Chapter Text
I open my eyes to complete darkness. I can’t really call it waking up since I don’t consider the short and fitful bouts of unconsciousness that I sometimes manage at night to be legitimate sleep. I’m not even sure I even slipped into that last night.
As if being responsible for the hundred and seven marked ones wasn’t stressful enough, at least it’s been merely heartrending when any of them have died. As of today I’ll probably have yet another person I’m responsible for, and if she dies on my watch then General Sorrengail will have me killed.
I wouldn’t be overly concerned about that if it weren’t for the fact that the revolution would likely die with me as well. And if Brennan is to be believed then it would probably result in the entire continent falling to dark wielders in less than a few years. Otherwise death would almost be a welcome reprieve, since my life has been one long nightmare ever since Sorrengail came crashing through it…
“Cadet Riorson, I’m calling in the favor you owe me for allowing your marked ones a chance in the Rider’s Quadrant.” I remember the orders General Sorrengail gave me six months ago perfectly. “My youngest daughter, Violet, will be joining you all in the Quadrant on the next Conscription Day, and it will be your responsibility to ensure that she survives.”
Why does she keep her mental shields up even in her office? As far as she’s aware there should be no possible way that an inntinnsic like me could have escaped execution to be able to read her thoughts. Or… intentions, whatever. I rarely come across someone that I can’t read and even when I do they’ll at least let their guard down in private some of the time. General Sorrengail is the only person who’s had her shields up every single time I’ve ever seen her since developing my second signet, with the exception of Melgren and a couple of others that I’ve only interacted with once or twice since then.
“What? How the fuck am I supposed to do that?” I accuse.
“That’s your problem, not mine.”
“You expect me to step in if she’s losing a challenge?” I scoff. “I’d be executed for breaking the Codex, and if I were going to be killed anyway I would obviously talk which would put both her and even you in danger.”
General Sorrengail sighs, “I didn’t think I’d need to explain that you can’t violate the Rider’s Codex in any obvious way for that exact reason. If I have to spell out the details that should be clear then how about this… As long as Violet crosses the parapet on her own, then, outside of challenges , you’re not to let anyone kill her, or allow her to die of her own naivete. She’s spent her entire life up until now training to be a scribe, she’ll only have six months to prepare for the Rider’s Quadrant, so she’ll be woefully underprepared.”
“And you expect me to provide all of the preparation most candidates get over a decade or more in the one year I’ll have left in the Quadrant?” I ask sardonically.
“She’s a fast learner.”
“And how am I supposed to ensure she survives the rest of her time at the Quadrant after I’ve graduated?” I challenge.
“You should know by now that I’m not an unreasonable commander, Cadet Riorson,” her tone suggesting that this conversation bores her. “As long as Violet survives to become a second year rider, I’ll consider your debt to me to be repaid. And as this is the favor you owe me, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that if you fail and she dies, so do you. You’re dismissed.”
And now Conscription Day has come, so in all likelihood for the next year, my life will be tied to that of Violet-fucking-Sorrengail, the daughter of the woman who was responsible for the death of my father and his rebellion to try to save the continent.
Granted her son turned out to be a decent guy, but based on what I’ve dug up about Violet, Colonel Markham had hand picked her to be his star pupil and eventual successor as the head of the scribes, responsible for keeping everyone in Navarre ignorant to the fact that dark wielding Venin even exist. If that absolute piece of filth thinks that she’s the best person to follow in his footsteps then I have no hope that Violet is anything like Brennan, no matter what he might say about her.
It’s not like he’s impartial, plus he hasn’t really known her since she was a child, so even if she was a decent person around age ten when he left for the Rider’s Quadrant, apparently over the second half of her life Markham has warped her into someone he wouldn’t recognize.
There’s no hint of light on the horizon yet, so considering that it’s the middle of summer it must be fucking early. There’s only one thing to do…
Being able to see others’ intentions, mostly in the form of pictures, gives me a half-second’s advantage over anyone else in a fight, but if the fliers are to be believed, Venin can adapt to an adversary’s fighting style in a matter of seconds, not to mention all of their other purported abilities, so other riders aren’t the important benchmark. If I hope to be able to beat the Venin that I’ll inevitably come up against one day, I need to be so much better than any rider that it should be no contest. I roll out of bed and head to Garrick’s room.
