Xaden. The knot of guilt that’s been lodged in my stomach since last week grows a fraction bigger. By code, I should tell Dain about seeing marked ones under the oak tree, but I won’t, not because I told Xaden that I wouldn’t but because keeping the secret feels like the right thing to do.
I’ve never kept a secret from Dain in my life.
“Violet? Did you hear me?” Dain asks, lifting a hand to cradle my face.
Jerking my gaze to his, I nod and repeat, “Steer clear of Barlowe.”
He drops his hand and shoves it into a pocket of his pants. “Hopefully he’ll forget all about his little vendetta against you.”
“Do most men forget when a woman holds a knife to their balls?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
“No.” He sighs. “You know, it’s not too late to sneak you down to the scribes. Fitzgibbons will take you—”
The bells ring, marking quarter past five and saving me from another session of Dain begging me to run away to the Scribe Quadrant.
“I’ll be all right. I’ll see you at formation.” I give his hand a squeeze, then walk away, leaving him as I make my way to the kitchen. I’m always the first here, and today is no exception.
I pocket the vial of dried, powdered fonilee berries from my satchel and get started as the other workers come in, sleepy-eyed and grumbly. The powder is nearly white, nearly invisible as I take my place in the serving line an hour later, and completely undetectable as I sprinkle it over Oren Seifert’s scrambled eggs when he approaches.
…
“Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from at Threshing,” Professor Kaori says, his serious, dark eyes slashing toward his nose as he studies the new recruits for a beat, then he changes the projection he’s conjured from a Green Daggertail to a Red Scorpiontail. He’s an illusionist and the only professor in the quadrant with the signet ability to project what he sees in his mind, which makes this class one of my favorites. He’s also the reason I knew exactly what Oren Seifert looked like.
Do I feel guilty about blatantly misleading a professor about why I needed to find another cadet? No. Do I think it’s cheating? Also no. I was doing exactly what Mira suggested and using my brain.
The Red Scorpiontail in the center of our circled tables is a fraction of its actual size, six feet tall at most, but it’s an exact replica of the actual firebreather waiting in the Vale for Threshing.
“Red Scorpiontails, like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper,” Professor Kaori continues, his perfectly trimmed mustache curving as he smiles at the illusion like he’s the dragon himself. We all take notes. “So if you offend him, you’re—”
“Lunch,” Ridoc says from my left, and the class laughs. Even Jack Barlowe, who hasn’t quit glaring at me since his squad took over their quarter of the room a half hour ago, snorts.
“Precisely,” Professor Kaori responds. “So what’s the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?” He glances around the room.
I know the answer, but I keep my hand to myself, heeding Dain’s advice to lay low.
“You don’t,” Rhiannon mutters next to me, and I huff a laugh under my breath.
“They prefer that you approach from the left and from the front, if possible,” a woman from one of the other squads answers.
“Excellent.” Professor Kaori nods. “For this Threshing, there are three Red Scorpiontails willing to bond.” The image changes in front of us to a different dragon.
“How many dragons are there in total?” Rhiannon asks.
“A hundred for this year,” Professor Kaori answers, changing the image again. “But some might change their minds during Presentation in about two months, depending on what they see.”
My stomach hits the floor. “That’s thirty-seven fewer than last year.” Maybe even fewer if they don’t like the look of us after we have to parade by them for their perusal two days before Threshing. Then again, there’s usually fewer cadets after that particular event anyway.
Professor Kaori’s dark eyebrows rise. “Yes, Cadet Sorrengail, it is, and twenty-six fewer than the year before that.”
Fewer dragons are choosing to bond, but the number of riders entering the quadrant has remained steady. My mind whirls. Attacks at the eastern borders are increasing, according to every Battle Brief, and yet there are fewer dragons willing to bond in order to defend Navarre.
“Will they tell you why they won’t bond?” another first-year asks.
“No, jackass,” Jack scoffs, his icy-blue gaze narrowing on the cadet. “Dragons only talk to their bonded riders, just like they only give their full name to their bonded rider. You should know that by now.”
Professor Kaori sends Jack a look that shuts the first-year’s mouth but doesn’t stop him from sneering at the other cadet. “They don’t share their reasons,” our instructor says. “And anyone who respects their life won’t ask a question they’re not willing to answer.”
“Do the numbers affect the wards?” Aurelie asks from where she sits behind me, tapping her quill against the edge of her desk. She’s never happy sitting still.
Professor Kaori’s jaw ticks twice. “We’re not sure. The number of bonded dragons has never affected the integrity of Navarre’s wards before, but I’m not about to lie to you and say that we’re not seeing increased breaches when you know from Battle Brief that we are.”
The wards are faltering at a rate that makes my stomach tense every time Professor Devera starts our daily Battle Brief. Either we’re weakening or our enemies are getting stronger. Both possibilities mean the cadets in this room are needed more than ever.
Even me.
The image changes to Sgaeyl, the navy-blue dragon bonded to Xaden.
My stomach pitches as I remember the way she looked right through me that first day.
“You won’t have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this Threshing, but you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her,” Professor Kaori says.
“So you can fucking run,” Ridoc drawls.
I nod along while others laugh.
“She’s a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should…definitely find somewhere else to be. Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. In fact, if you see any of the blues, don’t approach them. Just…”
“Run,” Ridoc repeats, raking his hand through his floppy brown hair.
