Page 37 of The Last Dragon (The Great Burn Chronicles #1)

T wo days, and not a single whisper about Nida or the Silverscale—not that I’ve heard, that is. Even though I went out of my way to stalk around the halls, looking for a hint or a threat or a misplaced thought. Nothing. Only chatter about the expedition and complaints regarding training.

All Commandants doubled our time in the training grounds, with little to no free time to recover. And it’s excruciating. Nida still has Dragon Anatomy classes that she needs to attend, so finding the perfect time to train her isn’t always as easy.

Today, my unit focuses on marksmanship—precision. Crossbows, daggers, and throwing knives are scattered around the room. The shooting range smells faintly of aged wood, iron, and sweat, with a hint of sweetened buns as cadets shove the pastries into their mouths during their ten-minute lunch.

Eryca and Ilian are a few lanes away, practicing with the new weights for crossbows crafted by Ligerion.

Both Trackers and Hunters need to know how to use a crossbow in case a Hunter dies and only the Tracker is left.

Alex glares at me and Nida from the lane next to us, though his skills in knife throwing don’t falter even for a second.

With that precision, I can only confirm my suspicions of him being the one who killed the two lords in the Middle.

But I don’t understand why—or why he’s directing all his anger onto me.

Trackers benefit from a dagger or two holstered around their waist. Even Hunters have an advantage.

Crossbows break, and only the brave souls can dare dart under a dragon’s throat.

I had to do that once. I plunged a laced dagger into a Horntongue’s throat, and it collapsed within seconds.

I was left with scars from the sharp spikes protruding all over their body.

Nida and I stand close, with wooden dummies a few meters away from us.

She spins a knife in her hand, focusing on a dummy as she shifts her foot closer to the line.

I watch her every move, adjusting her posture if needed.

She lifts the knife above her head, holds it for a brief moment, then releases it.

The knife sails through the air, with what I assume would be great precision.

But it hits the target with a dull thunk, handle first, and clatters to the ground.

Nida releases a sigh, wiping off the sweat trickling down her brow. “I was never good at throwing knives.” She positions another knife between her thumb and finger, ready to strike again.

“That’s cuz you’re doing it wrong,” Alex says, his lips curled into a sneer.

He’s practicing his aim at the dummy next to ours. I stare at him, warning him to back off before it’s too late, but he remains still.

Alex rolls his eyes, grabs a knife, and begins to play with it.

“You need to be more precise with your wrist, alright? If you flick your wrist too hard or release the knife too early, the knife hits flat.” He positions the knife between his fingertips, firmly holding the blade.

It leaves his hand, slicing the air with a whistle.

With a thud as loud as thunder, the knife buries itself head center in the target’s bullseye. He smirks, and his eyes find ours.

I look at the dummy in front of us, with several knives scattered on the sandy ground, and not a single one piercing the wooden board.

“Alright,” Nida whispers and positions herself for another throw. She watches as Alex throws two more knives in a row, with perfect precision. Like he’s mocking. Threatening.

“Focus on your board,” I say, putting my body between them.

“I am,” she says, her focus returning to her target. Another thud. Four knives in Alex’s bullseye. None in Nida’s. All angled differently, the sharpest part of the blades meeting one another, tightly. Even I’m impressed.

“Are you gonna throw it?” I ask. My mouth curves into a soft smile as I cross my arms.

“I’m getting there,” she responds, her face stoic.

“Then throw it.”

“Let me focus.”

“You’ve been holding the knife above your head for two minutes.”

“I know.”

My smile grows wider, and a chuckle catches in my throat.

Her eyes gleam as she tries to concentrate, even though something’s clearly pulling her attention elsewhere.

My attention is being pulled somewhere else, too.

My gaze dips to her lips as she presses them together and then draws a sharp breath.

A blur motions at the corner of my eye, but I don’t look away.

There’s a sound that I don’t fully register.

It’s like a thud or a clap or something.

Then there’s a sigh, and I catch a breath as Nida turns to me, raising her hand. My smile falters.

What is she—

“Yes!” she exclaims, rising up and down on her feet with a suppressed jump.

