Head Magus snaps his fingers and my ice tomb thaws in an instant, leaving me to fall in two healers’ grasps. I can’t feel my arms or legs, and my wobbling neck isn’t strong enough to support my head.

  “Dragonborn! Dragonborn!” Cheers ring louder from outside, accompanied by banging on the sides of House Sivus.

  Every part of me wants to smile, but my face is paralyzed by the Head Magus’ daunting ice magic. Even with the might of the entire student body in my corner, I worry about what he can do. It’s like he trained in the eagle tundra of old mythos amidst a perpetual blizzard, and absorbed it all.

  “Free the dragonborn!” Tesstalia shouts at the top her lungs. “I witnessed his greatness! Free him!”

  As much as I love Tesstalia for saving my life, I fear what will become of her for this.

  Foren snaps his fingers again, covering the open doorway and bashed-in skylight with sheets of ice. Voices muffle, leaving the house lords closed in once more.

  Their expressions are varied. Karloth is angry still—rightfully so—for Foren’s impulsive decision to execute me. Rayne and Baenar both hide a smirk. And Asentres cannot help herself by keeping an ear to the ice. The crowd is what House Rhylock lives for, after all.

  The healers place my feet on the floor one at a time, holding me up with my arms wrapped around their shoulders.

  “Can you walk?” one whispers.

  I go to speak, but a scratchy sound comes out that immediately draws a heavy cough.

  “Head Magus?” Rayne breaks the tension.

  His jaw clenches, eyes darting back and forth. The war commandant in him shows now that he’s faced with the threat of his sanctum turning on him. Or maybe it’s the politician he’s become. “Have the Danes accelerate batch thirty-one’s climb. Escort them to the wind whip. I want them here by nightfall. Mistress Asentres, I leave that task to you.”

  Asentres picks her ear off the ice. “It will be done.”

  “And Haledyn?” Karloth still stands ready to fight.

  “At ease, House Lord. I do not want to execute a leader for insubordination. Winbridge will remain in your custody until his trial is in order. But first, thanks to the weak chins of our healers, we must march him to the arena and get ahead of this. Does Chayref still loom?”

  “Yes. And apparently the stir has caused Hookvos to descend as well. What do you have in mind?” Baenar asks.

  “We have to provide the donors with a reason for our lack of presentation. Since the whole sanctum shouts one cadet’s name, then I say we march him to the arena. Let the donors be the judge.”

  Baenar’s eyes go wide. “Foren, he could say anything—”

  Foren smiles, then turns to me. “Winbridge strives to save his brother from the war-tier. I am the gatekeeper to his ascendence. We have a mutual reason to keep this sanctum thriving.”

  His eyes linger on mine, testing me.

  Even though I want to kill him where he stands, he’s right. And he knows it.

  Foren holds up his palm, syphoning all of the ice out of the room and into the orb he loves to walk around with. With an arrogant about-face away from me, he begins his march out of the chamber—the healers walking with me at his back, house lords surrounding us for protection.

  “Dragonborn! Dragonborn!”

  The chants grow louder with each layer out of Izfael’s chambers. Cadets of House Sivus pump their fists and shout as we emerge, failing to listen to Foren’s raised hand begging for quiet. I try to wave, but my weak, pale fingers barely lift from the healer’s shoulder.

  “Is it wise to present Haledyn to the donors in this state?” Karloth speaks to the other lords over the mounting cheers.

  “Absolutely not. But what choice does the Head Magus have?” Rayne says.

  “This is out of our hands, Karloth. Count your lucky stars your expensive awakened is alive,” Asentres grumbles, pumping her fist to rile the crowd further.

  Have they all lost their humanity? They speak of costs, of saving face. Is a cadet’s life worth so little?

  Like that of a sub-tier orphan.

  All cut from the same cloth, I suppose. Just tools for their war.

  I sweep my gaze through the students. High society and low. Everyone in between. They all sneered at me when I first entered the sanctum. Now look.

  As the iron doors of House Sivus sweep open, I’m met by an army of cadets from the other three houses. My appearance causes the chant to dissolve into even louder cheers.

  I wonder if they realize they saved my life. Their energy pumps through me, granting the umph needed to curl my fingers into a fist and raise it.

  “Aoo!”

  “Hoo! Hoo!”

