Page 179 of The Forbidden Dragon King
It’s silent here, apart from my panted breaths, the call of birdsong, and the staccato buzzing of crickets like an insect army are hiding between the gnarled trees.
If Caligo thinks that a couple of beatings will make me die in this trial, then he doesn’t know the true strength of the Unseelie.
He’s a war criminal who has poisoned my land and murdered already weakened citizens. He’s never faced the featherglass who have been forged in the flames of battle.
He’s never faced me.
I duck and weave between the gnarled olive trees, making for the city gates, which I can’t see. In fact, the entire city walls are no more than a shimmering mirage.
How many hours has it been? Two? Three?
I squint at the sun, assessing.
I must still be within the four hour limit to pass the trial.
I hope.
Holding my arm around my aching ribs, I rest for a moment against the rough trunk of a tree. My limbs feel heavy and weaker than they have in my entire life.
The poison, the beatings, and the strain of the training would have most people crawling by now. It’s lucky that I’ve spent my life enduring hardships, or I’d be as broken as Caligo wants me to be.
They have accelerated my loss of vision.
I trace over a fragile, white flower on the branch. I had almost forgotten that things like this could still grow in Draca.
I bloody hope Freya is coping with this trial.
Where was her starting point?
I slide my finger over the silver snowflake.
Exhaustion washes over me through the bond but no fear or panic.
I let out a relieved huff. Considering Freya has never trained before, I’m impressed how dedicated she is being to this whole academy scheme.
But then, she’s been dedicated in following through on her deal to me.
In her love.
Last night, when she worshiped me as shifters once worshiped fae, my soul died and was reborn from the ashes.
Yet by the Shadow Gods, for however long I have left, I will worship my Omega as well. My nests may never be as soft as the ones that Aurelius can offer her but maybe they don’t need to be.
Freya slept happily last night in a nest woven out of our clothes, tangled in my wings.
Freya deserves a pack. Aurelius and I aren’t in competition, despite what the possessive idiot thinks.
This exercise today isn’t much different to how I learned to survive as a young leader in charge of a group of kids, suddenly finding ourselves in countryside that we didn’t know.
Each cadet was dropped in a different part of the lands outside Bael and told to find our way back to the city gates within four hours or fail: the olive groves where I am, the banks of the River Umbra, which cuts through neat farm land to irrigate it to the north, and to the south, rich vineyards.
Obviously, the trial hands the advantage to the arseholes who were raised here.
I guess that’s the point.
The rules state that we must not help our fellow cadets. This is a trial to be completed independently.
Survived alone.
