Chapter 1
Knights of the Silver Fog
The city state of Bridgehaven was built on a grouping of 112 islands, all connected via 402 bridges. Three dragons protected everyone who dwelled here.
They were the last dragons alive in the entire world.
So, when I woke before daybreak, I took a moment to offer a prayer for their safety. Bridgehaven would be nothing without the dragons’ guardianship, and as one of their knights-in-training, it was my duty to aid the dragons in all their duties, including survival.
There had once been thousands of dragons in Bridgehaven, but over the centuries, and through countless wars, their numbers had dwindled. As a future Knight of the Silver Fog, I would not allow them to go extinct.
Once finished with my prayer, I dressed in a white silk shirt, black woolen vest, and matching trousers. Today, our only clutch of dragon eggs would be assigned, and I wanted to look proper for the occasion. My good coat—given to me by my father—was downstairs, in the foyer, along with my dress boots, which I had never worn in public. They would be perfect.
I shivered.
My spacious bedroom was quiet and cold. The fire in the hearth had gone out in the middle of the night. Many years ago, my family had a dozen servants who kept the estate beautiful and warm. Now, there was a single butler. Zilvio Underveil. He was all I had left in this world.
My bedroom door creaked open. I turned to watch as Zilvio slipped in carrying a small stack of kindling and firewood.
“Ah, Master Richter,” Zilvio said with a slight smile. “You’re awake. A bit early, eh?”
Zilvio’s voice carried the calm steadiness of someone who had seen too many mornings like this, too many young individuals standing on the threshold of something grand and dangerous.
His silver hair was combed back and held down with pomade. Deep lines framed his eyes and mouth, carved there by time and gentle smiles. His posture was impeccable, and I was a little envious. I had a tendency to slouch when no one was looking, but I had never caught Zilvio slacking, not even in the slightest.
Even the way he knelt before the hearth to arrange the kindling had a certain grace. He was always so deliberate and unhurried. His dark coat was pressed, and the cuffs and his white gloves were spotless despite his work.
Zilvio had once served my father, and his father before him. It was as though he were the steward not just of the house, but of its legacy.
Compared to him, I must have looked like a mess. My reflection in the window confirmed as much.
I was tall, broad-shouldered, and still not accustomed to the height I had gained over the last two years. My hair, a dark brown nearly black in the dim light, refused to stay combed no matter how many times I tried. And my hazel eyes—my mother’s eyes—betrayed more restlessness than I cared to admit.
“Excited for the egg assignment today?” Zilvio coaxed the first sparks into flame.
“Excited,” I said. “Or nervous. I haven’t decided yet.”
Zilvio met my gaze. “The two are often the same thing at your age, Master Richter. It is how one carries them that makes the difference.”
After a deep breath, I nodded. “Thank you, Zilvio. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Let me prepare you breakfast before you head out. It would be a shame if you wanted for energy on this monumental day.”
“I would appreciate that.”
The man stood and exited the room with pep in his step, despite turning sixty-six this year. According to my father, nothing slowed Zilvio down, not even the illness in his lungs that had almost stolen his life.
I was only seventeen, and I hoped I would stay as alert and active as Zilvio when I reached such an age.
A sharp tap-tap-tap struck the window behind me. I smiled. Only one person in Bridgehaven would dare enter through the east terrace before sunrise.
Lex.
I chuckled under my breath as I turned around. Outside, perched on the narrow stone ledge like a smug gargoyle, was Valex Thorn. Well, I just called him Lex because it was easier.
His grin was wide, despite the biting cold outside, and his sandy blond hair—always untamed, like mine—was further swept back by the wind. He rapped the window again, his breath clouding the glass.
“Are you going to let me in,” Lex mouthed, “or should I start freezing to death now?”
I unlatched the window, and he swung one leg over the sill before I could protest. He landed on the rug with a dull thud, boots caked in mud, jacket half-buttoned, and a sword belt slung crooked across his waist.
“You know,” I said as I shut the window behind him, “there’s an invention called a door. Opens and closes. Works wonders.”
Lex shrugged, brushing a leaf from his sleeve. “Doors are for polite guests. I’m family.”
Family…
After my parents’ deaths, Lex had been the only constant in the ruins of my world. Once a stable boy, he had been my squire during my first years of training. But while I was deep in my grieving, he had been there for me. So, I had refused to let him remain a servant. He had earned more than that.
I had insisted he train as a knight beside me, shoulder to shoulder. I gave him a piece of land and counted him as my family so he would qualify as nobility. Some thought that was pure lunacy, but I didn’t care.
I had also insisted Zilvio leave his position and perhaps take part of the estate as his own—since he had always been there for me—but Zilvio had refused. Lex, on the other hand, had taken my offer and become a knight-in-training under my house’s banner.
Now, standing there dripping dew onto my carpet, he looked every bit my rough-hewn twin. His blue eyes were bright, and his jaw carried the faint shadow of a bruise, probably from sparring or climbing something he shouldn’t have.
“You look half-frozen.” I handed him a towel from the washstand.
Somehow, Lex grinned wider. “You try riding through the lower streets before dawn. The silver fog’s so thick this morning you could drown standing up.”
“Really?” For the first time in a long while, my heart soared. “That’s a good sign.”
“I know! As soon as I saw all the fog, I got up, dressed, and just started riding around town. Maybe if I breathe enough of it, I’ll have the strength to impress the knights. That way, I won’t be last to pick an egg.”
Zilvio reappeared then, a tray in hand, though his expression said he had been expecting this very intrusion. “Ah. Master Valex. I had a feeling.”
Lex turned, bowing with mock grandeur. “Morning, Zilvio. Looks like you’ve kept the place from falling apart.”
“Someone has to,” Zilvio replied, a dry humor to his tone.
I chortled. For a brief moment, the room felt alive again.
“You ready for today, Richter?” Lex elbowed me. “You think you’ll get the first pick of eggs? I’ve bet the others you’ll be first.”
His tone was playful, but I knew better. There were only seven eggs, and two of them were small and misshapen.
Today, we would demonstrate our skills to the Knights of the Silver Fog, and our ranking would determine the order in which we got to pick our eggs. The highest-scoring knight-in-training would pick first, and the lowest-scoring would take whichever egg was left.
No one wanted the last two eggs. They were twisted from inbreeding and would surely never hatch. And if they never hatched, whoever was caring for them would never become a knight…
Every Knight of the Silver Fog had to bond with a dragon, after all. And no matter what, I had to become a knight.
“I’m ready,” I said. “Are you?”
“Pfft.” Lex dismissively waved his hand. “Of course. No matter which egg I get, it’s going to be remarkable. My dragon will probably start hatching on the spot, just to meet me.”
“Or to escape you,” I muttered, earning a bark of laughter from Lex.
Before Lex could fire back, Zilvio cleared his throat. “If the two of you are done discussing the terror you will surely inspire in the hatchlings, breakfast is served.”
He opened the tray to reveal two breakfasts. He set one breakfast on my desk—chicken eggs, smoked river trout, and toasted seed bread, all arranged with precise care—then placed the second before Lex, right on the windowsill.
Lex’s eyes widened in surprise. “For me? You cooked for me? You’ve never done that before.”
“I have come to accept,” Zilvio said, “that where Master Richter goes, Master Valex is not far behind. One plans accordingly.”
Lex waggled a finger. “You’re too good to us, Zilvio.”
“Someone has to be,” he replied.
The fire crackled behind us, and for a few quiet minutes, the world outside might as well have been asleep. The breakfast was delightful. There was honey from the rooftop hives, bread kneaded by hand, and trout from the morning market.
Lex devoured his portion like a man who hadn’t eaten in days, pausing only to say through a mouthful, “This… This is art. If the knights ever refuse me, I’m coming back here to apprentice as a cook.”
“That would be a tragic misuse of your talents, Master Valex, but it’s a fine compliment all the same.”
Then a sound rolled across the canals. It was low, resonant, and unmistakable.
Gong. Gong. Gong.
