“Thanks. They’re courtesy of my sister.”
“I wonder how many candidates have fallen off the edge of the steps and died before they even reach the parapet,” the woman says, glancing down the center of the staircase as we climb higher.
“Two last year.” I tilt my head when she glances back. “Well, three if you count the girl one of the guys landed on.”
The woman’s brown eyes flare, but she turns back around and keeps climbing. “How many steps are there?” she asks.
“Two hundred and fifty,” I answer, and we climb in silence for another five minutes.
“Not too bad,” she says with a bright smile as we near the top and the line comes to a halt. “I’m Rhiannon Matthias, by the way.”
“Dylan,” the blond guy responds with an enthusiastic wave.
“Violet.” I give them a tense smile of my own, blatantly ignoring Mira’s earlier suggestion that I avoid friendships and only forge alliances.
“I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life for this day.” Dylan shifts his pack on his back. “Can you believe we actually get to do this? It’s a dream come true.”
Right. Naturally, every other candidate but me is excited to be here. This is the only quadrant at Basgiath that doesn’t accept conscripts—only volunteers.
“I can’t fucking wait.” Rhiannon’s smile widens. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to ride a dragon?”
Me. Not that it doesn’t sound fun in theory. It does. It’s just the abhorrent odds of surviving to graduation that sour my stomach.
“Do your parents approve?” Dylan asks. “Because my mom’s been begging me to change my mind for months. I keep telling her that I’ll have better chances for advancement as a rider, but she wanted me to enter the Healer Quadrant.”
“Mine always knew I wanted this, so they’ve been pretty supportive. Besides, they have my twin to dote on. Raegan’s already living her dream, married and expecting a baby.” Rhiannon glances back at me. “What about you? Let me guess. With a name like Sorrengail, I bet you were the first to volunteer this year.”
“I was more like volun-told.” My answer is far less enthusiastic than hers.
“Gotcha.”
“And riders do get way better perks than other officers,” I say to Dylan as the line moves upward again. The snickering candidate behind me catches up, sweating and red. Look who isn’t snickering now. “Better pay, more leniency with the uniform policy,” I continue. No one gives a shit what riders wear as long as it’s black. The only rules that apply to riders are the ones I’ve memorized from the Codex.
“And the right to call yourself a supreme badass,” Rhiannon adds.
“That too,” I agree. “Pretty sure they issue you an ego with your flight leathers.”
“Plus, I’ve heard that riders are allowed to marry sooner than the other quadrants,” Dylan adds.
“True. Right after graduation.” If we survive. “I think it has something to do with wanting to continue bloodlines.” Most successful riders are legacies.
“Or because we tend to die sooner than the other quadrants,” Rhiannon muses.
“I’m not dying,” Dylan says with way more confidence than I feel as he tugs a necklace from under his tunic to reveal a ring dangling from the chain. “She said it would be bad luck to propose before I left, so we’re waiting until graduation.” He kisses the ring and tucks the chain back under his collar. “The next three years are going to be long ones, but they’ll be worth it.”
I keep my sigh to myself, though that might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.
“You might make it across the parapet,” the guy behind us sneers. “This one here is a breeze away from the bottom of the ravine.”
I roll my eyes.
“Shut up and focus on yourself,” Rhiannon snaps, her feet clicking against the stone as we climb.
The top comes into sight, the doorway full of muddled light. Mira was right. Those clouds are going to wreak havoc on us, and we have to be on the other side of the parapet before they do.
Another step, another tap of Rhiannon’s feet.
“Let me see your boots,” I say quietly so the jerk behind me can’t hear.
Her brow puckers, and confusion fills her brown eyes, but she shows me the soles. They’re smooth, just like the ones I was wearing earlier. My stomach sinks like a rock.
The line starts moving again, pausing when we’re only a few feet from the opening. “What size are your feet?” I ask.
“What?” Rhiannon blinks at me.
“Your feet. What size are they?”
“Eight,” she answers, two lines forming between her brows.
“I’m a seven,” I say quickly. “It will hurt like hell, but I want you to take my left boot. Trade with me.” I have a dagger in the right one.
“I’m sorry?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.
“These are rider boots. They’ll grip the stone better. Your toes will be scrunched and generally miserable, but at least you’ll have a shot at not falling off if that rain hits.”
Rhiannon glances toward the open door—and the darkening sky—then back to me. “You’re willing to trade a boot?”
“Just until we get on the other side.” I look through the open door. Three candidates are already walking across the parapet, their arms stretched out wide. “But we have to be quick. It’s almost our turn.”
