Sure enough, the crowd of thousands behind us has separated fully into their chosen quadrants, all lined up to sign the roll and begin their service.
“Focus,” Mira snaps, and I whip my head forward. “This might sound harsh, but don’t seek friendships in there, Violet. Forge alliances.”
There are only two ahead of us now—a woman with a full pack, whose high cheekbones and oval face remind me of renderings of Amari, the queen of the gods. Her dark brown hair is worn in several rows of short braids that just touch the equally dark skin of her neck. The second is the muscular blond man with the woman crying over him. He’s carrying an even bigger rucksack.
I look around the pair toward the roll-keeping desk, and my eyes widen. “Is he…?” I whisper.
Mira glances and mutters a curse. “A separatist’s kid? Yep. See that shimmering mark that starts on the top of his wrist? It’s a relic from the rebellion.”
I lift my eyebrows in surprise. The only relics I’ve ever heard of are when a dragon uses magic to mark the skin of their bonded rider. But those relics are a symbol of honor and power and generally in the shape of the dragon who gifted them. These marks are swirls and slashes that feel more like a warning than a claiming.
“A dragon did that?” I whisper.
She nods. “Mom says General Melgren’s dragon did it to all of them when he executed their parents, but she wasn’t exactly open to further discussion on the topic. Nothing like punishing the kids to deter more parents from committing treason.”
It seems…cruel, but the first rule of living at Basgiath is never question a dragon. They tend to cremate anyone they find rude.
“Most of the marked kids who carry rebellion relics are from Tyrrendor, of course, but there are a few whose parents turned traitor from the other provinces—” The blood drains from her face, and she grips the straps of my pack, turning me to face her. “I just remembered.” Her voice drops, and I lean in, my heart jumping at the urgency in her tone. “Stay the hell away from Xaden Riorson.”
The air rushes from my lungs. That name…
“That Xaden Riorson,” she confirms, fear lacing her gaze. “He’s a third-year, and he will kill you the second he finds out who you are.”
“His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion,” I say quietly. “What is Xaden doing here?”
“All the children of the leaders were conscripted as punishment for their parents’ crimes,” Mira whispers as we shuffle sideways, moving with the line. “Mom told me they never expected Riorson to make it past the parapet. Then they figured a cadet would kill him, but once his dragon chose him…” She shakes her head. “Well, there’s nothing much that can be done then. He’s risen to the rank of wingleader.”
“That’s bullshit,” I seethe.
“He’s sworn allegiance to Navarre, but I don’t think that will stop him where you’re concerned. Once you get across the parapet—because you will make it across—find Dain. He’ll put you in his squad, and we’ll just hope it’s far from Riorson.” She grips my straps tighter. “Stay. Away. From. Him.”
“Noted.” I nod.
“Next,” a voice calls from behind the wooden table that bears the rolls of the Riders Quadrant. The marked rider I don’t know is seated next to a scribe I do, and Captain Fitzgibbons’s silver eyebrows rise over his weathered face. “Violet Sorrengail?”
I nod, picking up the quill and signing my name on the next empty line on the roll.
“But I thought you were meant for the Scribe Quadrant,” Captain Fitzgibbons says softly.
I envy his cream-colored tunic, unable to find the words.
“General Sorrengail chose otherwise,” Mira supplies.
Sadness fills the older man’s eyes. “Pity. You had so much promise.”
“By the gods,” the rider next to Captain Fitzgibbons says. “You’re Mira Sorrengail?” His jaw drops, and I can smell his hero worship from here.
“I am.” She nods. “This is my sister, Violet. She’ll be a first-year.”
“If she survives the parapet.” Someone behind me snickers. “Wind just might blow her right off.”
“You fought at Strythmore,” the rider behind the desk says with awe. “They gave you the Order of the Talon for taking out that battery behind enemy lines.”
The snickering stops.
“As I was saying.” Mira puts a hand at the small of my back. “This is my sister, Violet.”
“You know the way.” The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret. It looks ominously dark in there, and I fight the urge to run like hell.
“I know the way,” she assures him, leading me past the table so the snickering asshole behind me can sign the roll.
We pause at the doorway and turn toward each other.
“Don’t die, Violet. I’d hate to be an only child.” She grins and walks away, sauntering past the line of gawking candidates as word spreads of exactly who she is and what she’s done.
“Tough to live up to that,” the woman ahead of me says from just inside the tower.
“It is,” I agree, gripping the straps of my rucksack and heading into the darkness. My eyes adjust quickly to the dim light coming in through the equidistant windows along the curved staircase.
“Sorrengail as in…?” the woman asks, looking over her shoulder as we begin to climb the hundreds of stairs that lead to our possible deaths.
“Yep.” There’s no railing, so I keep my hand on the stone wall as we rise higher and higher.
“The general?” the blond guy ahead of us asks.
“The same one,” I answer, offering him a quick smile. Anyone whose mother holds on that tight can’t be that bad, right?
“Wow. Nice leathers, too.” He smiles back.
