A random stranger might be what I need to flush Xaden out of my system, but it isn’t what I want.
She studies my face like I’m a puzzle that needs to be solved as we continue down the field. “Shit. You’re hung up on him.”
“I’m…” I sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“You said that already.” She tries to school her expression, but I catch the flash of disappointment when I don’t elaborate. “Mira have anything to say about the front?”
“Not sure.” I glance through the letter, reading it quickly. “She’s been reassigned to Athebyne. She says the food is only a step above our mother’s cooking.” That gets a laugh out of me as I flip the page over, but it dies quickly when I see the thick black lines that eliminate entire paragraphs. “What the…” I flip to the next page, finding more of the same before she signs off, hoping to fly over to Samara during one of my upcoming trips.
“What’s wrong?” Rhiannon looks up from her own letter as we continue walking, passing by Third Wing’s dragons.
“I think it’s been redacted.” I flash it at her so she can see the black lines, then look around to make sure no one else notices.
“Someone censored your letter?” She looks surprised. “Someone read your letter?”
“It was unsealed.” I stuff it back into the envelope.
“Who would do that?”
Melgren. Varrish. Markham. Anyone on Aetos’s orders. My mother. The options are endless. “I’m not sure.” It’s not a lie, not really. I slip the envelope into the internal pocket of my flight leathers and then cringe as I button up the jacket. It’s too fucking hot for these things down here, but I know I’ll be grateful for the extra layer in a few minutes once we’re airborne.
A red in the second row huffs a blast of steam in warning at a cadet from Third Wing who gets too close, and we all hurry along.
Tairn is the largest dragon on the field by far, and he looks completely and utterly bored as he waits for me, the metal of my saddle glistening against his scales in the sun. I can’t help but sigh in disappointment that Andarna isn’t with him as his forelegs come into view.
“Hey, has Tairn said anything about another black dragon in the Vale?” Ridoc asks me over his shoulder as we make it past Claw Section, coming to Tairn first, who’s standing in the lead position despite Rhiannon and Sawyer outranking me.
It’s all I can do to not trip over my feet. “I’m sorry?”
“I know, it sounds ludicrous, but when we walked by Kaori back there, I swear I heard him say something about another black dragon being spotted. The guy was practically jumping with excitement.”
“Tairn?” If the professor of dragonkind knows about Andarna, we’re screwed.
“Only a few dragons saw her before she entered the caves for the Dreamless Sleep. You try keeping her hidden and see how it goes for you.”
Awesome.
“Maybe it’s Tairn they’re seeing,” I say to Ridoc. Not a lie. “Or an elder?”
“Kaori thinks it’s a new one.” His eyebrows rise. “You should ask him.”
“Huh.” I swallow. “Yeah, I can do that.” Still not lying.
The three continue on, mounting their dragons.
Tairn dips his left shoulder for me but then straightens. “On your left,” he warns as a shape approaches from behind.
I whip around quickly to face the threat and secure my shields in place.
Varrish saunters toward me, his arms locked behind his back, and the major must be inhuman because there’s not a dot of sweat on his high forehead. “Ah, Sorrengail, there you are.”
As if Tairn is hard to miss.
“Major Varrish.” I leave my hands at my thighs, where I can grab hold of my daggers easily, wondering what his signet might be. I’ve never seen a signet patch on him. Either he’s cocky like Xaden and thinks his reputation precedes him or he’s part of the classified-signet club.
“Quite the necklace you have there.” He points to the greenish bruises on my throat.
“Thank you. It was expensive.” I lift my chin. “Cost someone their life.”
“Ah, that’s right. I recall hearing you were nearly done in by a first-year. Good to see that the embarrassment didn’t finish the job he started. But I guess you’re probably used to barely squeaking by alive, seeing how frail you’re rumored to be.”
I officially loathe this man, but at least I know Tairn will eat him whole if he tries to attack me on the field.
He leans left, making a show of looking around me. “I thought you were bonded to two dragons?”
“I am.” Sweat slides down my spine.
“And yet, I only see one.” He looks up at Tairn. “Where’s your little gold one? The feathertail I’ve heard so much about? I was hoping to see her for myself.”
A growl rumbles up Tairn’s throat, and he angles his head over me. Saliva drips in giant globs, hitting the ground in front of Varrish.
The major tenses but maintains a perfect mask of amusement as he steps back. “Always has had a temper, this one.”
“He likes his space.”
“I’ve noticed he likes you to have yours, too,” he comments. “Tell me, Sorrengail, how do you feel about the way he gives you…oh, shall we say, an easier path to take than your fellow cadets?”
“If you mean to ask how I feel about how he stopped the needless execution of bonded riders by your dragon after Parapet, then I’d have to say that I feel pretty good about it. I guess it takes one bad-tempered dragon to keep another civil.”
“Remind him that I threatened to digest him alive.”
“I don’t think that would go well for me,” I reply.
“It would be fun to watch him eat the pompous one.” Andarna’s voice is groggy.
“Go back to sleep,” I lecture. She’s not due to wake for another month, Tairn said.
Varrish’s eyes narrow momentarily on mine, and then he smiles, but there’s nothing kind or happy about it. “About your little feathertail—”
“She can’t bear a rider.” Not lying, since she hasn’t flown since waking in Aretia. “I fly with Tairn, but she’ll go through maneuvers on the easier days.”
“Well, see to it that she flies with you next week, and you can consider that an order.”
Another growl sounds from Tairn.
“Dragons don’t take orders from humans.” Power rises within me, humming beneath my skin and making my fingers buzz.
“Of course not.” His grin widens like I’ve said something funny. “But you do, don’t you?”
“Impudent human,” Tairn seethes.
I lift my chin, knowing there’s nothing more I can say about this without disciplinary action.
“It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Varrish asks, retreating one step at a time. “From what Colonel Aetos told me, your father was writing a book on feathertails— dragons which hadn’t been seen in hundreds of years—and then you ended up bonded to one.”
“Coincidental,” I correct him. “The word you meant to say is ‘coincidental.’”