Page 58 of Wings of Destruction

Evie lacks the grace to blush. No part of her is cowed by the reprimand. She sits primly in her seat and arranges her own books in front of her in two neat piles, topped with a blank ledger.

I drag my own reluctantly from the pocket of my shirt.

There isn’t a pressing need for notes in this class. Most of the material covered is historical—inaccurately so—and how the events relate to today’s circumstances.

Professor Clark isn’t skilled when it comes to keeping the students’ attention, either—he’s been teaching too long to care much about the past when he covers history. He has the nasty habit of coming alive when he touches on anything within the last decade.

Specifically when Roman Ryson began his campaign against the enemies to the crown.

Professor Clark is a self-proclaimed sucker for watching history in the making.

Today, the maniacal gleam in his eyes, half hidden under bushy brows, gives him away. He’s excited about something, and his excitement flavors the air in the wrong way for my stomach.

“Yes, yes, you’ll all want to have your ledgers out.” He gestures to the rest of us to mimic Evie. “This is quite important news.”

Suddenly she’s gone from reprimanded to rewarded and she practically glows.

“As we are all aware, King Lochlain has ordered his most trusted generals to ensure the welfare of his country. This world rests on the backs of our riders and their mounts.” Clark’s voice gets louder. “They are the ones sacrificing themselves for the peace of the kingdom and all those dwelling within our borders.”

“Like he’s telling us anything new.” The young man on Evie’s right leans in close to whisper overly loud in her ear.

Like it’s going to impress her.

Astrid shifts, two seats down from me. I glance at the movement, and she catches my eyes, rolling hers up into the stray silver hairs crisscrossing her forehead.

Evie only holds two delicate fingers to her lips to tell the boy to politely mind and keep his thoughts to his splinter-witted self.

And I can’t stop thinking about Morgan and the way she looked. The shapeless gray dress with the choking collar does nothing for her skin tone but she’s somehow more beautiful for it. Like no matter how the world tries to hide her, she rises from despair’s ashes.

“Word from the capital has been promising indeed,” Clark drones with the insistent hiss of an angry beehive. “Word validated by the General’s right hand, our very own Tristan Ryson.”

My mind fills with the memory of his blade flashing against the slender length of her throat. She still hadn’t backed down when he drew blood.

Tristan puffs up in his seat, his arms looped behind his head. He stretches his long legs until his boots knock the legs of the chair in front of him. The girl there makes moon eyes at my cousin.

Astrid clears her throat, and the girl faces forward immediately.

Pay attention, Kieran. Mozi sounds off in my head. This may be important.

The dragon version of a cleared throat is a lot more grating. I sit up, paying attention.

Like Professor Clark knows something I don’t, I reply.

You never know.

His cryptic tone nudges something in my head.

Astrid lifts her hand and cuts through the thick air. “Is this news recent, Professor Clark?”

“Of course.” He stares down his nose at her, superior in every way.

If only he knew the truth.

I chose Astrid as my right hand on the basis of our past and her strength. She’s the sort of stubborn grump who incites lesser people to keep their distance and inspires respect in those strong enough to stand up to her command.

Her silvery locks are tucked back from her ears, showing the smooth velvety stretch of unblemished cheekbones, her chocolate skin stretched tight over bones. She is a predator in human form⁠—

And she could give two wyvern droppings about Evie or the way the young men in the class gravitate toward her like dying planets around a buttery sun. Not to mention our professor who circles more important people like a carrion crow waiting for the exact right moment to feast.