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)
If we can complete the final Gauntlet, we’ll walk through the natural box canyon above it that leads to the flight field for Presentation, where this year’s dragons willing to bond will get their first look at the remaining cadets. Two days after that, Threshing will occur in the valley beneath the citadel.
I glance around at my new squadmates and can’t help but wonder which of us, if any, will make it to that flight field, let alone that valley.
Don’t borrow tomorrow’s trouble.
“And if we’re not?” the smart-ass first-year behind me asks.
I don’t bother looking, but Rhiannon does, rolling her eyes as she turns back forward.
“Then I won’t have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning,” Dain answers with a shrug.
A second-year ahead of me snorts a laugh, the movement jangling two small hoop earrings in her left lobe, but the pink-haired one stays silent.
“Sawyer?” Dain looks at the first-year to my left.
“I’ll get them there.” The tall, wiry cadet whose light complexion is covered with a smattering of freckles answers with a tight nod. His freckled jaw ticks, and my chest pangs with sympathy. He’s one of the repeats—a cadet who didn’t bond during Threshing and now has to start the entire year over.
“Get going,” Dain orders, and our squad breaks apart around the same time the others do, transforming the courtyard from an orderly formation to a crowd of chatting cadets. The second- and third-years walk off in another direction, including Dain.
“We have about twenty minutes to get to class,” Sawyer shouts at the eight of us first-years. “Fourth floor, second room on the left in the academic wing. Get your shit and don’t be late.” He doesn’t bother waiting to confirm we’ve heard him before he heads off toward the dormitory.
“That has to be hard,” Rhiannon says as we follow the crowd toward the dorms. “Being set back and having to do this all over again.”
“Better than being dead,” the smart-ass says as he passes us on the right, his dark-brown hair flopping against the brown skin of his forehead with every step the shorter cadet takes. His name is Ridoc, if I remember correctly from the brief introductions we went through before dinner last night.
“That’s true,” I reply as we head into the bottleneck that’s formed at the door.
“I overheard a third-year say when a first-year survives Threshing unbonded, the quadrant lets them repeat the year and try again if they want,” Rhiannon adds, and I can’t help but wonder how much determination it would take to survive your first year and then be willing to repeat it just for the chance you might one day become a rider. You could just as easily die the second time around.
A bird whistles to the left, and I look over the crowd, my heart leaping because I immediately recognize the tone. Dain.
The call sounds again, and I narrow it down to somewhere near the door to the rotunda. He’s standing at the top of the wide staircase, and the second our eyes lock, he motions toward the door with a subtle nod.
“I’ll be—” I start saying to Rhiannon, but she’s already followed my line of sight.
“I’ll grab your stuff and meet you there. It’s under your bunk, right?” she asks.
“You don’t mind?”
“Your bunk is next to mine, Violet. It’s not a hassle. Go!” She gives me a conspiratorial smile and shoulder bumps me.
“Thank you!” I smile quickly, then wade across the crowd until I break free at the edge. Lucky for me, there aren’t many cadets headed into commons, which means there aren’t any eyes on me once I slip inside one of the four giant doors of the rotunda.
My lungs pull in a sharp breath. It looks like the renderings I’ve seen in the Archives, but there is no drawing, no artistic medium, that can capture just how overwhelming the space is, how exquisite every detail. The rotunda might be the most beautiful piece of architecture not only in the citadel but in all of Basgiath. The room is three stories tall, from its polished marble floors to the domed glass ceiling that filters in the soft morning light. To the left are two massive arched doors to the academic wing, echoed by the same on the right, leading to the dorms, and up a half dozen steps, there are four doorways in front of me that open into the gathering hall.
Equally spaced around the rotunda, shimmering in their various colors of red, green, brown, orange, blue, and black, stand six daunting marble pillars carved into dragons, as if they’d come crashing down from the ceiling above. There’s enough room between the snarling mouths at the base of each to fit at least four squads in the center, but it’s empty right now.