Every head turns as infantry cadets pour in wearing uncertain, anxious faces. I spot Calvin, the leader of the platoon we were paired with for maneuvers, gawking at the space, his gaze landing and remaining on the map of Navarre. He’s wearing the same insignia as the rest of them, leading me to believe they’ve only sent their quadrant’s leadership.
“The Infantry Quadrant will spend the next few hours trying to hunt them down for us while also preparing themselves…” Dain’s voice drops off, and he swallows.
Devera takes mercy on him, stepping forward. “You’ll be working within your squads tonight. Remember that wyvern are the distraction and the weapon. You take down one of the venin, and you kill the wyvern they’ve created. No one takes on a dark wielder alone. That’s how you get killed. Work together, rely on each other, complement each other’s signets just like it’s the Squad Battle.”
“Except it’s real battle,” Rhiannon says under her breath.
Where real cadets will really die.
“Remember that venin will mimic your fighting style, so change it up if you have no choice but hand-to-hand,” Devera continues, the lines of her mouth tense with worry and perhaps a little dread.
The Basgiath cadets murmur among themselves and shift in their seats.
“I’ll bet you all the daggers we’ve brought with us that they didn’t teach them how to fight venin.” Sawyer shakes his head, drumming his fingertips along the desk.
“First-years who haven’t manifested, I expect you packed and ready to fly should we fall. Healers are stocking the infirmary and are preparing. Scribes are in the process of evacuating with our most important texts.” Devera glances at my mother.
Of course they are. I can only wonder which texts they’ll consider valuable enough to save, and which they’ll conveniently leave behind to burn.
Mom looks up to my right, where Mira stands with a few of her friends, then drops her gaze to me. “The assignments given tonight have been decided with the best interest of Basgiath and the Vale in mind. There are incredibly powerful signets among you. Gifted riders.” She looks in the first row, where Emetterio sits. “And even combat masters. But I will not lie to you—”
“That’s a first,” I mumble, and Rhiannon scoffs softly under her breath. “—we are outnumbered,” Mom continues. “We are underpowered. However, the odds may be against us, but the gods are with us. Whether you left after Threshing or stayed, we are all Navarrian riders, bonded for the purpose of defending dragonkind in the darkest hour, and this is it.”
The darkest hour on the longest night of the year. My stomach churns as I fight off the spiraling weight of hopelessness.
“I want you to leave for Aretia,” I tell Andarna. “Get out before they arrive. Hide where you can and make your way back to Brennan.”
“I will be where I am needed, and it is with you,” she counters.
Every argument I could make to keep her alive doesn’t matter, and we both know it. Humans do not give dragons orders. If she’s determined to die with Tairn and me, there’s nothing I can do about it. I press my lips between my teeth and bite down to ward off the sting that comes to my eyes.
My fingernails bite into my palms as Mom assigns the active riders to cadet squads, splitting the experience among the group. Garrick is assigned to First Squad, Flame Section, and Heaton to First Squad, Claw Section, while Emery is assigned to a squad in First Wing. “Captain Sorrengail.” Mom looks up at Mira. “You’ll be with Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing.”
Our entire squad looks over at Mira, and my eyes widen at the fear that flares in her eyes.
Anger simmers along my bond with Xaden. “Fuck that.”
“With all due respect, General Sorrengail,” Mira replies, rolling her shoulders back, “if we’re to truly use our signets to their best advantage, then I should be paired with you as a last line of defense, since I can now shield without the wards.”
Mom’s eyebrows rise in surprise, and my gaze jumps between them like I’m watching a sporting match.
Mira swallows, then locks eyes with me. “And Lieutenant Riorson should be placed into Second Squad, as his signet has previously proven in battle to complement Cadet Sorrengail’s.” She looks at me like we’re sitting across the dining room table from each other and not in the midst of a pre-battle briefing. “As much as I would love to be her shield, he gives us the highest probability of keeping our most effective weapon alive.”
A tense second passes as I look to our mother.
“So be it.” Mom nods, then finishes the unit changes.
The heat along the bond recedes, and my posture sags in relief. At least we’ll be together.
“We get both of you?” Ridoc offers a quick smile. “Maybe we have a shot of lasting an hour.”
“My money’s on two,” Sawyer chimes in with a nod.
“Both of you shut up before I knock your heads together,” Imogen warns from a seat behind us. “Anything less than four hours is unacceptable.”
How long did Resson last? One? And there were ten riders and seven fliers against four venin.
“Now that that’s settled,” Mom says as Kaori steps onto the floor, throwing up an illusion in the form of a top-down map of Basgiath and the surrounding area. “We’re dividing Basgiath, the Vale, and surrounding areas into a grid of sectors.”
Kaori flicks his fingers, and gridlines appear on the map.
“Each squad will be responsible for a sector of airspace while infantry covers the ground,” Mom continues, nodding to Kaori. Squad insignia appear on different grids, and it takes me a second to locate ours on the side of the Vale, paired with a squad from First Wing. No patches are inside the space, but there are plenty of unbonded dragons no doubt ready to defend their hatching grounds. “Memorize these grids, because you’re not going to have time to pull out a map when you’re up there. If it’s in your airspace, you kill it. If it crosses into another squad’s airspace, you let them kill it. Avoid leaving your airspace at all costs, or it will turn into a disorganized melee, and that leaves us with inevitable weak grids. We’ll reassign you as necessary as casualties are reported.”
Not if they’re reported.
The grid behind the main campus, where the ward chamber is located, is horrifyingly bare, as though they’ve already surrendered the space.
“This is wrong,” I whisper. “We should be defending the wardstone.”
“The broken one?” Sawyer questions quietly.
“Say it,” Rhiannon urges.
“You have a better chance of living through it,” Ridoc mutters, shifting in his seat.
I clear my throat. “It’s a mistake to abandon the wardstone.”
My mother levels a disapproving look on me, and the temperature drops a few degrees. “Why is it that only my daughters speak out of turn?”
