I nod.
“But you’re smarter than both of them.”
I blink. It’s not often I get compared to my brother and sister and somehow come out on top.
“From what I’ve seen of you helping your friend study in commons every night, it seems you might be more compassionate, too. Don’t forget that.”
“Thank you, but being smart and compassionate isn’t going to help me when it comes to Threshing.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes. “You know more about dragons than anyone else in the quadrant, probably anyone else on the Continent. They choose strength and shrewdness.”
“They choose for reasons they don’t see fit to share with us.” He pushes off his desk. “And not all strength is physical, Violet.”
I nod, because I can’t find any appropriate words for his well-intentioned flattery, and head over to meet Rhiannon at the door. The only thing I know for certain right now is that compassion isn’t going to help me on the mat after lunch.
…
I’m so nervous I could puke as I stand at the side of the wide black mat, watching Rhiannon beat the ever-loving shit out of her opponent. It’s a guy from Second Wing, and it takes almost no time for her to get him into a headlock, cutting off his air supply. It’s a move she’s tried her best to drill into me over the last couple of weeks.
“She makes it look so easy,” I say to Dain as he stands at my side, his elbow brushing mine.
“He’s going to try to kill you.”
“What?” I glance up, then follow his line of sight two mats over.
Dain’s glaring daggers at Xaden across the mat, a look of sheer boredom on his face as Rhiannon squeezes the neck of the Second Wing first-year tighter.
“Your opponent,” Dain says softly. “I overheard him and a few friends. They think you’re a liability to the wing thanks to that Barlowe kid.” His gaze shifts to Oren, who’s sizing me up like a damned plaything he’s planning on breaking.
But there’s a greenish twinge to his complexion that makes me grin.
“I’m going to be fine,” I recite, because that’s my fucking mantra. I’m stripped down to the dragon-scale vest that’s starting to feel like a second skin and my fighting leathers. All four of my daggers are sheathed, and if my plan goes correctly, I’ll have one more to add to my collection soon.
The Second Wing first-year passes out, and Rhiannon rises victorious as we clap. Then she leans over her opponent and removes the dagger at his side. “Looks like this is mine now. Enjoy your nap.” She pats him on the head, which makes me laugh.
“Not sure why you’re laughing, Sorrengail,” a sneering voice calls out from behind me.
I turn around and see Jack standing with his feet apart against the wood-planked wall about ten feet away, wearing a smile that can only be described as evil.
“Fuck off, Barlowe.” I gift him the middle finger.
“I honestly hope you win today’s challenge.” His eyes dance with a sadistic glee that makes me queasy. “It would be a shame for someone else to kill you before I get the chance. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Violets are such delicate…fragile things, you know.”
Delicate, my ass.
He’d probably think twice about plotting your murder if you threw a few daggers at his head.
I unsheathe both daggers from my ribs and flick them in his direction in one smooth movement. They land right where I intended—one nearly nicking his ear and the other an inch beneath his balls.
Fear widens his eyes.
I shamelessly grin and wiggle my fingers in a wave.
“Violet,” Dain hisses as Jack maneuvers around my blades, stepping away from the wall.
“You’ll pay for that.” Jack points at me and stalks off, but the rise and fall of his shoulders is a little choppy.
I watch his back retreat, then retrieve my daggers, sheathing them at my ribs before returning to Dain’s side.
“What the hell was that?” he seethes. “I told you to lay low when it comes to him, and you…” He shakes his head at me. “You just piss him off even more?”
“Laying low wasn’t getting me anywhere,” I say with a shrug as Rhiannon’s opponent is carried off the mat. “He needs to realize I’m not a liability.” And I’ll be harder to kill than he thinks.
There’s no ignoring the prickle at my scalp, and I let my gaze shift to meet Xaden’s.
My heart does that damn stuttering thing again, as if he’d sent shadows straight through my ribs to squeeze the organ. He lifts his scarred brow, and I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he leaves, walking over to observe the Fourth Wing cadets at the next mat.
“Badass,” Rhiannon says as she moves to my other side. “I thought Jack was going to shit himself.”
I smother a smile.
“Stop encouraging her,” Dain chastises.
“Sorrengail.” Professor Emetterio glances at his notebook and raises one bushy black brow before continuing. “Seifert.”
Swallowing back the panic that threatens to creep up my throat, I step onto the mat opposite Oren, who’s definitely looking green now.
Right on time.
I’ve prepared the best I can, wrapping my ankles and my knees just in case he goes for the legs.
