Chapter Text
Sloane Mairi had spent a long time thinking about all the ways she hoped Dain Aetos would meet Malek.
She’d first noticed him at the parapet, even through the wind that had whipped her hair into her eyes, even through the rage she directed towards Violet Sorrengail. His sandy curls danced around his eyes, eyes that had reminded her of the table made of elm wood in her mother’s old office in Tyrrendor. The thought flitted through her head that the table was probably gone now–burned to ashes, collapsed, pillaged if it had survived. Sounded like a good analogy.
She hadn’t known who he was then, focused only on the task in front of her as she looked at the long strip of stone ahead. It was the only thing separating her from the next step of her life, of her punishment. There’d been a time, as recently as a few months ago, even, where she’d been determined to make it across. Determined to see Liam’s warm, kind face again, even if it had to be from afar. She’d been biding her time until then, counting down the days, even. She’d written him so many letters that she couldn’t send, but she’d planned to bring them across with her, one of the few possessions she was allowed that would make its way across the parapet with her.
Now, Liam was dead. It was like knowing the sun would never rise again. Instead, Sloane had spent the last few weeks convincing herself that simply throwing her body off the side of the parapet once she reached the middle of it was a bad idea. In her dreams, she never hit the bottom. She simply closed her eyes, let the wind whip around her, and when she opened them again, Liam was there. Mom and Dad, too. They’d hold her and tell her how much they’d missed her, how glad they were to all be back together again.
But, she always woke up. She’d always remember that dreams weren’t real, and even if they were, how disappointed her family would be to know that she’d given up. How crushed Liam would be to know she hadn’t survived. That he’d fought, pushed hard, brought his light to everyone he touched and bonded a dragon and died doing what he’d wanted to do. Died flying.
So she would do her best for him, give it an honest try, and if she fell, she could meet Malek at her family’s side with their understanding, at least. Even now, their pride meant the world to her–the echoes of their love the only thing that got her out of bed most days.
With her hair tied back and on advice from Violet Fucking Sorrengail, of all people, she made it to the other side, the rage sizzling beneath her skin and pushing her along on spite alone. Word had reached back in the last month, the news of Liam’s death coming with both truth and rumors about what had happened over Resson. Regardless of the source, the names involved remained the same. She needed to find Imogen, needed to hear it from her mouth what had happened. She stumbled through the opening on the opposite turret, the world tilting as she stumbled, falling to the ground now that she was safe. Sloane barely had her bearings, the red of fury still blurring her vision and the adrenaline rushing in her veins making her ears roar. But someone was gripping her hand, pulling her to her feet and moving on.
“Name.”
“Sloane Mairi, with an e at the end.” The person paused, just for a moment as she registered what Sloane had said. Another man at the table huffed an incredulous laugh, her eyes snapping to him at the abruptness of it.
“Mairi? How was it getting sent on the worst walk of your life by Sorrengail and Aetos?” The man was broad and short, his bright red hair glowing under the magelights. She didn’t recognize him, so she was certain he was Navarrian. She and everyone else with a tattoo already coming into Basgiath could recognize each other, even if they’d never spoken. There was something about watching your parents die while getting blasted with dragon fire that didn’t leave the memory.
She wondered if he’d known Liam.
She was still processing the question he’d asked, her brain too worried about who he was and what she’d just done to answer. His eyes narrowed slightly on her like she was stupid.
“Two of the people who killed your brother?”
Oh .
She’d known about Sorrengail– she’d already hated Sorrengail– and she was hard to miss with her hair. But Aetos. She’d heard the name in the whispers. The son of the Colonel, both responsible for what had happened over Resson, if she believed the rumors. And Sloane was inclined to.
The man leaned in closer. “He’s the one who gave the information to his father, you know. The reason they were attacked.”
That confirmed what she’d heard, then.
She knew the names, had said them each night since she’d heard the news. Added them to the list with everyone responsible for the deaths of her parents. Sorrengail, Aetos. She knew them, but she hadn’t anticipated that he’d look so…normal, so human.
She blinked at the man talking, then walked away without answering the question, hands and words steering her to where she’d stand until they were sorted. Perhaps they thought her an idiot, maybe they would leave her alone.
Rage. Rage. Rage.
It built and built within her, pounding through her veins with the beating of her heart, searing, wild.
He should be here, not them.
Her fingers curled around the bench beneath her. She imagined she could crack the wood if she focused hard enough..
Fury, wrath, hate.
How many words could she summon for how she felt?
More people poured over the parapet, spilling through the doors witt the same shocked relief. Some fell. Many fell.
Their screams let her know she’d made the right choice to not jump.
This place was savage, horrific. She shouldn’t have to be here, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have, shouldn’t have. It was the General’s fault that she was here, and the fault of the two who had sent her across that parapet.
