Several feet ahead, Bigley’s seated at an enormous purpleheart desk with gold and silver embellishments.
The walls, ceiling, and floor bear the same wood. Framed maps adorn the area behind the desk, with illustrations of Aclaris, Tirene, and Kamor taking up a place of prominence.
Bigley stands. Broad-shouldered and muscular, he’s almost as tall as Instructor Thorne. His silver hair, worn in wild waves around his craggy face, reminds me of a lion’s mane.
Unlike Torno, he doesn’t smile.
The moment we reach Bigley’s desk, Torno assumes an at-attention stance, her feet apart, hands clasped behind her back, shoulders pulled back, chin high, and eyes forward.
I mimic her.
“Fledgling Axton.” Settling into his chair, Bigley taps the desk to punctuate his words. My gaze drops to his massive hands. I can’t help but imagine them around an enemy’s throat, squeezing the life from them.
Even sitting, the man is formidable.
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Sir?”
He continues to drum the desk. “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here.”
The thought has crossed my mind.
Torno elbows me to answer.
I clear my throat. “I am, sir.”
Bigley’s face reveals nothing.
What’s with these people? Do they enjoy tormenting AWs with their prolonged silences and stony expressions?
“It’s protocol. Whenever fledglings arrive at Flighthaven under unusual circumstances and have a late start, as you have, I meet them.” He regards me, his manner stoic. “How are you settling into the routine here?”
“Thank you for asking, sir.” I offer a hopeful smile, then dance around the truth. “Everything’s going well. I’ve enjoyed each…challenge so far.”
“It’s good to hear you’re adjusting to life at Flighthaven Academy.” He lifts a booklet from his desk. “You’ll find our regulations here. Please commit them to memory.”
After taking the booklet from him, I hold the volume behind me as I resume my at-attention stance. “I will, sir.”
“Despite your late start, you’ll be required to take part in the upcoming trial with the other fledglings.”
“When is the trial?”
“In five weeks.”
“Five weeks?” I croak. He can’t be serious. I get five measly weeks to master the skills needed to succeed in the academy’s first trial? Highly unlikely, and that’s with my low-bar definition of success as failure to die in a spectacularly painful fashion.
Before horror can take complete control of my body, I remember that the current plan is for me to leave in four weeks. A dizzying wave of relief follows.
“Yes. Although it’s unfortunate your sister is…missing,” he averts his gaze, “you’re expected to get up to speed as quickly as possible so the rest of your unit doesn’t suffer.”
He drops his gaze, an unreadable emotion streaking across his features before disappearing.
My skin prickles, apprehension welling up within. “Sir, do you know?—”
“You’re dismissed.” Bigley busies himself by straightening his desk, not sparing me another glance.
Torno ushers me outside the office, only speaking once she shuts the door behind us. “If anything is ever amiss, don’t hesitate to report it to me so I can pass your concerns on to the commander. It’s protocol.”
Why? We were mid-conversation when Bigley dismissed me. “Of course.”