Knowing I am in direct disagreement with General Melgren's orders, I am officially objecting to the plan set forth in today's briefing. It is not this general's opinion that the children of the rebellion's leaders should be forced to witness their parents' executions. No child should watch their parent put to death.

—The Tyrrish Rebellion, an official brief for King Tauri by General Lilith Sorrengail

"Welcome to your first Battle Brief," Professor Devera said from the recessed floor of the enormous lecture hall later in the morning, a bright purple Flame Section patch on her shoulder matching her short hair perfectly.

This was the only class held in the circular, tiered room that curved the entire end of the academic hall and one of only two rooms in the citadel capable of fitting every cadet.

Every creaky wooden seat was full, and the senior third-years were standing against the walls behind us, but we all could fit. It was a far cry from history last hour, where there were only three squads of first-years, but at least the first years in our squad were all seated together. Now if I could only remember all their names.

Ridoc was easy to remember - he cracked wise-ass comments all through history - and was the same guy who joked about Sawyer. Hopefully, he knews better than to try the same in here, though. Professor Devera wasn't the joking kind.

"In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation," She continued, her mouth tensing as she paced slowly in front of a twenty-foot-high map of the Continent mounted to the back wall that was intricately labeled with our defensive outposts along our borders.

Dozens of mage lights illuminated the space, more than making up for the lack of windows and reflecting off the longsword she kept strapped to her back.

"And if they were, they were always third-years who'd spent time shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we're up against. It's not about just knowing where every wing is stationed, either." She took her time, making eye contact with every first-year she saw.

The rank on her shoulder said captain, but I knew she'd be a major before she left her rotation teaching here, given the medals pinned on her chest.

"You need to understand the politics of our enemies, the strategies of defending our outposts from constant attack, and have a thorough knowledge of both recent and current battles. If you cannot grasp these basic topics, then you have no business on the back of a dragon." She arched a black brow a few shades darker than her deep-brown skin.

"No pressure," Rhiannon muttered at my side, furiously taking notes.

"We'll be fine," Violet promised. "Third-years have only been sent to midland posts as reinforcements, never the front." She nudged me and I looked up from the doodles I was making on the corner of my page. "Focus."

"This is the only class you will have every day, because it's the only class that will matter if you're called into service early." Professor Devera's gaze swept from left to right. "Because this class is taught every day and relies on the most current information, you will also answer to Professor Markham, who deserves nothing but your utmost respect."

She waved the scribe forward, and he moved to stand next to her, the cream color of his uniform contrasting with her stark black one."It is the duty of the scribes not only to study and master the past but to relay and record the present," he said, rubbing the bridge of his bulbous nose. "Without accurate depictions of our front lines, reliable information with which to make strategic decisions, and - most importantly - veracious details to document our history for the good of future generations, we're doomed, not only as a kingdom but as a society."

I wondered who I would have to spar against today. I eyed the others in the class and began writing down their names - or a small description of them if I didn't remember it - in a list.

I went through the list, analyzing who of my wing I thought I could take in a fight, and who I might lose to. Losing wasn't much of an option for me so I needed to figure out strategies in case I was paired with one of them.

I finished the list fairly quickly, with two cadets who I wasn't not sure about. A tall blonde who was thin but her legs looked strong enough that she could move pretty fast and a short brown-haired man with medium-sized muscles.

When I looked up from my paper, the mage light illuminated the mountains that form our border with Braevick and I had no idea what was going on.

"Based on that information, what questions would you ask?" Professor Devra held up a finger. "I only want answers from first years to start."

I peered over at Rhiannon's notes. The wards in that area failed and the drift entered the area, allowing the riders to channel.

My initial question would be why the hell the wards faltered or if there was outside interference, but it wasn't like they were going to answer a question like that in a room full of cadets with zero security clearance. I studied the map.

The Esben Mountain range was the highest along our Eastern border with Baevick, making it the least likely place for an attack - that was where my attention honed on. Gryphons couldn't tolerate altitude nearly as well as dragons could, likely due to the fact they were half-lion, half-eagle, and couldn't handle the thinner air at higher altitudes.

So why choose the highest? If it was simply an attack for the sake of an attack, why would they choose the village that weakened their mounts? And for that matter, why that mountain range in the first place?

"It's too high up to be logical," I muttered to Violet and she nodded.

"Come on, first-years, show me you have more than just good balance. Show me you have the critical-thinking skills to be here," Professor Devera demanded. "It's more important than ever that you're ready for what's beyond our borders."

