Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Crushed under the weight of a mountain? It can’t be. My stomach hollows, and the noise of the room muffles under the sound of my own blood rushing through my ears to the cadence of a drum.
“No fucking way,” Ridoc says, breaking through my panic.
“Tairn?” I can’t bring myself to look.
“Checking now.” The clipped, tense tone reminds me of Resson.
“Join me in welcoming back your fellow rider, Jack Barlowe!” Markham claps. The entire briefing room joins in, the loudest cheers coming from First Wing as two figures walk down the stairs.
Breathe. In. Out. I force air through my lungs as Rhiannon grasps my hand and holds tight.
“It’s him,” Rhiannon says. “It’s really him.”
“You brought down an entire cliff on his unhinged ass.” Sawyer claps slowly, but it’s only for show. “How the fuck was there anything left to mend?”
Dragging my gaze left, I finally work up the courage to look.
Same bulky frame. Same blond hair. Same profile. Same hands that nearly killed me during a challenge last year…before I killed him during War Games the first time my signet flared.
He turns a few rows down, walking past other second-years as Caroline Ashton escorts him back to his squad. It all makes sense now. The secrecy. Her visiting the infirmary. Nolon’s exhaustion.
Jack pivots as he reaches an empty seat, turning slowly and nodding as the applause carries on. The look on his face is almost humble, like a man who’s received a second chance he definitely doesn’t deserve, and then he pivots, looking up the rows to find me.
Glacial blue eyes meet mine. Any doubt I had dies a swift death. It’s him. My pounding heart jumps into my throat.
“Maybe he learned his lesson?” Rhiannon’s voice pitches high with empty hope.
“No,” Ridoc says, letting his hands fall to his lap. “He’s definitely going to try to kill you. Again.”
Menders are not healers. Healers are bound to the Code of Chricton, sworn to aide all in time of need and never to harm a beating heart. Menders are riders. They’re only sworn to the Codex. They can as easily bring harm as heal.
—MAJOR FREDERICK’S MODERN GUIDE FOR HEALERS
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Not helping!” Rhiannon hisses as we all stare at Jack-fucking-Barlowe. A small, almost soft smile curves his mouth for an instant, and we fall silent as he nods at me then looks away quickly before he takes his seat.
“What the fuck was that?” Ridoc asks.
“I have no idea.” It’s the first time since Parapet he’s looked at me with anything but pure malice.
“It’s him,” Tairn growls. “Baide has kept the truth hidden for these months.”
“I can see him.” I’d ask how the fuck a dragon hides something in the Vale, but Andarna isn’t exactly common knowledge, either.
“Be aware of him at all times,” Tairn warns.
Rhiannon squeezes my hand as she shifts in her seat. “Maybe a few months of being dead has changed him.”
“Maybe.” Sawyer’s eyes narrow as he stares holes in the back of Jack’s head. “But I think we’re better off killing him again.”
“I’m down with that plan,” Ridoc agrees.
“Let’s focus on keeping an eye on him,” I suggest, forcing my voice past the knot in my throat as the applause finally dies down, allowing me to put my thoughts in order.
Jack is alive. Fine. He’s hardly the worst thing I faced last year. I brought down not only one but two venin. I destroyed an entire horde of wyvern with Xaden. Maybe Jack’s changed. Maybe he hasn’t. Either way, my signet and hand-to-hand skills have only improved, and I doubt he’s been sparring in the infirmary.
Ridoc, Sawyer, and Rhiannon all stare at me like there’s a chance I might grow a tail and start breathing fire at any second. “I’m all right,” I tell them. “Seriously. Stop staring.” I don’t have the option of not being all right.
They shoot me skeptical looks of varying degrees, then face forward.
Markham clears his throat. “Now, to our second matter of business for the hour.” He looks over at Professor Devera.
“Yesterday evening, there was an unprecedented attack on one of our largest outposts,” she says, her shoulders straightening as she scans the room.
“Again?” Rhiannon mutters. “What the hell is going on out there?” She releases my hand and starts to take notes.
A murmur rises among the cadets.
Focus. I have to focus.
“And this, cadets, is no conjecture. No propaganda. No game.” That last word is said with a sideways glance at Markham. “It’s unprecedented not only in its proximity—we’ve never had outposts attacked this close together before—but also because it involved three drifts.” She lifts her pointed chin.
I glance up at the map, forcing my mind to work. Pelham near the Cygni border is my first guess, but Keldavi—along the Braevick border—is a close second after it nearly fell last week. Maybe the fliers are recognizing our weaknesses.