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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・・・ ・・・ ・・・
These books make no sense. Well, specifically, the magelight manual. I didn't expect to find any answers in there. I knew countless pieces of information would be redacted and cut, but I had been very, very wrong about that. Nothing was cut; nothing was redacted. The text was full, using meaningless words to tell me countless paragraphs of nothing. It's... odd, to say the least. In all honesty, it seems like the person who wrote it had only a vague idea of what they were writing about. There's no odd cuts between sentences or paragraphs, no blanks in the middle of pages like the other two where there once was substance but has since been removed. It flows just fine throughout, with only slight tonal shifts telling me what pages they slept between, and yet, it contains no real information.
I close the book with a frustrated sigh, then stand from the chair so I can stretch. If Grandma Thalia is still alive—and still in Navarre—I should be able to ask her, if Sawyer is actually able to secure us a trip to see the Burning. Benen will know where she is. The only thing I can hope is that she didn't go to the river. The river. The idea hits me over the head hard enough I gasp aloud to myself. If I ever find the chance to run away from this place, the Temple would be an amazing place to hide from Navarre. It's far out, plenty of room to hide and stock to feed the dragons, and High Priestess Cerelia would certainly give me and anyone in my company residence. She always did before, and I can't imagine she'd be upset about keeping us for longer. She always begged Grandpa to stay so we could talk.
I glance back at the clock. It's nearly two in the afternoon, when challenges will start. "On the way?" I send through Tairn's channel. "Yes." I nod to myself, grab my glaive from the armoire handles it hangs from, and then open the wardrobe to grab the satchel from my home. With its strap slung over my shoulder, I start out the door to the gym downstairs. Instead of entering the open doorway right by the dorm's staircase like usual, I follow the wall until getting to its other set of doors in a desperate attempt to avoid Sloane latching to my side. I find Bodhi as quickly as I can and look busy for the few moments it takes him to wrap up a conversation with one of his subordinates.
"What are you doing?" he questions under his breath, his brows furrowed. Two lines settle between them, the one on the right slightly longer, just like Xaden's. "And what's the bag?" "That's what I'm here for," I answer quickly. I offer a small sneer to someone who comes too close while he gives them a 'fuck off' smile. "You're keeping an eye on Sloane, right?" "Of course, I am," he assures. His eyes narrow just slightly. "The moment she finishes her fight, I'm going to slip out into the hallway. Meet me there." He nods carefully, and that's all I needed before rushing away.
Like every time the whole squad is together, Sloane finds my side the moment I enter her line of sight. I match her giddy smile for a moment as we walk together to Fourth Wing's mat. We're still the Iron Squad, which doesn't count first-years until after Threshing, since they're spaced specifically to make the squads even. That means we get to have one designated mat for us, which lets us settle in—and, in Ridoc's case, form a seat out of ice. I chuckle at him, then drop the bag beside his cold throne so I don't get too many questions. "Want one?" he asks with a cheeky grin. "I couldn't say 'no'," I reply, my own cheeks smiling as I step out of the way.