  Riders fly overhead, cheering atop their wyverns and gryphons as they pass. They turn sharply upon reaching Elshard, because what lies atop the Big Wing are creatures not from this tier. A phoenix with crystalline-tipped wings, and a dragon of medium height… though the rider atop it likely thinks it’s full grown, judging by his posture.

  Holy hell, how can I see them so clearly from this far away?

  As a matter of fact, the warring dark is starting to pulse through me again. I furrow my brow when I realize why. Head Magus is creating distance between us. My instincts are right—he can freeze the magic out of me. It’s vicinity based. They must’ve dropped him like an anti-mage bomb in the war-tier, reducing armies of mages to fleeing cowards.

  My legs feel less like bricks with each passing second. I notice a faint blue mist syphoning away from me too. He’s granting me back my motor functions so I don’t seem pathetic in the arena.

  “What have you done, mortal?” a familiar voice jolts me off the healers and onto my own two feet.

  “Boe!”

  His presence flies by as if circling me from somewhere far above.

  “I did what I had to do to survive,” I shout in my mind, scanning the endless cadets following us into Elshard’s main keep.

  Boeru chuffs from far away. “Breaking into Izfael’s chambers does not sound like survival.”

  “Wasn’t referring to that. That part was for you. I was looking for Sefene… the real Sefene. Not the warring dark imposter you chase.”

  He scowls. “A mortal who does not know what he does not know is a dangerous one. Now my brother roams free in our bond.”

  “Stealing his power saved my life,” I retort. “Had you shown up, I would’ve gladly accepted.”

  “You lived many years without me, mortal, under harsher circumstances.” Boe shows his Arkitus-ridden wing. “To think I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself for a short time…”

  “After two assassins literally tried to kill me?” I look to the sky, as if I’ll see him.

  Boeru huffs, and I hear his wing beating farther away.

  “I’ll find her, Boeru. And I’ll bring you back where you belong, as my bond!” I shout in my mind.

  “You follow the wrong scent.” His voice is already far away.

  What the hell does he mean by that? He’s wrong. I know for a fact the warring dark messes with him just like it did me. Gods-damn Shade’s Milk…

  Flashes of Kane throwing tornadoes my way wretches my gut. That wasn’t my brother. Renesta trying to seduce me and turn me against my friends makes me clench my jaw. It’s all lies.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Scorius, where the hell are you in all this?

  A warm hand touches my neck, startling me back to the reality of thousands cheering. One look over my shoulder shows a crimson cowl waving around like a scarf. Karloth.

  “I don’t know how you did it, Haledyn, but we have much to discuss if you survive this.”

  I bite my lip as I’m gently shoved forward. “Scorius. I need to see him.”

  His eyes lock with mine. “Manage to keep from being fried by our donors, and I’ll see what can be done.”

  “My friends? The marked,” I ask. “I heard them in House Sivus, but—”

  “Detained for violence in trying to get to you,” Karloth says with an even tone. “You have loyalty in your ranks, Haledyn. I believe in what you might become.”

  The last powerful gust of wind blows my hair back before the incoming archways block the elements. I take a deep breath and face the spear-knight sculpture atop the west Elshard entrance. It taunts me.

  This walk is eternal… the halls echo the cadets’ cheers as we approach the Big Wing. Hookvos’ impatient phoenix tings as its crystalline claws shift on its perch one room away.

  As I finally enter the arena, I’m met with the roar of Chayref’s dragon peeking down from the hole in the roof. The arena fills faster than the dinner table—cadets rushing over one another to find their seats as I’m escorted onto the center sand.

  War-tutors in the elite section all chatter with one another, pointing at the house lords surrounding me, likely confused as to what’s going on.

  “Be brave.” Karloth backs away once I’m at the center of the arena.

  I sweep my gaze to the house lords heading to the stands, and Head Magus creating icy steps to his balcony spot.

  “Foren, I expect answers for wasting my precious time,” Chayref demands. He wears a fire-red diadem that reminds me of the Danes if they were into wearing flamboyant colors. It reflects the sunlight as if he’s a god. His pauldrons are a blend of orange and yellow, and his embroidered leather armor matches the teal scales of his dragon.

  “It appears we all missed the show today, Chayref, Hookvos.” Foren straightens behind his balcony ledge and snaps the ice steps back into his orb. “Izfael was slain by the one who stands before you.”

  Foren lifts his chin, and the arena rumbles at my feet. Did he just signal—

  Kcrrsk!

