A few nights of agony pass.

  The warring dark scratches at me like a hungry soul begging for sustenance. And my dreams… they’ve all resided on that nefarious plane Scorius sent me to in class, reminding me of how I lost a brother all over again. Boeru flies away on every turn, night after night, ignoring my calls and shouting for his sister to return.

  The dragon is tormented.

  And I’m not sure if it’s the aftereffects of that potion Scorius wafted in my face, but all I see is the disdain of my marked as I go through my days. I’m on the way to Battle Riders class as we speak, not to be confused with Battle Beasts—which is the tamer of the two. On the way in, who else do I see but a stubborn Layla fighting to limp without a cane.

  The healers told her fifty days minimum of assisted walking, until her heart beats without the help of bliss. But as I said, she’s stubborn.

  “You didn’t come to bed last night.” I elbow her as we walk into class.

  “If I needed a new house mother, I would’ve asked.” She side-eyes me.

  “Practicing your stances again?”

  She grunts at that. “I must’ve switched to each one a thousand times, in every possible combination. But Prominent still finds fault in my posture.”

  “Impossible,” I say. “Your form is the best of all batch twenty-eight. Better than Broggen’s and Ren’s, even with that injury of yours.”

  “Not to her. I swear, she makes me do busy work because she knows I’m useless outside of my strength. It’s dragonshit,” she scoffs.

  “Nah. What you say is dragonshit. Give it time, Lay. She’s probably molding you to be an immovable blockade in war.”

  Her expression speaks volumes; she doesn’t believe a word of it, but I keep on anyway.

  “Besides, the people love you for taking Gen’s sword like a champ. I told you what Scorius said after the event. Your Prominent recognized you—”

  “It’s all a game to blow our heads up. A test to knock us down again. Tempered blood, Hale.” She struggles to get in line beside our other cadets.

  I suddenly realize we aren’t sitting. War-tutor Mathis stands tall with a single golden feather wrapped around his commandant robe like a sash. He’s usually not formal like this. Makes me wonder if he’s another plant by Head Magus—another war bird circling to ensure the next generation is lethal.

  “Time!” he shouts, and the tutor’s assistant slams the door on two cadets’ faces.

  The entire tone of class changes, and the wyvern head statue clawing out of the wall suddenly seems menacing.

  “Cadets, today is a rare instance. There will be no drills or lessons. No chance to hunt for new mounts. Instead, you will participate in an impromptu event worth three merits to the victor, and one merit to the runner-up.”

  Chatter breaks out around me. Three merits in one class? That’s unheard of.

  Mathis waits for the class to calm before continuing, “The task? Beast race. The landscape? Our sky.”

  Commotion ignites all over again.

  My heart starts to flutter. Both Layla and I gape at one another. I’ve been avoiding the sky like the plague, and Lay… she’s in no shape to ride.

  “No time to waste. Attention!” Mathis marches toward the front doors with dragon-maw handles, and waits for his assistant to hold them open. The two cadets waiting on the wrong side of the doors plead to follow, but he backhands the air to reject them. “Crystyle and Sasha are banned from participating.”

  They complain that they were less than thirty seconds late, but it makes no difference today.

  Lay nudges me. “Now what are you going to do? You and Boeru can’t rely on your wolf today. Tell him I get it—if I was a dragon, I wouldn’t want to ride something with wings either. It’s weird,” she teases me. If only she knew the torment I was going through looking for him, she wouldn’t have. But that’s something I’ll keep to myself. How could anyone possibly understand unless they were bonded?

  “Guess it’s time for you two to buck up. Don’t worry, the wyverns are laughing with you, not at you.” Layla cackles at her own joke, then holds her chest as if her heart hated it. Keeping up with everyone is straining her. “Gods, lighten up. Mathis will probably let you sit out if you don’t want to fly.”

  “Three merits. I have to,” I say. “That’s three big steps closer to iron rank.”

  Flashes of Nargo falling to his death still haunts me though. Riders are lost easiest, because the beasts we fly are wild. It takes a certain temperament to tame them, and a certain tolerance for risk. I tend to tip my scale toward things I can control. My blade, my dagger. My bond…

  The thought hits me like a hammer.

  “There you go again. What’s with your magic, Hale? It’s slithering around you like a snake,” Lay lowers her voice, blue eyes scanning my body.

  “You’re not the only one with Prominent issues,” I hit back.

  “It is wise to note since Izafael’s great challenge, the sanctum has failed to evoke donors,” Mathis interrupts us on the way out of the Sharp Wing and toward the eastern exit of the sanctum. “Which means only one thing. We, as tutors, have failed to make our cadets war ready.”

  Gods. More inklings that the war is escalating right over our heads.

  Layla puffs her chest at the challenge, fighting even harder to maintain her stride. “Which flight beast are you going with?” she asks.

