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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I grip the stone wall as another gust of wind hits, knocking me sideways against the opening in the turret. With a swift motion of my leg, I regain my balance and continue forwards.
This is my only chance; not choice. I survive or I die.
"Name?" the rider asks again as soon as Violet steps onto the stones behind me.
"Jack Barlowe," the one behind me answers. "Remember the name. I'm going to be a wingleader one day." Even his voice reeks of arrogance. I scoff. Please, one insufferable egotistical man is enough for me.
"You'd better get going, Sorrengail," Xaden's deep voice orders.
I feel a shiver down my spine as I continue along the parapet. I know Xaden's watching me as intensely as he is Violet—if not more. I feel my way forward, each step getting more and more assertive‚ but not confident; confidence leads to a lack of meticulous planning, and that in turn, leads to death.
I don't turn around, but I know Violet is behind me, slightly stumbling but doing well. Rhiannon makes it to the other side, smiling as she starts a conversation with one of the riders on the other side. This time, I hold in my sigh of relief. At least Rhiannon made it; at least she gets to live her dream. She turns around and beckons me forward.
"You got it Diana! Come on!"
Promise.
I start to walk faster, almost breaking into a sprint as I rush across the rest of the stones. The wind around me is whirling faster than anything I've seen before, as if it's doing everything in it's power to make sure I don't make it out of here alive. But I'm not about to let that stop me. My feet land one after the other, barely touching the parapet as I regain my bearings. Rhiannon's jaw drops as I skid to the right, landing carefully on the other side. Her arms come up to steady me, eyes wild with confusion and sheer bliss.
"How the hell—?"
I hear a rider mutter something rather unpleasant under his breath. Who cares. I've trained my whole life for this; day and night. I've broken more branches than I have anything else, perfecting my balance across a multitude of different weather conditions. I scoured through old diary entries and journals, asked questions to every single rider who passed through the orphanage. When I kept my name silent, and my eyes glistened with naive thoughts, they tended to tell me anything.
Especially how much they hated Xaden Riorson.
But observing comes naturally to me. Children in the orphanage growing up thought it was strange I could pick up on little details as easily as they could conjure them; that I could get into the head of anyone and every one, learning little bits of intimate information until I felt as if I could predict their every move.
It was a vital skill growing up, and I have no doubt I'll need it here more than ever.
