Chapter Text
"A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead." - Article One, Section One. The Dragon Rider's Codex
Conscription Day is always the deadliest. It just feels weird to be on this side of it. I hadn’t carried the duty of monitoring the candidates last year, nor did I want to this year. But alas, making sure that the nineteen marked ones entering this year make it across the death bridge they call a parapet is a much bigger priority.
I’m leaning against the hard stone of the southern turret with Haiden and Nolan, two of my yearmates. They’ve been making bets all morning over how many first years we will get, and how many will fall. I’m betting on too many. It’s always too many.
Instead of listening to them prattle on about the storm clouds coming in, I try remembering the names of the marked ones entering the Rider’s Quadrant this year. It’s not like many of them will fall, not when they still had training. Next year the cadets won’t be so lucky, according to Liam.
Liam. His blonde hair, his dimples, his trademark blue eyes. It all floods back to me in the best kind of rush. It’s been three years since I've seen him. Letters don't count. I've written to him almost constantly, preparing him for the stone walls I've been trapped inside for years of my life. Him being only minutes away makes my heart swell. My brother is going to be near me again. And while it's not by blood, Garrick, Bodhi, Imogen, and Liam are the only family I have left.
"How many cadets do you think will fall today?" Haiden asks, preparing the scroll and pen for the fresh names coming into the fortress.
"I'm betting closer to seventy. It was seventy-two total last year, but that was dragons included. I did see some cute ones down there though. It's getting incestuous in here." Nolan picks away the lint on his sleeves where he's torn them off.
"What's your bet, Riorson? Plan on bedding any of the new kids?" Nolan arches a brow. Haiden ignores me.
I shrug. If only he knew what happened the last time I fucked someone. To put it lightly, Cat was not pleased. At all.
My shadows alert me of the oncoming footsteps of candidates on the stairwell once the bells chime for 8 am, which means it's only been half an hour since I got up here. The sigh that's ripped from my throat is laced with the three hours of sleep, two coffees, and an hour I've had already on the mat, sparring Garrick.
I don’t use it often for my safety, but today might be a day when I can get away with using my inntinnsic ability without raising suspicion. The fear wafting off the candidates will cover up the icy feeling on their scalps when I read them, big emotions always do. And I know for a fact that Haiden and Nolan aren’t anywhere near a signet in the mindwork department, so maybe. Just maybe…
“Ready, Haiden?” Nolan calls from the wall parallel to me. The open sky shining through the turret onto the platform leaves enough room for me to see the gold coin Nolan flips around. Probably for a bet. I couldn’t care less. I have bigger things on my plate.
The first candidate steps out into the sunlight minutes later, their face red with exertion. I recognize that chestnut blonde and green eyes. Hailey Bowins. The rebellion relic peeking out of her tight-fitted tunic shimmers, the bands of magic that created them gleaming in the sun. I will forever thank Colonel Gloria Mairi for those runes. She was like a second mother to all of us and a first one to me. Our parents all knew they would die for their cause, but she made sure that we were safe. And I will always remember her for that. And her cupcakes. Those were amazing too.
Hailey’s gaze glides over the sunny platform, catching on the sight of me. Her lips curve upwards before she shakes her head, turning to Haiden and the scroll. Nice to see you too, Hailey.
“Name?” Haiden asks blandly, trying to use a commanding officer's tone and falling pathetically short. Then again, he's pathetic in general.
“Hailey Bowins,” Hailey replies. Our parents had known each other well, and we were usually stuck in rooms together when they had meetings. She and Imogen got along better though.
“Bowins? As in…” Haiden’s tone shifts, turning more clipped with a curl of disgust. “Lieutenant Colonel Bowins?”
“Yes.” She replies flatly. Good. Haiden has always been disgusted by marked ones, but he hides it well in front of me. Smart man.
I pin him with a watchful stare as his gaze flicks to mine. His eyes widen in fear and his lips purse before returning to Bowins quickly.
He nods once, etching her name down with a pen. Nolan stands from the wall to help her up. At least he's not disgusted by something we didn't even do.
“Good luck,” I call to her with her back turned to me, praying to Zihnal that the first fucking rebellion kid doesn't fall while dancing among the clouds today. A dead marked one starting off the slur of them walking today is not a good beginning.
Without another word, she steps out onto the parapet, still sheltered by the walls, and I look away. I know how this goes. Watching them fall, the screaming on the way down. It’s better to look away. One less face in my ever-growing nightmares.