  “Gryphon. They seem the least likely to toss me off.” I scratch my chin.

  “I’m going for wyvern.”

  “What?”

  “I’m thinking a three-year-old. More rabid but less malicious.” She keeps talking like I hadn’t said anything. And I’m glad she did, because that gave me time to realize protesting would make me no better than her.

  She worries to the point of discouragement. That’s her glaring flaw. It won’t be mine as a leader of the marked.

  I won’t stop you, Lay. I believe in you.

  On another note, she protected my ass for years after Kane was pulled. She’s right. I’ll buck up and do my part too.

  We’re led to an outdoor sanctuary of familiar beasts. Gryphons, wyverns, two young phoenixes that no one dares to ride, and a runty dragon with soft scales and a singular horn. Every time I look at the poor thing, I wonder if the mighty species has devolved over time, because the powerful roosts I’ve visited in Boeru’s memories are nothing like the ones that fly around in tier one.

  Layla wastes no time limping into the wyvern roost. Hyenas of the sky. I hate them, cool as grown ones are. My chest weakens to see them turn their backs on Layla. She’s injured, and they sense it. But she tugs on one of their straps to jerk its winding neck toward her.

  Her blue eyes lose some of their kindness as she bores into the beast trying to shy away. It’s attractive, if I’m being honest. Especially considering I want nothing to do with the moody gryphons on the other side, or the unbalanced squalls.

  “Cadets. Attention,” Mathis’ voice blares into the open sky. “The house lords have tallied their first-year treasures earned to date. They are lacking. At times, we must forget that we are in direct competition with one another and remember this sanctum must ascend once Lacor is conquered. If we fall behind? We wither to voiceless husks in the wake of Miria’s victory.” He paces around the beasts, commanding them merely with his gaze. “Donors watch from their castles, and listen to whispers worth hearing. Become them, cadets. Or die trying.”

  Silence from the others radiates more than sound. Up until today, this class has been one of roughhousing, carelessness, and solemn prayer for those we lost. Definitely not this.

  Whether the class normally shifts at this time of year, or barking orders came from the Head Magus, I’m not sure. But I feel it all the same.

  “Choose your beast. If there is overlap, the beast will decide,” Mathis says. “You have three minutes. Move.”

  We scramble as the war-tutor keeps talking. There are more than enough flying beasts to choose from, but not all are ripe for a fast flight—

  “Note, your tutors have agreed to forfeit their class time for the day to carry out this task.”

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  Scratch that. Long flight?

  I decide to keep my stride the same amid all the running, hoping the beasts will respond to me over them. I don’t bow to anyone. That’s what I’m trying to communicate, anyway.

  Eagle heads mixed with muscular lion bodies are paralyzing on both fronts. Doesn’t help that I haven’t established any connections with them since day one. Ground mounts only. Bad move on my part.

  A sub-tier brute from an earlier batch hops on the gryphon I was making eye contact with, so I swerve to the next. Mythos diagrams float through my head as I analyze the characteristics of the beast. Golden fur below the feathers is a sign of strength. The coats shine speaks to its health. Both boxes are checked here. This one has a scar over its eye.

  “Did you win a fight?” I whisper as I approach. “Or lose one?”

  Its head turns, giving me a wide eye.

  “I guess the important thing is that you can fight, huh? If I choose you, are you going to run off and start clawing at anything you can?”

  It turns its head the other way, as if each eye represents a different personality. Crazy vibes.

  “Boe, I could really use a second thought here.”

  No huffs or groans makes me solemn, but there’s no time to waste. Two high-society cadets are literally grappling for the prized gryphon one row over, and I’m afraid one might try to snatch mine next.

  “Alright, girl. You going to snap at me?” I inch closer, burying my fear.

  The warring dark starts to pulse near my forearms. This has been happening since Boeru disappeared. It’s less of a cycling and more of a heartbeat. Though the warning is the same—a threat.

  The gryphon snaps, and in a flash, I wrap my dagger chain tight around its beak and tug harshly to one side.

  My reflexes are faster—

  A tickling feeling running down my back tells me to flip the other way, so I do, just in time to avoid a lion’s claw ripping me open. Now I’m on the gryphon’s back, tugging violently until the damn thing submits. I was right about avoiding these gods-damn things. They’re insane.

  It rocks left to right, thrashing as I pull the chain harder.

  “Will you calm down?” I scrunch its neck and a handful of feathers with it.

  “Look here.” One of the cadets laughs atop his gryphon. “The dragonborn is crazy enough to try and tame Rainy. Shit, he might actually do it.”

  Ugh. This is embarrassing.

  When “Rainy” won’t calm down, I hug her neck and wrap the chain one more time around her beak. I hear a slight crunching as the warring dark pulses harder around my forearms. A muffled squawk escapes the beast.