…
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a dick?”
I level an incredulous look at Garrick in response as we walk toward the gym ten minutes later.
“Okay, has anyone else ever told you - obviously Imogen doesn’t count,” he clarifies.
“Most people are too scared to,” I shrug. “But if I’m not given a glare that communicates the same thing at least half a dozen times a day then I know I need to up my game.”
“I’m all for you fucking with Navarrian assholes, but why do you have to wake me up at four in the godsdamned morning?” Garrick asks, cracking a huge yawn.
“I’m fed up with just lifting weights whenever I can’t sleep, we need to start taking combat training more seriously,” I tell him.
“Yeah, you’ve really been slacking off in that department,” he gripes.
“We have been,” I assert. “We’ve done next to no sparring with our signets.”
Garrick lifts an eyebrow at me. “Okay, I guess I can see how being practiced at that will be good when… shit gets real. But with the extent to which you’ve already honed yours, it’d be pointless for me to even try to take on your shadows by wielding wind,” he says as we enter the sparring gym and I close and lock the doors behind us.
I quickly weave a soundproofing ward and then turn to him. “Then use your other signet too,” I say simply.
Garrick full-on gawks at me now. “Distance wielding is meant for covering… distance. I’ve pretty much only used it to ferry you or contraband around the continent.”
“If you can walk from here to Cordyn in a single step while dragging me along, you should have no problem walking yourself to the other side of the mat,” I challenge. “And having another combat strategy in your back pocket is bound to come in handy.”
Without warning I wrap shadows around his right foot locking it in place and draw one of my swords. I swiftly approach him aiming to slice into his torso, though I’m prepared to check my swing if I don’t see his intention to ‘walk’ out of the way. Fortunately it appears and my sword cuts through nothing but air in the spot where he stood a split second before.
I whip my head around trying to locate him but it only takes a couple of seconds to realize that he’s not anywhere in the gym. Did he walk to Cordyn out of pure reflex?
Without a lock on him or his intentions I get no forewarning besides a faint click before the doors burst open under the onslaught of wind that must be blowing at around a hundred miles per hour. I’m picked up off my feet and slammed into the wall twenty feet behind me.
“Not cool asshole!” Garrick yells once he’s back on this side of the soundproof ward.
I pick myself up off the floor, rubbing the side of my head where it slammed into the wall with only minimal cushioning from a thin shadow that seemed to materialize there without my conscious direction. Huh, that’s new. “Have to disagree with you there, that was super fucking cool,” I grin at him.
Garrick smirks. “Fair enough, I’m the shit. But you’re still an asshole.”
“Hate to reinforce that sentiment -” I start as I take a few seconds to regain my feet and then lift a hand, using lesser magic to close and lock the doors behind Garrick again. “But speaking of walking all over the continent, we’re going to have to start doing that kind of thing the old fashioned way this year.”
“You mean flying all over the continent?!” Garrick says incredulously. “We’re cadets in a war college, you don’t think they’d notice us being gone for days at a time?”
“You clearly haven’t given enough thought to how much being in third year now is about to change things. We’re going to have way more free time and be in charge of our own wing now. Obviously if we didn’t have your distance wielding as first years we wouldn’t have had the time to do any smuggling, but then what did we do during the first mission last year?” I prompt.
“We flew it over our first weekend off because you said you wanted to make sure we had a backup plan in case I was ever out of commission. Oh gods, are you saying we’re going to have to fly all of them from now on to get Bodhi and the second years ready to take over next year?”
“Not as dumb as he looks,” I tease. “Hey, at least now that I ended the betrothal with Cat we don’t need to worry about getting to Cordyn anymore.”
“But even the flights to Athebyne and Aretia could take multiple days roundtrip. When Bodhi and them take over the smuggling next year they can just handle the acquisition and I can still come to do the transport.” Garrick points out, clearly trying to get out of having to fly all of the missions this year.
