my leader, as good an excuse as any other to get to know him.

Silas blows air and rolls his eyes. “ If you get chosen.”

“You know I will.”

We always go back and forth about this. We tease each other about never becoming Skyriders. We are Aerie Academy’s top graduates, tied in almost every subject, though becoming a rider has little to do with such honors.

Most who enter the Keep don’t earn their wings.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Commander Cora Voltguard begins from the dais.

All six Primes stand behind her. One for each elemental power: wind, fire, earth, water, metal, and lightning. Their uniforms have the same cut, but hers has additional gold embroidering around the collar. Her hair is arranged in a tight bun—the style all female Skyriders are supposed to wear at all times. I already have a headache thinking about it. At Aerie Academy, the instructors were lenient about the requirement. No such luck from here on out—not if we want to be able to see where we’re going with the wind blowing in our faces.

“The Rite of Flight is here at last,” she continues, “and we have a wonderful pool of candidates. The best of the best. This year more dragons than ever are riderless. As you know, casualties have been great in the front lines.

“Every day, many sacrifice their lives for Embernia’s wellbeing. But we continue to fight fiercely against our western enemies. Similarly, we continue to search for the answer to restore our dragon population. We are committed to safeguarding Embernia from invasion and regaining our past strength and standing on the continent.”

“Hear! Hear!” the guests chant in unison.

“As you can see,” she gestures behind her, “all six Primes are here for the ceremony and subsequent training of the new riders. They are spared from the front lines for barely a month, during which the chosen will get acquainted with their dragons and put their Aerie Academy training to good use. No more riding mechanical dummies. Simulations are over. The sky and the clouds will, at last, become some of these candidates’ long-awaited homes.”

My chest swells at the thought of truly flying. The Academy’s cogwings , as we call the mechanical dragons, taught me much, but I’ve been ready for more for a very long time.

Silas elbows me, wearing a huge grin. We are all ready. I can feel restlessness in every graduate. It saturates the air.

Phoebe Breezehart glances over her shoulder to look at me. She’s one of the nine females who made the cut. She wears a copper-colored dress that matches her curls and contrasts with her pale skin. I incline my head. She offers me a smile. We have never been friends. At Aerie Academy, she was part of a different group, most of which didn’t make it here. I’ve noticed she has been interested in me. Her element is also wind, like me. Maybe she thinks we can be allies.

“The Keep awaits,” Commander Voltguard says, ratcheting my heart rate into a drumroll. “Candidates, please proceed through these portals.” She gestures toward a set of double doors carved with Embernia’s coat of arms, a citadel nestled against a backdrop of soaring mountains, and above it all, a magnificent dragon, wings spread wide, our watchful guardian. The motto From the Dragon, Strength is carved at the bottom.

Two Claws—the term used for non-rider, non-officer cadets—throw the doors open, revealing an austere room with gray stone walls and floors. Its only adornment is the great vaulted columns that hold up the concave ceiling. A somber air descends over the group.

We file in, an incongruous sight in our party attire. There’s nothing frilly about dragon riding. Dragon riding is a raw, streamlined experience, much like the room that awaits.

An image of Neutro Cindergrasp’s terrified face threatens to rise and overshadow this moment. I shove it down.

No room for you here, you bastard.

He’s gone, and I won’t let him poison my future too. Enough of his taint has already blemished many years of my past. Not a second of my new life will be wasted on him.