CHAPTER NINETEEN

My heart pounds erratically as I walk past First and Second Wings’ dragons with the rest of my squad two days later for flight maneuvers.

Kaori stands in front of Fourth Wing, shifting his weight nervously beside Varrish, who watches me with a focus that makes my skin crawl, like he’s mentally tabulating how many strikes he’s going to make me wield in punishment for not producing Andarna. And the way Solas lurks behind him, his one golden eye narrowed on me, makes me wonder if Varrish will even wait until tomorrow.

Because obviously, from his angle, he can see that she isn’t here, and worse, he looks happy about it.

I made it to twenty-seven strikes in an hour this morning with Carr before my temperature spiked, and he seemed disappointed. That makes two of us, considering I didn’t hit a single point I aimed for. My arms feel like dead weight after all that wielding. If Varrish forces me up to that mountainside again today, I’m not sure I’ll come down.

“There is something off about that orange,” Rhiannon notes, adjusting the strap of her flight goggles as we approach Third Wing.

“You mean, like the fact that he torched Third Squad without a second thought?” Ridoc questions, buttoning his flight jacket.

“And Varrish seems so…controlled.” Sawyer stretches his arm across his chest. “Kind of uptight, you know?”

Unlike me, Sawyer’s only seen him at the surface level. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, fighting off the nausea that threatens to expel my breakfast.

“It’s definitely an odd pairing,” Rhi agrees as we reach Claw Section’s dragons. There aren’t any third-years on the field today, leaving more than enough room for the second-year dragons to spread out, but gods forbid Tairn not stand in the front row like the star of the show. I can already see his head above the others from here, and I’m pretty sure I just heard him chuff a sigh of annoyance.

Varrish’s mouth quirks into a polished smile at me, but the glint in his eyes makes the hold I have on my Archives doors weaken, trickling power into my system in preparation to fight.

“And what’s the deal with the way he stares at you?” Sawyer asks, shifting beside me to block Varrish’s view. “He’s always smiling at you like…” He shakes his head. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Like he knows something you don’t,” Rhi finishes, giving the Red Clubtail from First Squad a wide berth as we pass. “Is there some history with your mom, maybe? Some bad blood?”

“Not that I know of.” They don’t even know the half of it, but how could they when I haven’t told them? “But he’s obsessed with Andarna.” There, there’s some of the truth.

“She all right?” Sawyer asks. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She’s been resting a lot.” I prepare myself for the utter misery of full leathers in the stagnant late-summer heat, then start buttoning as we approach Tairn. “She can keep up with simple maneuvers, but the stuff we’re doing now? Formation flights and timed rolls? There’s no point in putting her through this kind of stuff.” Selective truths.

“Makes sense.” Sawyer nudges me with his elbow. “See you up there!”

“You look a little queasy,” Rhi notes once the guys are out of earshot. “Everything all right?”

“I’m fine.” I force a quick grin and try to think of anything besides how much it’s going to hurt when Varrish gets ahold of me. “Varrish looks eerily delighted that Andarna isn’t here.”

“I will handle this.”

“Right. Of course you are.” Rhi’s mouth curves into a sad glimpse of a smile before she turns away, heading for Feirge, who waits on Tairn’s other side.

“Fuck,” I mutter, rubbing the bridge of my nose. No matter what I say right now, it’s always the wrong thing. “She’s never going to forgive me for keeping all this from her once she finds out.”

“She will,” he says, his head lowering slightly, but he doesn’t dip his shoulder even as I reach his front left claw. “Humans have the memories of gnats. Dragons hold grudges.”

“I’m going to forget you said that,” I tease back.

“Be alert.” His head swivels and I turn, unsheathing a dagger in the same moment.

“Surely you wouldn’t think of attacking a professor, would you, Sorrengail?” Varrish glances at my weapon, keeping that same mask of a smile in place. “Let alone a vice commandant.”

A low growl works up Tairn’s throat, and he curls his lip just enough to bare the tips of his fangs.

“I attack anyone foolish enough to sneak up behind me this year.” I roll my shoulder back and lift my chin.

“Hmm.” He leans to the side and looks past Tairn’s foreleg. “No little feathertail with you today?”

“Obviously.” Fear slides down my spine.

“How unfortunate.” He sighs, then turns his back on me, his boots crunching in the dry grass as he heads toward Solas. “There will be no maneuvers for you today, Sorrengail.”

My stomach rolls. “I’m sorry?”

Tairn shifts sideways, sweeping his foreleg around me so I stand under his chest scales.

“Not yet,” Varrish says over his shoulder, his brow puckering for a second as he notices Tairn’s stance. “But you will be. Warnings have apparently not worked, and I am hereby charging you with dereliction of duty for your dragon’s refusal to appear for maneuvers. You will mount and fly to your training location with Professor Carr to receive your punishment.”

“That will not be happening.” Tairn’s head lowers fully, and his body crouches into a defensive position.

“What is going on?” Rhi asks, her gaze jumping between Varrish and me as she walks back over to me.

“Obviously, her first punishment wasn’t enough to teach your subordinate, Squad Leader Matthias, so she requires another.” He blinks, tilting his head. “And as the vice commandant, I don’t owe you an explanation. Now mount up for maneuvers before you’re punished alongside her.”

“There will be no punishment!” Tairn roars, and from the abrupt head jerks of the dragons on the field, including Solas, everyone heard him. “It is not within your power to summon a dragon.”

It takes a second for thoughts to relay through riders, and Varrish stiffens. “Your dragon may not fall under my command, Sorrengail, but you do. So unless you’d like to further explore that delicate space between burnout and death, you will mount and present yourself—”

“Even the smallest dragon does not answer to the most powerful of humans, which you are not.” Tairn snaps his teeth, the sound carrying over the valley.

Feirge’s head draws back, and her golden eyes widen.

“Andarna does not answer to you.” Tairn stalks forward, his head and chest so low to the ground that he nearly touches my hair, and Varrish retreats. “I do not answer to you.”

Oh shit. This could go very bad very quickly.

“But you”—Varrish points at me—“answer to me!”

“Does she?” Tairn lunges forward, bypassing Varrish entirely and surging toward Solas with an ear-shattering roar, his morningstar tail lashing the air above me. Solas whips his head toward the ground to guard his most vulnerable area—his neck—but Tairn is faster, bigger, and far stronger. He’s already there, his enormous jaw locked around Solas’s throat.

I gasp as Tairn’s massive fangs sink between the joints of Solas’s scales, piercing his neck, and Kaori sprints to get out of the battleground.

Varrish turns and stiffens as crimson rivulets run over Solas’s orange neck scales, dripping off several of the ridges.

“Tairn…” What will the Empyrean do to him if he kills Solas?

“Only a rider can be the vice commandant of Basgiath,” Tairn warns, and Solas lets out a sound that’s half roar, half shriek. “Without a dragon, you are no rider.”