In the midst of our ritual of harvesting ore, Layla and I spring from our seats to tend to our waking prisoner.

  Layla rips her by the hair to ensure she’s the first thing Tesstalia sees.

  She blinks in quick succession, grimacing from the wounds she suffered atop her scorched wyvern. A round face, eyes brown with flecks of gold, and cheeks blood-scraped and charred from remnants of the blue flame.

  Once she comes to, she twitches haphazardly, shaking in the chain of my dagger wrapped around her wrists. Her eyes grow wide and rabid.

  “No. How?” Tesstalia tries to jerk away, but Layla’s fist only curls tighter around her hair, twisting her head into submission.

  “We’ll be asking the questions,” I say, letting my guard act as the muscle.

  The X-scar over her breasts suddenly shimmers, and her hands turn molten hot. With a look I’ve never seen on Layla’s face, she grabs both hands in one of her giant ones and crushes Tesstalia’s fingers like twigs.

  “Ahh!” she screams so loud birds flap away in the trees above.

  “Trying to summon the elements?” I ask, grabbing my dagger hilt and holding the edge to her neck.

  “Do it.” She exhales into a gasp, suffering the pain of her crushed fingers. “Do it.” She leans into the dagger. “It’ll be a far better fate than I’ll suffer with him. Either let me go or fucking kill me.”

  Me and Lay glance at one another.

  I pull the edge away from her throat. “You tried to kill us without a moment’s hesitation. That’s nefarious, Tesstalia, even for a cadet in a war sanctum. Start talking.”

  “Try to pull magi again, and I’ll rip out your nails one by one,” Layla promises. “There will be no swift death, and I’ll work hard to rival whoever it is you’re so afraid of.” Layla leans close to her face. “Don’t test me. I’ve come to know the signs during my stay in this sanctum.”

  Tess wrinkles her nose, leaning her head away from Layla. Although she has every right to be fearful of her current situation… she’s not.

  “You said I was worth ten merits before you ripped me out of the sky,” I say. “From who?”

  She smirks. “Who do you think?”

  “We’ve made a lot of enemies since Hookvos’ donor event,” Layla says.

  “But who had acted on their aspirations, really?” Tess arcs an eyebrow, and Lay doesn’t appreciate her riddles, so a swift backhand to the face follows.

  “Pfah.” She spits a mix of blood and saliva on the grass.

  “Izfael,” I say.

  “Dead or alive.” Tess licks her teeth. “As long as the body’s warm.”

  “Shit.” Layla exhales audibly.

  “Mhm.” Tess sighs. “He can’t scoop you up himself since his failed attempt to break the Seal in his quarters, so now he has to use… other measures to try again.”

  “So Izfael has the means to transfer merits?”

  “He wins transferable ones all the time, among all his gaudy weapons,” Tess seethes. “He’s careful with them, though. Can’t let the little minions gain rank too fast. Then he loses his power over us—”

  “Why isn’t everyone suckling at those with merits to give then?” Lay asks.

  Tess’ face splits into a sarcastic smile. “Oh, there’s plenty reason not to. Just depends how bad you want it.”

  “And yours?”

  “Telling my story with a cracked rib from an ancient dragon and chained up like cattle.” She rattles her shackles.

  “Better than two cracked ribs.” Lay clenches her fist.

  “Uh huh. Well—”

  “Just the highlights. We have ore to gather,” Lay says through gritted teeth.

  “Yes, Ms. Barristan. Of course. I came from tier two. City girl whose dad lost everything on a bad spice trade. I was on track to landing in a less lethal sanctum—trade and harvesting school. But turns out Dad’s debtors wanted elementals on the ground, so to speak.” She spits another heap of blood-soaked phlegm. “So they sent me here. Culture shock if I ever knew it. Death rolls, stabbings, magic, and riders. Thought I could stay away from all that shit. Wasn’t long before I realized if I’m going to live, I needed someone powerful in my corner. And that’s where I met Izfael. He wined and dined me. I ate it up. Ten months later, I’m one of too many of his fucking servants. And ten merits? That’s my way out of glass.”

  “Can’t believe how much power the elite war prospects have.” Lay shakes her head.

  “The scales are tipped out of balance,” I agree. “When and why did the powers that be allow cadets to obtain transferrable merits?”

  “Head Magus allowed it for the last decade, citing loyalty-building practices. It was originally meant for ring leaders to help round up squads and lament hierarchy of high performers, but the high performers wound up jacking control of them. Drydon and Izfael were unstoppable together. And although Sivus stands second most prominent because of them, I think Lord Karloth dumped Drydon to separate an unstoppable duo.”

