There is only one way to describe Diana Riorson's story; complicated. Her family is a wreck. Her father- dead. Her brother-disappeared. But if there's one thing she's learned in her many years at Basgiath Orphanage, it's that to survive she needs to...
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Conscription Day is always the deadliest. Unfortunately for me, I have no choice but to face it head on. God forbid that a child of a separatist—let alone Fen Riorson's daughter, has a choice in anything.
I hike my pack, tightening the sturdy straps to better rest on my shoulders. My hair is braided down to my waist, brown hair secured in a golden hair tie. I smooth down a few unruly waves at the top as my hair refuses to stay straightened in the humidity.
I take a look around my room—strikingly empty as usual. The orphanage is as plain and empty as the first time I'd ever laid eyes on it. The walls are dusted with darkened pigment and splurts of blood that seem to be from nowhere. Closing the door, I clamber down the stairs to join the small group of twenty-year-olds heading outside, following a rickety tram to Basgiath War College. Navarrian officers swarm the vehicle. Some of them grimace at the state of the orphanage, then back at us as if they cannot picture ever stepping foot in such a place.
But that's because they had someone to raise them; that's because they aren't affiliated with the 108 children cursed for their parent's mistakes. The tattoo that wraps around my waist like a belt, twirling around my thigh isn't for show. It's a rebellion relic—a reminder of how twisted the governors can be and how guilty I feel for my brother's sacrifice.
My throat tightens as I think of him. It's been three years since I've heard from him. Five years since I've seen him. And a century since I've known him.
I shake my head. My brother is not my problem anymore that I am his. He grew up? He changed? Well, I didn't sit around on my ass waiting for him to come back and save me.
There are more no less than five weapons concealed on my body at any given time. And I sure as hell know how to use them.
Diana Riorson isn't anything less than a fighter. That's what General Melgren had said to me, right before his dragon slashed through my skin. I was eleven years old, but I deserved to pay for my father's sins. Where's the logic in that?
"Diana!"
I smile—forcibly at the badgering voice. It's Felix. That's it. Sure, we flirted around a little, but we were definitely not an item. I don't do...that.
Felix's blond hair sticks up at various angles, almost as if he was recently electrocuted. He takes a final look at me, his fingers tugging with my hair. I resist the urge to step away and remove his hand from my space. "I guess this is goodbye?"
"Yes," I say. My jaw hardens. This is why I don't get attached.
Felix's mouth twitches, and I know instantly what's about to happen next. But I don't think he understands, and I don't think he'll let me explain.
"Bye," I blurt out, moving towards the crowd of riders. I don't miss Felix's twisted-up face or grimace as he stares at me. He mutters something under his breath before moving westwards; something I know he's saying because of inexplicable rejection.