The morning bells of the Draconic Tower.
Lex froze mid-bite. “That’s it. They’re summoning us.”
I leapt to my feet. “Come on. We’ll miss the start of the assignment if we’re not quick.”
“If we miss any part of the assignment, we’ll be forced to pick last for sure.” Lex cursed under his breath as he shoveled one last mouthful of food down his gullet.
We tore from the room and flew down the east corridor.
“Good fortune, my boys!” Zilvio called after us.
The estate, once the pride of my family, echoed with our footfalls. The walls loomed tall around us, hung with oil paintings so rich and lifelike they seemed to watch us pass.
My mother’s portrait came first. She stood clad in the silver-and-steel plate of the order, silver fog curling around her armored boots. My father’s likeness faced hers from across the hall. His armor bore the scars of battle, with scratches and dents immortalized in paint.
My father’s stance was one of defiance, his sword raised toward the Heavens. Even now, it made my chest tighten with a mixture of pride and grief.
Both my parents had been Knights of the Silver Fog, and both had died defending Bridgehaven from the centipedes of Whettin. When my parents became knights, both of them had picked draconis aeris eggs to watch over as they hatched. Everyone just called them air dragons rather than using their official scientific designation, though.
No dragons flew faster or higher than air dragons.
And in the background of both my parents’ portraits, their dragons were in the sky, their scales pale blue and their white manes majestic in the wind. I would’ve given anything to follow in their footsteps, but…
All the air dragons were extinct.
Of the last three remaining dragons, there were only two draconis terra—earth dragons—and one draconis tempestas—a storm dragon.
That was it. All other species of dragons were gone.
And all seven eggs at today’s assignment were earth dragons. There would be no choices for dragon species, like in the past ceremonies for knights.
My parents had gotten to choose from dozens and dozens of eggs, and multiple different dragon species. That was back when times were brighter. Now, it was up to my generation to make sure these last dragons didn’t disappear from the world…
That was why I had to become a knight. To honor my deceased parents. To safeguard my home. To ensure the dragons didn’t disappear. I couldn’t pick last. I wouldn’t. Neither of the two twisted eggs were my destiny.
“You’re falling behind, Richter!” Lex laughed as he raced down the grand staircase.
I shook my head and followed him, trying not to dwell on our sad situation.
We passed suits of ceremonial armor that had belonged to my ancestors, their silver helms polished to mirror brightness. Beyond them were the heavy front doors, which led out to the main street.
Lex waited for me, jogging in place, his excess energy practically spilling out of him.
I pushed the front doors open wide. Cold morning air flooded in, carrying the scent of fog and river salt.
“Race you to the first bridge,” Lex shouted, already sprinting ahead.
I grabbed my father’s good coat and then yanked on my fancy boots. It only took me a matter of seconds, and I was already rushing after Lex.
“If we don’t want to pick last,” he called out over his shoulder, “we’re going to have to pick up the pace!”
He was right, so I quickened my steps.
I would be there for the assignment—I would show the knights I came from a long line of warriors suited for this role—and then I would pick the largest, healthiest egg and watch over it until it hatched. I would settle for nothing less.
“Wait, what?” Lex shouted.
I pushed myself to run faster until I turned the bend and caught sight of what had disturbed Lex.
The first bridge, the one with the fastest route to the Draconic Tower, had collapsed. Which was quite impressive considering every bridge in the city was made of sturdy stone, crafted by master masons. Yet somehow the bridge was shattered, and the hundred feet of water between the islands rushed with a ferocity that wasn’t worth risking.
“I crossed this bridge this morning!” Lex paced back and forth, raking both his hands through his hair. “What happened?”
“We don’t have time to investigate,” I said.
“We’re so going to be late…”
Chapter 2
The City State of Bridgehaven
“Come.” I motioned to the western road. “We’ll take the seventeenth bridge.”
Lex didn’t even respond. He just ran.
All around us, the world was waking up. Merchants were pulling carts to the market, fishermen were prepping their boats, and craftsmen were already in their shops, tinkering away. The sky over Bridgehaven was the color of steel, the sun still creeping its way over the horizon, but the pulse of Bridgehaven already beat steadily.
The streets shimmered with a thin veil of silver fog swirling around the cobblestones. The air tingled as we breathed it in. It felt alive with power.
And it really was.
Whenever humans inhaled silver fog, magic became a permanent part of them, and they gained an innate magical ability—a gyft. The longer they breathed it, the stronger the magic gyft in their body became. I had been breathing the fog my whole life, as had most people in Bridgehaven. Gyfts were one of the sacred blessings from dragons.
Because… the silver fog came from a dragon’s breath.
When there had been thousands of dragons, Bridgehaven had been flooded with silver fog. Everyone had possessed a powerful gyft! Now, we were lucky if our mornings were misty. Gyfts had grown weaker, their power limited.
But it wasn’t just human magic that was lessened by the disappearance of dragons. Silver fog was so powerful, people used it as a fuel source. It powered Bridgehaven’s magi-tech, like golems, as well as vehicles, and all sorts of other interesting inventions.
Well, it used to power those things.
Bridgehaven itself was still a wonder, even in its half-broken state, but half the tech in the city no longer functioned. Ever since the fog had waned, the city wasn’t itself.
The canals ran like veins through the city’s heart, crossed by bridges of iron and stone. Towers sat cold and dark, their crystal engines hissing faintly with the remnants of magi-tech that hadn’t seen proper fuel in years.
Once, the entire city had pulsed with radiant light. There had been floating gondolas, lanterns that never dimmed, and gates that opened automatically whenever someone neared.
Now, most of it flickered. The fog had grown thin, stretched too far by the needs of too many people and the breath of only three dragons.
As we ran across the seventeenth bridge to the central isle, Lex shouted, “Think they’ll let us ride the lift up today?”
“Only if it’s working,” I replied, dodging a vendor hauling a cart of fish through the mist.
“That’s a no, then.”
We darted past a dim, flickering streetlamp, and then up the stairs toward a high bridge. A gust of powerful wind exploded around Lex, and he shot up the steps without ever touching them.
After years and years of breathing the thin silver fog, Lex had gained the gyft to create and control wind. He used it primarily to get around—which was why he always entered on my balcony—and that meant walkways had become mere suggestions to him.
The broken bridge? He could’ve gotten across that wreckage easily, but if there was one word I would use to describe Lex, it would be loyal. He would never leave me behind, no matter how much more difficult the road would be to stay at my side.
Lex landed at the top of the steps and flashed me a grin as I raced up after him. “We’re almost there!”
He dashed across another bridge, and I chased after.
People shouted at us to be careful—some of the bridges were narrow—but we ignored their warnings and continued forward as fast as we could. The closer we got to the Tower, the thicker the fog became.
The bells rang again.
Gong. Gong. Gong.
We were almost out of time!
Despite the thick fog, I ran faster. A few steps forward and I slammed into a man and his cart. Several bottles rattled together, and one rolled off the cart and shattered across my boots. Red wine splashed everywhere, covering my trousers and even reaching the bottom of my shirt.
“Damn,” I said, trying to dance around the cart and continue on my way.
“Look what you’ve done!” The merchant, an older man with a green coat, frowned. “You need to pay for that!”
“Go to House Whitlock. The butler will pay!” I ran off, unwilling to explain any further. Zilvio would handle this without my assistance.
The merchant yelled something at me, but I couldn’t make out the words. Once I caught up with Lex, we ran together to the ninety-ninth bridge—the one that led directly to the Draconic Tower.
Standing at the front of the bridge was one of our fellow knights-in-training.
It was Jaxon Dake, a man built like a wall of muscle and just as expressive. His coat, shirt, and vest were all wrinkled and ripped from far too many “training accidents,” and he had the sort of grin that never reached his eyes.
His brown hair was swept to the side and reminded me of mud.
“Richter?” he asked, lifting a brow. “Is that you? I’m surprised you’re here at all.”
I slowed my run and came to a stop in front of Jaxon. Lex stood by my side, crossing his arms with a sneer.
