Whisper [Fourth Wing]

Chapter Three

"ELENA SOSA, BRAYDEN BLACKBURN." Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the death roll, flanked by two other scribes on the dais as we stand in silent formation in the courtyard, squinting into the early sun.

This morning, we're all in rider black, and there are two silver four-pointed stars on my collarbone, the mark of a second-year, and a Fourth Wing patch on my shoulder. Gosh, I miss my Second Wing patch. And my section leaders. They were all my friends. Not that Garrick isn't. He's just...he's a lot harsher than everyone else. Plus, this means Imogen will spend even more time pining over him now that he's constantly watching over us. Especially during sparring.

My mother's armored corset sits beneath my thick riding leathers even though it isn't regulation, but I fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around me. Looking around, after the last twenty-four hours and one night in the first-floor barracks, the first years look like they're finally starting to realize that this quadrant is a strange mix of we-might-die-tomorrow hedonism and brutal efficiency in the name of the same reason.

"Jace Sutherland." Captain Fitzgibbons continues to read, and the scribes next to him shift their weight. "Dougal Luperco."

I think we're somewhere in the fifties, but I lost count after he read the first ten. It was never any good to remember the first years we'd lost. All that brought was misery and in a quadrant like this one, that could get you killed. This is the only memorial the names will get, the only time they'll be spoken of in the citadel. Never again will those names, those innocent little candidates all hoping for a bright future, see the light of day. History won't remember them. Maybe even their families won't.

"Simone Casteneda." Captain Fitzgibbons closes the scroll. "We commend their souls to Malek." The god of death.

I blink. Guess we were closer to the end than I thought.

There's no formal conclusion to the formation, no last moment of silence. The names on the scroll leave the dais with the scribes, and the quiet is broken as the squad leaders all turn and begin to address their squads.

"Hopefully you all ate breakfast because you're not going to get another chance before lunch," Dain says, his eyes meeting Violets for the span of a heartbeat before he glances away, feigning indifference.

"He's good at pretending he doesn't know you," Rhiannon whispers at her side.

"He is," Violet replies just as softly.

No. He's not.

"Second- and third-years, I'm assuming you know where to go," Dain continues as the scribes wind their way around the edge of the courtyard to my right, headed back to their quadrant.

There's a mutter of agreement from the senior cadets ahead of us. As squad executive, I stand by Dain's side in front of the mixture of cadets from first-year to third.

"First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday." Dain's voice booms over us, and it's hard to reconcile this stern-faced, serious leader with the funny, grinning guy I've always known. "Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym."

Fuck, I'd almost forgotten that we're sparring today. We only have gym twice a week, so as long as I make sure Violet can get through today's session unscathed, she's in the clear for another couple of days. At least she'll have some time to get her feet under her before she'll have to handle the Gauntlet—the terrifying vertical obstacle course that first-years have to master when the leaves turn colors in two months.

If they can complete the final Gauntlet, they'll walk through the natural box canyon above it that leads to the flight field for Presentation, where this year's dragons willing to bond will get their first look at the remaining cadets. Two days after that, Threshing will occur in the valley beneath the citadel. I glance around at my new squadmates and can't help but wonder which of them, if any, will make it to that flight field, let alone that valley, then think the better if it. Don't borrow tomorrow's trouble.