"Is this the first time the wards have faltered?" a first-year a couple of rows ahead asked.

Professors Devera and Markham shared a look before she turned toward the cadet. "No."

The girl cleared her throat. "And how often are they faltering?"

Professor Markham's shrewd eyes narrowed on her. "That's above your pay grade, cadet." He turned his attention to our section. "Next relevant question to the attack we're discussing?"

"How many casualties did the wing suffer?" a first-year down the row to my right asked.

"One injured dragon. One dead rider."

Another murmur rose from the hall. Surviving graduation didn't mean we would survive service. Statistically, most riders died before retirement age, especially at the rate riders had been falling over the last two years.

"Why would you ask that particular question?" Professor Devera asked the cadet.

"To know how many reinforcements they'll need," he answered. Professor Devera nodded, turning toward Pryor, the meekest first-year in our squad, who had his hand up, but lowered it quickly, scrunching his dark eyebrows.

"Did you want to ask a question?"

"Yes." He nodded, sending a few locks of black hair into his eyes, then shook his head. "No. Never mind."

So decisive," Luca - a first-year next to him - mocked, tilting her head as cadets laughed around them. A corner of her mouth tilted up into a smirk, and she flipped her obviously dyed blonde hair over her shoulder in a move that was anything but casual.

"He's in our squad," Aurelie - at least I think that's her name - chastised, her no-nonsense black eyes narrowing on Luca. "Show some loyalty."

"Please. No dragon is bonding to a guy who can't even decide if he wants to ask a question. And did you see him at breakfast this morning? He held the entire line up because he couldn't choose between bacon or sausage." Luca rolled her kohl-rimmed eyes. I didn't exactly disagree with her. He would probably die before Threshing. But I definitely wouldn't say anything about it and embarrass him, especially in a room full of fellow cadets and leadership.

"If Fourth Wing is done picking at one another?" Professor Devera asked, lifting a brow.

"Ask what altitude the village is at," Violet whispered to Rhiannon. I gave her a look. Why was she giving Rhiannon her questions?

"What?" Her brow furrowed.

"Just ask."

"What altitude is the village at?" Rhiannon ased.

Professor Devera's eyebrows rose as she turned to Rhiannon. "Markham?"

"A little less than ten thousand feet," he answered. "Why?"

Rhiannon cleared her throat. "Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons."

"It is a little high for a planned attack," Professor Devera said. "Why don't you tell me why that's bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you'd like to ask your own questions from here on out."

Every head in the room turned in Violet's direction. "Gryphons aren't as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel," She said, following my thoughts. "It's an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about... what an hour's flight from the nearest outpost? That is Chakir right there, isn't it?"

"It is." A corner of Professor Devera's mouth lifted into a smirk. "Keep going with that line of thought."

"Didn't you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?" Violet's gaze narrowed.

"I did." She looked at her with expectation.

"Then they were already on their way."

"Yeah, because that makes sense." Jack turned around in his seat from the front row and openly laughed at Violet. "General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn't know when it will happen, dumbass."

"Did you ever think that there were plausible reasons other than his signet?" I snapped at him, perhaps slightly unreasonably. Jack had the strange ability to get under my skin and I hated it.

"Yes, Cadet Melgren?" Professor Devera encouraged. If there was any doubt about who I was, it was gone now.

I leaned back in my chair, my voice cold and calculating as I projected it to the entire room. "Like Cadet Sorrengail was saying, there's no logical way they get there within an hour of the attack unless they were already on their way," I glared at Jack. "It would take at least half that long to light the beacons in the range and call for help, and no full squad is sitting around just waiting to be needed. More than half those riders would have been asleep, which means they were already on their way. And that would only happen because they somehow knew the wards were breaking-"

"That's the most-" Jack started interrupting me, turning around in his seat to laugh at me in front of everyone as he did Violet before Professor Devra cut in.

"She's right. Continue, Cadet." She prodded, an encouraging smile on her face.

How would they have known? Riders had nothing to do with the wards magically. The wards were created by- "Dragons. They created the wards. They could have sensed it faltering."

"That's right, Cadet Melgren. One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse."

"Second and third years, take over," Professor Devera ordered. "Let's see if you can be a little more respectful to your fellow cadets."

She arched a brow pointedly at Jack as questions began to fire off from the riders behind us.

Most of the questions and answers went entirely over my head as I turned to Sawyer - who was on the other side of me - and we began playing a game of catch with whatever stationery was on our desks.

"What was the condition of the village?" a deep voice asked from the back of the lecture hall. The hairs on my neck rose, my body recognizing the imminent threat behind me.

