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)
“If we do not rip apart this tactic,” Kiandra lectures, “they will use it again, and the next town they come for will be yours. Suniva was our kingdom’s capital but our fourth-largest city. You honor the dead by making sure no others fall in the same manner. We have to learn from this. I know it’s hard, but in a matter of months, you third-years will be on the front lines. That will mean you defending Diasyn.” She points to someone above us. “Or you”—her finger swings left—“defending Cordyn.”
“Start asking,” Devera orders. “Start thinking, or we’re all dead.”
“What was in the armory?” Xaden’s voice carries over the hall.
I look back and find him standing in the doorway next to Bodhi, his arms folded and jaw locked. My heart leaps. It’s been three days since I’ve seen him. The beard he grew on the journey home has been shaved, and the name tag is back on his uniform. Instinctively, I reach for the bond, but his shields are up.
His gaze darts to mine and warms for the millisecond he holds contact before we both turn our attention to the front of the room.
“They have to think for themselves, Professor Riorson.” Devera arches a brow.
“What was in the armory?” he repeats.
Kiandra nods. “Six crates of freshly delivered alloy-hilted daggers, and yes, the venin took them all.”
Everyone’s interest shifts forward, and it takes conscious effort to pick my jaw up. There are maybe two crates kept at each outpost.
“Why didn’t Poromish forces use the damned daggers?” Ridoc asks.
“Because the damned daggers had only arrived a few hours earlier,” Devera answers. “And the armory was the first target hit. Our best guess is that there was simply no time to distribute them.”
“Why would six crates be sent there?” Caroline Ashton asks.
“Suniva was only supposed to be a distribution site. Drifts were set to take the crates to other cities in the morning,” Kiandra answers.
Shit. The venin knew about the shipment. That’s the only logical explanation.
“How many people knew the distribution schedule?” I ask.
“Right there.” Devera points at me. “The answer is too many. We have traitors in our ranks.”
My pulse launches. How many Barlowes are out there, hiding among us? Just waiting for their opportunity? The cadet turning in the Signet Sparring pit proved some of us are willing to turn under the right circumstances. Maybe even in this room.
“How did they get to Suniva without being detected?” Rhiannon asks. “The area surrounding the city was clear for hundreds of miles. Fliers and our riot had to be on patrol.”
“What’s common in Suniva in March?” Kiandra asks in answer.
Fuck if I know. That hasn’t exactly been a part of our education to this point.
“Thunderstorms,” Kai answers from Aaric’s right. “From March until about June, they roll in around five and are gone by midnight.”
Kiandra nods. “They flew in with the storm.”
“You mean above it?” a first-year asks.
“No, dumbass,” another first-year from First Wing counters. “They can’t survive at that altitude.”
“Some storms are low enough to fly over,” Devera corrects, “which is why you should pay more attention in class, Payson. In this case, they flew within the cloud.”
Within the cloud? That would require… No way. It’s impossible.
Not with enough years of training.
“That doesn’t make sense,” a third-year calls out from above us. “It’s an unacceptable risk to fly in those conditions unless absolutely necessary due to the prevalence of lightning. We’re taught that in the first month of flight maneuvers.”
Most of the room mutters in agreement.
“Which is why the patrols were grounded.” Devera stares at me like she knows what I’m thinking.
“Maybe they don’t give a shit how many wyvern die,” Imogen counters.
My heart races, and I shift my weight in my seat.
“What’s wrong?” Rhiannon whispers.
“I know how they did it,” I reply just as quietly, my grip tightening on my pen.
“Then say something,” Rhi prods like it’s first year all over again.
“I don’t want to be right,” I reply just as quietly.
“That’s a first,” Cat mutters.
Devera cocks her head to the side, calling me out without saying a word.
My stomach hollows. Gods, I’m really going to have to say it.
“They’d give a shit about wyverns if they’re riding them,” the other third-year retorts at Imogen. “They might not have souls, but they value their lives, and no reasonable rider flies within a thunderstorm.”
“I do.” Fuck, I actually said it.
Every head turns my way, and Devera nods.
“I can direct my strikes within a cloud just like I did during the battle here in December,” I continue. “Which means I could theoretically control the natural strikes and move a riot within a thunderstorm with relative safety…after about twenty years of practice.” I abandon my pen on my notebook. Theophanie. “She was with them—their lightning wielder. I’d guess that’s how the textile fire started, and probably what took out the other dragons.”