Dain #2
“I do.” Nausea rolls through my stomach as wingbeats sound in the distance.
“Now imagine he has the opportunity to exact his revenge on Violet.” Dad’s face crumples. “I love her like a daughter, but we both know she’d never be able to defend herself. She’s good with a dagger, but her frail little body… They’d break her into a thousand pieces.”
Every muscle in my body tenses. “She’s safe on main campus. She’ll be safe with the scribes next year.” All she’s ever wanted is to live within cases of books and, by gods, if anyone deserves to get their dream, it’s Violet, especially after losing both Brennan and her father.
“As long as the marked ones don’t break the Codex and track her down,” he says quietly.
“They wouldn’t.” Fear oozes down my spine, leaving a chill in its wake.
“Just…” Dad sighs. “Keep an eye out for her sake. I know you wouldn’t want her in danger. You two have always been so close, and I know she misses you.”
I nod. “She’s my best friend.” Once I get out of here, and she graduates from the Scribe Quadrant, maybe…
more. What I feel for Violet is incredibly complicated, and I haven’t let myself think past surviving each day.
Everything else has to wait. Then again, at the rate this place changes people, there’s every chance she won’t recognize me next year, when we earn the privilege of visiting other quadrants.
“Look at that,” Dad says, glancing up.
The sky fills with color as the willing dragons fly overhead, and we both look up to watch the spectacle.
According to Kaori, there are one hundred and thirty-seven willing to bond this year, which is far less than last year.
There are many more of us than there are of them.
The riot drops into the enormous forest, disappearing into the trees.
My throat knots. That forest either holds my future or my demise.
Dad pats my arms again and then drops his hands. “I really didn’t mean to burden you with all this. Not on such a momentous day.” He smiles. “Now, you get in there and claim your green.”
I blink at the quick change of subject. “I’m thinking of a red.”
He blanches. “Oh, no. A red would be too ill-tempered for you. Listen to me on this, son. I’m speaking from experience.
You should approach a green. They’ll respect your honorable nature and your dedication to Navarre.
And I asked Foirn to speak to the others in his den on your behalf. ” A sheepish smile curves his mouth.
Oh. Gods. “I’m sure the dragons loved that. They’re big on nepotism, you know.”
“Yes, I’m the worst father ever, trying to ensure the survival of my only son,” he teases, then gives my arms a final squeeze. “We’ll talk about the marked ones later. Earn your flight leathers.”
“Dad.” I fight to swallow the tangled knot in my throat. “The other cadets can’t think I’m being given special treatment. If I bond today, if I fly out of this valley as a rider, I want you to stop hovering.”
“Survive today and I won’t need to.” He nods. “Make me proud.”
“Yes, sir.” I wait until he leaves, then turn back to the forest, feeling considerably more stressed and just as afraid as before he arrived.
I would do anything for him, but sometimes it feels so fucking heavy being his son.
He loves me. He means well. He and Violet are the only people in my life who have never let me down.
Never lied to me. Never picked up and left when talking proved too difficult.
I have no reason not to trust him, not when he’s the one who stayed.
So fine, I’ll keep an eye out to see if the kids with rebellion relics are breaking the Codex.
It’s the least I can do for the man who has given me everything, and if it keeps Violet safe, then even better.
The forest is quiet as I walk under the canopy, officially the last cadet to enter the woods.
The crisp fallen leaves crackle beneath my boots as I head south, choosing a central path to optimize my chances of finding the right dragon.
But I also need to remove myself from the path of any wrong dragons to survive this.
Funny that it’s a childhood of climbing trees with Violet, and not months of training in the quadrant, that’s about to come in handy.
Twenty minutes later, I find the perfect tree. It’s tall enough for dragons to walk under but has enough dead, broken bits of branch to scale safely. I choose my handholds carefully, test their strength, and start climbing.
I have to traverse around the tree in places, and I’m sweating by the time I reach the first full branch I trust to support my weight, but it’s pretty perfect for my purposes.
Twenty feet in the air should be about right.
Reaching up, I grab hold of the next branch for the sake of balance, then settle in and wait.
The lone Blue Clubtail considering bonding this year passes underneath first—no fucking thank you—followed by a pair of oranges whose tails swing in time.
Kind of wonder if they’re mated and looking for another set of twins to bond like the Wyckleys.
None of the three feel like mine, so I sit tight and wish Sawyer Henrick luck when he walks by.
“Shit!” Someone screams above me, and my head jerks upward as a shape tumbles through the branches, smacking limb after limb on the way down. Not a shape. A cadet.
I straddle the branch about four feet from the trunk, then lock my ankles beneath as a redhead barrels toward me.
I reach out, and leather skims over my hands, but I get a grip on the back bottom of her uniform top, and her belt slams into my hands. Then I hold on with all I have.
The world spins as her momentum slows, and the belt digs into my hands so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t cut straight through me, but I don’t let go. When we come to a stop, I’m hanging upside down, and blood rushes to my head as she stops flailing.
“Aetos!” Joelle Tadita, a second-year, looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes wide with fear.
“Hold on,” I grit out through my teeth, then haul her upward, going on pure adrenaline. “Reach!”
She grabs hold of the branch. “Got it!”
I let go, and she dangles for a second before dropping to the branch a few feet beneath.
Only when I see that she has her balance do I pull myself up with my abdominals, grab hold of my own branch, and let my legs fall.
Then I lower myself to the same branch she’s standing on, her chest heaving as she catches her breath.
“What are you doing in a tree?” I ask, steadying myself by splaying my fingers over the trunk.
“Observing like a good second-year.” She holds one hand over her heart. “Thank you for catching me. I owe you one.”