I stand off the wall to do my share of helping candidates onto the raised stones where the parapet begins. Candidates start trickling in from the stairwell, mixes of fear, ignorance, and some pure joy plastered on their faces. It hurts more than others to hear, or worse, watch those fall. To die so early when being so confident only moments prior. Something died in me the day of my father's execution, but seeing that feeling inside them just hangs over me, there but out of reach. It feels foreign, yet my heart knows it has a place, but that it's filled with grief rather than whatever it's supposed to be.
It doesn't take long to find Sutherland emerge from the stairwell. Jace Sutherland has always been one to take charge of things, so I'm not surprised he was so damn close to the front. I bet 8 people being in front of him in line pissed him off though.
“Sutherland,” I nod once, giving him just the slightest of recognition.
“Riorson,” He smiles in my direction, determination on his face. He’ll make it. He won’t die today.
“Wingleader,” Sgaeyl calls out from the mental pathway in my mind, sending a feeling of mocking attention my way through the bond.
It’s impossible to keep the annoyance from my side creeping its way back to her, slithering back like a rattlesnake.
“Pity. I thought we were doing roll call.” She laughs back.
“Don’t mock me unless you need me to remind you of your little escapade with Tairn last night that I was privy to as well.” I huff back. She and her monster of a mate hadn’t had a little tryst in almost a week, mainly because dragons party as much as we do once graduation hits. I can only imagine what the Vale looked like afterward, just like the courtyard did for us.
The exchange with Sgaeyl distracts me long enough to not hear the scream behind me the first time, but it sure as hell wakes me up the second time. My head swings to find Jace dangling off the parapet ⅔ of the way across. The wind must have hit him too hard. Fuck.
I don’t have enough time to turn back around before Sutherland lets go, falling into the mist below. Shit. That hurt. That really hurt. Now he’s just another name, another tombstone, and another dead name etched onto my back, another burden to carry alongside me until Malek deems it worthy to be time for my demise as well.
I watch as Haiden and Nolan exchange coins after Sutherland's death, and I debate plucking the coins and throwing them off the tower. I knew they'd bet on ours dying, but it felt like salt on a fresh wound, like Lilith re-cut open Sutherland's scar on my back and they rubbed cleansing alcohol on my bloodied shoulders.
He won’t die today. But yet even I can be wrong sometimes.
……
It’s been an hour, and bets are still being bargained on Haiden and Nolan’s side. Do they ever shut up?
I’ve caught a few of the women staring at me for a bit longer than deemed normal, and when I read them most have the intention of wanting to take me straight to bed. Ugh. I just got done with the Cat drama months ago and now this. This isn't a fucking middle school.
Three more candidates formed in a cluster slink up to the parapet entrance together. Odd. Most people usually go on their own on Conscription Day. It’s usually a free-for-all once you reach the top of those steps. Only survival and death. One man, two women. I wonder if they know each other.
The man is average height, with blonde hair and brown eyes, and obvious weight training lessons performed. His rucksack looks way too fucking heavy though. One gust of wind and he’s a goner. Whoever parents this kid has is going to be heartbroken when they read the rolls. And if that rain starts while he is still out there… have fun.
He either makes it or he won’t. It won’t be my problem anyway.
The second one is a woman, with broad shoulders and an oval, framed face around multiple sets of thin braids, leading to her shoulders. She looks eerily familiar like I've seen statues similar to her, but I can't quite place it. She has the physical capabilities of a rider, and while her pack might look a little on the heavy side, she has a determined glow in her dark brown eyes. She will make it. I doubt she’ll fall with what she has going for her.
I turn to face the third one, but instead, just look farther down, and…… Holy. Fucking. Shit.
My heart skips like a stone. The woman in front of me looks to be about 5 feet tall; no more, no less. She has pale skin shaping the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen. Her lips look so soft, yet framed for her face as a portrait would. And her eyes… they're a mix of amber and blue, never wanting to favor the other. Her gaze is so intense I feel like I’m drowning. Lost in a whirlpool of euphoria and emotion, yet never wanting to leave. I don't think I could if I tried. I could live there forever.
Her hair is what captivates me though. The fading from a lush golden brown to metallic, dagger-like silver makes my insides tie itself in knots. Her hair looks just as soft as her face, meant to drape and frame the artwork it sits upon. It’s like the most talented artist had my demise planned in mind, and spent their whole lifetime carving her from the most rare and unique valuables this world and the next possessed.