“Hi,” the voice came so abruptly from her right that it made her jump, the whole bench shifting beneath her. She was met with a pair of the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. They reminded her of the cliffs of Aretia in deep summer, a green so wild and earthen that they felt otherworldly. “I’m Aaric.”
She realized his hand was out. Not a marked one. Not anyone she knew, and she was certain she’d remember his eyes if nothing else.
“Sloane,” she said slowly, unsure of his motives and still breathing through the rage that threatened to consume her alive.
“I heard. Hey, you look a little tense. Which, understandable because of,” he gestured broadly to the parapet and room. “I’m a little worked up myself after that. Can I sit with you?”
Sloane almost huffed a laugh. She understood what he was doing, no nerves or anxiety present on his face. Had she been that obvious about the spiral she was in?
“Fine.” She bit out the word.
To his credit, he sat in silence next to her after thanking her, no commentary on the new people filling the room or the new bodies filling their lists.
Minutes or hours passed, the admittedly comfortable silence between them growing. When one potential cadet threw another off the parapet, only to stumble and fall themselves a few yards later, a wave of laughter filled the room.
Sloane sneered. “Barbaric.”
It drew Aaric’s eyes to her. “It is certainly something.”
“You don’t find this behavior abhorrent?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t say so aloud.”
She snorted. He was probably right–but she was having trouble finding it in herself to care. She felt him lean in, his words quieter now. “It is awful, and it’s hard to watch. But being part of this? Don’t you feel a little important to be here?”
“Maybe I would if I’d had a choice.”
His eyes flicked to her relic. “Fair enough. But think about what’s ahead. What we’re capable of, what doors are open to us now if we’re brave enough, strong enough, clever or patient enough.”
His words had an edge in them, almost as though they were willing her to hear the double meaning in them. When men spoke to her this closely, it was usually with a very specific end goal in mind, but Aaric didn’t seem like he was interested in that. His words felt meant for her, to make her think of something more, something bigger than the two of them sitting here, watching this primitive and barbaric display in front of them. She thought about his words, let them bounce around in her mind and find a home there. For the first time, she felt a small part of her breaking through that rage, breaking through that endless grief, to feel something else.
Motivation.
Of course, she knew the odds. She might die before she met a dragon, let alone one even willing to bond her. But still…
They forced the children of rebellion here in hopes they’d die, it wasn’t a secret. They were expendable, here to fight and die as punishment for actions they’d had no part of. Liam had.
But for the first time since she’d heard the news of his death, Sloane felt something akin to purpose, something wholly separate from the grief. She wouldn’t give them what they wanted unless she did it on her own terms, of her own free will. So many decisions had been taken from her, from all of them, but there were still things within her control. She would dig her heels and put up a fight until she defied their odds, or she would take as many of them down as possible, kicking and screaming.
The final new cadet emerged through the door to the open air and promptly vomited all over the floor, drawing a collective groan from the room.
“What a fitting end to the morning,” Aaric quipped beside her, and Sloane almost laughed before she caught herself.
“Alright, cadets, let’s go!”
They were up and moving, shuffling through halls and over open pathways to something that resembled a courtyard, but Sloane wasn’t paying attention to the walls of Basgiath. She heard the first roar from the dragons as the cadets were sorted into lines, told where to go. More joined, the screeches and deafening bellows filling the air around them as the more people filled in around her.
When the dragons landed on the walls, Sloane fought a tremor at the vision of pure power in front of her.
Liam had ridden one of these, called it his own. Could she do the same?
Sorrengail and Aetos were in the line that filtered in in front of her, and she grit her teeth.
She could. And she would.
That swinging half-silver braid just ached for her to reach out and yank it until she fell to the ground. Imogen had told her in a letter last year how fragile her joints were. How hard could it be? Aetos was another story, his gaze hardened on the second and third years as they finished filling the courtyard. He was all business, broad shoulders and strong arms, a body that clearly understood the concept of fighting and weaponry. He had a scar across his jaw, barely noticeable beneath his trimmed beard. It was a shame he was as attractive as he was. A waste, really.
Sloane fought the urge to spit at him.
“...Wingleader Aetos.”
The words split through her haze of anger, the realization of where she was standing, who she was standing among finally dawning on her.
She was in Sorrengail’s wing. Her section. Her squad. She was standing this close to them both because she was in their line of command, and Aetos was her Wingleader. Dread and hate warred within her as the sounds around her died. They’d killed her brother, the last person in this world who’d meant anything to her. His light extinguished for good because of the selfish Navarrians who stood steps away from her. They took everything, and they’d never stop.
For the first time in months, first time in years. The grief died inside her, hardening and freezing until it became something new. The rage curdled until it whispered like a hymn inside her, and Sloane reaffirmed what she’d already begun telling herself today.
She had a single purpose here now, and she’d commit to it with every fiber of her being.
Revenge.