Jaxon kept his attention on me. “I heard the first bridge collapsed this morning. What a shame. That could’ve made some folk late for their big day.”
His tone dripped with sarcasm. His eyes darted just long enough for me to catch it, the gleam of satisfaction.
Realization and anger hit me both at the same time. “You did that?” I asked, heated but quiet.
It made sense. Jaxon’s gyft was to shatter rocks. He could place his hand on a stone or boulder, and the thing would vibrate faster and faster until it eventually broke away into a hundred pieces. If he wanted, he could smash every bridge in the city with little effort.
Fortunately, there were two architects in Bridgehaven who had gyfts that fixed and mended broken material, so the first bridge could be easily be repaired, but that didn’t lessen Jaxon’s crime. He had tried to make me late!
Jaxon shrugged. “Me? Destroy a part of Bridgehaven? Please. I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.”
With a scoff, Lex stomped around the man. “Get out of our way. No minor setback would stop us from getting to the eggs, ya snake.”
If a look could kill, Jaxon would’ve murdered Lex on the spot. Fortunately, the giant muscle-bound ogre made no move, and spoke no more words. I also walked around him, holding back my tirade.
It was a shame that Jaxon of all people was a knight-in-training. Was he worthy of a dragon? I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t in charge. The rules stated that Knights had to come from noble families, and there were so few left in Bridgehaven that the Knight Captain couldn’t be picky with whom he accepted.
Lex and I crossed the ninety-ninth bridge, and there it was, rising from the heart of the mist.
The Draconic Tower.
Its spires reached into the clouds, carved from one gigantic slab of black-and-white marble, as though a mountain had been chiseled down into a single building. Somewhere within slept the dragons and the eggs that would decide our futures.
The great doors of the Draconic Tower stood open, with two armored automated sentinels flanking the entrance, each holding a spear held at their sides. The silver fog was thicker here, almost tangible. It was a veil that protected the Tower and powered the machine sentinels, giving them life. Only those who had swallowed the blood of dragons, and been given their blessing, could enter the veil.
Lex and I strode through with no problem.
The sentinels bowed their heads slightly as we passed. Inside, the Tower was nearly silent. The entrance hall was vast—larger than any cathedral I had ever seen. Columns rose like trees, and they were carved to look like scales. Between them, braziers burned with ghostly light, the flames white.
If we had more fog, the tower would’ve been illuminated with magi-tech lights, but we just didn’t have the fuel for any of that.
Murals adorned the vaulted ceiling: the six species of prime dragons sweeping through silver storms, rivers of fog streaming from their wings. Then came the depictions of knights and their valiant battles against Bridgehaven’s many enemies. The battle scenes were so detailed, and so vast, it was difficult to tell where one battle began and another ended.
“We’re almost knights,” Lex whispered. “Our history will be up on the walls soon.”
“Soon,” I replied, my voice equally quiet.
I wondered if my parents were watching from the Heavens. I wanted them to be proud.
Lex elbowed me. “And we weren’t late. How lucky are we?”
“Lucky we didn’t get slowed by Jaxon,” I muttered.
“Urg. Don’t remind me. What a gutter rat. I should’ve figured he would mess with you in some way. He hated being second best, ya know? Can’t stand whenever you outshine him.”
“Hmm.”
I didn’t feel the best at the moment.
My clothes were ruined. Not my coat, fortunately. My trousers, boots, and shirt, on the other hand, made me seem like a drunkard, each one of them stained with wine. I hoped none of the Knights would hold that against me.
We opened a set of doors and entered the main chamber. Several others were already gathered here, all beneath the carved statue of the First Knight—the founder of the Silver Fog Order, kneeling with his helm pressed to the earth before a dragon’s skull. A spiral staircase went up and around the statue, leading to the higher levels of the tower.
There were four others here, all in knights-in-training. All potential rivals vying for the best egg.
Lex cringed and then gave me a sideways glance. “Maybe we should’ve shown up early… Almost everyone else did.”
I ignored his anxiousness, trying to straighten my coat and brush the worst of the wine stains from my trousers. It was useless.
Our fellow trainees—Kyrin, Helvil, Tamsin, and Serina—regarded me with frowns.
“Well, well,” Helvil said, his voice smooth as silk. “If it isn’t Bridgehaven’s charity case and his pet stable boy. I was beginning to think you’d decided to skip the ceremony altogether.”
I bit my tongue. Helvil Martin was the son of a merchant lord and loved to remind me that my status as a knight-in-training was only technical since my parents had died during my initial training. I still studied all the texts, though, and passed every test.
Helvil’s hair was inky black, combed back so neatly it might’ve been lacquered into place. Even his boots gleamed. His lips curved into a smile that was far too polished to be kind, and his dark tanned skin looked as though it received lotion twice a day.
Lex straightened himself. “Careful, Helvil. Today isn’t the day to pick fights.”
Helvil’s smile turned into a smirk. “You think you scare me, stable boy? You couldn’t hit me if I were lying here in a coma.” In the blink of an eye, Helvil zipped across the hall and practically appeared next to Lex. Then Helvil playfully slapped Lex on the cheek before zipping away the moment Lex swung a haymaker, dodging the punch.
Helvil’s gyft was an increase to his speed. He was fast, sometimes too fast, and he moved from one place to another in a matter of seconds.
“Get back here!” Lex shouted. He threw another punch and then stumbled, thrown off-balance by the wildness of his swing.
“Calm down,” I whispered.
Lex regained his footing and then smoothed back his hay-colored hair. “I’m calm. I’m always calm.”
Helvil motioned to my clothes. “Are you going to explain yourself, Richter? Let me guess. You needed to find your courage at the bottom of a bottle?”
He laughed. And then there was a laugh behind me. Jaxon walked in, chortling and eyeing both Lex and me as he strutted over to join the others.
My father had always warned that anger was a weapon best used last. No matter what awful remarks Helvil made, I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset. I maintained my composure and even rolled my eyes at his childish antics. It was unbecoming of a Knight, frankly.
“Well, if nothing else, Richter looks quite dashing in his… new color scheme.”
The voice belonged to Serina Arvin, a lithe young woman leaning casually against the wall of the main chamber. She wore her coat loose, even though it wasn’t the proper way for one of noble standing to dress. Her dark curls spilled from beneath her hood, and her smile was all invitation and mischief. Her boots were polished, but her demeanor wasn’t.
Helvil scoffed. “Have all your senses abandoned you? Richter is masquerading as a bum, and you think he looks quite dashing?”
“It’s all a matter of perspective.” Serina stepped closer to me. Her gaze lingered on me a little too long. “Besides, we all know that no matter what he wears, our dear Richter is going to be one of the first to pick an egg. And competency is rather attractive.”
Lex choked back a laugh.
I narrowed my eyes. “Thank you, Serina. I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
She fluttered her eyelashes at me, and I had to turn away. Serina had an interesting gyft—implanting suggestions. When she spoke to someone, if she maintained eye contact, she could slip statements and goals into their mind, and they would be incorporated into someone’s short-term plans.
I doubted her compliments were sincere because they never were. She used flattery to get people to pay attention to her so her magic would be effective. It was a sound tactic—I just didn’t like being on the receiving end of it.
“Maybe you could help someone be second at the egg assignment,” Serina sweetly said.
Ah. There it was—the reason she was flattering me. I frowned at her obvious manipulation. “I doubt the Knights are going to allow that.”
“Enough,” came a booming voice from the stairs.
Every head turned. Descending the spiral walkway was Knight Captain Vincent Casey, the highest-ranking officer in the order.
“Now that you’re all here, we may begin our evaluations.” Sir Casey stopped midway on the steps, his gaze icy. “There are two assessments to determine the order in which you all pick eggs. Our first test will be in the training hall. Follow me.”
Chapter 3
Evaluations
This was it. The time had come for us to earn our ranks.
The training hall was higher up the Draconic Tower. And as we followed Knight Captain Casey up the twisting stairs, the air grew cooler and denser.
