I shake my head.
“That’s just…inhumane.”
“Did you honestly think they’d break the no-correspondence rule? Even if they tried, Mom would have shut that down with a quickness.”
Rhiannon sighs, and I don’t blame her. There’s not much more to say on the subject.
The leadership meeting breaks up, and Dain heads over with Cianna. He’s practically beaming, his hands clenching and unclenching with nervous energy.
“Which is it?” Heaton asks. “Offense or defense?”
“Both,” he says as the other squad leaders report back to their riders.
I fake surprise and glance past him, but Xaden and the section leaders are nowhere to be seen.
“First Wing has taken a defensive position in one of the practice forts in the mountains, and they’re guarding a crystal egg,” Dain tells us, and the older riders in our squad murmur with excitement.
Makes sense. It’s probably a symbolic nod to the different breeds of dragons bringing their eggs to Basgiath when Navarre unified.
“What are we missing?” Ridoc asks. “Because you guys seemed thrilled about an egg.”
“From past years, we know that eggs are worth more points,” Cianna says, grinning enthusiastically. “Flags have statistically been the lowest, and captured professors rank somewhere in the middle.”
“But they like to switch it up,” Dain adds. “The same way we could be going for a real objective on the line only to discover it’s not as valuable as we thought.”
“So how is this both offense and defense?” Rhiannon asks. “If they have the egg, then clearly we should go get the egg.”
“Because we’ve also been given a flag to defend and no outpost to do it in.” He grins. “And our squad has been assigned to carry it.”
“You gave Dain the mission to defend Fourth Wing’s flag?”
“I’m hoping he learned something from your sister’s lesson at Montserrat,” Xaden replies, but his voice is quieter, which I’m starting to learn means he’s farther away. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll have the ability to communicate this way in a few months when more distance separates us.
My chest aches at the thought that he won’t be here. He’ll be risking his life on the front lines.
“And who is going to carry this flag?” Imogen asks.
Dain somehow manages to smile even wider. “That’s going to be the fun part.”
Over the next twenty minutes, we’re drilled in strategy during the walk over to the flight field, and from the sound of it, Dain was paying attention to Mira.
The plan is simple: play to our individual strengths and pass the flag often, never giving First Wing a chance to spot who is carrying it.
When we get to the flight field, there are dozens upon dozens of dragons filling the muddy field, all positioned as though they had formation in their squads, too. It’s easy to spot Tairn, seeing as his head rises above all others.
There’s a palpable air of anticipation as we walk by the other squads, all mounting as the squad and section leaders give out last-minute orders.
“We’re going to win,” Rhiannon says with confidence, linking her arm with mine as we approach our section of the field.
“What makes you so sure?”
“We have you, Tairn, Riorson, and Sgaeyl. And obviously—me.” She grins. “There’s no way we’re losing this.”
“You are certainly—” My words die as Tairn comes into full view.
He stands tall and proud at the front of our section, not bothering to give deference to Cath as Dain’s dragon, but it’s not his position that steals my breath. It’s the saddle strapped across his back that has me gawking.
“I hear it’s all the fashion,” Tairn brags.
“That’s…” I don’t even have words. The black metal bands look to be intricately linked as they loop around each foreleg and come together at the front of his chest, forming a triangular plate before rising above his shoulders to a saddle with strapped, secure stirrups. “That’s a saddle.”
“That’s cool, that’s what that is.” Rhiannon thumps my back. “And it looks way more comfortable than Feirge’s bony spine, I’ll tell you that. See you up there.” She walks past Tairn toward her own mount.
“I can’t use that.” I shake my head. “It’s not allowed.”
“I decide what’s allowed and what’s not,” Tairn growls, lowering his head to my level and blasting me with a chuff of steam. “There is no rule that says a dragon cannot modify their seat to serve their rider. You have worked just as hard—if not harder—than every rider in this quadrant. Just because your body is built differently than the others doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to keep your seat. It takes more than a few strips of leather and a pommel to define a rider.”
“He’s right, you know,” Xaden agrees as he approaches, and I briefly wonder where he’d gone that he’s back so quickly.
“No one asked you.” My pulse jolts and my skin flushes at the sight of him. Our uniforms make every rider look good, but Xaden takes even that up a notch with the way it cuts across the muscled lines of his body.
“If you don’t use it, I’ll take personal offense.” He folds his arms across his chest and studies the rigging. “Considering I had it made for you and just about got myself burned alive in the process of trying to get it on him.” He lifts a brow at Tairn. “Even though he helped design it, I might add.”
“The first models were unacceptable, and you had the gall to pinch my chest scales when clumsily assembling it this morning.” Tairn’s golden eyes narrow on Xaden.
“How was I to know the leather from the prototype would burn so easily? And it’s not like there are a lot of manuals on fitting a saddle to a dragon,” Xaden drawls.
“It doesn’t matter because I can’t use it.” I turn to face Xaden. “It’s beautiful, a marvel of engineering…”
