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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・・・ ・・・ ・・・
Trysten died. He was such a dragon geek and was so excited for Threshing, but he fell off the Gauntlet. We missed his name being called. When Baylor told us the next morning, he looked about ready to pule. Xaden got me the book I asked for, but I haven't read much yet, preoccupied with the letter he left and another get-together with the weapon's squad on Tuesday afternoon. Since the Matthews had another class in the Threshing field and Elva needed to practice on the Gauntlet, we all sat by its base and just talked.
I ran through it with her after Imogen told her what my pink patch meant. I struggled to put anything into words, but showing her up close how I moved seemed to help a lot, and we cheered her on, much to the dismay of the other practicing cadets. Joyce raved about how excited she was that I'd gotten her design actually tattooed on me, which I would show her the next morning during our class. Late in the evning, all together with Elva sitting in our circle on the grass to cool down, we'd called ourselves an official squad, bound by and to the Codex.
Then this morning, I nearly fell off the mountain while training with Carr. That was much less fun. To make it worse, on the flight back, Tairn informed me Sgaeyl had been pissed off last night, so much so he could easily tell all the way here at Basgiath. I have a bad feeling today won't be much better.
I strum my fingers on the handle of my glaive slung over the front of my chest. It bobs every time I take a step, knocking it with my knee. Ridoc is telling Sawyer all about the guy he fucked—the tattoo artist—but I'm paying more attention looking for Bodhi and watching Violet. She aggressively weaves through the crowd, putting as many people between us as she realistically can. She's been avoiding me as much as humanly possible when we're in a squad together, which has not gone unnoticed by anyone. Especially not Rhiannon.
I don't know what amount of mad is acceptable, but I know it's ticking me off to no end. I fully understand her irritation that I've lied for so long, straight to her face—hell, it's exactly how I feel with Xaden, and I'm trying to quell my own anger about that—but this is... different. She's been training with Colonel Aetos and has a mother named General Lilith Sorrengail, only the head of the entire war college and second only to Melgren in command of the army. I knew she'd have the same negative but ultimately unfounded opinions about the apostasy that everyone does. I can't and don't blame her for that, but the disgust on her face when she looks at me? That's new, and not so easily forgivable.
It fucking hurts, to watch her assume the worst of my father and I for just being Tyrrish. It hurts even worse that us being Tyrs overrides the near-decade she's known me. I know she thinks it's some personal attack against her, but it's not like I was hiding my identity just to spite her. Just like I'd told Sloane, I want her to know. I wish she did. I want the world to know I'm Tyrrish, that my father was Tyrrish, and that everyone family member I have in Navarre supported our apostasy with everything they had until they died or it died. But it's not safe.