He opened a door to a vast room.
The ceiling arched high above, with braziers lining the perimeter, burning with pale fire that cast long, shifting shapes across the floor. Those flames were said to be fed directly by the magic locked within the tower, and unlike most magi-tech in the city, they never dimmed.
The floor was laid with enormous stone tiles, each engraved with the insignia of the Silver Fog Order—dragons curling around a single sword. Deep grooves scarred some of the tiles, remnants of half-controlled magic or blades swung too wildly.
Training weapons hung along the walls: spears, blunt swords, and shields. Above them, banners of past knights hung in U shapes. My parents’ banners were there, too, but I did not bother glancing up.
I would offer them a smile only if I made them proud this day.
Sir Casey came to a stop in the middle of the training hall.
He was a man made of iron and will. His hair, once dark, had silvered at the temples, and a diagonal scar ran over one eye like a slash of white chalk. His armor—full plate etched with the crest of the order—caught the light and practically glittered. The chain at his throat, holding the emblem of a storm dragon, was made of pure steel.
But those weren’t his most distinguishing features.
It was his horns.
Because when a human tied their life to a dragon, a physical manifestation of the dragon formed on the individual—claws, horns, sometimes even wings. Every species of dragon offered a different physical feature.
We called the change to their body a person’s draconic flair.
When someone bonded with a storm dragon, they grew horns that sprouted from their scalp and curved backward, flowing with their hair. Lightning occasionally sparked between the horns, jumping back and forth with zaps. That was their draconic flair.
Sir Casey’s horns were black, like his hair had been, once.
“This hall,” Casey said, regal and dignified, “has tested every knight the order has ever named. I know all of you will rise to its challenge, and today, you stand on the threshold of your future.”
Lex smoothed his clothing beside me.
But then Sir Casey’s eyes narrowed and he cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, before we begin the tests, I have dreadful news.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. My body reacted before my mind even registered all the words. My stomach twisted into a knot and my chest tightened. Unable to breathe, I waited. What could possibly be so terrible that Sir Casey would interrupt this moment?
“One of the eggs withered,” Sir Casey stated. “There are no longer seven. Only six.”
A couple of gasps echoed throughout the training hall. Jaxon stomped forward.
“Was it one of the misshapen eggs?” he asked.
Sir Casey shook his head, his expression grim. “Unfortunately, no. It was one of the eggs we thought healthy.” After a deep breath, he continued, “It just happened overnight. The egg withered and collapsed in on itself. We fear it might… be due to the low levels of silver fog. The dragons are weaker than before.”
The terrible feelings in my chest and stomach only worsened. What if the damage to Bridgehaven was too much, and we could never recover? What if this was the last clutch of eggs that would ever hatch?
I shook the terrible thoughts away. I had to stay strong.
Then Sir Casey motioned with a hand. “Richter. Jaxon. Both of you, step forward. The first evaluation will involve sparring. The one who disarms the other first, wins.”
“I have to fight the left-handed one?” Jaxon barked. “I can’t show off my skills when I have to deal with that the entire time.”
“Your enemies could be left-handed,” Sir Casey dryly stated. “You need to be able to demonstrate your skills no matter your opponent. Now come. The two of you into the sparring circle.”
Kyrin cleared his throat. He clutched a leather-bound notebook tight to his chest as everyone turned their eyes on him. He was a man easily overlooked, practically disappearing in even the smallest of crowds. It was probably because he was so quiet.
Kyrin’s round spectacles sat slightly crooked on his nose, fogged at the corners from his odd breathing. His coat, vest, and slacks were all perfectly neat, but they were dark gray and black, easily blending with the nearby shadows.
Kyrin nervously glanced at the stairs. “Shouldn’t we wait for the last two knights? So that you can all evaluate us?”
“Both Sir Jook and Sir Reeve are busy tending to the eggs.” Casey held both his hands behind his back. “Once I determine the order for choosing, we shall meet them in the hatchery.”
“So… they aren’t going to evaluate us?” Kyrin frowned. “I, uh—”
“Is there a problem, trainee?”
Kyrin shook his head. “No. No problem.”
Sir Jook was Kyrin’s uncle, and I suspected Kyrin was hoping their familiar bond would boost his evaluation. That was my working theory, at least.
Lex gently pushed me forward. “You’re up,” he whispered.
After a deep breath, I walked over to the wall, grabbed a sword with my left hand, and then headed for the center of the training hall. These weapons were blunted, with no sharp edges whatsoever, but they still left bruises that hurt for days afterward if you got hit. Jaxon also grabbed a blade, but he neither glanced in my direction nor said anything about our match.
Sir Casey stepped away and then gestured to the lines on the floor. We had sparred so many times in this training hall that we all knew the drill. The lines on the floor were not only decorative, but the circle they created was our ring. If we stepped outside it, we would automatically fail.
Helvil offered a soft clap. “I’m rooting for you, Jaxon. Remember what we practiced. Richter is such a bore, and he’s utterly predictable.”
I shot him a glare. Helvil just chortled. Afterward, I silently cursed at myself. I had let him get to me. I specifically didn’t want that to happen.
Because of course he would root for Jaxon. Technically, Jaxon’s house, House Dake, had helped build a good portion of Bridgehaven, and they purchased most of the goods from Helvil’s family. From what I understood, Helvil and Jaxon had been friends since early childhood.
Sir Casey raised his hand. “Remember, this is an evaluation. I’ll be taking careful notes of your tactics and execution. Even if you lose the match, your skill could earn you more standing than you realize.”
Jaxon wasn’t allowed to break rocks in the Tower, which was probably why we were paired together. I didn’t have any flashy magic, and he wasn’t allowed to use his.
Sir Casey allowed his hand to fall. “Begin!”
Jaxon lunged before the word had even finished.
His training blade came down in a brutal arc meant to overwhelm. Jaxon always fought like that—power first, thought second. It was effective on most opponents. Just not on me.
I shifted my weight to my right foot and tightened my grip on the hilt of my weapon. The familiar tingle rippled through my muscles. Every stance I had studied, every correction Zilvio had offered, every spar I had ever watched in the Tower… They lined up inside my mind to form a perfect picture.
With a twist of my wrist, I slid my blade along Jaxon’s, redirecting the force. His boots scraped as he stumbled forward, unbalanced.
“Tsk,” he said with a growl as he whirled on his heel to face me.
I swung my weapon, angled low. Jaxon blocked, metal clashing with a jolt that trembled up my arm. He retaliated with a heavy swing that would’ve cracked ribs if it hit. I dropped under it, pivoting left—my dominant side—and I snapped my blade up to strike the underside of his wrist.
I held back, though, and then moved away. If I had hit him with my full force, I could’ve shattered the bones in his hand, and I didn’t want to do that. It seemed extreme, for a practice bout.
Sir Casey’s intense stare followed me, and that was what I wanted. He said this was a show of skill, after all. I’d show him skill.
Jaxon froze for half a second, shocked that I had gotten close enough to strike him without him being able to defend.
“That was luck,” he said as he jumped away from me.
“Will you say that when it happens a second time?” I asked.
“There won’t be a second time!”
Jaxon flew at me.
Fury made him faster. He stormed at me in a flurry of slashes that would have landed on lesser trainees. When he went for my throat, I stepped to the left. When he slashed at my ribs, I leapt backward, and when he came for my left shoulder, I rolled to the right, narrowly dodging out of the way.
It was like I could see every move before he made it.
No, that wasn’t quite right. I remembered it all. He had made this kind of reckless attack in the past, and since I had seen it, I had logged it away.
His left foot always followed before he dodged. His right shoulder dipped when he committed himself to a swing. His third strike was always too wide. I knew all his tells.
You see, everyone else got flashy magic from the silver fog, but not me.
My gyft was a type of eidetic memory—the ability to remember almost anything perfectly. It made learning effortless. I would read a book, and remember every detail. If I saw someone sparring, I could recall all their moves. Even how people tended to react in certain situations. I just… remembered everything.
