“In their defense, we brought our own escorts,” I note as Andarna stalks forward, her claws sinking into the grass on either side of me in clear warning. Her talons grow sharper by the day, and she fully extended her wing for the first time this morning, making her extra bold this afternoon.
“Elders say I’ll be flying within a few weeks.” A growl aimed at the gryphon works up her throat, and his beady eyes flare, then blink.
“You’re baring your teeth, aren’t you?” I don’t bother hiding my smile.
“I don’t trust them,” she answers. “Especially the one in the center who looks to be plotting your death.”
“Don’t let her bother you.”
Cat’s eyes are indeed narrowed on me as usual.
“She bothers you.” Andarna takes a single step forward, putting her chest scales just over my head.
“And she’ll get used to it, or she’ll kill her,” Tairn answers from behind us where the other three—no, four—dragons wait now that Feirge has arrived. “Either is acceptable.”
“I thought you were against us killing allies?” I glance over my shoulder as his shade envelops me thanks to the afternoon sun. Maybe it’s Sliseag moving closer on her right, but there’s a reddish sheen to Andarna’s scales, and I can’t help but wonder when that shimmer will dull to a shade more like Tairn.
“She has yet to prove herself an ally,” Tairn notes.
“She still blames me for Luella’s death.”
“Hey, while we’re just standing here…” Sawyer rubs the back of his neck, and his cheeks redden. “I…”
“You…？” I lift my eyebrows at the clearly unfinished question.
“I was wondering if you…” He cringes, then sighs. “Never mind.”
“He wants you to teach him how to sign,” Ridoc finishes, rocking back on his heels in clear boredom.
“Ridoc!” Sawyer glares his way.
“What? You made that way more painful than it had to be. For fuck’s sake, it was like you were leading up to asking her out or something.” He visibly shudders.
“What if he had been?” I counter.
“Then I’d be stuck cleaning little pieces of him off our shared floor when Riorson ripped him to shreds.” Ridoc shakes his head. “So messy.”
“First, Xaden has more than enough confidence to survive me being asked out.” I glance up at Sawyer. “And yes, I’ll teach you to sign. Why would that be embarrassing?”
“I should have learned years ago.” Sawyer drops his hand. “And…obvious reasons.”
“I’m not fluent enough to make a good teacher, apparently.” Ridoc rolls his eyes.
“You’d teach me the sign for sex and tell me it was hello, just to see what happened when I used it,” Sawyer fires back.
“What? I’m not a total dick.” A smile curves Ridoc’s mouth. “I would have waited until you asked about the word for dinner—that way, when you asked her if she wanted to grab a bite with you—”
“Oh!” I blink, putting the pieces together. Jesinia. “Don’t worry, Sawyer. I’ve got you. Rhi signs fluently, too. So do Aaric and Quinn, and—”
“Everyone but me.” Sawyer sighs, his shoulders dipping.
“Almost didn’t make it in time,” Rhiannon says, slightly out of breath as she reaches us.
Trager’s eyes narrow even further on Rhi as Professor Trissa rounds the corner behind her.
“How’s the lip?” Rhiannon asks, winking at Trager.
He moves to step forward, but Maren blocks him, shaking her head.
“I would have covered for you. Did you get your family settled?” I ask Rhi.
They’d arrived late last night, travel-weary and with only the items they could fit in a narrow wagon capable of making it up the Precipice Pass, the winding trading route up the northeast side of the Cliffs of Dralor, bordering the Deaconshire province.
“Yeah.” Rhi grins and drops her pack in the surprisingly supple grass next to mine. I swear, it’s like the seasons are reversing up in this valley. “Thank your brother for me. He assigned their houses right next to each other near the market square, and they’ve already picked out a spot to set up shop.”
“Will do. And Lukas?” Just the thought of her nephew’s perfect, chubby cheeks has me smiling wide.
“Still the cutest boy ever.” She unbuttons her flight jacket and shrugs it off her shoulders. “They’re exhausted, but they’re safe. And the fact that I get to see them whenever I want now? Amazing. Plus, I got to show off my signet, and they were appropriately awed.”
“That’s phenomenal. I’m really happy for you.” My posture relaxes, and I take a truly deep breath. Families have been arriving in Aretia for the last week, led in small, unnoticeable groups by the members of the revolution who delivered their offers of sanctuary. Ridoc’s dad should arrive any day, but we haven’t had word from Sawyer’s parents yet.
“You might be wondering why we’re meeting in the valley,” Professor Trissa says, her breaths perfectly even as she reaches into her pack and pulls out seven printed illustrations, then hands them out to the seven of us.
Another smile tugs at my lips. Jesinia and the others got the printing press up and running.
The illustration’s a depiction of a Tyrrish rune, not unlike those in the weaving book Xaden left me when he graduated. After a closer look at the illustration, I recognize it. The series of graduated squares is nearly identical to the hilt of the dagger on my right hip.
“As you are currently the top squad and drift, we have chosen your group as our…test of sorts.” Professor Trissa steps back so she can see both lines of us. “You can channel?” she asks the fliers.
“About half power since yesterday morning,” Cat answers.
“Mindwork?” the professor asks with a tone of curiosity.
“Not yet,” Maren answers.
“But soon,” Cat says, staring straight at me. “The drifts are getting stronger every day.”
As if I’d forget what it was like to have her running amok in my head.
“So, back to arts-and-crafts hour?” Ridoc asks, folding his arms.
“Who knows how mage lights are powered?” Professor Trissa asks, ignoring his question and reaching into her pack. She removes eight small wooden boards, no bigger than a plate. She puts them in the center of our little stand-off. “Well?”
“Lesser magic,” Maren answers.
“The ones you create yourself.” Professor Trissa nods. “What about the ones that run continuously in, say, the first-year dorms. The ones that work before you can channel?”
Every rider looks at me.
“They’re powered by the excess magic both we and our dragons channel,” I answer. “It comes off us naturally, like…waves of body heat, but it’s such a small amount that we don’t even notice it.”
“Exactly,” the professor agrees. “And what is it that makes that kind of magic possible? Magic tied to objects instead of a wielder?” She looks us over with expectant, dark-brown eyes, then rubs the bridge of her nose. “Gods, I thought Felix was joking. Sorrengail, you’re practically covered in them.”