  Shit. I don’t know my own strength anymore.

  I loosen the restraint, noticing scuff marks on the poor thing. The gryphon didn’t ask for this.

  She bows her head in shame and I pet it. “Sorry, Rainy.”

  “The hell are you apologizing for?” A high-society cadet kicks his gryphon to walk up next to me. “You showed dominance, and now the beast will obey.”

  “That’s not how I do things.” I frown, petting Rainy’s head for fear that I hurt her.

  “With a soft mentality like that, you’ll end up splattered as grass food like Nargo,” says the man dressed in fine leathers and wielding an enchanted steel spear.

  “Hah. He actually did it!” another cadet calls from the row over.

  I turn my head the other way to see Layla staring back at me. She raises her eyebrows, saying she’s impressed.

  Whatever. I adjust myself on the saddle and reach for the reins. “Sorry, girl.” I pet her again.

  Rainy jolts her head to one side and long blinks at me. Back in the sub-tier that’s something wild cats used to do to show affection. Is she saying it’s alright? Or is my guilt really playing tricks on me.

  She extends her wings and shakes off our little scuffle, chomping down on air to make sure her beak still works.

  “Boe, if this is your grand plan to get me killed and free yourself into the afterlife, it might work like a charm,” I speak mentally for no one to hear. “But if you’re out there somewhere, and a part of you still intends to honor our bond, I could use your help. A torn wing is better than no wing if I’m launched off this gryphon!”

  Nerves sizzle down my legs as the cadets all find their mounts and turn to face our tutor.

  “Time!” Mathis calls, and it’s then I see the fool on his back who dared try mount the gray phoenix, and another who tried for the alpha wyvern standing with a bite mark on his arm.

  “Teglo, disqualified. To the Healer’s Wing immediately.” Mathis snaps his fingers. “Dustus, unmounted, disqualified. Off the field.”

  Dustus curses as he exits.

  “Good. Now for the lot of you… if we cannot attract donors, we will revert to our roots, back to the olden days when wars were won by the resourceful and the cunning.” Mathis walks through the row of wyverns, to the phoenix. The class collectively holds its breath when he reaches to pet the celestial mount. “You will harvest the ore for enchanted steel, and persuade your house forgers to craft your own weapons.”

  Lay and I share eyes again.

  “That’s right, cadets. I despise a generation that can only do what they’re told. And apparently, so do the castle lords. Dueling for merits, trading for armor held by your house. You think you are entitled to these great works, knowing nothing of what it takes to harvest them.” Mathis boldly turns his back on the phoenix, only to be nudged as if he were its father. “You will venture beyond the sanctum walls in search for kabal ore and stegor stone. Your mounts have been trained to sense them, but you will have to use your map to identify where patches may lie. You will use your knowledge to harvest them—sub-tier cadets, your Kyard stone harvesting skills, higher tier cadets, your stileen summoning. The cadet who brings back the most valuable materials will win today’s challenge. It is up to you to discern quality over quantity.”

  The words are hard to absorb, considering I’m sitting on a beast type I’ve only flown for a minute tops in my third class. Nerves continue to sizzle up through my shivering hands. What’s worse… no Boeru to grab me if I fall.

  I pull the two-tiered paper map and stare at it, pointing my quavering finger beyond the wall. Markers only show large landmarks, other sanctums, like pieces on a war board. It’s only now I realize there are bushes of specific shapes and colors hiding in between. Do they mean something?

  Snapping my fingers for Layla’s attention takes a few tries. “Stay behind,” I mouth.

  Her eye twitches as she tries to process what I’m saying. I point to the ground, then the map, and she gets it.

  “Rules, War-tutor?” A woman with a deep scar X’ed across her ample chest leans on her wyvern’s neck.

  “In war, you often find yourself on your own.” Mathis tilts his head. “Consider your ring leader’s corpse lost in battle. Your squad commanders have been slain. Your high commandant depends on this mission, for the fate of the faction.” He paces up to the woman. “Tesstalia, there are no orders but for the mission goal. Get it done. Use your warrior’s spirit to guide you.”

  There’s darkness in those words. That familiar roughhousing I experienced in this class when a boar would slam into my wolf, or a wyvern would chomp down to try and throw our ground beasts off course… well… Mathis would always intervene to tame them. Those leashes have just been severed.

  The lords are frustrated. This is punishment.

  “Let us see how well you can combine your precious metals class with your Battle Riders’.” Mathis holds up two fingers, and all of the mounts lift their heads in unison. “Some of you will flail with the disorientation of a sub-tier bird. Others will navigate like a steel rank. Today, we will learn who is deserving. Fly!”

