Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 235897 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1179(@200wpm)___ 944(@250wpm)___ 786(@300wpm)
“You will begin at Unnbriel, will you not? It is the closest main isle, after all.” Courtlyn waits for me to nod, then eyes Andarna’s shell before stepping around the table toward me. “If you are amenable, there is another trade I might be able to broker for you.”
“I’m listening.”
There are times I look at Parapet, at the very act of Threshing and marvel that dragons have not been to Unnbriel. What we call treacherous is their idea of primary school.
—Unnbriel: Isle of Dunne by Second Lieutenant Asher Daxton
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“You can’t be serious,” Rhi whispers next to me three days later in Battle Brief as Professor Devera questions first-years about the fall of Vallia, a midsize city two hundred miles west of the Bay of Malek.
Not only are the venin moving in Krovla again, but in the eight days we were gone, Cygnisen’s flier cadets arrived. Battle Brief is now beyond standing-room-only capacity. Even the steps serve as seating.
“She’s absolutely serious,” Ridoc responds from Rhi’s other side, cracking a giant yawn that I immediately catch and repeat, fighting and failing to stifle it with my hand.
Godsdamn am I tired. Every muscle aches, my stomach can’t decide if it wants to eat everything or expel it all, and I’m starting to see double when I try to focus on the map. We flew in this morning from Athebyne and were rewarded for pushing our limits by being sent straight into Battle Brief on General Aetos’s order. At least I managed to secure my father’s books in my room and heard from Imogen that she’d kept my prisoner alive first.
“He wanted you to trade your and Xaden’s…services…for weaponry?” Sawyer asks, leaning forward from Ridoc’s right and adjusting the top of his prosthesis. “I thought Deverelli was neutral. They don’t even have an army.”
Xaden. My hand clenches around my pen as I scribble the nearly mid-February date on my notes. How many more times can he slip before the rings around his irises become permanent and the veins at his temples turn red? For a second in that bedroom, I thought I’d found a temporary answer to stay his progression, but even on an isle without magic, he hadn’t been safe.
“Or perhaps the isle hadn’t been safe from him,” Tairn interjects.
I ignore the jab.
“Could you keep it down?” A brown-haired flier with a Cygnisen shoulder patch and third-year rank turns around and glares at Sawyer, and though I hate his scowl, I have to admit, the glasses really work for him.
“Turn it back around—” Ridoc starts, then pauses to appreciate the flier. “Well, hello Cygnisen. Have you been properly welcomed to Basgiath yet?” He cranks up a smile I’ve seen enough times to know he’ll be coming out of someone else’s bedroom tomorrow morning.
The flier scoffs. “I don’t do second-years.”
“Good thing I fuck like a third.” Ridoc grins. “Plus, I’m on quest squad, which gives me an additional boost of desirability.”
That earns him a second glance and a flash of interest before the flier turns around in his seat.
“Where do you get the confidence, Gamlyn?” Maren asks from my left.
Ridoc snorts. “Survive the Gauntlet. After that, you’re well aware one rejection isn’t going to kill you.” He leans toward the flier. “By the way, third-years usually sit up top, but if you want to be close to me, that’s all right, too.”
The flier tilts his head and drums his pen on the desk.
I smother a laugh, and Sawyer shakes his head.
“Tell Sawyer about the Deverelli Army,” Ridoc reminds me, settling back in his seat as a first-year fumbles an easy question about high-ground strategy.
“Oh, right.” I yawn again and open the Archives door to a crackle of power in hopes it will keep me from falling asleep. Have to admit, it’s nice to be me again. “They have one. They just call them guards. So yes, they have weaponry to trade, they just don’t advertise it.”
“Wanting you as a weapon is weird. They don’t have magic,” Cat says from Maren’s left. “You’re scary with lightning, Sorrengail, but without it…” We all look her way, but she just shrugs. “What? You were all thinking it. I just said it.”
“Is there something more important than enemy troop movements going on up there, Iron Squad second-years?” Devera asks, and the lecture hall quiets.
Heat creeps up my neck, and I sink in my seat.
“I mean…” Ridoc scratches the side of his head. “Sorrengail’s kind of responsible for saving the entire Continent right now, so maybe—”
Rhi’s hand slams over his mouth. “Absolutely not. You have our apology, Major.”
Devera arches a sardonic brow and leans back against the desk. “And how was your trip to Deverelli, cadet? Have you saved us all?”
Leather jackets creak in every direction as heads turn my way.
I clear my throat. “I believe the prince is debriefing leadership, but we’ve brokered a deal that will allow us diplomatic access to the isle as a launching ground for further searches.” And I personally secured Courtlyn’s silence on what Xaden did by promising my own like a sacrifice, adding a gentle reminder that I wouldn’t want our new ally to appear weak.