  “And here I thought I was special.” I smirk.

  Tesstalia looks at her wounded arm, and the char on her leg. “Last thing I want to do is compliment the prick who ripped me out of the sky… but—”

  “He is special,” Layla says. “And you were wrong about Karloth’s reasoning.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” Tess adjusts herself on the log. “So where do we go from here? Is that dagger going to give me a red smile across my throat? I’m fine with it. Took a while, but I now realize that I have nowhere left to go in tier two if my father sold me into the sanctum.”

  “Can’t tell if you’re trying to be clever and appeal to our empathy, but either way, we’ll turn you in to Mathis on our way back to claim our four merits,” I say, thinking aloud.

  “No.” She shakes her head.

  “Or… we can think up a way to claim all fourteen on the table today.” I look to Layla. “Climb the fucking ranks.”

  Layla fights not to hold her aching heart and shares my determined look.

  Tess frowns. “Impossible, unless you literally submit yourself to me.”

  My head tilts. “With a tip to Aster, our ring leader, to barge in once again and save me after the merits are transferred.”

  “Ambitious,” Tesstalia laughs, and Layla grabs her hair to remind her who’s in charge.

  “Right now, our entire class is flying as far out as they can in hopes to get the most precious ore. They think a show of flight matters more than efficient harvesting.” I spread my arm wide to showcase the kabal ore we’ve already summoned. “I am ambitious. To get to the war-tier.”

  “In a rush to die?” Tess scoffs, then looks back and forth between the two of us. “This is the best life ever gets for a sub-tier. You’re bound to no one but the house lord, and somehow escaped the scorched sky. Why rush it? Ah,” she realizes. “That announcement you made that day after you won. Your brother. The ghoulborn.” She laughs again into a screech when Lay clamps her already aching wrists.

  “Did you know him?” I ask.

  “Of him. According to gossip, he was House Kavoh before he left.”

  “Not traded?” I ask, endlessly curious of my brother’s history.

  “They couldn’t get rid of him for all the wealth in the world.”

  Rrrrreee!

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  A wyvern screeches overhead, followed by an all-consuming shadow that washes quickly over us.

  “Tick tock, Dragonborn.” Tesstalia purses her lips.

  Shit.

  I rush to grab the ore, leaving Tess in Layla’s custody. Even though she’s injured, Layla would die before letting her blindside us again. Taking stock of our mounts—Tesstalia’s is dead, mine is missing, and Lay’s is injured. Hers is our only way out, short of scaling a ridiculous wall and sprinting for the next two weeks. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Can your wyvern fly?” I ask.

  “It’s a long shot.”

  “According to mythos, they’re accustomed to self-healing after a bite, so long as it’s not critical. Scales work to scab over the wound,” I recall.

  “Rainy bit her hard, Dragonborn.” Tess snaps her tongue.

  “C’mon, let’s get moving.” I ignore Tess with a handful of ore cradled in my arms. The shine is mint, which my guess would mean they’re ripe for smelting. And from what I can tell, most of the riders went solo, so we have an edge harvesting with two people. Unless some of them were smart enough to team up.

  “Boeru. Come back to me and get us the hell out of here,” I demand in my head. But my mind is a barren wasteland of my own thoughts.

  Layla kicks Tess to get her ass up. “Move.”

  “Three of us on a skittering baby wyvern?” Tess sneers.

  “Would you rather fend for yourself in the woods?” Lay retorts.

  “Yes, actually. Maybe I could make it to another sanctum in a few weeks’ time. I can pick out a good berry on any tier.”

  “I can’t stand this bitch. What are we doing with her?” Lay calls to me.

  “Thirteen merits split amongst our marked sounds like the start of a fast track to me. Only problem is, we can’t trust this one.”

  “It’s a giant problem,” Lay agrees.

  “What would you like to do?” I ask.

  “Take the three and let the bitch rot. She’d be laughing all the way to Head Magus as an iron rank if she got her way. Isn’t that right, bitch?” She shoves Tess almost to the ground.

  Tess dusts herself, pushing back upright. “Laughing? No. But I would be smiling if it meant I’m out of Izfael’s hold.”

  I appreciate the honesty, kind of. A part of me hopes lying isn’t in her makeup, even though brutal assassinations obviously are. I spin on her. “If I allowed you to take me back to Izfael with my plan set in motion, what do you do?” My eyes bore into hers, searching for the slightest falter.

  She knows what I’m doing. Her smirk tells me so. But what she doesn’t know is that every possible answer will land her in a different outcome.