  With a wave of his hand all the beasts rile, signaling many of the riders to heed the tutor’s call. But not me. I press my weight down hard to steady Rainy.

  Amongst flying beasts scurrying past, I see Lay remaining grounded across the way. No time to waste. Using the basic training Mathis taught us in the beginning, I command Rainy to hop over the stable with one flap of her wings and land close to Lay.

  Mathis frowns at us, but I ignore him.

  “Lay, your map.” I point at my own. “I don’t think Mathis would send us far over the sanctum walls for this. He’d wind up with no class left at the end of the day.”

  Layla bark laughs at that. “True, if those fourth-year rider squads have anything to say about it, they’d probably rip us up for the fun of it.”

  I grit my teeth, hoping that’s not true. “Anyway, look. These bushes are shaped like purple stars, and these are green pentagons. I think they’re signals for materials, or food, something.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Lay nods at me, tightening her reins.

  When Rainy goes to snap at the wyvern, I whip the reins back to tame her. “Gods, calm down.”

  “Ready?” Lay asks.

  “Wait.” I readjust on the saddle, prepping myself. “Once we make it past the wall, we land for the purple stars first, see if we can cultivate any kabal or stegor. If not, we’ll jump to the green.”

  “Sounds like a plan, guide.”

  “Don’t forget—”

  “And it also sounds like you’re stalling.” She smirks at me. “Hiya!” She whips the reins, and with one giant flap, she takes to the sky.

  Shit.

  “Okay, Rainy. We can’t fall behind. Hip!” I whip the reins, causing her to caw defiantly. “Hip!” I try again, and she finally flaps.

  The instability of her movements make me realize why no one went after her. She’s twitchy as hell—muscle spasms near her ribs make my feet bounce at her sides. What the hell is the matter with her?

  My palms sweat over the reins as the ground tears away. At least when I climbed the spire, I was in charge of my own destiny—survival depending on my grip strength and endurance. Here, though? I’m relying on a crazed bird.

  Open air smacks my face, drying my eyes, making it hard to breathe. The chilly winds feel good though. So far it’s not as bad as my first ride atop the squall. Gryphons are meatier, and have a better glide to their flight.

  I’m catching up to Layla, who’s still ascending. This woman has no fear.

  “Lay! That’s enough!” I call, but my voice is lost in the wind.

  The air thins by the second, making me panic. A quick glance down shows the vast sanctum shrinking below us. All five wings and the center spire must’ve taken ages to build. And the landscaped grounds leading to the four houses takes an army of itself to maintain. It still amazes me how far we’ve come since our sub-tier barn.

  I’m nearing a view similar to the map. Gods.

  I grasp the reins tighter when Rainy twitches again. “Level out!” I try for Layla once more.

  The wall is encroaching fast, way faster than on a ground mount. Old-style designs etched into the stone make me wonder if magical wards guard from intruders. That’s above my pay grade though, I think. I’d have to sit there and compare them to mythos wards if I wanted my answer. No time for that right now.

  “Descend!” I shout.

  Layla seems to be enjoying herself, despite having to remain in a crouched position due to her injury. Every time she turns to check on me, there’s a big smile splitting her face.

  See, Lay? There’s more to a warrior than wielding magic. You have courage.

  I whip the reins and kick Rainy’s sides to soar ahead of Lay. If she won’t listen to reason, then I’ll have to lead her to it.

  Her wyvern screeches its dismay as Rainy pulls ahead from beneath. I point down sternly multiple times so she’ll see. Then I lean forward to begin our descent.

  The wall we dive for is two hundred feet tall, easy, and beyond it seems my hunch was right. Different types of bushes and trees are apparent from these heights. One batch grows around spiky stones with leaves waving in the wind like hair. The other batch—green pentagons on the map—literally rains from the leaves, creating a droopy canopy.

  We’ll try the dry ones first.

  A large batch of wyverns are far ahead, almost blips flying together. What are they going for, a joy ride? They should be scouring the grounds. Unless… they know something I don’t?

  As we approach the wall, I level Rainy out by pulling up. She listens beautifully. I’m getting the hang of this. I can’t hold back my smile as ground becomes a more manageable distance below. Lay’s still on my tail—angry-looking wyvern with a spindly neck and all. Good.

  The wall is seconds away now, and all of a sudden, my arms pulse with warring dark. A threat? Or is that just the wards I suspect. Must be—

  Snap!

  A hidden wyvern shoots up like a geyser and takes a bite out of Layla’s mount.

  My heart stalls, and my forearms are on fire with power. Shit.

  Through the screeches of two tumbling wyverns, I hear Layla cry out in pain. That’s when I see who’s mounted. That bitch with the heavy scar across her chest, Tesstalia.

  I pull the reins tight for a quick turn, then kick with both my heels, signaling to fight.