“No, next year you’ll be a lieutenant. If you turn up missing in the middle of the night you won’t get a slap on the wrist for breaking curfew, you’ll be executed for desertion. And there will be a way higher risk of you being killed in battle, we need to start taking contingency planning much more seriously.”
“Oooohhh, fucking fine!” Garrick spits at me. “But I hope you’re ready to really get your ass kicked, because now I’m pissed.”
“You don’t think clearly when you’re pissed. Threatening me is never a good idea,” I chuckle.
“Yeah?” He smirks right back at me. “If we’re graduating to sparring with signets, how do you think you’re going to fare now that it’s two on one?”
I smirk at the thought that he has no idea I’ve been using the signet he doesn’t know about all along.
“How do you think you’re going to ‘walk’ when you can’t walk?” I retort.
“What?” He asks, confused for a moment until he looks down and finds shadows wrapped around both his feet this time.
…
Several hours later I’m stationed at the top of the turret that opens onto the parapet as a storm begins brewing. The first dozen or so candidates have already made their way up the tower and across the parapet into the quadrant, or …not, in the case of two of them so far. I do my best to keep from looking into their eyes or reading their intentions in an effort not to humanize them in my mind, half of them will be dead a year from now, and a decent fraction of those within just a couple minutes of passing me here. It’s easier if you can manage to feel zero attachment to any of them.
But then an image forms in my mind that clearly depicts that he intends to keep it together and restrain himself from giving me the biggest bone-crushing hug even though there’s nothing more he could want in this moment. I look up knowing immediately that it’s Liam and see my foster-brother, fuck that, my brother, looking at me with unadulterated joy.
A smile begins to curve my lips before I exercise all my self control to put my emotionless mask back in place. But he must have noticed in that split second because I can see that he intends to give me shit about my emotional slip up later when we can talk in private. I give him the smallest of nods and sense that he’s surprised and grateful that I’d even give him that much acknowledgment with all of these other people around us.
After giving his name for the record and stepping up onto the parapet I can’t help myself from turning to watch him cross. I even hold the shadows under the parapet ready to give the slightest of nudges if he were to need it even though I know he won’t. He holds his arms out just to be prudent, though he doesn’t waver in the slightest as the wind howls around him, and he runs with sure, steady strides until he catches up to the candidate in front of him before she’s even reached the halfway point. He slows his pace to match hers and bends his elbows so that his forearms nearly extend under her swaying outstretched arms and the image of his intention shows that he plans to catch her if she falls.
I hope to gods that she doesn’t, if he was seen catching her leadership would execute them both. And yet they have no issue with a candidate touching another one on the parapet if the purpose is to knock them off.
This fucking place.
If our revolution succeeds in crushing the resurgence of dark wielders, or at least holding them off for more than a few years, maybe we’ll have to consider establishing a war college in Aretia that isn’t so gods-damned evil.
After I see Liam step down to safety off the far side of the parapet I turn back to the line of candidates winding their way up the stairs and attempt to resume ignoring them, but it’s harder now that Liam got me feeling all fucking sentimental.
I’ve noticed through their subconscious motivations that at least half of the women, and even a decent fraction of the guys, have taken notice of my looks. But the vast majority of them quash their nascent crushes the moment they register my rebellion relic. It’s nothing I haven’t been dealing with on a daily basis for the last two years though.
But then I sense someone doing more than simply noticing my looks. I keep my gaze lowered but I can see an image in my mind showing that she’s examining my hair and brows, my jawline, skin and stubble. It’s like this woman has skipped over a crush and went straight to being infatuated with one look at me. I cross my arms in front of me to try to convey a sense of authority but that just makes her take notice of the muscles in my arms and torso.
I finally decide to look up at this woman whose intentions betray that she really is practically still a teenager, and I find myself as struck by her appearance as she is by mine. My gods this woman is beautiful. Unlike the vast majority of other candidates, she already has the feel of a rider. Not just because she’s somehow gotten her hands on leathers already whereas the rest are still in civilian clothes, but because I can feel her utter determination.
I can’t help spending a couple of moments luxuriating in her assessment of me and making a similar one of her before I hear, “Ready for the next one, Riorson?”