Perhaps I couldn’t control the wind or break rocks, but I could win this little duel without breaking a sweat.
The fun part about my gyft was that no one knew, because I had never told them. Most people thought my gyft hadn’t manifested yet because I hadn’t breathed enough silver fog. During tests, I intentionally got a few questions wrong every time, so that no one knew I could recall the entire textbook, if needed. I didn’t want them to know, because I liked having a secret advantage no one could predict.
Even in past sparring matches, I hadn’t always fought perfectly against my opponent because I had wanted to save my ability for this day. No one would beat me, not when my dragon egg was on the line. I needed every advantage I could get.
I stepped inside a wide swing from Jaxon and then hooked my blade on his. With a powerful motion, I wrenched his weapon downward. A twist, a pull, and suddenly Jaxon’s sword skittered across the floor.
The ring of steel echoed throughout the training hall as it spun. Gasps broke out behind us, and I had to hold back a smile.
Jaxon stared at his empty hand, face growing red. “You—That—How—?”
Sir Casey’s voice rang out. “Disarmed! Congratulations, Richter. That was an impressive display.”
But Jaxon wasn’t done, apparently. Fury must’ve overtaken his judgment because he lunged at me barehanded.
I quickly stepped away, angled my sword harmlessly, and caught him by the ankle, and then momentum did the rest. Jaxon slammed onto the tiles, breath punched from his lungs as he hit chest-first.
Silence followed.
I lowered my blade. “You shouldn’t attack when you’re unarmed,” I whispered. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”
Jaxon pushed to his elbows, one eye practically twitching. “When did you have time to get so good with a blade, huh? You’ve never been this good in our sparring matches before!”
“Must be my lucky left hand,” I said, half a taunt and half playful.
Jaxon glared up at me.
I was the only knight-in-training who was left-handed. Everyone hated it for some reason. My peers didn’t like sparring with me, and it confused a lot of my instructors, but it felt the most natural to me, and I liked having the slight advantage. Confusion was sometimes a valuable ally.
Jaxon pushed himself to his feet like he was ready to charge at me again, but Sir Casey slammed his armored boot onto the floor, the smack ringing out and causing everyone to glance over.
“That is enough,” Casey said. “The match is over, Jaxon Dake.”
Jaxon stood straight, his jaw clenched so tightly it trembled.
Casey turned his attention to me. His expression was unreadable, but there was something like pride in his eyes. Would my father and mother also have been proud of my skill? I hoped so.
“Richter Whitlock,” Sir Casey said, “your proficiency with the sword is evident. And using the unorthodox hand…” His gaze flicked to my left grip. “Most duelists are unprepared for it.”
I bowed my head. “Thank you, sir.”
Behind me, Lex softly clapped. Serina’s victory whistle echoed in the hall.
Sir Casey nodded once. “You may exit the ring.”
As I stepped back beside Lex, he elbowed me. “You could’ve warned me you planned on becoming a one-man storm.”
“I held back at all our previous sparring matches,” I said under my breath. “So that he wouldn’t know what was coming.”
“Smart. Really smart. I should’ve done that.”
In the center of the sparring ring, Jaxon retrieved his fallen sword in silence.
Sir Casey turned to the rest of us. “Quickly, now. Let’s move on to the next match. Lex and Tamsin.”
Chapter 4
Opposites and Similarities
Tamsin strode into the center of the sparring ring, smiling. She held a practice short sword at her side, her leather armor firmly strapped to her lithe body. Her cinnamon-blonde hair was tied into a bun on the back of her head, no strands left fluttering around.
While she was shorter and thinner than most of the other knights-in-training, her gyft made her a force to be reckoned with. Like Lex, she had control of an elemental power, but unlike Lex, hers operated on a more personal level.
I really did wonder if Sir Casey was pairing us up based on our gyfts… Jaxon couldn’t use his gyft, and Sir Casey thought I didn’t have one, so our sparring match had been relatively equal. Now the two people with elemental gyfts were facing off against one another? It had to be by design. It had to be.
“Are you ready, stable boy?” Tamsin called out.
Lex grabbed a blade and then leapt into the circle with a gust of wind propelling him forward. I shielded my eyes from the dust he kicked up with his leap.
“I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life.” Lex pointed his training sword at her. “I’m not picking an egg last.”
“Neither am I.”
Sir Casey lifted his hand and then lowered it. “Begin!”
The instant his statement ended, Tamsin shimmered. Her body—and clothing and weapon—transformed into clear water. Her heart, though, became a tiny goldfish. The liquid swirled around her new fishy self, becoming a human-sized blob.
Lex rolled his eyes. In her fish-and-liquid form, Tamsin was extremely difficult to defeat. First off, how was he supposed to disarm her if her weapon was liquid? Secondly, none of her water-body really mattered. Slashing it, punching it, kicking it—nothing worked. It was just water. We had learned, from months of testing, that her fish-body was all that really mattered. Unless we struck the actual fish itself—which was as large as two fingers pressed together—nothing negative would happen to her whatsoever.
So, Lex’s only option to win the match was to somehow smack the fish and get her to transform back into her normal form so he could remove her weapon. Or, perhaps, knock her out of the ring.
Tamsin slid forward, in full control of her liquid outer body.
Lex twirled his sword once, testing the air, then summoned a sharp gust with a flick of his wrist. The wind whipped across the sparring ring, slicing toward Tamsin at frightening speed.
But she anticipated it. Her watery body rippled and split, parting around the blast like a stream dodging a rock. The gust passed harmlessly through the gap, scattering only a few droplets, which evaporated in the Tower’s dry air. Tamsin reformed a second later, closer to Lex now, her liquid undulating. The goldfish swam at the spearhead of her water form.
“You think you can dodge me forever?” Lex asked, backing up a step. “Let’s see how you handle a real breeze, huh?” He tucked his sword into his belt.
Then he planted his feet and thrust both hands forward. A vortex of wind erupted from his palms, spiraling into a miniature cyclone, which roared across the ring. It caught Tamsin’s liquid, distorting her into elongated tendrils that flailed against the force.
For a moment, she held—coalescing tighter, fighting the dispersion, the fish darting around, waggling its fins—but Lex poured more power into it, his blond hair whipping wildly as the gale intensified.
Everyone in the room backed away from the sparring circle, even Sir Casey. My eyes teared up from watching the fight, the wind almost blinding.
Then I noticed something… Tamsin’s water form was fraying. Droplets sprayed outward, misting the air. She surged forward in a desperate lunge. One of the scary things about her magic was her ability to engulf someone. Tamsin probably thought she could win by surging up Lex’s body and effectively drowning him where he stood.
But the wind battered her back. A chunk of her liquid tore free and splashed against the floor, pooling uselessly outside the ring.
Sir Casey stepped forward, his hand half raised. Was she technically outside the ring? Maybe? His horns crackled with faint sparks, mirroring the tension in the room. He didn’t stop the match, though. I supposed Tamsin’s fish body was actually her.
Ultimately, he didn’t say anything, and his hand dropped to his side.
Lex laughed, though it came out strained. “You’re leaking, Tilapia-Tamsin! Better pull yourself together!”
Everyone called her Tilapia-Tamsin because tilapia was the most common fish found around Bridgehaven. It was silly, but the nickname refused to die.
Tamsin reformed partially—her upper body solidifying just enough to swing her watery sword in a wide arc. The blade, now a fluid extension of her arm, lashed out like a whip. Lex dodged with a burst of wind-assisted speed, but the tip of the whip grazed his shoulder, soaking through his shirt and then becoming a crust of ice on his skin.
Lex grimaced as he landed.
“Got you,” Tamsin said, her voice babbling like a brook.
She didn’t look great, though. Her form was thinner now. Her water was spread out around the sparring arena, and her little fish body didn’t have much room to dart around.
Lex circled her, blasting more wind in her direction, but this time in small bursts. Tamsin slid around, dodging his magic while creeping closer.
“I keep telling you… Wind beats water.” Lex chuckled. “Soon you’ll be nothing more than vapor.”
