But Xaden’s gaze never leaves mine as he silently waits for me to respond.
“A rider may only bring to the quadrant the items they can carry—” I start.
“Are you quoting the Codex to me?” Amber shouts.
“—and they shall not be separated from those items no matter what they may be,” I continue. “For once carried across the parapet, they are considered part of their person. Article Three, Section Six, Addendum B.”
Her blue eyes flare wide as I glance at her. “That addendum was written to make thievery an executional offense.”
“Correct.” I nod, looking between her and the onyx eyes that see straight through me. “But in doing so, it gave any item carried across the parapet the status of being a part of the rider.” I unsheathe the chipped and battered blade with a sharp bite of pain in my palms. “This isn’t a challenge blade. It’s one I carried across and therefore considered part of myself.”
His eyes flare, and I don’t miss the hint of a smirk on that infuriatingly decadent mouth of his. It should be against the Codex to look that good and be so ruthless.
“The right way isn’t the only way.” I use his own words against him.
Xaden holds my gaze. “She has you, Amber.”
“On a technicality!”
“She still has you.” He turns slightly and delivers a look that I never want directed at me.
“You think like a scribe,” she barks at me.
It’s intended as an insult, but I just nod. “I know.”
She marches off, and I sheathe the dagger again, letting my hands fall to my sides and closing my eyes as relief shucks the weight from my shoulders. I did it. I passed another test.
“Sorrengail,” Xaden says, and my eyes fly open. “You’re leaking.” His gaze drops pointedly to my hands.
Where blood is dripping from my fingertips.
Pain erupts, pushing past my mental dam like a raging river at the sight of the mess I’ve made of my palms. I’ve shredded them.
“Do something about it,” he orders.
I nod and back away, joining my squad. Rhiannon helps me cut off the sleeves of my shirt to bandage my hands, and I cheer our last two squadmates up the cliff.
We all make it.
Presentation Day is unlike any other. The air is ripe with possibilities, and possibly the stench of sulfur from a dragon who has been offended. Never look a red in the eye. Never back down from a green. If you show trepidation to a brown…well, just don’t.
—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind
CHAPTER
TWELVE
There are 169 of us by the time the morning is done and, even with my penalty for the rope, we’ve placed eleventh out of the thirty-six squads for Presentation—the piss-inducing parade of cadets before this year’s dragons willing to bond.
Anxiety seizes my legs at the thought of walking so close to dragons determined to weed out the weak before Threshing, and I suddenly wish we’d placed last.
The fastest up the Gauntlet was Liam Mairi, of course, earning him the Gauntlet patch. Pretty sure that guy doesn’t know how to take second place, but I wasn’t the slowest, and that’s good enough for me.
The box canyon that makes up the training field is spectacular in the afternoon sun, with miles of autumn-colored meadows and peaks rising on three sides of us as we wait at the narrowest part, the entrance to the valley. At the end, I can make out the line of the waterfall that might be just a trickle of a creek now but will rush at runoff season.
The leaves of the trees are all turning gold, as though someone has brought in a paintbrush with only one color and streaked it across the landscape.
And then there are the dragons.
Averaging twenty-five feet tall, they’re in a formation of their own, lined up several feet back from the path—close enough to pass judgment on us as we walk by.
“Let’s go, Second Squad, you’re up next,” Garrick says, beckoning us with a wave that makes the rebellion relic on his bared forearm gleam.
Dain and the other squad leaders stayed behind. I’m not sure if he’ll be thrilled I made it up the Gauntlet or disappointed that I bent the rules. But I’ve never felt more thrilled.
“Into formation,” Garrick orders, his tone all business, which doesn’t surprise me given that his leadership style is more mission first, niceties last. Go figure he seems to be so close to Xaden. Unlike Xaden, though, the right side of his uniform has a neat line of patches proclaiming him Flame’s section leader as well as more than five patches advertising his skill with a multitude of weapons.
We comply, and Rhiannon and I end up near the back this time.
There’s a sound like rushing wind in the distance that stops as quickly as it starts, and I know someone else has been found lacking.
Garrick’s hazel eyes skim over us. “Hopefully Aetos has done his job, so you know that it’s a straight walk down the meadow. I’d recommend staying at least seven feet apart—”
“In case one of us gets torched,” Ridoc mutters from ahead.
“Correct, Ridoc. Cluster if you want, just know if a dragon finds disfavor with one of you, it’s likely to burn the whole lot to weed one out,” Garrick warns, holding our gazes for a beat. “Also, remember you’re not here to approach them, and if you do, you won’t be making it back to the dormitory tonight.”