Suddenly I feel her intentions do a complete about-face. She realizes who I am, has been warned about me, and I can see her absolute fear.
“You ready for this, Sorrengail?” the candidate in front of her asks.
I snap my gaze back to her in time to see her whisper, “Oh shit,” but I couldn’t care less.
“Sorrengail?” I say, stepping toward her. I instantly abandon my assessment of her attractiveness to gauge how big of a job I’ll have on my hands keeping her alive to finally be rid of the debt I owe her fucking mother. Good gods, she barely even reaches my sternum. She’s tiny. She has no hope of lasting a year in the Rider’s Quadrant.
She nods once. Is this really the piece of filth that I’m supposed to keep alive for the next year so that she can eventually carry on the insidious work done by the likes of General Sorrengail and Colonel Markham? My loathing must be obvious on my face because I can see that she senses it.
“Voilet?” the candidate in front asks her.
There it is, total confirmation with the first name, not to mention the hair. No last ditch hope that this was some distant cousin with the same surname, who I would have known about from all of the research I’ve done into her over the last six months, or any other saving grace.
“You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest,” I accuse.
“You’re Fen Riorson’s son,” she throws back at me.
How the fuck am I going to keep her alive? As far as I know, no one this short has ever made it up the gauntlet, and even if she did, she’s so petite that she clearly wouldn’t be capable of staying seated during flight maneuvers, so what dragon would choose her as their rider? Not to mention the hundred other ways she’s liable to get herself killed.
It also doesn’t help that I’d love to watch her die simply because I know who it would hurt most... “Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution,” I say, the anger in my voice making it sound almost like a growl.
Her stare is pure rage as she counters with, “Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we’re even.”
“Hardly,” is all I can say, as I obviously can’t tell her that Brennan is alive and well.
I look her over. Despite being sexy, her body will be nothing but a liability when it comes to trying to keep her alive. Her physique couldn’t be more different from what I’ve gleaned about Mira’s. “Your sister is a rider. Guess that explains the leathers.”
“Guess so,” she retorts as we continue glaring at each other, but I can sense her focus returning to the parapet.
The parapet! I won’t have to follow through with this impossible mission if she doesn’t make it across. And not only do I not have to help , I actually can’t . General Sorrengail agreed that she’d have to do at least that much on her own. Maybe I could even get away with being … un helpful.
But would I actually do that? Punishing children for the crimes of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish. I clench my fists in frustration.
She notices and I instantly see an image of her intention to fight back, thinking I’m going to throw her off the turret. Clearly she doesn’t really know anything about me, having only heard of the ruthless reputation I’ve so carefully cultivated.
“You all right?” the candidate in front of her asks, and I can feel the woman’s subconscious motivation to protect Sorrengail.
“You’re friends?” I ask, glancing at the other woman.
“We met on the stairs,” she responds confidently. I try to read into her attachment to Sorrengail and only come up with an image of shoes. Glancing down at both of their feet I note the mismatch, and I’m able to sense that Sorrengail switched a boot with the other woman to give her better grip …at the cost of her own.
I unclench my fists. “Interesting.”
“Are you going to kill me?” she accuses with entirely more bravado than she’s earned.
I consider her carefully as the rain that’s been threatening finally begins to fall, soaking everyone on the tower. Huh, apparently the General isn’t going to use her storm wielding signet to make it any easier for her daughter to cross the parapet. She’s really serious about Violet having to do at least that much on her own.
A scream rips through the rain from the parapet behind me and I watch Sorrengail intently to see how she’ll react to the man who I can sense has no chance of saving himself.
“Pull yourself up, Dylan!” the other woman yells.
“Oh gods!” Sorrengail gasps, covering her mouth and watching in abject terror as the man falls to his death.
Even if I’m not as twisted as her mother, she doesn’t need to know that. And even if I won’t cause it, I can at least hope that she’ll fall of her own accord so I can keep my focus on the marked ones and the revolution without the constant distraction of keeping her alive.
“Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet will do it for me?” I inquire, allowing my smile to spread menacingly. “Your turn.”