Page 77 of Wings of Destruction

One wrong move and⁠—

Astrid draws her index finger along her throat, reading my mind. Yes, decapitation. Putting it mildly.

My stomach tightens. “You’re sure about them?”

“I’m not sure about anyone or anything right now but I know we need help.”

Fear clenches invisible fingers around my throat and clamps down.

“We’ll just have to make sure we aren’t caught. And if there are eyes on us, then wherever we go, whatever we do, we look harmless.”

No one can know we’re planning to burn the kingdom to the ground.

I shift and ignore the flash of pain from a very well-placed punch to my abdomen.

“I understand the cost, Kieran, you don’t have to remind me,” Astrid says.

She stalks past me and my heart pounds, my gaze darts around the empty cavern one last time before I trail after her.

Sleep steals me the second my head hits the pillow. Exhaustion is the best remedy for nightmares, I’ve found. My subconscious is blissful, empty darkness until the first screech of a dragon heralds the rising sun.

I wake with swelling beneath my left eye and my jaw clicks.

The pain is immediate and thorough.

I stretch my arms overhead to work out the aches from the beating. A small smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, giving way to a yawn. Astrid certainly knows her business.

It’s early enough for the rest of DragonSpear to stick to their beds and the comfort of sleep. Instead of lounging, recuperating, or sleeping in, I push away from the mattress. It gives when I move and I sling my legs over the side, pressing warm feet to a cold floor.

When your father is a ruthless tyrant hellbent on usurping a throne… it’s not enough to be better than everyone else. You have to stay better than everyone else.

It takes sacrifice, stubbornness, and perseverance.

My day is just starting and earlier than the rest of the student body, exhaustion or not.

Muscles screaming, I throw open the armoire and grab a clean pair of black pants, shucking aside my pajamas. They heap in the corner with the rest of my laundry.

My head spins in useless, lazy circles. I make a point to avoid the mirror.

The change of clothes won’t help. I doubt a change of scenery will either. I fling the heavy curtains aside. From this vantage, the rest of the gorge below is veiled in mist like a different world.

Nothing has changed after a few stolen hours of rest. I never expect it to. Somehow, I keep trying. Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and the world will be on its way to becoming something better than it is.

The gray mist of pre-dawn beats against the windows and the first hint of golden sunrise sends arcs of light through the trees across the mountain’s spine.

“Ether curse it.” My breath fogs the glass.

I push away from the windowsill and flip the lock on the bedroom door. The hallway is empty, the silence sullen. Every heavy footstep I take echoes back to me and rings in my ears.

Tristan’s room is at the end of the hall, on the corner of this floor. It’s probably bigger than mine. It has to be, to fit his ego.

I stomp past it knowing he’ll be awake to hear me and slip my hands in my pockets to combat the chill in the air.

These old stone walls have seen more action than many other places in the kingdom, but they’re awful to keep warm. The staff keeps fires burning in individual rooms. The halls and the common areas are a different story.

Every crack in the stone absorbs the heat and sends it spiraling out. It’s even worse in winter, I’m told.

Surely I’ll see it for myself as the months tick by toward Yule.