  “I play along, get you your merits, and thank my lucky stars I didn’t die with my wyvern,” she says, smirk still intact.

  “Hale, how would we even…?” Lay asks.

  I clear my throat. “I send you with the ore back to Mathis. We take the risk and hope it’s pure enough to earn us three merits. You keep those, because they’re not transferrable, and I go along with our plan of taking the ten. I’ll search for my gryphon in hopes she’s somewhere in the forest, and we fly around the wall to the opposite side of the sanctum, where Tesstalia pretends to take me captive into Izfael’s chambers. You tell Renesta to shade into Izfael’s quarters, and alert Aster once the merits are transferred.”

  Lay raises her eyebrows. “Brilliant.”

  “Hell yeah, dragonbor—”

  “It would’ve been brilliant… if I believed you. Unfortunately, my guard is right. We have to settle with a measly three today.”

  “W—what?”

  “Tell me, what the hell were you planning on doing once the merits were transferred to me? You think Izfael simply wouldn’t notice you’re still a glass rank after performing such a grand act? Especially with this being the one thing you’ve been gunning for?”

  She swallows past a lump in her throat. “I—”

  “You what?” I challenge, watching her teeth grind before turning sharply away. “We’re turning you in. Mathis will decide what to do next.”

  She jangles in her chain. “No. Please. Once Mathis knows, Izfael will be reprimanded again, which means I’ll—”

  “Should’ve thought of that before you tried to murder us,” Lay says.

  “What she said.” I brandish my finger in the air.

  “Please. There has to be another way. I agree about the merits. I do,” she begs, holding her shackled wrists up. “There would be no way to transfer them without huge backlash. But—” She stalls, thinking desperately.

  My thoughts are calm. Turning her in would be satisfying, since Lay and I were clearly meant to die today. It would be a prideful turn of events that would both oust Izfael once again to the Sivus population, and act as a nice boost to our reputation. But…

  I glance over my shoulder, watching her hands grow hot out of panic, only to be self-stifled when she realizes what she’s doing.

  “Anything,” she pleads. “I can’t go back to his chambers. Anything—”

  If I let her go, there’s a chance I gain an ally. One inside the richest cadet’s chambers. There’s hidden mythos in there, Sept-level mythos. Transferrable merits probably in the hundreds.

  “Easy,” Lay warns, holding my dagger to the back of her neck.

  “What will he do to you?” I ask.

  “Gods. I’m definitely losing a limb for this. Or my tongue. Shit.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Best case? After he’s done beating me? Slave duty. Clean his chambers, bathe him and his elites. I go back to square one. No participation in merit-based events until he deems me worthy. Worst case? Depending on Mathis’ actions, and Head Magus’ punishment… he may torture me for months until I’m unrecognizable. It’s happened before…”

  “Hm. It would be fitting, in a way.” My lips fold into a line.

  “Mercy, Dragonborn,” she pleads.

  “It’s not our problem, Hale,” Lay says flatly, her wyvern approaching past the trees ahead.

  I groan.

  “What are you thinking?” Lay shoves Tess forward.

  “We simply… do nothing.” I turn, walking backward.

  Tess’ eyes brighten, and she falls to her knees with tears in her eyes. “Yes, please. I’ll be your servant.”

  “Haven’t you had enough of that?” I throw my hands up when she tries to grab them.

  “Spy, then. I-I can be your eyes and ears.” She’s hyperventilating in hopes not to lose my attention.

  “And what if you just run to Izfael and tell him everything in hopes for some merits?” I ask. “You already lied to me once…”

  “No. It won’t be like that.”

  “And there’s the matter of your dead wyvern,” I say.

  “Chalk it up to two rival wyverns going rogue. It’s not so outlandish in a Battle Rider class!” Her breath catches like she had the most brilliant thought in the world.

  “At least you’re thinking a bit more clearly now.”

  “Here.” She digs into her corset, making Lay tense. But when she pulls out a locket, we both relax. “My father gave this to me. It was his last apology for his mishap, and the only realm memory I have of my city, Ghashbeldome, in tier two. Take it. A sign of good faith. And once you deem my debt paid, give it back.”

  I look at Layla for her thoughts.

  “She isn’t lying.” Boeru flies through my mind like a passing breeze. And that’s all I needed.

  “Much goes on behind the scenes in Elshard, the houses…” I begin.

  “So much,” Tesstalia confirms. “Sometimes it feels like it’s by design.”

  “I agree.”

  “Hale?” Lay rips Tess back up.

  “Does Izfael have any other eyes in this class? Or is it just you?” I glance over my shoulder, rounding Layla’s wyvern carefully.

