Page 120 of Black Wing and Shadows
My chest tightened. I forced myself to chew, though the bread tasted like ash. Around us, the mess hall buzzed with the same rumor, each retelling darker than the last.
“They’re targeting branches.”
“No, they’re targeting personalities—he was cruel, remember?”
“Doesn’t matter. None of us is safe.”
I caught Zane across the hall, coming in to sit with his wing. His eyes met mine for a single heartbeat, dark and unreadable, before he looked away.
The unease in the room spread like a stain, impossible to ignore.
After lunch, Feather Wing dragged to Professor Duft’s wielding class. The room smelled of chalk and ink, the walls lined with shelves ofrune-etched tomes. Duft herself stood straight at the front, her hair pinned in an impeccable bun, her voice carrying like steel through the air.
“None of you has manifested your specific ability yet,” she began, “but that does not mean you are powerless. It means you are unprepared.”
She paced slowly, hands clasped behind her back. “When your ability does surface, it will not ask if you are ready. It will pour through you without restraint. Some of you will create storms. Others will warp air, stone, or flame. A few of you will bend magic itself. Whatever it is, if you are careless, you will kill yourselves or those standing closest to you.”
The room went still. Every cadet locked on her words.
Duft’s gaze narrowed. “You should not experiment on your own, should it manifest while you are gone. Uncontrolled power leaves bodies in its wake. Do not mistake your family’s home for a training ground. Gifts are often brought out in times of distress, so try not to allow yourself to be in distress.”
Her sharp certainty chilled me. How the hell could we decide whether we ended up in a stressful situation?
“If it can be so dangerous, why are they sending us home when manifestation is likely?" A cadet shot out.
“Usually, students can stay, and many faculty members encourage first-year Riders to remain on campus. Most of them do.”
She gestured toward a series of diagrams chalked across the board—energy flows, runes, containment circles. “Once you manifest, you will be taught containment, precision, and restraint before anything else. Until then, you drill the fundamentals. Meditation. Control of power. Don’t channel. Nothing more.”
She stopped, her eyes sweeping the room like daggers. “Consider yourselves warned.” By the time she dismissed us, the silence in the hall was heavier than it had been all day.
Professor Bhatta’s classroom was on the third floor of Alpha Wing, a long stone chamber with narrow windows that let in more shadow than light. The walls were bare except for a massive tapestry of a dragon in flight, its wingspan stretching nearly the length of the room.
Bhatta himself stood at the front, tall and broad-shouldered, with hair gone silver at the temples and a voice that carried like gravel over stone. He didn’t waste time with introductions.
“You’ve bonded,” he said, scanning us with a soldier’s sharp eyes. “That means you will be around fliers on an almost daily basis. There are some rules you need to drill into your head.”
He paced slowly, boots thudding against the floor. “First rule: never step too close to a flier unless you are their Rider. Not even if they seem calm. Not even if you think you’re safe. They don’t like it, and they don’t forgive it.”
Uneasy glances flickered between cadets.
“Second rule: never rush a Rider when their flier is close. The flier reads it as a threat. I’ve seen wings snap ribs before a cadet can draw a breath. Worse—I’ve watched a dragon turn someone to ash. Don’t test it.”
The air in the classroom seemed to thin, tension pressing against us. My bond mark prickled, and Esme’s low, satisfied hum brushed my thoughts,“at least he understands courtesy.”
“Third rule.” Bhatta stopped at the center of the room, his voice dropping low. “Fliers speak to no one but their bonded Rider. There are some very, very rare occasions when this doesn’t apply. For instance, on Judgment Day, when you all took a tincture.”
A couple of cadets laughed nervously. Bhatta’s gaze cut to them, cold as a blade. Silence snapped down again.
“But fliers do speak among themselves. Constantly.” His eyes flicked to the tapestry, the woven dragon looming above us. “They can relay messages from one Rider to another if they choose. Don’t count on it being reliable—or flattering. They are not couriers. They are creatures with wills of their own.”
He folded his arms, letting the silence stretch, his presence heavy as iron.
“These rules will not be found in your handbooks. They are truths written in blood. Break them, and it will not be the professors who punish you.”
A shiver traced my spine. Esme’s amusement rippled through me, sharp and smug.“I would never break your spine, little Rider. Not unless you annoyed me terribly.”
I clenched my jaw.“You’re not helping.”