Sawyer tossed a crumpled-up wad of paper at me, but it hit my arm and fell to the floor as my attention focused on the owner of the voice.

"Riorson?" Markham asked, shielding his eyes from the mage lights as he looked toward the top of the hall.

"The village," Xaden restated. "Professor Devera said the damage would have been worse, but what was the actual condition? Was it burned? Destroyed? They wouldn't demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold, so the condition of the village matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack."

Fuck me.

He was smart. That just made him more attractive.

Professor Devera smiled in approval. "The buildings they'd already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived."

"They were looking for something," Xaden said with complete conviction. "And it wasn't riches. That's not a gem mining district. Which begs the question, what do we have that they want so badly?"

"Exactly. That's the question." Professor Devera glanced around the room. "And that right there is why Riorson is a wingleader. You need more than strength and courage to be a good rider."

"So what's the answer?" a first-year to the left asked.

"We don't know," Professor Devera answered with a shrug. "It's just another piece in the puzzle of why our constant bids for peace are rejected by the kingdom of Poromiel. What were they looking for? Why that village? Were they responsible for the collapse of the ward, or was it already faltering? Tomorrow, next week, next month, there will be another attack, and maybe we'll get another clue. Go to history if you're looking for answers. Those wars have already been dissected and examined. Battle Brief is for fluid situations. In this class, we want you to learn which questions to ask so all of you have a chance at coming home alive."

Something in her tone made me wonder if it wasn't just third-years that would be called into service this year, and a chill settled in my bones.

"You're not even going to have to study for tests, are you?" Rhiannon questioned Violet further.

The rest of the first years stood on our side, but the second and third years lined the other. They were undoubtedly at an advantage here, considering they'd already had at least a year of combat training.

Ridoc and Aurelie circled each other on the mat. The two were evenly matched in size, although Ridoc was slightly smaller with Aurelie having a similar build to Mira. It wasn't a surprise considering she was a legacy on her dad's side.

"I was trained to be a scribe." Violet shrugged, the vest Mira made glinting in the sun at the movement. Both of our corsets fit straight in with the tops we'd been given from the central issue yesterday. All the women were dressed similarly now, though we could choose cuts of their leathers ourselves.

The guys were mostly shirtless because they claimed that shirts gave their opponent something to grab onto.

Personally, I wasn't arguing with their logic and just enjoyed the view. Respectfully, of course, which meant keeping my eyes on my own squad's mat and off the other twenty mats in the massive gym that consumed the first floor of the academic wing.

One wall was made entirely of windows and doors, all left open to allow in the breeze-despite the attempt it was still stiflingly hot. Sweat trickled down my spine.

There were three squads from each wing here this afternoon, and lucky for me, First Wing had sent their third squads, which included Jack Barlowe, who had been glaring at me from two mats over since the minute I walked in.

"Guess that means you're not worried about academics," Rhiannon said, her brows rising at my friend.

"Stop circling each other like you're dance partners and attack!"

Professor Emetterio ordered firmly from across the mat, where Dain watched Aurelie and Ridoc's match with our squad's executive leader, Cianna.

"I'm worried about this," Violet admitted, tilting her chin toward the mat.

"Really?" Rhiannon shot Violet a skeptical look. Her braids were twisted into a small bun at the nape of her neck. "I figured as a Sorrengail you'd be a hand-to-hand threat."

"Not exactly."

"Don't let that tiny body fool you," I warned Rhiannon, teasing Violet in a futile attempt to make her feel better about her skills. "Vi can be downright terrifying when she wants to." I managed to conceal my worry well. She had only been training for six months. Six months while most of us had spent our entire lives working toward this.

Ridoc launched toward Aurelie, but she ducked swiftly, sweeping out her leg and tripping him. He staggered but he didn't go down - he had great balance. The man pivoted quickly, palming a dagger in his hand.

"No blades today!" Professor Emetterio bellowed from beside the mat. He was only the fourth professor I'd met but was by far the most intimidating. Even more so than Professor Devera. "We're just assessing."

Ridoc grumbled and sheathed his knife just in time to deflect a right hook from Aurelie.

"The brunette packs a punch," Rhiannon said with an appreciative smile before glancing away.

"What about you?" I asked curiously as Ridoc landed a jab to Aurelie's ribs.

"Shit!" he shook his head and backed up a hesitant step. "I don't wanna hurt you."

Aurelie held her ribs, and yet as she lifted her chin her face was void of anything but determination. "Who said you hurt me?"