  “Just me.”

  “Alright. This is how the rest of the day will go. Layla’s wyvern nipped at yours uncontrolled, and yours snapped back. There’s nothing us novice riders could’ve done about it. Mathis knows Lay and I are friends, so I came swooping in trying to break up the fight and had no choice but to summon the Torn Wing and use his dragon fire. We rendezvoused on the forest ground, harvested the ore, and rushed back.”

  Tesstalia’s breathing slows with relief. “No turn in?”

  “So long as you can convince us both you’ll keep your word.”

  She tenses.

  “For the record, I believe you. But hey, maybe I’m the gullible one.” I shrug, making sure Tess switches her attention to Lay, because there’s no way I’m carrying out this plan if my guard is staunchly against it.

  “Barristan, what else can I say?” She turns in her chain, holding up her wrists to show she’s not summoning high magic. “I don’t want to be tortured more than I already have.”

  “That’s not the part I distrust.” Layla steps up to her, showing a great mismatch in brawn. “It’s what you’ll do after. Your character is sorely lacking up until now, like every other brute I’ve wrestled into a headlock the seconds before the lights go out. You’re flailing.”

  As I listen, I’m looking up to the wyvern’s neck, where the scales are indeed sliding over the wound. It’s wild how fast their blood clots, like these beasts are war machines meant to endure battle. Its big serpent-like eye twists to follow us, chuffing into high-pitched sighs.

  “If you did decide to betray us and tell Izfael, we would have nothing but our ring leader to protect us. And he can’t be around every second of the day,” Lay says.

  “If you turn me in, he’ll just send another assassin.” Tess’ voice becomes shaky again.

  “Mm.” I shake my head. “On the contrary, if we turn you in, he’ll be on hard watch again. We’re alive this long because Aster broke into his chambers and stopped my murder. This would be number two, and would presumably give us another few months of invaluable training to combat him.”

  She scoffs. “You can’t combat a steel rank.”

  “Not yet we can’t,” I agree.

  “The problem, as I see it, is that there’s nothing in it for you once you’re free and clear from this forest,” Lay says. “And I’m not sure you can convince me otherwise.”

  “Here, take my dagger.” She motions to an inner corset sheath. “Give it back when—”

  “I’m not interested in becoming a mule for others’ weapons,” Lay hisses.

  We approach the wyvern once it turns its head and tucks its wings. The time to make a decision has come. And if I’m not mistaken, I think this beast still has the energy to fly us home.

  “What is your plan?” Layla asks flatly.

  “If I’m not turned in? Honestly? I’m going to request a change in ring leader, one that’s not afraid of a fucking cadet. This way I can leave his chambers and take my chances in their protection. Oh, and honor our little arrangement the dragonborn thought up.” Tess’ tone changes. There’s some resentment in it. Like she wasted too much time in Izfael’s hopeless cause. “I’m good with high-magic fire. Yet still, the best fire wielder among us won’t spend a second to increase my skill. I want out. That’s the truth.”

  It is the truth. I’m almost sure of it. Unless tier two is full of silver-tongued merchants spoken of in mythos, then this woman really may capitalize on a second chance.

  “Layla. My vote is to take her as an ally. But I won’t do it unless you agree.” I face her, adjusting the ore cradled in my arms.

  She grumbles, teasing my dagger at the edge of Tess’ neck. A part of me wants her to stick it through for what she’s done. But that wouldn’t get me closer to Kane.

  “Alright, servant. Prove to me that you’re not scum of the tier.” Lay unravels her from the chain and shoves her forward toward the tail of her wyvern. “Go grab the sack on her saddle.”

  I can see in Layla’s eyes she’s daring Tess to try and take the wyvern and make a break for it. This is a test.

  Her legs work to balance over the spindly creature like she’s done it a thousand times before. She’s clearly a good rider. It’s kind of amazing what a few extra months here can do.

  There’s no hesitation in her swiping the bag and about-facing back toward us.

  She does as she’s told. A miniature sign of good faith.

  When she returns, I look her in the eyes as I drop the ore into the sack and tie it shut.

  “We will meet in the Sivus arena on the second hour after midnight, in the healing aura. We’ll take stock in what could better our situation without putting you at grave risk. You have my word. We’ll only ask that you retrieve the lowest hanging fruit. Once satisfied, we’ll return your locket and you can request your ring leader transfer. Are those terms reasonable?” I ask.

  She doesn’t say anything at first, staring at the forest floor, then slowly up to Layla, then to me. “It will be done, Dragonborn. And for the record… I’m sorry.”