She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
And being in this college means I’ve seen a lot of women throughout these walls.
Suddenly, I have just “forgotten” what the hell my last partner put me through, and instead wondering shamefully what makes that one unravel. And who she unravels with.
Shit. I shouldn’t be lusting over some girl who hasn't even crossed this godsforsaken parapet. With her height, she’ll be dead in the next 5 minutes. And if she ends up making it across, the people inside these brutal walls will rip her limb from limb on the mat. And that’s before dragons get here.
I fold my arms across my chest, whether it's from shielding out the stares I’m earning from multiple women visible or keeping in my frustrating lust is left undecided.
“See you two on the other side!” calls the blonde kid over his shoulder. Yeah, he’s not making it. I can tell now.
“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” Nolan asks, his eyes sliding back to where I’m leaning against the entrance of the start.
The brunette’s eyes trail back to the silver-haired beauty standing behind her. “You ready for this, Sorrengail?”
…Oh Shit. I freeze, my gaze snapping to the silver-haired girl, who now stares at me in a quiet bundle of hatred, fear, and something else I can’t decipher right now.
The General’s words rear back to me with alarming accuracy. I’m calling my favor owed from the Calldyr executions. My youngest will be entering the Rider’s Quadrant come July, and I will have you see to it that she survives her first year.
“And if she’s killed, I'll take the fall?” I recall asking back.
“Yes.” She states flatly.
“And you’re aware that even Wingleaders can’t interfere with challenges?” I fire back.
She shrugs. “Then don’t get caught. Excluding challenges, and if she makes it across the parapet, then she is under your responsibility until the day you graduate into service.” She walks behind her desk, dismissing me from her office and back into the hallway, with more questions than answers.
There are not enough curse words in the world for this. For being gifted this 5’0 girl might as well be a marked one who actually vows to stand with Navarre. It's And the fact that I'm attracted to her makes this situation a thousand times worse. Gods this year is going to suck.
“Oh shit,” She whispers, despite the howling wind circling above us. My eyes narrow. Her intentions make it crystal fucking clear that she was warned about me too, and wants to run like hell. Tough luck. Hatred swirls in me too, until I remember…
Maybe she isn’t as bad as her last name is letting on. Brennan has always talked so highly of his youngest sister, Violet, and how nice she was. How he had to watch her get put back together so often. That girl was kind, sweet, and overall just a good kid. But this is a 20-year-old woman, hand-picked to excel in the Scribe Quadrant by Markham himself if I recall correctly. I still question what in Lilith’s right mind triggered sending this child to a death sentence, but then again, she has been unreliable since she traumatized 107 kids by burning their parents alive alongside Melgren. Even if she didn’t have a choice…
“Sorrengail?” I ask as I approach the tiny little thing. Gods, she barely comes up to my collarbone. How the hell am I supposed to keep this one alive if she’s the size of a child?
She nods. Dammit. She isn’t even supposed to be here. Why does her entire familial line try to make my life difficult? The hatred towards her name sifts into my eyes. If this one is like her mother, or fucking Aetos, who I know she is close with, then my life is about to become a living hell.
“Violet?” The brunette moves toward her, her posture set in defense. That seals it. This is the one Brennan has always talked so highly about. The one destined to be the new Markham, hiding away the real enemy under a blindfold crafted for centuries.
“You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest.” It’s a statement. If this one makes it across the parapet, I'll be fending for her life for months to save every marked one’s ass.
“You're Fen Riorson’s son,” she fires back, anger distorting her features. Hell no. I suck in a breath. No one talks about my father like that to me. No. One.
Her intentions read that she still wants to run, except this time it’s not from the bridge behind me, but me. Why does that hurt more than it should? She thinks I’m going to pluck her by her leathers and throw her off the turret like a rucksack. Tempting, but I’m pretty sure Brennan would rip off my head before General Sorrengail would get the chance.
“You’re mother captured my father and oversaw his execution.” On Melgren’s orders. I hate them both equally as much, even though her mother didn't really have a say in it. She's still a bitch. Always will be.
Her eyes harden. “Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we're even.”
I wish. I wish that my father were roaming the halls of Basgiath. To hold onto him, hug him, and never let go. She may get the chance if she stands on the right side of the war when it inevitably comes, but I won’t. My father is dead. I will never see him again.
“Hardly.” I spit, grief piercing at my heart. I won't let anyone see it though. I can’t. I just can’t.
