My nerves are reserved for the obstacle course, but I can’t help but wonder which way his scales will tip today.
“For a hundred dragons? But what will we…” Trina asks, nerves cutting off her words.
“Stop letting fear leach into your voice,” Luca snaps from behind Rhiannon. “If the dragons think you’re a coward, you’ll be nothing but a name tomorrow.”
“She says,” Ridoc narrates, “inducing more fear.”
“Shut up,” Luca fires back. “You know it’s true.”
“Just portray confidence, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I lean forward so our squadmates behind us can’t hear me as Third Wing begins to march for the gate.
“Thanks,” Trina whispers in reply.
Dain’s narrowed gaze finally locks on mine, but at least he doesn’t call me a liar. There’s enough accusation in his eyes that I might as well be tried and convicted of it, though.
“Nervous, Rhi?” I ask, knowing we’re about to be called next.
“For you?” she asks. “Not at all. We’ve got this.”
“Oh, I meant about the history test tomorrow,” I tease. “There’s nothing going on today to panic about.”
“Now that you mention it, the whole Treaty of Arif might just be the death of me.” She grins.
“Ahh, the agreement between Navarre and Krovla for mutually shared airspace for both dragons and gryphons over a narrow strip of the Esben Mountains, between Sumerton and Draithus,” I recall, nodding.
“Your memory is terrifying.” She shoots me a smile.
But my memory isn’t going to get me up the Gauntlet.
“Fourth Wing!” Xaden calls out from somewhere in the distance. I don’t even need to see to know that it’s him who gave the order and not his executive officer. “Move out!”
We file off, Flame Section, then Claw, and finally Tail.
There’s a bit of a bottleneck at the gate, but then we’re through, walking into the mage-lit dimness of the tunnel that we take every morning to reach the Gauntlet. Shadows blanket the edges of the rocky floor along our path.
What are the limits of Xaden’s power anyway? Could he use shadows to choke out every squad in here? Would he need to rest or recharge after? Does such a vast power come with any sort of checks or balances?
Dain falls back so he walks between Rhiannon and me. “Change your mind.” It’s barely a whisper.
“No.” I sound way more confident than I feel.
“Change. Your. Mind.” His hand finds mine, concealed by our tight formation as we descend through the passage. “Please.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “Any more than you would leave Cath and run to the scribes yourself.”
“That’s different.” His hand squeezes mine, and I can feel the tension in his fingers, his arm. “I’m a rider.”
“Well, maybe I am, too,” I whisper as light appears ahead. I didn’t believe it before, not when I couldn’t leave because my mother wouldn’t let me, but now I have a choice. And I choose to stay.
“Don’t be—” He cuts himself off and drops my hand. “I don’t want to bury you, Vi.”
“It’s inevitable that one of us will have to bury the other.” It’s not macabre, just fact.
“You know what I mean.”
The light grows into an archway that’s ten feet high, leading us to the base of the Gauntlet.
“Please don’t do this,” Dain begs, not bothering to lower his voice this time as we emerge into the mottled sunlight.
The view is spectacular as always. We’re still high on the mountain, thousands of feet above the valley, and the greenery seems to stretch endlessly to the south, with random clusters of squat trees among colorful slopes of wildflowers. My gaze turns to the Gauntlet carved into the face of the cliff, and I can’t help but follow each obstacle higher and higher until I’m staring at the top of the ridgeline that the maps I’ve studied show leads into a box canyon—the flight field. I bite my lip as I stare at the break in the tree line.
Normally, only riders are allowed on the flight field—except for Presentation.
“I don’t know if I can watch,” Dain says, drawing my attention back to his strong face. His perfectly trimmed beard brackets full lips drawn tight into a frown.
“Then close your eyes.” I have a plan—a shitty one, but it’s worth a try.
“What changed between Parapet and now?” Dain asks again, a wealth of emotions in his eyes that I can’t begin to interpret. Well, except the fear. That doesn’t need any interpretation.
“Me.”
…
An hour later, my feet fly over the spinning posts of the staircase, and I jump to the safety of the gravel path. Third ascent complete. Two more to go. And I haven’t touched a single rope.
I swear I can feel Dain staring from the bottom of the course, where Tynan and Luca have yet to start their climb, but I don’t look down. There’s no time for what he thinks will be one last look, and I can’t afford the delay of comforting him when there are still two obstacles ahead of me.
Which means there’s one I haven’t even had the chance to practice—the nearly vertical ramp at the end.
