Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“Quick, before you accidentally weld us in here,” Ridoc lectures.
“I don’t see you melting anything,” Sawyer responds from where he’s crouched, sweat beading his brow as he melts the last hinge.
Relief nearly takes out my knees. We’re going to make it!
The door wobbles, and Rhiannon and I lunge toward the guys, both throwing up our hands over them. Wood smacks into my palms, sending a jolt of pain through my newly mended shoulder as we catch what feels like the heaviest door ever made.
“Move!” Rhiannon shouts.
The guys scurry out from under the door, then help us lower it to the floor.
“We should consider quitting the quadrant,” Ridoc jokes as we walk over the door and out of the chamber. “We’d be kickass thieves.”
“With dragons,” Sawyer agrees.
“Unstoppable,” Ridoc says with a grin.
We pause at the desk only long enough to retrieve our weapons. I feel a little less panicked, less vulnerable with every blade I sheathe.
“Ready?” Rhiannon asks, gripping her shortsword.
Guess I’m not the only one who disdains feeling helpless.
We all nod, then head for the main door. Hope lives for all of a millisecond.
“It’s the same kind of lock. Lesser magic isn’t working,” Sawyer seethes, already putting his hands out.
“I don’t—” Heat prickles along my ribs. It’s the same feeling I get when I walk through the wards on my door. I look down and stare. The dagger closest to the door handle is hot and…tingling. I pull it from the sheath, bumping against the door handle as I brush my thumb over the decorative pommel.
Metal clicks against metal, and we all turn to look at the lock.
“What the hell?” Sawyer’s eyebrows jump.
“I don’t know. That’s…impossible.” Knives don’t open locks. But the heat and the tingling sensation are gone.
“Someone stop staring and try the fucking door!” Rhi orders.
Reaching for the handle, I hold my breath as the latch depresses. I pull. The door opens. “Holy shit.” It’s coincidence. It has to be. Magic isn’t tied to objects like that.
“Holy shit later, escape now,” Rhi says. “Go!”
“Right.” I sheathe the blade and yank the door open.
If we ever choose to invade enemy territory—which we don’t—I would choose Zolya as my first target. Take out Cliffsbane Academy and you take out years of gryphon riders in one strike.
—TACTICS, A PERSONAL MEMOIR BY LIEUTENANT LYRON PANCHEK
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We race out of the cave and into the morning air, the rising sun hitting us in the face. Throwing up our hands to shield our eyes, we run forward into the knee-high grass that spans the distance from the cliffs to the trees.
“Where did you get those knives?” Rhiannon asks when we’re halfway to the line of oaks.
“Xaden.” It doesn’t even occur to me to lie. “He had them made for me—”
“Well, this is an unexpected delight,” Professor Grady says from behind us.
We spin, and I draw two daggers. I’d rather visit Malek than go back into that chamber. But I will…for the final exam.
“Think about that later,” Tairn commands.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking.”
“Of course you are. I chose well.”
Professor Grady grins and sets down his mug as he rises from the chair that sits a few feet away from the door against the rocky cliffside.
Rhiannon strides forward, lifting her sword in attack position with her right arm and extending her left hand. “We’ll take that patch now.”
…
Dain doesn’t look me in the eye at any point over the next few days, and I don’t make the effort to talk to him. What could I even say? Thank you for doing the only decent thing and not violating my privacy?
“I’m just saying that spending every weekend flying for Samara or holed up in your room with Riorson isn’t good for you,” Ridoc says as we climb the staircase of the academic wing with the crowd headed for Battle Brief.
“As opposed to…” I glance over at him and wince. His cheek is still black and blue.
Thanks to Nolon, there’s not a mark on me. It’s anything but fair.
We lost a first-year, Trysten, to Gauntlet practice while we were in interrogation and missed the formation where they called his name on the death roll, too. That isn’t fair, either.
“Being a normal second-year and spending some time blowing off a little steam every now and then,” Sawyer answers for Ridoc from my other side. Ever since the interrogation, my squadmates have barely let me out of their sight.
“I’m fine,” I tell them both. “This is just what happens when mated dragons bond to riders in different years.” Twenty-four hours from now, I’ll be in the saddle on my way to Xaden.
“It’s why they usually don’t do it,” Ridoc mutters.
“First Squad lost someone,” Rhiannon says, coming up behind us as we reach the second floor. “They just came out of interrogation about an hour ago. Sorrel’s name will be on the death roll tomorrow.”