  A flat wooden stump lifts from the center sand with me atop it. A quick twitch keeps me from tumbling like a fool as the arena molds into a twisted tree of wild branches beneath me. It’s as I expected. Whoever possesses Elden magic morphs the arena into some perverted pedestal so I can face the donors.

  The dais stops a mere thirty feet away from them. I’m eye level with the highest echelons of the arena stands, and probably within burning distance of Chayref’s dragon. Little does he know, Boeru and Dovesier at full manifestation both dwarf his.

  Hookvos cackles at Foren’s declaration. “Is that what all the ruckus is about at House Sivus? I was beginning to wonder if you lost control of your sanctum.”

  “Just as you have our realm, Hook?” Foren is in no mood for squabbling. “Last I checked, we were the last hope for Miria’s standing in this long war.”

  “Not if I turn my phoenix to Wolcrux.” Hook’s tone grows icier than even Foren can handle.

  “Do it, then, and miss out on anomalies not seen in millennia.” Foren snaps his fingers, encasing every ledge of the arena in crackling ice that he melts an instant later—vapor from the rapid temperature change floating up to the donors.

  This entire situation is unhinged. What one deviation from the schedule does to these elites is terrifying—like their wits are hanging by a thread.

  “Enough!” Chay’s grumble echoes through his dragon, shaking the arena. “I expect my investments to pay in the timeline that I am promised.”

  “Then you should bet on someone not willing to eat their own,” I speak up to an auditorium of gasps.

  All four beasts turn their eyes to me—human and otherwise—and the warring dark thumps through my chest like a war drum. Dovesier swims around the air of my mind, waiting to make a mess of things.

  I’m a dead man anyway if I don’t get my story out there now. This is the fairest trial I’ll ever have. “Izfael attempted to murder me in cold blood, thrice now. In every attempt, he failed.”

  “And you will have us believe a glass rank toppled steel?” Hook shifts in his seat, glossy twin swords sticking above his back shining in the sunlight.

  “In a stroke of powerful luck, I defeated him, yes.” Saying the words out loud makes my skin tender to the touch. I killed two people today, from my own house. That same power that transcended the sanctum’s ranks flows through me again. Boeru’s fire, Dovesier’s lightning. It runs as free as my own blood.

  “You have doomed an entire rank, foolish sub-tier trash.” Chayref tugs on the reins of his dragon. “Foren, these are grounds for pulling further donations from this sanctum. Murderer of potential. Folly!”

  “I remember your declaration, Dragonborn,” Hookvos interrupts the raging donor. He seems less bothered by his losses than Chay. “You seek to reunite with the Winbridge in a tier far beyond your reach.”

  I swallow past a lump in my throat. “I do, sir.”

  “Tell me. How did you manage to kill Izfael?”

  I can’t tell him I’m bonded to two dragon brothers, swapping between antagonistic and symbiotic. I can’t say that my trait includes syphoning the dragon’s power for my own bidding. They’d throw me in the alchemy chambers for testing.

  “My bond is powerful, sir. You witnessed it in the arena. It has grown since that day,” I speak vaguely, praying it will be enough.

  Hook shakes his head. “You do not understand, cadet. The ranks were concocted by the grand mages of Elden… the same as who layer our skies. One does not crash through those ceilings lightly.”

  Shit.

  My eyes scan to Karloth far below me. Aster leans over the outer arena ledge to whisper something into his ear, for which he nods. The other house lords stare back at me.

  “It was a fit of desperation. Kill or be killed.” I snap my eyes to the donors. “As Izfael plunged his dagger toward my heart, the dark took over.”

  “The mortal wounds were of warring lightning,” Foren reveals. “It appears we may have underestimated the legacy of the Torn Wing.”

  “Gravely,” Hookvos huffs.

  “And what do you plan to do about it, Head Magus?” Chayref’s teal armor outlines his rock-hard abs as he puffs his chest.

  “If Winbridge is found to mislead this sanctum, he will be executed,” Foren shouts for all to hear, followed by an eruption of boos. “Cadets, settle.” A cold snap sends a chill my way. “It’s as our donor outlines—the rank disparity of what happened this day does not align. Haledyn Winbridge might very well have Lacor friends stalking in the Miria shadows, and perhaps have foolish, unknowing eyes believe the impossible. However, this folly will not work on those of us who’ve seen more.”

  It was a mistake to plead my case in front of everyone, because Foren took the sly opportunity to plant his own seeds.

  “Lies!”

