Page 18 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

The jeers are plentiful, but it’s that last one, uttered by a male voice, that prompts me to sit up and check for the source. It proves an impossible task considering just about every fledgling besides Olive looks like they’d be happy to chuck me into a dragon’s mouth.

Kinneck whistles. “Alright, fledglings. Drop and give me an extra twenty.” While bodies hit the mat on either side of us and begin another round, Kinneck glares at me. “Next class, you’ll do better.”

Or else. Though he doesn’t verbalize the warning, I hear it. I nod, trying not to stress about how in the hells I’m supposed to pull fifty repetitions out of my ass before our next session.

The remainder of the exercises play out in much the same way, with me struggling and Kinneck tacking on extras to the class on my behalf. If I thought the ugly glances and whispers were bad before, they’ve got nothing on the animosity currently aimed my way. By the time Kinneck leads us outside to a field to line up for sprints, the expressions on most of my classmates’ faces indicate they’d gladly toss me off the nearest turret. I’m hoping the sprints will go better since I race up and down the castle stairs several times a day.

On the first sprint to the fence and back, I do okay, even though I’m panting harder than the others. By the third one, I struggle to catch my breath, and that’s before a root bursts from the ground out of nowhere to trip me. I fall hard, scraping my palms and bruising my dignity as some of my peers chuckle. A quick peek lets me know that Kinneck either didn’t notice or doesn’t care that another fledgling used elemental magic against me, so I jump to my feet, dust myself off, and launch right back into the exercise.

By the fifth sprint, my mouth waters and my stomach churns, and by the seventh, I double over and heave my breakfast onto the ground.

Kill me now. Please.

Kinneck strides over. “Fledgling Axton, this is no time to watch the grass grow. Run, Axton!Run.”

I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, stumbling forward. Tears sting my eyes, and my throat aches, but I don’t cave to my emotions. Steeling myself against the nausea and endless pain shrieking through every part of me, I run and run and freaking run.

Forget about making it through the next month. I’ll be lucky if I survive theday.

Geography follows our conditioning class. I collapse into a chair next to Olive in the round lecture room. Every single inch of my body hurts, and it’s all I can do not to put my face on the table and fall asleep. The only thing keeping my head up and my eyes open is the threat of our current instructor copying Kinneck and assigning everyone extra work because of me. As it is, a fellow fledgling tripped me on the walk over, and another one used air magic to shove me into the door as we shuffled in. I can already feel an ugly bruise forming on my shoulder.

Instructor Scalor is a petite blond woman with pale, freckled skin and piercing hazel eyes. She wears a smart navy uniform with gold trim on the neck and sleeves of her top. Standing at the podium, she waits for everyone to settle before speaking. “At the end of last session, I asked you to read about the topography of some of the far Northern kingdoms. Who can tell me about the topography of Northern Volox?”

She gestures at a student in the front row, and I do my best to pay attention as the discussion begins. By the end of class, I’ve learned about the glaciers, ice-covered mountain ranges, and the treacherous crevices located within them that are features of the far Northern kingdoms, and I’ve studied cartographers’ renderings of the area. The class is interesting enough to keep me from nodding off, though my mind still wanders.

Lunch comes next. After puking up breakfast, I should be eager for food, but I’m not. My legs wobble like jelly, and I’d love nothing more than to shower and crawl into bed. Too bad the day’s not even halfway over.

Once we grab our meals, Olive leads the way to the table. Two men sit in the chairs next to ours. I recognize them from last night at the mess hall.

Setting her tray down, Olive points her spoon at the lanky, dark-skinned one. “Lark Axton, this is Abel Rummon.” She swings her spoon to the other man, who possesses a broad chest and wavy brown hair. “And that’s Nick Pendrick. They’re the other members of our flight unit.”

Nick holds out his hand, and I take it. “Nice to meet you.” His greeting is curt, and a crevice forms between his brows as he studies me.

Abel gives a wordless nod, the ghost of a smile on his face.

As we eat, we fall into light conversation. I wait for one of them to mention Leesa, but neither does. Once I’m finished picking at my roasted chicken, I take matters into my own hands, setting my fork aside and knotting my fingers in my lap. “So, since she was part of your flight unit, you both must have known my sister Leesa pretty well. I’m hoping one of you might have a clue about what happened to her or where she vanished to.”

The two of them exchange a glance. Hope straightens my spine. Could it be as easy as this? Do they know something they’re willing to share?

Nick shakes his head. “I have no idea where Leesa went. If I did, I would have already reported it to Commander Bigley.”

Abel scrapes up his last bite of chicken. “Me either.” His expression softens when I deflate against my chair. “There was no blood found…no body. That’s a good sign.”

No blood or bodyfound. That doesn’t mean someone didn’t take Leesa far away from Flighthaven to murder her. Or dump her at the bottom of the ocean. Or feed her to a hungry dragon. Stab and hide her in the eyril fields. “You didn’t hear anything at all about where she might have gone?”

They trade a longer look before Nick shrugs. “We hear plenty, from people who like to stir up drama. It’s all absurd conjecture and rumor.”

Abel drums his fork and knife on the table. “He’s right. For example, I heard someone say Leesa left because she wanted to become a baker. All based on her complaining that the last batch of apple-spice cake was too dry.” He yelps a moment later and drops his utensils to rub his ankle. “What the hells, Nick? What was that for?”

Nick swallows a bite of his food. “You were shaking the table again.”

Abel glances down at his hands. “Was I? Oops.” With a clandestine wink at Olive, he grips the cutlery and begins drumming again.

A muscle tics near Nick’s right eye.

Olive traps Abel’s hand to the table by placing hers over his. “Children. Let’s not keep this going until one of you ends up with a fork to the eye. Sorry, Lark. What were you saying?”

“Do any of you at least have an idea of when Leesa disappeared? The missive gave us a day, but that’s it. Was it morning? Afternoon? Evening? Do you know who saw her last?”

---