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)
My heart jolts into my throat and the room falls pin-drop quiet.
It’s not the first time.
The girl clears her throat. “And how…often are they faltering?”
Professor Markham’s shrewd eyes narrow on her. “That’s above your pay grade, cadet.” He turns his attention to our section. “Next relevant question to the attack we’re discussing?”
“How many casualties did the wing suffer?” a first-year down the row to my right asks.
“One injured dragon. One dead rider.”
Another murmur rises from the hall. Surviving graduation doesn’t mean we’ll survive service. Statistically, most riders die before retirement age, especially at the rate riders have been falling over the last two years.
“Why would you ask that particular question?” Professor Devera asks the cadet.
“To know how many reinforcements they’ll need,” he answers.
Professor Devera nods, turning toward Pryor, the meekest first-year in our squad, who has his hand up, but he lowers it quickly, scrunching his dark eyebrows. “Did you want to ask a question?”
“Yes.” He nods, sending a few locks of black hair into his eyes, then shakes his head. “No. Never mind.”
“So decisive,” Luca—the catty first-year in our squad I’ll do just about anything to avoid—mocks from next to him, tilting her head as cadets laugh around them. A corner of her mouth tilts up into a smirk, and she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder in a move that’s anything but casual. Like me, she’s one of the few women in the quadrant who didn’t cut her hair. I envy her confidence that it won’t be used against her, but not her attitude, and I’ve known her less than a day.
“He’s in our squad,” Aurelie—at least I think that’s her name—chastises, her no-nonsense black eyes narrowing on Luca. “Show some loyalty.”
“Please. No dragon is bonding to a guy who can’t even decide if he wants to ask a question. And did you see him at breakfast this morning? He held the entire line up because he couldn’t choose between bacon or sausage.” Luca rolls her kohl-rimmed eyes.
“If Fourth Wing is done picking at one another?” Professor Devera asks, lifting a brow.
“Ask what altitude the village is at,” I whisper to Rhiannon.
“What?” Her brow furrows.
“Just ask,” I reply, trying to keep Dain’s advice in mind. I swear I can feel him staring at the back of my neck from seven rows behind me, but I’m not going to turn and look, not when I know Xaden’s up there somewhere, too.
“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon asks.
Professor Devera’s eyebrows rise as she turns to Rhiannon. “Markham?”
“A little less than ten thousand feet,” he answers. “Why?”
Rhiannon darts a dose of side-eye at me and clears her throat. “Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons.”
“Good job,” I whisper.
“It is a little high for a planned attack,” Devera says. “Why don’t you tell me why that’s bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you’d like to ask your own questions from here on out.” She levels a stare on me that has me squirming in my seat.
Every head in the room turns in my direction. If anyone had an inkling of doubt about who I am, it’s long gone now. Awesome.
“Gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel,” I say. “It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what…an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost?” I glance at the map to be sure I’m not making a fool of myself. “That is Chakir right there, isn’t it?” Scribe’s training for the win.
“It is.” A corner of Professor Devera’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “Keep going with that line of thought.”
Wait a second. “Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?” My gaze narrows.
“I did.” She looks at me with expectation.
“Then they were already on their way,” I blurt, immediately recognizing how silly that sounds. My cheeks heat as a mumble of laughter sounds around me.
“Yeah, because that makes sense.” Jack turns around in his seat from the front row and openly laughs at me. “General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn’t know when it will happen, dumbass.”
I feel the chuckling of my classmates reverberate in my bones. I want to crawl under this ridiculous desk and disappear.
“Fuck off, Barlowe,” Rhiannon snaps.
“I’m not the one who thinks precognition is a thing,” he retorts with a sneer. “Gods help us if that one ever gets on the back of a dragon.” Another round of laughter has my neck flaming, too.
“Why do you think that, Violet—” Professor Markham winces. “Cadet Sorrengail?”
“Because there’s no logical way they get there within an hour of the attack unless they were already on their way,” I argue, shooting a glare at Jack. Fuck him and his laughter. I might be weaker than he is, but I’m a hell of a lot smarter. “It would take at least half that long to light the beacons in the range and call for help, and no full squad is sitting around just waiting to be needed. More than half those riders would have been asleep, which means they were already on their way.”