…
“I want to be like the cool kids,” Rhiannon grumbles as first-years from Second and Third Wings pour out of the stairwell of the turret that leads up to Professor Carr’s classroom that afternoon, further clogging the hallway on our way to Battle Brief.
“We will,” I promise, linking my arm through hers. Have to admit, there’s more than a little twinge of jealousy in my chest.
“You may be cool, but you will never be as cool as I am!” Ridoc pushes past Liam and throws his arm over my shoulder.
“She’s talking about everyone who’s already channeling,” I explain, juggling my books so I don’t drop them. “Though at least if we’re not channeling, we’re not stressed about manifesting a signet before the magic kills us.” The relic in the center of my back tingles, and I can’t help but wonder if Andarna’s gift has triggered that clock for me.
“Oh, I thought we were discussing how I just owned that physics test.” He grins. “Definitely the highest score in the class.”
Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “Please. I scored five points higher than you.”
“We stopped counting your grades months ago.” He leans forward slightly. “Your grades in that class make it unfair for the rest of us.” He looks between our shoulders. “Wait. What did you get, Mairi?”
“Not getting into the middle of this,” Liam responds.
I laugh as we break apart, entering the bottleneck of cadets to get into the briefing room.
“Sorry, Sorrengail,” someone says, stepping out of the way and tugging their friend with them as we enter the tiered classroom.
“Nothing to be sorry about!” I call out, but they’re already headed up a few rows. “I’m never going to get used to that.”
“It definitely makes getting places easier,” Rhiannon teases as we descend the steps that curve along the massive turret.
“They show the appropriate level of deference,” Tairn grumbles.
“To what they think I’ll be, not who I am.” We find our row and walk to our seats, sitting as a squad among the first-years.
“That shows excellent forethought.”
The room buzzes with energy as riders file in, and I can’t help but notice that no one has to stand anymore. Our numbers have decreased exponentially in the last four months. The number of empty chairs is sobering. We lost another first-year yesterday when he got too close to another rider’s Red Scorpiontail on the flight field. One second he was standing there, and the next he was a scorched patch of earth. I kept as close to Tairn as possible the rest of the session.
My scalp prickles, but I fight the urge to turn around.
“Riorson just got here,” Liam says from the seat to my right, breaking from the little dragon figurine he’s carving and looking up the rows toward the third-years.
“Figured.” I hold up my middle finger and keep my eyes forward. Not that I don’t like Liam, but I’m still pissed at Xaden for assigning him.
Liam snorts and grins, flashing his dimple. “And now he’s glaring. Tell me, is it fun pissing off the most powerful rider in the quadrant?”
“You could try it yourself and find out,” I suggest, opening my notebook to the next empty page. I can’t turn around. I won’t. Wanting Xaden is fine. It has to be. Indulging the impulses it gives me? That’s asinine.
“That’s going to be a no from me.”
I lose the battle with my self-control and look over my shoulder. Sure enough, Xaden is seated in the top row next to Garrick, mastering the art of looking bored. He gives Liam a nod, which Liam returns.
I roll my eyes and face forward again.
Liam concentrates on his carving, which looks a lot like his Red Daggertail, Deigh.
“I swear, you’d think there were assassination attempts on me during every class with the way he makes you shadow me.” I shake my head.
“In his defense, people are fond of trying to kill you.” Rhiannon sets out her supplies.
“One time! It’s happened one time, Rhi!” I adjust my posture to keep my weight off my bruised ribs. They’re wrapped tight, but leaning against the back of my seat isn’t an option.
“Right. And what would you call that whole thing with Tynan?” Rhiannon asks.
“Threshing.” I shrug.
“And Barlowe’s constant threats?” She arches a brow at me.
“She has a point there,” Sawyer chimes in, leaning forward from the seat next to Rhiannon’s.
“They’re just threats. The only time I’ve actually been targeted was at night, and it’s not like Liam here is sleeping in my bedroom.”
“I mean, I’m not opposed—” he begins, his knife hovering over the piece of wood.
“Don’t even start.” I whip my head to face him and can’t help but laugh. “You are a shameless flirt.”
“Thank you.” He grins and goes back to carving.
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Don’t mind her, she’s just sexually frustrated. Makes a girl crabby.” Rhiannon writes the date down on her empty page and I follow suit, dipping my quill into my portable inkpot. Those easy, mess-less pens some of the others can already use is just another reason I can’t wait to channel. No more quills. No more inkpots.
“That has nothing to do with it.” Gods, could she have said that a little louder?
