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)
I scan the first floor of the academic wing as we walk down the hall, my gaze scouring every alcove, every classroom door for someone who might jump out at us.
“Violet?”
Wrenching my focus from the stairwell ahead, I find Rhi giving me an expectant look. Right. She’s asking me about physics and aerodynamics.
“Altitude,” Sawyer answers.
“Right.” I nod as we step into the stairwell. “Altitude.”
“You’re killing me—” Rhiannon starts.
“Now!” someone shouts from behind us.
Before I can react, a bag is thrown over my head, and with one breath, I’m unconscious.
There is a natural distrust that must be overcome between infantry cadets and riders. This exists mainly because riders will never trust that infantry has the courage to hold the line when dragons arrive, and infantry will never trust that the dragons won’t eat them.
—MAJOR AFENDRA’S GUIDE TO THE RIDERS QUADRANT (UNAUTHORIZED EDITION)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I jolt awake as the scent of something acrid fills my lungs, and I swing my fist, knocking a hand away from my face. Smelling salts.
“She’s up,” a woman in dark blue announces, backing away to confer with… Professor Grady?
My head buzzes as I sit up, stretching my legs in front of me, and immediately reach for Tairn. “What’s going on?”
My eyes are slow to adjust to the bright light, but it looks like we’re in some sort of forest.
“The course humans wouldn’t have to take if they would simply stay seated, known as RSC,” he growls with surprising frustration, like he’s the one whose just been drugged and dragged out of the quadrant.
Rhiannon, Sawyer, and Ridoc are on my right, all looking as confused as I feel. To my left are four second-year riders with Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing designations, looking around the forest in bewilderment. Nice to see we aren’t the only ones befuddled.
“At least it’s not an assassination attempt.” If it was, we’d be dead, especially as fuzzy as I feel.
“It will be if we aren’t back at Basgiath when Sgaeyl arrives tomorrow.”
Oh. Shit. “This can’t last longer than a day.” Can it? “If it does, you should fly back alone.”
Across from us sit two groups of eight infantry cadets—if their blue uniforms are any indication—in hushed conversation. They’re all…homogenous. The four men all have the same military-short haircut, cropped close to their skulls in a fade, and the women wear their hair slicked back in tight buns. Same dark-blue uniforms, same boots, same…everything. Only the name tags above their hearts are different, except for the one with a squad leader designation on their shoulder in each group.
The four of us are all dressed in our summer uniforms, but we’ve each made our own modifications. My lightweight black top has slits down the front that give me direct access to the daggers sheathed in my armor at my ribs. Rhiannon prefers a tunic with sheaths directly sewn in. Sawyer likes his sleeves short, weapons strapped to his upper arms, and Ridoc never took the time to see the uniform tailor—he just ripped his sleeves off. We aren’t even wearing name tags, and the same goes for the squad from Second Wing.
“And leave you to fend for yourself?”
The forest floor is soft and muddy in patches, and the afternoon sun streams in between the branches at an angle, which means we’ve only been unconscious an hour, maybe two at most. It’s nothing but trees as far as I can see.
“I think that’s the point.” I blink, fighting to bring my brain into sharper focus. “Promise me, if I’m stuck out here on land nav, that you’ll see her if you can. We can’t be that far from Basgiath.”
Professor Grady hands each rider a waterskin. “Sorry for the abrupt change of scenery. Hydrate.”
We all uncork our skins and drink. The water is crisp and cold…but there’s something else there, too. Pungent. Earthy. And something bitterly floral that I can’t quite place. I close the skin, cringing at the aftertaste. Professor Grady really needs to take better care of his skins.
“You all right?” I ask Rhi, who is checking her sheaths for weapons.
“A little dazed, but yeah. You?”
I nod, running my hands down my sides to make sure my daggers are exactly where I left them. They are. My bag is still strapped to my back, too.
“They took us in the stairwell?” I look over to see Sawyer rubbing his temples and Ridoc scratching the tattoo on his neck.
“That’s my last memory.” She nods in agreement, studying the squads next to and across from us.
“Anyone know where we are?” Sawyer asks the obviously more alert infantry squads.
The cadets look over at us, but no one answers. Or speaks at all.
“I’m going to take that as a no,” Ridoc drawls.
“It’s a no from us.” The rider from Second Wing with a squad leader designation lifts his hand in greeting.