Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
I stare at Dain, at the scar that defines his jaw and the hard set of his eyes that are familiar and yet not.
“What?” he asks. The voices around us grow louder, and there are more footsteps coming and going.
“You bonded a dragon. You have powers I don’t even know about. You open doors with magic. You’re a squad leader.” I say the sentences slowly, hoping they’ll sink in, that I’ll truly grasp how much he’s changed. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around you still being…Dain.”
“I’m still me.” His posture softens, and he lifts the short sleeve of his tunic, revealing the relic of a red dragon on his shoulder. “I just have this now. And as for the powers, Cath channels a pretty significant amount of magic compared to some of the other dragons, but I’m nowhere near adept at it yet. I haven’t changed that much. As for lesser magic powered through the bond of my relic, I can do the typical stuff like open doors, crank up my speed, and power ink pens instead of using those inconvenient quills.”
“What’s your signet power?” Every rider can do lesser magic once their dragon begins channeling power to them, but the signet is the unique ability that stands out, the strongest skill that results from each unique bond between dragon and rider.
Some riders have the same signets. Fire wielding, ice wielding, and water wielding are just a few of the most common signet powers, all useful in battle.
Then there are the signets that make a rider extraordinary.
My mother can wield the power of storms.
Melgren can see the outcome of battles.
I can’t help but wonder again what Xaden’s signet is—and if he’ll use it to kill me when I least expect it.
“I can read a person’s recent memories,” Dain admits quietly. “Not like an inntinnsic reads minds or anything—I have to put my hands on the person, so I’m not a security risk. But my signet’s not common knowledge. I think they’ll use me in intelligence.” He points to the compass patch beneath his Fourth Wing one on his shoulder. Wearing that sigil indicates that a signet is too classified. I just didn’t notice it yesterday.
“No way.” I smile, taking a calming breath as I remember Xaden’s uniform didn’t have any patches on it.
He nods, an excited smile shaping his mouth. “I’m still learning, and of course I’m better at it the closer I am to Cath, but yeah. I just put my hands on someone’s temples, and I can see what they saw. It’s…incredible.”
That signet will more than set Dain apart. It will make him one of the most valuable interrogation tools we have. “And you say you haven’t changed,” I half tease.
“This place can warp almost everything about a person, Vi. It cuts away the bullshit and the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core. They want it that way. They want it to sever your previous bonds so your loyalty is to your wing. It’s one of the many reasons that first-years aren’t allowed to correspond with their family and friends, otherwise you know I would have written you. But a year doesn’t change that I still think of you as my best friend. I’m still Dain, and this time next year, you will still be Violet. We will still be us.”
“If I’m still alive,” I joke as the bells ring. “I have to get to class.”
“Yeah, and I’m going to be late to the flight field.” He motions toward the edge of the pillar. “Look, Riorson is still a wingleader. He’ll be after you, but he’ll find a way to do it within the rules of the Codex, at least when people are watching. I was…” His cheeks flush. “Really good friends with Amber Mavis—the current wingleader for Third Wing—last year, and I’m telling you, the Codex is sacred to them. Now, you go first. I’ll see you in the sparring gym.” He smiles reassuringly.
“I’ll see you.” I smile back and turn on my heel, walking around the base of the massive pillar into the semi-crowded rotunda. There’re a couple dozen cadets in here, walking from one building to another, and it takes a second to get my bearings.
I spot the academic doors between the orange-and-black pillars and start that way, blending into the crowd.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a chill races down my spine as I cross the center of the rotunda, then my steps halt. Cadets move around me, but my eyes are drawn upward, toward the top of the steps that lead to the gathering hall.
Oh shit.
Xaden Riorson is watching me with narrowed eyes, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up his massive arms that remain folded across his chest, the warning in his relic-covered arm on full display as a third-year next to him says something that he blatantly ignores.