“You wish,” Tamsin replied.
When Tamsin got closer, Lex dashed to the side and ran around her. He unleashed another gale, this time circling her, creating a mini whirlwind. Tamsin’s body churned as she struggled to maintain cohesion.
She tried to flow low to the ground, slipping under the winds, but Lex adjusted, directing the currents downward.
With a final, desperate push, Tamsin rushed toward Lex, and this time, she fully committed. Her liquid form enveloped Lex’s sword arm and slid up to his shoulder. If she got to his head, he would be in more trouble than he could handle.
“You can win, Tamsin!” Serina shouted.
“Focus, Lex!” I called out.
Despite all the noise and his desperate situation, Lex let out a point-blank blast of wind, targeting her fish body.
The explosion of air scattered her liquid form completely. Water sprayed in every direction, splattering against the walls and floor like a sudden downpour. As a fish, she flopped around on the stone, outside the ring, her gills flaring. For a tense second, the sparring circle was empty save for Lex, panting and halfway soaked.
“It seems we have a winner,” Sir Casey said with a nod of his head.
The puddles quivered and drew together outside the circle, surrounding the flailing fish. Tamsin reformed on her knees, gasping, her skin pale and her movements sluggish.
“Of course Tilapia-Tamsin would lose,” Helvil muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, what an embarrassing magical power,” Jaxon replied in the same tone. “Who would want to transform into a fish? Heh.”
Sir Casey walked over and offered his hand to Tamsin. Her face grew red, but she took the help and stood.
“Well fought, both of you.” Sir Casey smiled. “Valex Thorn, your quick thinking under pressure is to be applauded. Tamsin Hale, your adaptability is commendable, but overreliance on your form exposed its limits.”
“Yes, Knight Captain,” Tamsin said, bowing her head.
“If you had transformed back into a human during the winds, you could’ve avoided being blown apart.”
Tamsin nodded once, her gaze falling to the floor.
But I knew why she hadn’t changed. If she had, her sword could’ve been knocked from her hand. She had been betting on her ability to get past Lex’s wind, and it was a bet she had ultimately lost. Would she have to pick a twisted egg because of it? Or maybe even not get an egg at all? Only time would tell at this point.
Frowning, Tamsin offered Lex a small bow as well. He returned the gesture, and for whatever reason, Tamsin loosened up and half smiled.
“You’ve grown a lot,” she said, almost a whisper.
Lex shrugged. “To be honest, I thought you had me.” He smiled. “And I don’t know if I have the courage to tell people I lost to a goldfish.”
“Ha! Next time, you just might have to.”
“We’ll see. If you thought I grew a lot before, I’ll be even more formidable with a dragon.”
The two walked back to the group together. I smiled to myself. Would they remain this way as full-blown knights? I wondered.
Sir Casey scanned the remaining trainees. “Helvil and Kyrin, please step forward.”
Helvil strode into the ring with his usual swagger, his inky black hair still somehow perfectly in place despite the earlier winds from Lex’s match. He drew a training sword with a flourish, spinning it once for show. “This will be over quickly.”
“That’s what he says to his girl every night,” Lex whispered, elbowing me as he did so.
I pretended not to hear him. Sir Casey’s eyes and ears missed little, and mocking Helvil—even under my breath, and even if he deserved it because he did the same thing to all the other trainees—wasn’t worth getting docked on my assessment.
Kyrin adjusted his spectacles and then placed his notebook on the floor before heading to a weapon rack and picking up a bo staff.
After a few practice swings, Kyrin walked into the sparring circle with hesitant steps. “I’m ready.” His voice barely carried.
Sir Casey raised his hand, the electricity between his horns crackling. “Begin!”
Before he dropped his hand, Helvil blurred into motion. His magical speed turned him into a streak of color. He zipped across the ring, aiming a swift strike at Kyrin’s side—fast enough that most eyes could barely track him.
A flash of red lit up around Kyrin’s neck. He managed to step to the side just as Helvil dashed by. With a tilt of his bo staff, Kyrin caught Helvil’s ankle. That one move almost ended the whole fight. Helvil stumbled forward to the edge of the sparring ring, but he managed to catch himself before he went out.
For a split second, surprise cracked Helvil’s polished façade.
“Tsk!” He whirled around. “I hope the insects take you. Your magic should be illegal for matches like this.”
Kyrin touched the collar of his shirt. A red crystal, still glowing, seemed to brighten.
Out of everyone’s gyfts, Kyrin’s was the most unique. He could trap people’s souls in crystals and then call upon the trapped individual’s skills or knowledge whenever he wanted, so long as the crystal was near him.
He only had one crystal, though. The soul within belonged to his father, once a Knight of the Silver Fog.
Kyrin hadn’t treacherously betrayed his father or anything. On his deathbed, Kyrin’s father had asked his son to take his soul, so he could continue to fight alongside Kyrin.
After acquiring his father’s abilities, Kyrin hadn’t yet created another crystal. He didn’t want to take someone’s soul without their express permission, even though he could be the most powerful knight anyone had ever seen if he snatched up a few more highly talented individuals.
“I think you’re just jealous of my magic,” Kyrin said in half a whisper.
Helvil snorted back a laugh. “Jealous? Of a coward who hides behind his dead father?” He blurred again, this time feinting left before whipping around to Kyrin’s right flank.
Kyrin didn’t flinch. The red crystal at his throat continued to glow, and he pivoted with surprising precision, the bo staff sweeping in a wide, low arc.
To my surprise, Helvil leapt over it and then roll-tumbled to his feet afterward. Never missing a beat, he zipped around behind Kyrin and slammed the flat of his blade into the smaller man’s shoulder.
Instead of panicking, Kyrin planted his bo staff and used the momentum to spin around it, whirling in an attempt to kick Helvil before he moved again. It was a good strategy, but Helvil was just too fast. The man laughed as he sped away. Kyrin’s kick hit empty air.
Serina chuckled. “Some things can’t be overcome with skill alone.”
“He should join me on my morning runs,” Lex whispered. “I bet Kyrin would get a lot faster, then.”
Helvil stopped and rubbed his side, his perfect hair now tousled and damp with sweat. “Standing in one spot to fight me is hardly a tactic.”
Before Kyrin had time to reply to the taunt, Helvil dashed for him, faster this time. In a tornado of strikes, Helvil struck from three directions in the space of two heartbeats. Kyrin blocked the first two with tight, economical movements—his father’s muscle memory guiding the staff like an extension of his own arms—but the third strike slipped through. Helvil’s training sword cracked against Kyrin’s forearm.
With a shout, Kyrin retreated a step, the crystal pulsing.
I understood then why Sir Casey had paired them together. Helvil was all about quick and overwhelming force. Kyrin was slow. He took an observant and defensive posture. They were exact opposites when it came to their gyfts.
In a blur almost too quick to follow, Helvil dashed low, then high, then low again, a zigzag that left afterimages in the pale firelight. Kyrin turned, trying to track him, his crystal growing brighter. Kyrin caught one strike, deflected another, but the third and fourth came too close together.
Helvil’s blade once again slipped past the staff’s guard and struck the crystal itself with surgical precision. A sharp crack echoed through the hall. The red glow stuttered.
Kyrin gasped, his eyes widening.
In that single moment of hesitation, Helvil ran behind Kyrin, hooked an arm around his neck, and used his momentum to hurl Kyrin to the side. Kyrin stumbled across the ring, staff clattering from his hands as he crossed the boundary line.
The fight was over. Not only had Kyrin dropped his weapon, but he was half out of the circle now.
“Yes,” Jaxon yelled, pumping his fist.
“That’s enough,” Sir Casey shouted.
Silence fell after the statement.
Was Kyrin’s crystal undamaged? Or had Helvil done the unthinkable?
Kyrin swayed on his feet for a moment, breathing hard, one hand pressed to the now-dim crystal at his throat. His spectacles sat crooked on his nose. After a few moments, his fingers slid over the crystal’s surface, and it flared to life once more.
