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)
Whisps of silver hair blow in the breeze at the edge of my vision, and the sword of Tyrrendor rushes toward my chest.
WAKE! I scream, but my mouth won’t work—
My eyes flash open and my hands jolt upward, my sweaty limbs tangling in the blankets as lightning crashes outside my window.
Heart racing, I shove away the covers and run my fingers over my sternum. “Of course there’s no cut, you fool,” I mutter. It was just a damned dream. A very visceral one, but a dream nonetheless.
I swing my feet to the floor, then wrap my arms around my middle as I rise and walk toward the window. Rain assaults the glass in sheets that obscure the view over the ravine toward the main campus.
Tairn and Andarna are asleep, but there’s a stirring along the bond I share with Xaden. His shields are down, but the foggy barrier of sleep stands between us.
I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, counting to twenty as my heart slowly calms. The Sage is dead, but she isn’t.
Theophanie is very real, and if she can get to me here at Basgiath, she can get to my friends, too…the ones who are justifiably disappointed that I kept yet another secret from them. Thank gods they understand that Xaden’s not the enemy, that he’s still fighting on our side.
How long will it be until Theophanie goes after Xaden?
My throat tightens, but this time it’s my own fear clogging my windpipe. How the hell am I supposed to fight a dark wielder who’s had decades to perfect a signet I still need a conduit to control?
It’s the end of March. I’ve barely had my powers for a year.
The last day of March.
I glance down at the package Jesinia handed me the day before yesterday. It’s right where I left it on the sill, one end undone. At the opening of the paper, the edges of a delicate Deverelli silk nightgown and robe spill out with a handwritten note.
For the nights I can’t sleep next to you. — X
My chest clenches just like it did when I opened it. He’d somehow seen me eyeing the fabric in Deverelli, bought it, then placed the order to have it made before we left to search the other isles.
“I love you,” I whisper down the bond, then lean forward and rest my forehead against the cold glass, using the sensation to solidify my certainty that the nightmare has ended. “I need you. Quit brooding.”
Maybe it’s time I try one of his own techniques.
I reach for pen and paper.
• • •
“The purpose of this maneuver, as you remember, is to spend as little time on the ground as possible,” Kaori lectures that morning as he stands beside Xaden, amplifying his voice across the flight field as the riders of our entire section sit mounted like we’re in formation…mostly.
Sawyer stands between Sliseag’s claws two rows back, and Tairn waits next to Feirge, both their wings tucked for proximity’s sake, instead of standing behind her where we belong.
“I am precisely where I belong,” he counters.
“Kind of wish you were a gryphon so we could have sat this one out.”
“Kind of wish I’d sat out Threshing two years ago,” he counters.
The corner of my mouth rises. “You sure you don’t want to join us?” I ask Andarna.
“No point when I can’t carry you.” She shuts the bond.
Awesome. My heart sinks to a new low. I pushed too hard again. Or maybe too little.
Tairn sighs like he’s in his elder years.
“In this new type of warfare,” Kaori continues, “it’s more important than ever that we spend less time on the ground, but there will be moments when you cannot accomplish your mission while mounted. You must be prepared to dismount in a running landing, wield to defeat your opponent, then be ready to take to the sky in what we’re calling a ‘battle-mount’ if you are unsuccessful…or outnumbered. Every second you remain on the ground endangers not only your life, but your dragon’s, should they remain on the field.” Kaori lifts a hand and conjures a projection of a robed figure at the far right end of the field. “Professor Riorson?”
Shit. I haven’t mastered a run-on landing like the rest of my year-mates, let alone whatever a “battle-mount” will entail.
“For the sake of the first exercise,” Xaden says, his voice booming across the field, “your opponent’s signet is unknown, and you are alone. Once you’ve shown you can complete the maneuver, we’ll work in teams. First-years, we just want you to get the tactic down so you can practice while on your upcoming Aretia rotation. Don’t worry about wielding; I know not all of you can.” Xaden surveys our line, and I can’t help but notice the dark circles under his eyes. He might be sleeping at night, but it’s not well, and I hate that I can’t do anything about it. “This is your fighting pit today.” His gaze finds mine. “Try not to incinerate it.”