With his golden eyes boring into mine, I felt helpless to refuse. I don’t know what it was about that inhuman gaze that loosened my tongue, but I found myself admitting everything.
“He was cheating off me during the entrance exam,” I said. “I noticed it around the middle of the test and started hiding my paper so he couldn’t see. He failed the test and got into trouble for cheating with Professor Griven. He was put back in the First-year classes again and I think he blames me for it.”
“Larson’s repeating the First-year classes because he has about as much brain power as a box of rocks,” Ryse said, frowning. “And he has no self-control—he never should have been given the chance to Impress a dragon in the first place.”
“Well, he hates me and blames me for failing,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure he’s the one who cut the net and made the simulator go crazy to buck me off.”
Ryse turned his piercing gaze away from me to study the dangling net and the sagging simulator.
“We’re going to have to report this,” he said at last.
I wanted to protest, but I could see he was right. Someone would have to take the blame for the damage to equipment, which would probably cost a lot to repair. But the thought of being called before Professor Griven again with Chud Larson glaring at me made me feel like my stomach was turning inside out.
“What if they kick me out of the Academy?” I asked in a small voice. “I shouldn’t have been riding the simulator without permission or supervision. What if they decide it’s all my fault and they send me home? I have nobody there—there’s no one left.”
Ryse’s expression softened somewhat.
“You don’t have anyone to go home to?” he asked softly.
I shook my head.
“My father is dead—I’m sure you know that…that he killed himself—everyone here does. And my bro…I mean, my sister’s gone too. She got married off to the Duke of Brekenshire.”
That really had been the name of one of my suitors, so I hoped it would hold as long as the North Wing Leader didn’t go to the trouble of checking.
“I see.” He nodded. “All right, Lysandra—I’ll come with you to the Head Master and help you explain.” He pointed a finger at me. “Not because I give a damn about your scrawny ass—because I’ll be drawn in anyway, when he wants to know how you survived a fall from the simulator without cracking your stupid skull open.”
I nodded humbly, willing to accept his help, even if it came with a side of insults.
“How did you happen to be in the right place to catch me?” I asked, as he led the way from the simulator cavern. Luckily, there was a lower exit, so I didn’t have to bear the indignity of climbing the rope in front of him.
Ryse frowned.
“My dragon, M’alex, called to me. He woke me up and insisted that I needed to go to the simulator cavern and wait under the net.”
“He did?” I looked at him in surprise. “But…how could he know?”
“Some Gold-wings have special abilities,” Ryse said shortly. “M’alex is the first Midnight Gold-wing to be hatched in almost a century. Sometimes he just…knows things.”
“And do you always listen to him?” I asked. I was walking by his side, nearly trotting to keep up with his long strides as we traversed the long stone hallway.
Ryse’s golden eyes darkened.
“Now I do,” he said and then abruptly changed the subject. “The Head Master is an early riser—he’ll already be in his office. Let’s go.”
22
AURORA
And that was how I found myself sitting in yet another wooden chair as I explained, haltingly, to the Head Master what had happened. At least his chairs were fancier than Professor Griven’s—they were carved with dragons and each foot looked like a dragon’s claw instead of a chair leg. But they were still hard and uncomfortable, and I felt like a criminal sitting in one.
Beside me, Ryse Skoren sat in silence. He had explained briefly that there had been an incident with the Flight Simulator and that it was out of commission, but now it was up to me to provide details.
As frightened and worried as I was, I had to admit I was grateful for the North Wing Leader at my side. He was a warm, solid presence and just the fact that he was there seemed to give me at least a little bit of courage.
“Now, Lysandra, is it?” The Head Master frowned at me over his gold-rimmed reading spectacles. He had clearly been up for some time—his eyes were sharp behind the thin lenses and there was a steaming cup of bitter black tea at his elbow.
“Yes, Sir,” I said, hoping my voice wouldn’t squeak or sound too girlish.
