Penn gives me a hard look. “Did you say something, darkblood?”
“No.”
There’s dry laughter from the other dragons, but I feed on their disdain by thinking about how hard of a time they’d have flying in the world above with their atrophied little wings. It doesn’t take a biologist to figure that out. They’re limited by Draethys’s space. Isander would blow smoke in their faces with just two flaps of his wings.
Once he’s healed.Damn it.
“Everybody, deep breath, we’re about to begin. And when the shield is up, students Meraxis and Harding will begin a light sparring session,” Penn announces.
The dragons he called forth seem surprised, though.
“Rhode Meraxis, Commander Penn. Permission to speak?” one of them says.
He’s tall and lanky, his black leather tunic seemingly a tad oversized for his frame. He keeps his dark hair short and curly, brown-rimmed glasses on his nose. Everything about him screams “library” rather than “battlefield.” He almost reminds me of Brynn.
“Go on, Meraxis. I’m listening,” Penn replies, already bored. I’m guessing he’s heard it all before.
“I’m only enrolled in this class as a prerequisite for my examination credits, but I’m supposed to be in the strategic part of academia for the entire duration of?—”
“For the entire duration of your studies, yes, yes, I know,” Penn cuts him off. “Nevertheless, a brilliant military strategist requires a modicum of combat experience to understand what he’s sending his troops into. Otherwise, you risk making not only deadly decisions for yourself and for your fighters, but also a fool of yourself.”
Meraxis wants to offer a counterargument, but Penn waves his concerns away.
Harding, on the other hand, a mountain of a man with large orange eyes and a tuft of red hair atop his head, seems excited to get started. So excited, in fact, that he slaps Meraxis hard on the shoulder.
“Chin up, nerd. You’re about to learn a valuable life lesson.”
“By the gods, I’d love to take a run at Melkior Harding,” Nyssa says.
I notice the disgruntled look on her face, and it makes me smile. She’s rarely this transparent with her likes and dislikes of people.
“I take it you have a history?” I ask.
“He’s got a big mouth and not enough braincells to go with it,” she replies. “But his physical strength made him a prime candidate for the academy. I’m stronger, though.”
“You are?”
Nyssa raises an eyebrow at me. “Don’t let my human form fool you.”
That intrigues me, but before I can think further about it, Penn shouts, “Hands in!”
I want to know if it’s going to hurt, but I might as well keep the concern to myself. The last thing I need is dragons calling me a pussy. I put my hand in the hole and take a deep breath, bracing myself for the worst.
Penn claps his hands once, lips moving as the runes on each pillar light up in a golden shimmer. Warmth spreads through my body, starting from the core, then flows into my shoulders, then my arms.
It’s a peculiar sensation, but I understand it.
My blood simmers. There is resistance from my magical essence, but the dragon blood glows, making my veins visible along the forearms. I feel the slivers that Penn mentioned. Wisps, tiny little wisps that tickle my wrist before they seep through the palm of my hand and into the pillar.
I gasp as the energy flows, and the pillar’s stone becomes anincandescent white. The shield stretches outward and upward with faint shimmers, but I see it. My eyes feel oddly warm, but I see it. The shield casts itself over the arena as Meraxis and Harding step inside.
Penn keeps his position on the north end, hands behind his back as his eyes bounce across the entire arena.
Mindful of Penn’s directions, I keep my focus on the wisps humming in my wrist. My palm tickles.
Penn's voice cuts through the air. “Fighters, prepare!”
Meraxis and Harding shrug out of their uniforms, the fabric pooling at their feet. Their nakedness draws tittering from most of the female students positioned around the arena's edge. I force my eyes toward the ceiling, focusing on a crack in the stone rather than the display below.