"Pulling your punches does her a disservice," Dain said, folding his arms. "The Cygnis on the northeast border aren't going to give her any quarter because she's a woman if she falls from her dragon behind enemy lines, Ridoc. They'll kill her just the same."

"Let's go!" Aurelie shouted, beckoning Ridoc by curling her fingers. She slipped a jab from Ridoc and twisted to land a quick tap to his kidneys.

Ouch.

"I mean... damn," Rhiannon muttered, giving Aurelie another look before turning back to us. "I'm pretty good on the mat. My village is on the Cygnisen border, so we all learned to defend ourselves fairly young. Physics and math aren't problems, either. But history?" She shook her head. "That class might be the death of me."

"For me too," I groaned. "It's so boring and I cannot, for the life of me, stay awake."

"At least they don't kill you for failing history," Violet said as Ridoc charged Aurelie, taking her to the mat with enough force to make me wince. "I'm probably going to die on these mats."

I frowned at Violet as Aurelie hooked her legs around his and somehow leaned him over until she was the one on top, landing punch after punch to the side of his face. Blood spattered the mat.

"I could probably offer some tips to survive combat training," Sawyer said from Rhiannon's other side, running his hand over a day's growth of brown stubble that didn't quite cover his freckles. "History isn't my strongest subject, though."

A tooth went flying.

"Enough!" Professor Emetterio shouted.

Aurelie rolled off Ridoc and stood, touching her fingers to her split lip and examining the blood, then offered her hand to help him up. He took it.

"Cianna, take Aurelie to the healers. No reason to lose a tooth during assessment," Professor Emetterio ordered.

"I'll make you a deal," Rhiannon said, locking her brown eyes with mine. "Let's help each other out. We'll help you with hand-to-hand if you help us with history. Sound like a deal, Sawyer, Isla?"

"Absolutely."

"Hey!" I stared at Violet, my mouth agape with the shock of betrayal. "When I suggested this trade swap between the two of us months ago, you refused!"

"That's solely because you're a horrible teacher and an even worse student, Is."

"Am not!" I flicked my hand on her shoulder, with just enough force for it to sting slightly and she glared at me as she rubbed the hurt.

"Are too."

"Deal." Sawyer agreed as one of the third-years wiped down the mat with a towel.

A shriek pierced the air, shattering all in its path. I whipped my head to the match taking place a couple of mats over the mat the scream had echoed from. Jack Barlowe had another first-year in a forceful headlock. The other cadet was smaller, just barely thinner than Jack.

He yanked the cadet's arms, hands still secured around the other man's head.

"That guy is such an ass-" Rhiannon started.

A sickening crack filled the air. The sound of bones breaking and bodies forced the wrong way.

The first-year went limp in Jack's hold.

"Sweet Malek," Violet whispered at my side as Jack dropped the man to the ground.

My lips parted just slightly, a long breath escaping them as I fought the urge to do something - do what I didn't know. Kill Jack? Avenge that cadet? All I did know was that the room was silent.

Why wasn't anyone doing something?

"What did I say?" The instructor shouted as he charged onto the mat. "You broke his damned neck!"

"How was I supposed to know his neck was that weak?" Jack argued. I wondered how long it would take before I would be able to - accidentally - throw him off a cliff.

"Eyes forward," Professor Emetterio ordered us, but his tone was kinder than it had been before. I couldn't seem to tear my eyes away from the cadet whose body was still limp on the floor. I was no stranger to death, not at all, and yet this felt different. We were all just trying to survive here, trying to make it to Threshing.

I understood competition and I understood wanting to eliminate it after assessing a threat. But why the hell would he kill someone on the first day? The first. damn. day.

"You don't have to get used to it," Emetterio told us, and only then did I tear my eyes away from the scene before me, rage immediately disappearing from my features. "But you do have to function through it. You and you." He pointed to Rhiannon and another first-year in our squad, a man with a stocky build, blue-black hair, and angular features. I couldn't remember his name.

Rhiannon made quick work of the first-year - I was impressed, to say the least. She dodged nearly all of his punches, smart enough to use his size against him as she landed one of her own each time she escaped one of his blows. She was fast and her hits were powerful, the kind of lethal combination that would set her apart.

"Do you yield?" she asked the first-year guy when she took him to his back, her hand stopped mid-hit just above his throat.

"No!" He shouted, hooking his legs around Rhiannon and slamming her onto her back with a smack. But she rolled quickly, gaining her footing quicker than him and putting him in the same position she had had him in just seconds ago, this time with her boot to his neck.