I look down at her clothes, even the little of them. Where the hell did she get leathers… oh wait. Isn’t her sister a rider? I can’t recall the name, but I think it started with an M. She got the Order of the Talon award a while ago if I recall.
“You’re sister is a rider. Guess that explains the leathers.” I pray I didn’t just make an ass of myself if she doesn’t have one. Or she’s dead. Maybe a slice of sweet payback can be repaid for the shit her mother has put us all through.
“Guess so.” she sasses. Great. So Brennan has 2 sisters. And at least one has a tongue sharper than a dagger. She sounds just like Sgaeyl. And beautiful like her- NO. What the hell is wrong with me? My hand clenches and I tense. It seems she tenses in return, scared shitless of me. Great.
“You all right?” the brunette asks, her gaze flying back and forth between me and Violet. I need to find that girl’s name, and what she means to her. What other troubles did Sorrengail bring along with her? What type of threat is this? Is she?
I glance over at her, breaking our little staring contest. Might as well ask. “You’re friends?”
“We met on the stairs,” She replies, straightening herself. Well, that idea is out the window.
The flash of silver downwards catches my eye. She’s wearing one rider boot and one civilian shoe probably a size too big. I notice the brunette’s shoes are the same, except on opposite sides. They… traded shoes. For the parapet? “Interesting.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Damn. straight to the point. That is hotter than it should be- STOP. Gods, what is WRONG with me?
The sky opens and rain starts hurling towards the ground; and us, soaking everything in seconds. In my peripherals, I notice Haiden trying his damndest to keep the scroll dry under his cloak. The rain is definitely going to add at least a few names to the list for tomorrow’s death roll though. Not sure why he's trying so hard if half the names will be on a stone in just a few hours.
A scream rips through the rain, but I already know who it is. I don’t lift my eyes off of Sorrengail. I told you that kid was going to fall. She and her friend snap their eyes toward the blonde candidate though, fear reflecting off their irises like a mirror.
An audible gasp is torn from her throat. Gods, I want to hear that agai- NO. What the hell am I doing? This is General Sorrengails’s DAUGHTER. Getting anywhere close to this one, without even knowing if we can trust her, is fucking disastrous. I could doom the revolution, Brennan, the marked ones, hell toss everyone in Poromiel in too for getting even slightly attached. Bad, Xaden.
“Pull yourself up, Dylan!” the brunette shouts. Dammit. I didn’t want to know his name. I don’t want another name in my nightmares.
“Oh, gods!” Sorrengail cries. I knew he wouldn’t make it, but it still adds to the too many names to be listed tomorrow morning.
I can’t trust this one. She’s General Sorrengail’s youngest. Handpicked from Markham to excel in the Scribe Quadrant, to help keep history hidden. But none of that aligns with the little sister Brennan talks about. The caring, understanding, gentle, little sister he watched get sent to the infirmary for breaking her foot from climbing a tree. The feisty sister that always got ignored in a room full of giants, buried in the power surrounding her. The sister that he was certain would side with us in an instant, desperate to save as many lives possible, Navarrian or Poromish. The girl who he knew respected life and all things in it. The girl who wanted to save people. Not Navarrians. Not Poromish citizens. Just people. That one. That one we can trust. But is the sister Brennan remembers still here? Or was she buried in power and lies over 5 years?
This is… I don’t know what to do. I can’t help, not without being obvious. My shadows could balance her, but I don’t even know if she’s worth saving. If she falls, I don’t have to deal with her, but 1; she could be the edge we need in this war. Someone just like that sister Brennan always cared for. And 2; Brennan would behead me before Lilith got a damn chance.
So I just stand idly by. If she makes it, I have another one to keep watch on, another marked one to protect. If she falls... I'll have a fun time when I next stop by Aretia.
But damn. The hatred I'm supposed to have for her. It’s… muffled. Like half my mind is in another plane of existence. I want so badly to believe that the kid Brennan loves is still there, lying undetected under that intense gaze of hate fire. But I doubt the child Brennan loves is still here. If his death didn't kill that hope, then Command sure would have. That kid is dead. She's nothing but a memory, a driving hope for something that could have been.
“Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?” If she's anything like the bitch that runs this place, or the weasel that's now a squad leader in Second Wing, I'll happily watch her burn with the rest of this place when we eventually set it on fire. And if she isn't... there's no room for the subject that is Sorrengail right now. A wicked smile curves my lips. “Your turn.”