Page 66 of Wings of Destruction

A scheme to keep the masses ignorant and grant power to a few.

The information in those books is taught to only a handful of people and whoever is deemed acceptable by a committee culling through applicants. So few. The administration and the crown are intentionally keeping people in the dark, to make sure they’re controllable.

That way they won’t rise. They won’t fight. And they certainly won’t win.

“I was blind,” I whisper.

I’ve been blind in more ways than one.

There’s barely any dust in this room, which means I’ve been sent to cover the tracks of someone who knows how to do their job better than me. A punishment, whether I deserve it or not.

Milkin has decided I always deserve it. The target on my chest is in place and the threat of the mines looms like an executioner’s ax.

I haven’t earned my place here yet. Or maybe Milkin is so busy overseeing her army of cleaners that she can’t keep track of who is where, although I doubt it.

Too bad for her. The oversight, real or imagined, has given me a brief moment of solitude, which is in short supply these days.

I throw the feather duster aside and watch it clatter away with a cold detachment.

“The books in these classrooms are precious.” My mouth waters at the information inside those volumes.

If I’m going to be here, then I’ll make the most of it, and I’ll read whatever I can until someone catches me. A hollow laugh falls from my lips and I stalk toward the bookshelves.

I’ll steal the knowledge they’ve hoarded from people like my mother, and if I ever make it out of this scorched awful place, I’ll use it against them.

The burning fires in my soul I’d never really looked at before Fallkirk was destroyed are now too great to ignore. Revenge. Spite. Those two things are my entire personality and I’m not mad about the loss of the softer aspects, like love and forgiveness.

Ryson and the crown want to keep us down? They want to keep us stupid?

Then I’ll happily play the part required of me until I’m close enough to spit in the general’s face. Then I’ll bring his dragon to the ground and I’ll⁠—

I shake my head, interrupting those delightful visions of vengeance. “I’ll burn the dragon alive? Now you really do sound stupid, Morgan.”

I only manage a chapter before Daisy stalks by the door and stops when she catches sight of me.

“Are you serious?” Her scoff is a thing of beauty. “What are you doing?”

I snap the book shut.

“If you think I’m not going to tell Milkin about this…” Daisy trails off and lets the threat hang between us.

“Fine, tell her.” I slide the book back on the shelf. “But check the room first. You’ll see I’ve already finished my duties.”

Daisy fluffs, clucking like poultry, and does exactly that. When her index finger comes away from multiple surfaces spotless, she starts to twitch.

“Come on,” she snaps for lack of something better to say. “It’s time for dinner.”

I follow the sullen set of her bony shoulders down into the caverns of maid territory.

Later that night, the rest of the large dormitory room falls into the quiet of sleep. I’m wide awake with my mind going a million miles an hour. My stomach is full. Milkin never came to tell me off for slacking, so either Daisy didn’t say anything or Milkin didn’t care.

It’s no use trying to sleep. I’m too keyed up, full of manic energy with no outlet. Scrubbing the floors isn’t a mindless meditation. It’s an exercise in futility. Clearly, reading while I’m on the job isn’t the best use of my time, either.

Daisy keeping her juicy secret to herself is a one off. I’m sure of it.

If I want to absorb more than a chapter at a time, then I’ll have to give something up. In this case, it’s sleep, and it doesn’t cost me much when I’m already awake.

Rather than forcing myself to memorize the curve of the ceiling, I sit up and glance around at the sleeping bodies around me. Milkin has her own private room. She’s too good to sleep with the rest of the staff and listen to the combined drone of hundreds of collective snores.