“We’ve never been second-years before,” I tell Nadine.
“Right. Makes sense.” She grabs her things out of her bag, then drops it at her feet. “I guess none of our classes were this far down the hallway last year.”
“What happened to your hand?” Rhiannon asks.
“It’s embarrassing.” She lifts the brace so we can see it. “I slipped and sprained it on the steps last night. Don’t worry, the healers think Nolon might have an opening for me tomorrow before Parapet. He’s been run ragged since War Games.”
“That man needs a break,” Rhiannon says, bobbing her head.
“I wish we had a break like the other quadrants.” Ridoc taps his pen on the desk. “Even five or six days to just get away.”
“I’m still recovering from the last six-day break I had away from here,” I try to joke.
Rhi’s face falls, and the rest of our squad quiets.
Shit. That was not the right thing to say, but I’m exhausted. There’s no point trying to sleep when I can’t quit dreaming about Resson.
“I’m around if you want to talk.” Rhi’s kind smile makes me feel like I’m two inches tall for not letting her in.
Do I want to talk? Absolutely. Am I able to? Not after Aetos made it clear not to share my war stories. He’s already targeting Mira—I’m not putting my best friend in that situation, too. Maybe Xaden is right. If I can’t lie, all my friends would be safer if I kept my distance.
“Good afternoon, second-years,” a tall rider says, his voice booming as he strides to the center of the floor, quieting the room. “I am Captain”—he winces, scratching the trim beard that’s a shade darker than his light golden skin— “Professor Grady. And, as you can tell, I’m new this year and getting used to the whole professor title, as well as being around twenty-one-year-old kids again. It’s been a while since I’ve been in the quadrant.”
He turns toward the end of the classroom—the one section where there are no seats—and crooks his fingers at the heavy wooden desk there. Lesser magic makes it screech across the floor until Professor Grady puts his palm out. Then it stops. He turns toward us and leans back against the edge of the desk. “That’s better. Congratulations on living through your first year.” He turns his head slowly, his gaze raking over each and every one of us. “There are eighty-nine of you in this room. From what the scribes tell me, you are the smallest class to walk this hall since the First Six.”
I glance at the empty rows of seats above First Wing. We knew last year that we had the fewest number of dragons willing to bond, but to see how few of us there really are is…disconcerting.
“Fewer dragons are bonding,” I say toward Tairn, knowing Andarna drifted into the Dreamless Sleep a few days ago. “Is that because the Empyrean knows about the venin?”
“Yes.” I can almost hear the exasperated sigh in Tairn’s voice.
“But we need more riders. Not fewer.” It doesn’t make sense.
“The Empyrean remains divided on whether or not we should get involved,” Tairn grumbles. “Humans aren’t the only ones keeping secrets.”
But Andarna and Tairn have already made their choice—of that, I’m sure.
“…But the second year brings its own challenges,” Professor Grady continues as I focus on class. “Last year, you learned how to ride the dragons who chose you. This year, you’ll learn what to do if you fall off. Welcome to Rider Survival Course, or RSC for short.”
“What the hell is that?” Ridoc mutters.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, writing the letters RSC in the blank book in front of me.
“But you know everything.” His eyes widen.
“Clearly not.” Seems to be the theme lately.
“Don’t know what it is?” Professor Grady asks with a grin, staring straight at Ridoc. “Good—our tactics work.” He crosses one boot in front of the other. “RSC is kept classified for a reason, so we get your genuine reactions to the situations at hand.”
“No one wants my genuine reactions,” Ridoc murmurs.
I bite back a smile and shake my head.
“RSC will teach you how to survive if you become separated from your dragon behind enemy lines. It’s a staple of your second year, culminating in two full evaluations you must pass in order to continue at Basgiath—one in a few weeks…and the other around mid-year.”
“What the hell do they do with a bonded rider who doesn’t pass?” Rhiannon asks quietly.
Every member of my squad looks at me. “I have no clue.”
Caroline Ashton raises her hand from her seat in First Wing across the room. A chill races down my spine as I remember how close she’d been to Jack Barlowe—the rider who’d been intent on killing me until I killed him instead.
“Yes?” Professor Grady asks.
“What precisely does ‘around mid-year’ mean?” Caroline asks. “Or ‘in a few weeks’?”
“You won’t know the precise date,” he answers, lifting his brows.
She huffs, sitting back in her seat.
“And I won’t tell you, no matter how many times you roll your eyes. No professor will because quite simply—we want you surprised. But we do want you to be prepared. In this room, I will instruct you in navigation, survival techniques, and how to withstand interrogation in case of capture.”
My stomach turns over, and my heartbeat goes double-time. Torture. He’s talking about being tortured. And now I carry information worth being tortured over.
“And you’ll face trials on those at any time,” Professor Grady continues, “taken from any place in the quadrant.”
“They’re going to abduct us?” Nadine gasps, fear lacing her tone.
“Sounds like it,” Sawyer mutters in response.