I glance at the dummy, the blade embedded halfway into the board just a few inches from the center. I hadn’t even noticed. I raise a brow at her. Her hand is still raised for a…

I give her a high-five. I smile again, before handing another knife to her. The smile she had moments ago disappears, and I can’t help but laugh.

“One down, ten to go.”

She blows away her large waves from her face and swipes the blade from my hand, muttering curses under her breath.

I quickly glance over to Alex, his eyes on his knife twirling in his hand, with a smile.

It quickly fades as he positions himself toward the board and, with a sharp inhale, throws it, for a fifth bullseye.

After hours of throwing knives, Nida insists on sparring to practice her speed and body control. She asked me not to go easy on her, but I decided to give her a head start.

I grab Nida’s arm and twist it, pressing it against her back. She inhales sharply in pain and taps her fingers against the mat. I hold on to her arm for a moment, making sure she means it. Another tap. I let go.

“You’re fast but not fast enough,” I say. “Your speed is what’s going to keep you alive.”

She huffs a breath, face pressed against the mat, then pushes herself up and turns to face me.

“A dragon will take advantage of your mistakes,” I say.

She raises her hands into fists again, getting into a fighting stance. Though I feel like she’s holding back, and I can’t understand why. Then again, so am I.

“It’s your feet,” I point. “You take a step before you attempt to swing. It’s like blowing a warhorn, letting me know you’re coming.

” Nida shifts her feet, with a subtle curse spilling from her rosy lips.

Her eyes linger on her feet for a moment, and a red curl sways in front of her face from rapid breaths.

With a grunt, she lets her hair down and adjusts it back into a tight ponytail.

“Okay,” she says, returning to her stance to signal she’s ready to spar again.

“Your hair is too long,” I comment, moving my body into a defensive stance moments before she attempts to hit me. I quickly block her fist with my palm, sending her arm across my left shoulder, barely a graze.

“Doesn’t bother me,” she says, and tries to hit my head with the same arm, slicing over the air as I duck under.

I curl my leg over hers, dragging her down to the mat again, face-first. She lets out a little grunt, slamming the mat with her fist. I shoot back up, extending an arm to help her up.

She stares at my hand, rolls her eyes, and then accepts it.

Carefully, I pull her up, feeling her hand in mine.

Her face is swarmed by her red curls from her rapidly loosening ponytail, amber eyes gleaming with fearlessness.

Her breathing slows; her eyes never falter from mine.

There’s no hesitation this time, and her feet are firmly planted on the ground.

She’s completely still, waiting for me to strike first. I don’t attack.

If her fighting technique is for the enemy to attack first, then I make sure to remove that option.

Her eyes narrow as if scanning me, trying to read me. Eventually, she does.

She feints to the right. Shit, she’s fast. Faster than the previous time she attacked, and this time there’s no stepping.

When she lunges, I meet her head-on, blocking her fist. She moves like water, slipping through the gaps in my defense before I can even register it.

I block again, but she’s already pivoting.

Her elbow flies toward my ribs with a speed that makes my breath catch.

I twist just in time, feeling the rush of air as it barely misses.

I inhale sharply, but before I can exhale, she spins with her leg whipping around in a vicious arc, aimed straight for my head.

I duck, but barely in time. Her leg brushes against my hair. I remain crouched for a moment, chuckling. “That’s all you got?”

She answers with a punch to my jaw. Pain radiates through my head, and my hand goes to the tender spot where she hit me.

“Shit,” she says, eyes wide as she drops her stance completely. “I thought you’d block that!” Nida crouches in front of me. The taste of iron spreads in my mouth. I snort.

“Nice going!” Eryca’s voice booms. I glance over the benches near our mat. A smirk pulls on Eryca’s mouth. She’s enjoying this.

“I thought you said you learn from books?” I get up, my hand still over my jaw. That was a decent punch.

“Most of it.” She gives a nervous giggle. “Mixed with some training, though.”

“Some?” Ilian chuckles. “You’re beating his ass!”

“I think he’s just going easy on me.” Nida’s expression is playful. “Even though I asked him not to.”

“Oh? Let’s go again then.”