Page 45 of Kingdom of Shadows and Wings

Nick lifts an eyebrow, the salty ocean breeze rippling his dark brown waves. “Interesting word choice. I’d have saiddangerous, but whatever.”

Is he trying to scare me? “How so?”

He levels me with ayou really are that naïvelook and gestures toward the eyril field. “Do you really have to ask?”

My gaze roams over ominous stalks so high a person could get lost in them. “Humor me. Aside from ingesting too much, what’s dangerous about the eyril field? I’ve never done this before.”

He huffs. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

I turn away, unable to hide a flicker of hurt over the non-answer. Nick’s difficult to read sometimes. He’s typically more reserved compared to Olive and Abel, but he doesn’t usually give off such a condescending vibe. I thought we were starting to become friends. Now I wonder if he’s merely tolerating me for the sake of the unit.

Abel approaches us, pushing a cart with a large wooden crate on top. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s in a bad mood because of some letter from home. Maybe his sweetheart came to her senses and found someone more cheerful to spend her time with.”

Nick’s scowl could make children burst into tears. “She didn’t?—”

“Fledglings, gear up.” A middle-aged man with an angry red scar on his right cheek and a large leather satchel slung over his shoulder strides toward us.

Light brown, sun-streaked hair peeks out from a wide-brimmed hat, casting a shadow over his weathered face. His uniform is different from the other instructors and recruits. Rather than the standard navy tunics and trousers, his clothing fits like a second skin, the iridescent emerald green glimmering like a rainbow when the sun strikes at the right angle.

Trying not to stare at this bizarre man, I widen my eyes at Olive, who responds with an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

“I’m Instructor Eric Narrton.” The instructor steps toward me, providing me with an up-close view of his puckered face. “When you’re here,” he gestures toward the field, “I expect you to be diligent at all times. Eyril is a powerful entity. It should be handled with the respect and care it deserves. You’ll wear protective gear. No horseplay will be tolerated. Your unit will show you what to do. Should you have a problem, I’ll be nearby. Any questions?”

Plenty, but my mind is whirling too much to pluck a single one out. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.” Instructor Narrton pulls a large tome from the satchel and deposits the bag beside the crate before addressing the rest of my unit. “Your gear and equipment are here. Once you finish, please remove the gear and return it. I don’t want to chase anyone down because they trotted off with a king’s ransom stuck to their cheap carcasses.”

I wrinkle my nose over the visual. This guy’s a real bowl of fun. A collective “Yes, sir” echoes around us.

Narrton grunts, shooing the students with his hands as they line up to gather the necessary garments. “Don’t just stand around. Hustle. Gear up, watch what the others do, then get to work.”

Book in hand, he retreats to the shade of a nearby tree.

Nick, Abel, and Olive pull armfuls of clothing from the crate and satchel, including boots, pants, tunics, and gloves. Each item has the same iridescent quality as Narrton’s attire.

Olive sizes me up before rifling through the crate and handing me a pair of pants and a shirt.

I accept the clothing, running a hand over the sleek material. Excitement stirs in my chest. “Is this what I think it is?”

A smile tips the corners of her lips. “It’s made of dragon scales, making it nearly indestructible. Just put everything on over your uniform, except the boots. Leave your own pair here.” She gestures beside the crate.

“Dragon scales are resistant to eyril oil.” Abel offers me a large, bulky pair of gloves. “Make sure the gloves overlap your sleeves. You don’t want any skin exposed.”

As I don the borrowed attire, a sense of awe settles over me. I’ve never touched a dragon before, much less worn any clothing made from the creature’s scales. The garments feel surprisingly light, allowing ease of movement.

Nick passes me an odd dragon-scale mask that covers most of my face, along with a pair of clear goggles for my eyes. “Keep these on while you’re in the field. You don’t want any oil to get on your face. It burns like the three hells.”

I glance around for the instructor, ensuring he’s out of earshot under the tree. “Is that what happened to Narrton?”

“That’s the prevailing theory. No one knows for sure. Narrton’s a cagey fuck.” Nick hands a helmet to Abel and Olive. “An odd one too. Once, I carried a delivery out here and caught him talking to the eyril.”

Abel snorts. “Not this again.”

Nick glowers at his friend. “I’m telling you, it was weird.”

I inspect my helmet. “I don’t know. One of our maids chats with our roses. She swears they grow better if someone sweet-talks them.”

Nick’s expression of utter betrayal prompts me to swallow my giggle. “Okay, but Narrton wasn’t whispering sweet nothings. He was having a full-blown argument with the stalks, complete with hand gestures and a raised voice. At one point, he even rolled around near the edge of the field and cried.”

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