Every year, hundreds die within the walls of Basgiath War College. It's no surprise that many are those who choose the Riders Quadrant. Dragons do not tolerate much, but neither do the ruthless gryphons on the outside of the wards.
At least...
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・・・ ・・・ ・・・
Seventy-one fell from the Parapet. That's three more than last year—four if I count myself. We're back out in the courtyard, the high-noon sun dangling overhead and reminding me why I fainted the first time I stood out here like this. It's swelting and my head is swimming as the staff begin their annual speech.
Without Aetos up there, I'm able to close my eyes and focus on the rhythmic flick of my middle finger over my thumb. It's almost a snap, without the pressure that gives it its sound, and a much more regular beat than that of my heart. I'm trying to not think about the blood pulsating up my neck or how my left arm is burning in the sun despite the layer of green sun gel I've caked onto it. One of the new first-years gave me a cocked eyebrow when I walked out, and two second-years were giggling to themselves. And fuck am I regretting not wearing my new pants. At least, as far as the weather is concerned. They'd probably kill me for a dress code violation, knowing this place.
"Is it me, or is this fucking weird?" Ridoc murmurs from ahead of me. I open my eyes, not stopping my fingers as I look at him. He's twisted almost completely around. "No, it's weird," Violet agrees from behind me. "This is the same as our orientation last year," I say. Ridoc shakes his head. "The first-years." I glance around, and I suppose I can see what he's saying.
The anxiety that radiates off of them is palpable. Beads of sweat drip from their chins. One girl looks like she's swallowing her vomit and another's fingers are bleeding from where she's picking at them with her nails.
"I kind of want to tell them it's going to be okay—" "It's not polite to lie," Imogen cuts in as she looks over her shoulder. Her gaze zips straight past my leaning frame to Violet just behind me. I raise my brows at Quinn just in front of her, trimming her hair with a dagger. She's going to wear out the blade. "Don't get attached. They're all dragon fodder until Threshing," she tells us, turning forward again.
A first-year turns to look at her, trembling, but she spins a finger in the air to tell him to turn around. "Be nice," I whisper to her. "I'll be nice once I think they might stick around." "I thought you said it's not polite to lie," Ridoc quips with a grin so wide, I can see it when his head is barely turned back toward me.
My attention whips to the dais as the roll-keeper announces the next name. Sloane Mairi, Liam's little sister, the little sister he specifically asked me to take care of. "Shit." And now she's in First Wing. My stomach drops and my flicks turn into full-on snaps. How am I going to protect her in a completely different wing?
Quinn turns around to look at me but I only offer her a glance. Instead, I look to Rhiannon as she takes a step forward, getting Dain's attention and then whispering to him. He looks away when she finishes her sentence before dragging in a breath and nodding. Then he steps away, stomping up toward the dais.
