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)
“Any chance you speak Old Lucerish?” I ask Aaric at the end of the table. His tutoring would only be second to mine, considering Markham was my mentor. I’d feel better if someone else quadruple-checked the translation, someone other than rule-following Dain, but I’m pretty sure we have it. Otherwise, why would we be here?
“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head and focuses on his new ink pen, his forehead lined with concentration. All of our first-years are channeling, and though they have yet to manifest a signet, they have a bet going about who will be able to master the lesser magic needed to work the writing implement first. Pretty sure Kai—the lone first-year flier without Luella—is going to beat them all.
He’s currently on the couch between a couple of first-years, his spiky black hair bobbing, a dimple forming in his bronze cheek as he laughs at whatever story Bragen—the driftleader and our new XO—is currently telling. Other than Maren, Bragen is the easiest of the fliers to get along with. He also spends a lot of time shooting longing looks Cat’s way.
“Why would Aaric speak Old Lucerish?” Visia asks from the opposite end of the table, looking up from her physics homework. “Aren’t you from Calldyr?”
My face freezes. Fuck, I need to be more careful.
“Yep.” Aaric looks up at me, his features a perfect, polished mask. “You have me confused with Lynx. He’s from Luceras.”
“Right. Of course.” I nod, thankful for his quick cover.
“At some point, you’re going to have to actually get to know the first-years. They’re people now,” Ridoc teases, his smile tight. He agrees with us about what we’re about to do, but he’s understandably worried about the fliers’ reactions.
“Can’t blame her,” Imogen says, carrying a mug out of the kitchen with Maren following close behind. “We’ve added six first-years and six fliers to the squad in the last six weeks.”
“We’ve been in the squad since July,” Visia argues.
“You didn’t count before Threshing.” Imogen shrugs, glancing across the room. “Guess I’ll go save Quinn from Cat.”
“No blood on my sister’s floor.” Rhiannon shoots her a look that says she means it.
“Yes, Mother.” Imogen mock salutes with her empty hand and then heads toward Quinn.
Maren takes the seat next to me, and Rhiannon lifts her brows at me in subtle question.
My throat tightens. Here we go. This is the whole reason we planned tonight’s get-together, so why am I suddenly anxious?
Because I haven’t discussed my decision with Xaden, not that he’s been around more than one day a week since he and Brennan decided to reorganize how the combat squads operate.
“You’re doing the right thing,” Andarna says.
“The honorable thing,” Tairn chimes in.
“Do it,” I say to Rhiannon, gripping my mug with both hands.
“Listen up!” Rhi calls out as she stands, quieting the house, her gaze touching on every cadet. “For riders, squads are more than a unit. We’re family. In order to survive, we have to trust each other on the battlefield…and off it. And we’re trusting you to do with this information what you will.” She looks to me.
What we’re about to do is borderline treason, but I can’t imagine doing this any other way.
I take a steadying breath. “I’ve been translating Warrick’s journal—one of the First Six, who built Basgiath’s wards,” I clarify just in case they’re not familiar with our history. “In the hopes that we can get the wards up in Aretia before the approaching wyvern decide we’re the next target… And I think I know how to do it. But that’s why we wanted to talk to you, because it will mean you fliers wouldn’t be able to wield.”
The fliers stare, stunned. Even Cat’s eyes flare wide with what almost looks like fear.
“We know two other Poromish towns have fallen in the last two weeks, leaving Draithus vulnerable, and the Assembly wants the wards up and functional now,” Rhiannon continues. “Which we think you deserve to know.”
“Know what?” Cat stands, her chair screeching against the hardwood floor. “That you’re about to kill our ability to channel? Our gryphons are still struggling to adjust to altitude, and now you’re going to make us powerless?”
“Protective wards were our goal long before you came here.” Imogen pushes off the wall and casually sets her hand on her hip, near her favorite dagger, angling her body toward Cat, and Quinn sidesteps to flank the angry flier.
“But we’re here now,” Cat retorts. “If my uncle had known you would tie a hand behind our back, he never would have made that deal!”
“Control yourself, Cat.” Bragen keeps his tone level, but his brown eyes are sharp as he stands, putting his left arm out to block Cat from advancing on us. “How long until they’re up?” he asks me.
“As soon as I tell the Assembly what I’ve found.” As of this morning, the stone has a distinct hum, a vibration in that chamber that reminds me of the way Xaden described the armory at Samara, housing the alloy-hilted daggers.