Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
“You’d better get that leg wrapped.” He turns around to face the door. “I won’t look.”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” I arch my hips and shimmy my leather pants down past my thighs and over my knees. Shit. The one on the left is swollen. If anyone else had taken that stumble, they would have ended up with a bruise, maybe even a scrape. But me? I have to fix it so my kneecap stays where it’s supposed to. It’s not just my muscles that are weak. My ligaments that hold my joints together don’t work for shit, either.
“Yeah, well, we’re not sneaking away to swim in the river, are we?” he teases. We grew up together through every post our parents had been stationed at, and no matter where we were, we always managed to find a place to swim and trees to climb.
I fasten the wrap at the top of my knee, then wind and secure the joint in the same way I’ve done since I was old enough for the healers to teach me. It’s a practiced motion that I could do in my sleep, and the familiarity of it is almost soothing, if it didn’t mean I was starting in the quadrant wounded.
As soon as I get it fastened with the little metal clasp, I stand and tug my leathers back up over my ass and button them. “All covered.”
He turns and glances over me. “You look…different.”
“It’s the leathers.” I shrug. “Why? Is different bad?” It takes a second to close my rucksack and haul it up and over my shoulders. Thank you, gods, the ache in my knee is manageable with it bound like this.
“It’s just…” He shakes his head slowly, teasing his lower lip with his teeth. “Different.”
“Why, Dain Aetos.” I grin and walk toward him, then grasp the door handle at his side. “You’ve seen me in swimwear, tunics, and even ballgowns. Are you telling me it’s the leather that does it for you?”
He scoffs, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks as his hand covers mine to open the door. “Glad to see our year apart hasn’t dulled your tongue, Vi.”
“Oh,” I toss over my shoulder as we walk into the hallway, “I can do quite a few things with my tongue. You’d be impressed.” My smile is so wide that it almost hurts, and just for a second, I forget that we’re in the Riders Quadrant or that I’ve just survived the parapet.
His eyes heat. Guess he’s forgotten, too. Then again, Mira’s always made it clear that riders aren’t an inhibited bunch behind these walls. There’s not much reason to deny yourself when you might not live through tomorrow.
“We have to get you out of here,” he says, shaking his head like he needs to clear it. Then he does the hand thing again, and I hear the lock slide into place. There’s no one in the hallway, and we make it to the stairwell quickly.
“Thanks,” I say as we start descending. “My knee feels way better now.”
“I still can’t believe your mother thought putting you into the Riders Quadrant was a good idea.” I can practically feel the anger vibrating off him next to me as we walk down the stairs. There’s no banister on his side, but he doesn’t seem to mind, even though a single misstep would be the end of him.
“Me neither. She announced her decree about which quadrant I’d choose last spring, after I passed the initial entrance exam, and I immediately started working with Major Gillstead.” He’ll be so proud when he reads the rolls tomorrow and sees that I’m not on them.
“There’s a door at the bottom of this stairwell, below the main level, that leads to the passage into the Healers Quadrant farther up the ravine,” he says as we approach the first floor. “We’ll get you through that and into the Scribe Quadrant.”
“What?” I stop as my feet hit the polished stone landing at the main floor, but he continues downward.
He’s already three steps beneath me when he realizes I’m not with him. “The Scribe Quadrant,” he says slowly, turning to face me.
This angle makes me taller than he is, and I glare down at him. “I can’t go to the Scribe Quadrant, Dain.”
“I’m sorry?” His eyebrows fly up.
“She won’t stand for it.” I shake my head.
His mouth opens, then shuts, and his fists clench at his sides. “This place will kill you, Violet. You can’t stay here. Everyone will understand. You didn’t volunteer—not really.”
Anger bristles up my spine, and my gaze narrows on him. Ignoring who did or did not volunteer me, I snap, “One, I’m well aware of what my chances are here, Dain, and two, usually fifteen percent of candidates don’t make it past the parapet, and I’m still standing, so I guess I’m beating those odds already.”