"I don't know, Tynan, you might want to yield," Dain said with a grin. "She's handing you your ass."

Tynan. That was his name! I knew it had a T.

"Fuck off, Aetos!" Tynan snaped, and Rhiannon pressed her boot into his throat, garbling the last word. He turned to a mottled shade of red and I wanted to laugh at the look on his face.

Yeah, Tynan had more ego than common sense.

I hoped I, at least, would be able to yield when I had to, but past events told me that my stubbornness outweighed my will to live by a lot.

"He yields," Emetterio called out, and Rhiannon stepped back, offering her hand. Tynan took it. "You-" he pointed to the pink-haired second-year with the rebellion relic. "And you." His finger swung to Violet.

She was at least a head taller than Violet, putting the latter at a serious disadvantage. But she nodded and stepped onto the mat.

"Knock her flat on her ass," I whispered to Violet in encouragement.

"Sorrengail." The pink-haired woman practically growled, her eyes scanning Violet from head to toe with a look that seemed like she would eat her for breakfast. She narrows her pale green eyes, "You really should dye your hair if you don't want everyone to know who your mother is. You're the only freak with hair like that in the quadrant." Her gaze found mine. "Though Melgren seems to be worse off in that regard."

I looked at her and grinned, blowing her a kiss.

"Never said I cared if everyone knows who my mother is." Violet circled the second year on the mat. "I am proud of her service to protect our kingdom - from enemies both without and within."

Fuck. And Violet said that I never th thought things through.

The woman's jaw tightened at the dig. Marked ones, as I had heard some people refer to those carrying relics, blamed Generals Sorrengail and Melgren for the execution of their parents. I couldn't exactly bring myself to argue with that.

But it meant they hated us. And that just made them all the more dangerous - and all the more vulnerable. The moment emotion entered a fight, it was simply a losing game. It clouded your judgment and gave you tunnel vision.

"You bitch." She seethed. "Your mother murdered my family."

Something about those words was guttural and sent shame skittering through my bones. And it was my father who murdered her family - and all those involved in the rebellion - much more than Violet's mother, considering it was his dragon.

The pink-haired woman lunged forward and swung wildly, Violet sidestepped her, spinning away with her hands up. They did that for a few more rounds, Violet dancing away while the woman lurched for her. Violet landed a few jabs and the woman's anger seemed to gather, growing and growing on the brink of explosion.

The pink-haired woman growled low in her throat as she missed Violet yet again and again, and her foot flew at her head. She easily ducked, but the woman dropped, her foot sweeping out and landing square on Violet's chest. She flew backward and my breathing hitched.

Violet hit the mat with a thud, her head thrown back as she hissed through her teeth, the woman already on her with an unnatural speed.

"You can't use your powers in here, Imogen!" Dain shouted.

Imogen was going to kill her. Anxiety battered my mind, and I bit my lip as I watched Violet with concern, ignoring the pressing feeling that made me shiver, the entirety of my focus on my friend.

"Come on, Vi," I whispered to myself, and a hand reached out and looped its way through my own. I looked up at Rhiannon, that same worry on her face as she squeezed my arm.

Violet's face contorted to fear as Imogen slipped something from her leathers, smile fading as she hovered over Violet, and slipped the dagger back into her leathers. Mira's armor just saved Violet's life.

Confusion marred Imogen's face for a heartbeat, long enough for Violet to send her fist into her cheek and roll out from under her. I breathed a sigh of relief as they both gained their feet.

"What kind of armor is that?" Imogen asked, staring at Violet's ribs as they circled each other.

"Mine." Violet ducked and dodged as she came at her again, but her movements were a blur. Too fast to even watch.

"Imogen!" Professor Emetterio shouted. "Do it again, and I'll-"

Violet swerved the wrong way that time and Imogen caught her, taking Violet to the floor with a smack. Both Rhiannon and I tensed. She dug her knee into Violet's back as she pulled her right arm behind her.

"Yield!" She practically screamed.

"No!" Violet shouted right back - as stubborn as me - and Imogen pulled her arm further back in retaliation. Violet cried out, and I stepped forward unconsciously only to be pulled back by Rhiannon.

"Yield, Violet!" Dain yelled in a panic.

"Yield!" Imogen demanded.

Gasping for breath against the weight of Imogen on her back, Violet turned her head as Imogen wretched her shoulder further.

"She yields," Emitterio ordered. "That's enough."

I heard it again - the macabre sound of snapping bone - but this time it was Violet's.

I launched onto the mat.