“Is everything fine?” Sir Casey asked.
“Y-Yes.” Kyrin turned to face us, a slight smile on his face. “Everything is fine.”
Tamsin, Lex, and I all relaxed. What would’ve happened if the crystal shattered? Kyrin would’ve lost the connection with his father forever.
Helvil straightened, chest heaving, but his smirk returned.
Flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve, he said, “I told you this would be over quickly.”
Sir Casey stepped forward, his storm-dragon horns crackling. “Helvil Martin, your speed is formidable, but reckless aggression nearly cost your fellow knight-in-training something precious. I admire your efforts to win, but always keep your wits about you, especially in the heat of combat.”
“Yes, Knight Captain,” Helvil replied with a bow of his head.
Sir Casey turned to Kyrin, offering a nod of respect. “Kyrin Vey, your tactical use of borrowed skill was impressive. You fought with your mind as much as your body.”
“Thank you, Knight Captain.” Kyrin grabbed his notebook and rejoined us at the edge of the sparring ring, never lifting his gaze.
“The last match will be between Serina Arvin and…” Sir Casey panned his eyes over us until his gaze landed squarely on me. “Richter.”
“Me?” I awkwardly pointed to myself. “But I’ve already gone, Knight Captain.”
“You know the old teaching. Every misfortune, an opportunity.” Sir Casey motioned me back to the circle. “You’ve rested the longest, and we have an odd number of knights-in-training. Unless you’re telling me you can’t handle it?”
With my breath held, I weighed my options. Would I refuse Sir Casey during our examination? Of course not. That would be foolish. If I wanted the first pick of eggs, I needed to prove I was worthy of the best—by demonstrating I was the best.
I stepped forward. “I’m ready.”
Sir Casey grinned. “Excellent. Step into the ring.”
Chapter 5
Hidden Assessment
Every misfortune, an opportunity.
I gritted my teeth as I strode into the sparring ring. Misfortune didn’t feel like an opportunity most of the time, but I couldn’t dwell on that now. I was a knight, and a knight did their duty without complaint.
Serina pushed off the wall with lazy grace, and her dark curls swayed beneath her hood as she walked into the ring. The loose coat she wore shifted with each step, revealing a dagger strapped to her thigh. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to have that. It wasn’t a training weapon, after all. Despite that, she kept it with her at all times.
Fortunately, she also had a training sword.
Serina saluted me with her blunted weapon still in hand. “Twice in one morning, Richter? You’re clearly someone’s favorite.”
I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let her bait me. “You heard the Knight Captain’s explanation.”
“Hmm. But we all know the real reason you were picked.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t go easy on me, now. I need to look good for the evaluations.”
Serina’s gyft required she make eye contact with me, so I avoided her gaze. If I slipped up, she would trick me into walking out of the ring or some such nonsense. I couldn’t allow her mind magic to seep into my thoughts.
Sir Casey raised his hand. “Begin.”
Serina moved forward with confident steps. I matched her gait, keeping the circle’s edge in my peripheral vision. The pale braziers cast shifting shadows across her face, highlighting the sharp curve of her cheekbones.
Still, I refused to meet her gaze.
Serina lunged and swung with her blade, her hood flying off her head as she moved, her curly hair fluttering. I lifted my weapon to block. Our blades hit with a crisp clang. We broke apart. Then she stepped forward again, her wrist braced for a thrust.
“Oh no,” she said with a slight gasp.
Worried, I glanced up, meeting her gaze like an idiot. For half a heartbeat, our eyes locked. A strange warmth bloomed behind my thoughts.
What a terribly foolish mistake! I never should’ve fallen for her trickery!
“You’re tense,” a voice whispered within my skull. “Relax. Let your muscles go loose for just a moment.”
The suggestion slithered in so smoothly I had to obey. My sword arm dipped a fraction.
“Serina got him with her magic,” Kyrin muttered, worry in his tone.
Lex shook his head. “It’s not over yet!”
I wrenched my eyes away from Serina, focusing instead on the line of her shoulder, the way her weight shifted onto her forward foot.
Serina came for me. When she swung her training sword, I didn’t have enough time to parry, and my grip was weak, thanks to her magic. She whacked me on the ribs, and I groaned as I stumbled to the side. She swung again, but I managed to lift my blade and deflect her attack.
Fortunately, I had watched Serina spar before. I remembered every feint, every time she liked to follow a high strike with a low sweep. When she went in for a third attack, I already had my blade ready. I knocked her backward, forcing her to change her stance from offense to defense.
Then my left-handed strike came from an unexpected angle. Serina twisted aside, but not fast enough. The flat of my blade clipped her coat, forcing her to spin away. She laughed, breathless as her gaze fell upon the edge of the sparring circle.
She was inches from stumbling out.
“You’re skilled, I’ll give you that,” Serina said. “But you really should relax. I bet you didn’t even get much sleep last night.”
Fatigue settled over me like a heavy blanket. Her magic twisted through my muscles, forcing me to bleed tension and become lax. If I hadn’t made eye contact with her earlier, this all could’ve been avoided…
But I couldn’t dwell on that. My only avenue for victory would be ending this match before my body failed me.
I rushed forward.
With a perfect arc, I swung my blade up, over, and down. Serina parried, but stumbled back another step, her footwork hurried. When she tried to lock eyes once more, I kept my gaze fixed on the center of her shoulder, reading her intent through movement alone.
Then Serina grabbed my sword arm with her free hand. With a sharp twist of my wrist, I wrenched my arm free. In the same motion, I hooked my left foot behind her ankle and pushed. Serina’s balance broke. She fell backward. Bam! She landed on her butt just outside the sparring ring.
“Oh, that’s right!” Lex called out, clapping. “Richter is unstoppable!”
Jaxon scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Feh. A servant would say that about his lord.”
With his ears burning red, Lex shot Jaxon an icy glare.
“Congratulations, Richter,” Kyrin shouted.
Tamsin also joined in the clapping. “You did amazingly, Richter. Bravo.”
The only person who didn’t say something one way or another was Helvil. He kept his arms crossed, his expression aggressively neutral. I suspected he wasn’t happy with my victory, but I didn’t know that for certain.
As Serina got to her feet, Sir Casey walked into the sparring ring. “Well fought, both of you. Serina Arvin, your gyft is subtle and dangerous, and you’ve gotten quite clever with how to catch someone’s eye. Richter Whitlock…” He paused, studying me. “Your discipline is remarkable. You fought strategically and kept your cool even when it seemed you might be in trouble. That is the mark of a true knight.”
I bowed my head, chest tight with relief and lingering adrenaline. “Thank you, Knight Captain.”
Serina brushed off her coat as she exited the ring. She didn’t offer me a bow. She made no comments. She just went back to leaning on the wall and ignored me.
A roar rumbled through the Tower and echoed down the spiral stairwell. It seemed Sir Casey’s storm dragon, Heidren, was finally here.
Every trainee in the training hall turned toward the spiral staircase that Heidren descended.
The storm dragon filled the wide stairwell without crowding it, his massive frame moving with a predator’s grace. His stormy-gray scales caught the pale firelight and practically gleamed. Along his spine and shoulders, jagged ridges jutted upward like broken obsidian, crackling with faint threads of electricity that danced and vanished. His leathery wings were folded tight against his body, the membranes edged in a faint white that resembled the color of fluffy clouds.
Heidren turned his electric-violet eyes onto us as he stepped off the last of the stairway.
Two thick, black horns curved backward from the crown of his head, larger and more wicked than Sir Casey’s, sweeping past a mane of silver-white hair. Between those horns, tiny bolts of lightning snapped and hissed.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” Heidren said, his voice regal and deep.
Silver fog trailed from his nostrils with every breath, thicker and more luminous than any we had seen in the city streets.
He was the last of the storm dragons. The very last of his kind. And even in the confines of the Tower, he was a creature born to rule the skies.
Heidren lowered his great head in a gesture of respect toward Sir Casey, then walked across the chamber with surprising quiet, claws clicking only faintly against the stone. The dragon came to a halt at his bonded knight’s side, towering over the man yet somehow making the space between them feel natural, almost protective.