  The arena doors bellow open, and in rushes Layla with giant shield in hand, shoving students out of the way. Rogoshel barrels in shoulder-first beside her, making way for Tesstalia marching directly behind them. Misty and Jurso help keep the crowd from converging at their backs, and Aster is among them.

  I can’t believe it.

  Karloth detained my marked, and now saw fit to release them.

  He’s on my side.

  He believes me.

  “Head Magus is wrong. I was there!” Tesstalia declares, singlehandedly reigniting the dragonborn chant.

  Fssst!

  A ring of ice clamps around her mouth, but she doesn’t shy away. Pushing up to the forefront, she bangs on the ledge, refusing to be silenced.

  “That’s enough with the outbursts,” Foren declares. “Lest we devolve this spectacle into a circus.”

  My heart breaks for Tess. She risks everything to have this play out the right way. Sure, she’s probably just looking out for her own hide, but damn, does she have brass.

  Layla and Rogo hold firm when other ring leaders and guards come rushing to detain them once more, and just as I’m about to leap off my living dais to stand beside them, I hear a rumble above me.

  “Hm!” Hookvos commands his phoenix to switch perches, stealing a better view of the woman who started this whole movement. “Let the cadet speak.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Foren snaps. “Emotions are high from Izfael’s death. We must let the student body settle.”

  “As far as I can tell, this mishap is at our paramount expense. If you think I’m going to leave with a ‘what if’ in the back of my mind, you’ve pleaded to the wrong donor,” Hookvos declares. “Remove her muzzle.”

  Foren grumbles, pretending not to hear as he converses with a tutor at his side.

  “No? Fine.” Hookvos pulls a crystalline bow that matches his phoenix’s claws and nocks a transparent wind arrow.

  My eyes widen as the arrow sores past me so fast it feels as if I blinked and missed it.

  Tttth!

  The ground around Tesstalia swirls with white winds heated by a small flame at the center. An enchanted bow. High-magic combinations. Are the donors war veterans too?

  The ice muzzle and flame dissipates, but the white winds stay cycling around Tesstalia like an ethereal barrier.

  “Speak your mind, cadet. And gods help you if you’re lying,” Hookvos says.

  “Sir!” Tesstalia yells. “I snuck Haledyn into Izfael’s chambers—”

  Dammit! Are you trying to get me killed?

  “—because our trusted dragonborn can’t do with a library of lost mythos.”

  The crowd chuckles at that.

  “I felt bad because Izfael has been gunning to draw Haledyn’s blood since he’s arrived at Elshard. Today marks Izfael’s third attempt on Haledyn’s life.”

  The crowd gasps because, so far, her story aligns with mine.

  “I should know,” she goes on. “I was complicit in one of the attempts. Turns out, this son of a bitch is tougher than he looks.”

  “For what cause? Izfael already possesses suffocating fire of the highest tier,” Chayref growls, now sounding invested.

  “I’ll let Haledyn answer that one.” Tesstalia nods at me.

  “Coming from the sub-tier, Izfael was obsessed with the warring dark,” I say. “He had a small library of mythos proving it. Oh, and a gods-damn Seal.”

  “Blasephemy.” Chayref slaps his dragon, causing her to exhale a puff of yellow gas.

  “It’s true,” I say. “He has the Sept’s handbook.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, you may soon possess that, if the war sanctum rules are to be respected.” Hookvos’ lips curve into a smile.

  I glance at Head Magus. Perhaps if he stops trying to get me killed, I can retain at least one of his precious donors.

  Chayref adjusts his seat to better scrutinize Hook. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re rooting for our sponsee’s killer.”

  “If the dragonborn’s facts are true, he may have saved us the war. A backstabber with the lion’s share of our loot would inflict a deep wound,” Hook counters.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

  “Do go on, cadet,” Hook gestures.

  Tesstalia pushes hair out of her face from the wind barrier. “As we infiltrated Izfael’s secret quarters, we were ambushed by Izfael and his closest confidants—Tyrios and Vigil. Izfael got behind Haledyn and threatened to spill his blood all over the Seal.”

  She’s carefully omitting much of what I need her to. Thank gods.

  “Amidst my desperate screams for Izfael to stop, he only felt emboldened to stab him. And a mere instant before he did, that’s when it happened. A dragon spirit erupting from Haledyn’s body, followed by lightning powerful enough to command the skies. The rest, I’m afraid, is history.”