Sir Casey rested a gloved hand on the storm dragon’s lowered snout. A small spark jumped from Heidren’s horns to the captain’s own.
“Trainees,” Sir Casey said, his voice carrying through the hall, “before we proceed to the hatchery, I should inform you that these sparring matches weren’t the first of your evaluations.”
He turned his attention to us with a frown.
“Heidren has been watching you since before dawn. From the rooftops, from within the fog itself, and even from the high ledges of the Tower. He observed how you moved through the city and how you conducted yourself on this monumental day.”
A ripple of unease passed through the group. Lex shifted beside me. Jaxon’s jaw tightened. Even Serina straightened a fraction.
The Knight Captain’s gaze settled on me for the briefest moment.
“A knight does not simply fight well. A knight must carry himself with honor even when he believes no one is watching.”
A low rumble sounded in Heidren’s chest—not quite a growl, but like faraway thunder rolling across the sea. It was a sound only storm dragons made.
Sir Casey gave the dragon’s snout a final pat. “Heidren, please tell us your findings.”
The storm dragon lifted his great head, violet eyes locked on the group. Silver fog drifted from his nostrils. Then he shifted all his attention onto Jaxon.
“You shattered the first bridge this morning with your magic, forcing two of your fellows to take a longer route and nearly costing them their timely arrival.”
Jaxon grew red and silent. He didn’t deny it, though.
Then Heidren’s eyes shifted to me. “You collided with a merchant’s cart in your haste and shattered a bottle of wine. You didn’t stop to help him. The stains upon your clothing are the evidence of that moment.”
Heat crept up the back of my neck.
“And Serina,” Heidren continued, his tone unchanged. He turned his massive dragon gaze to her. “While this didn’t happen today, a report was made to the Tower about how you used your gyft of suggestion on a baker to obtain a free breakfast. A small deception, perhaps, but one made with full awareness of your power.”
Serina’s lazy posture stiffened. She crossed her arms tighter, dark curls falling across one eye. Just like me and Jaxon, she offered no denial.
A low murmur passed through the trainees. Lex shot me a quick, sympathetic glance. Kyrin adjusted his spectacles nervously.
Jaxon finally snorted. “So what? It’s just a bridge. There are two architects in Bridgehaven who can fix it as easily as I broke it. Their gyfts of repair are stronger than my ability to break things. What’s the big deal? The city’s full of crumbling stone anyway.”
Sir Casey’s frown deepened. The faint sparks between his horns seemed to crackle louder.
“The big deal, trainee,” the Knight Captain said, “is that you deliberately sabotaged a public thoroughfare for personal gain. You endangered the safety of citizens and your fellow knights-in-training. A knight does not destroy what he is sworn to protect—especially not out of petty rivalry.”
Jaxon lifted his chin, his eyes narrowed in a glare. “I didn’t endanger anyone. The water’s not that deep, and everyone knows the lower bridges are safer anyway. Besides, the eggs are what matter today. Not some old stones.”
“Those old stones are Bridgehaven,” Sir Casey replied, stepping closer to the young man. Heidren loomed over them both, the fog of his breath pouring out from between his fangs.
Sir Casey clenched his hands into fists. “The bridges are the veins that carry our people from island to island. When you break them for your own advantage, you break trust. And trust, Jaxon, is one of the foundations of this order.”
The two stared at each other—Jaxon defiant and red-faced, Sir Casey unyielding. For a moment, the only sound was the soft hiss of electricity dancing between the dragon’s horns.
“I’ve made my decision about the order you all shall pick your eggs,” Sir Casey finally said.
Jaxon exhaled, but he didn’t offer any words.
I held my breath. The winners of the sparring matches were Lex, Helvil, and me. Me twice, technically. Despite that, I had knocked a bottle of wine out of a merchant’s cart and continued running without handling the matter. In my defense, I had told him where to go in order to get his compensation, but a righteous knight would’ve stayed behind to make sure the man was made whole.
I had made a thoughtless mistake.
“Jaxon Dake,” the Knight Captain said, finality in his tone. “You will not choose an egg this day. Your complete lack of remorse and selfish attitude is unbefitting a knight.”
Jaxon’s face twisted, the color rising from his neck to his ears. For a moment, he stood frozen. Then he stepped forward.
“You can’t do that,” he growled. “I earned my place here. My family helped build half this city. I’ve trained just as hard as any of them—harder than most. One mistake and you’re stripping me of everything?”
Sir Casey did not raise his voice. He simply met Jaxon’s glare with the same unyielding calm he always had.
“Your training is not in question, nor is your bloodline. What is in question is your character. You seem to think these eggs are rewards. They’re not. They’re responsibilities. Duty given flesh. And you’re not ready for the duty.”
Jaxon’s jaw worked, teeth grinding. “You’re making a mistake. Without me—”
“Without you,” Sir Casey cut in, “the order will still stand. But I cannot allow someone with your attitude to have a dragon. It goes against everything I stand for.”
Jaxon glanced from Sir Casey to Heidren, then to the rest of us. His gaze lingered on me the longest, burning with raw resentment. I had bested him in the first sparring match, after all.
The silence stretched.
Finally, Jaxon’s shoulders shook with barely contained fury. “And what about Richter and Serina, huh? Are they going to get punished as well?”
“What happens to them is no longer your concern.”
“They get to stay, don’t they? Even though Serina stole something and Richter wrecked a merchant’s wares? Both those are far worse than what I did! The bridge can be repaired.”
Serina moved closer, her head held high. “For the record, I’ve been friends with the baker for years. I’ll make sure she’s paid, and I’ll offer a formal apology.” Serina bowed her head. “I deeply regret my actions. I forgot myself.”
“I understand,” Sir Casey said with an exhale. “And for that, you will be the last trainee to pick an egg.”
Serina flinched before she stood straight. “Yes, Knight Captain.”
With a scoff, Jaxon motioned to her. “That’s it? She’s a thief, and a simple apology works? Bridgehaven needs strong knights, not just the ones who smile and bow the deepest!” When he turned to me, it was almost like he was asking for help. “You agree with this, Richter? You think this is unfair, don’t you?”
Why was he asking me? Did he think we were in this together, because we were both in trouble?
“I agree with the Knight Captain,” I said, and I meant it. I wasn’t trying to gain Sir Casey’s favor—I honestly thought the destruction of the bridge was unbecoming of a knight.
Jaxon gritted his teeth, his hands curled into fists and shaking. Then he turned to Helvil. “Don’t you think this is outrageous? Tell the Knight Captain!”
But to my surprise, Helvil tensed. He stared at Jaxon for a long moment, his expression neutral, but verging on unease. Finally, he said, “The nobility must embody the exemplary. Knights even more so.”
“So you agree with this?” Jaxon spat.
“I…”
But Helvil never finished. His gaze fell to the floor, and I almost felt sorry for the man. His best friend was being thrown from the Knights of the Silver Fog, and he obviously agreed it should happen, but didn’t want any part of it.
I respected Helvil for not lying, and for taking his duties as a Knight and noble seriously, even if I didn’t like the man much.
“Thank you for your input, Helvil,” Sir Casey said. “And you, Richter.”
“You play favorites,” Jaxon shouted. He pointed at the Knight Captain. “You knew you’d get rid of one of us today because an egg broke, and you had already made up your mind that it was me, right? That’s the only reason you’re just slapping Richter and Serina on the wrist. Admit it.”
“You’re dismissed, Jaxon,” Sir Casey said, a hint of disgust in his voice.
“Fine. But you’ll regret this. All of you will.”
He turned on his heel, boots slamming against the marble as he stormed out of the training hall. The heavy doors groaned open and then boomed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the vast chamber long after he had gone.
If you enjoyed these chapters, please consider pre-ordering the book!
The Last Rift Dragon releases July 20th (with audiobook by Luke Daniels!)
Until then, have fun, peeps!
Shami