Page 46 of The Fifth Heir

By the time we reached the flight platform, understanding had become humiliation.

“You may skip this portion,” the examiner said.

Every person in the chamber heard her.

The headmaster and Keeper Malcolm watched from the observation gallery, along with six academy officials responsible for recording the heirs’ results. Sebastian, Rafe, and Leander stood beside Torren near the strength apparatus. They had already completed the basic tests.

Leander’s scores approached academy records. Torren had exceeded two of them. Rafe had treated each instruction as a suggestion and still performed well enough to earn reluctant approval. Sebastian lacked their physical power, but his control during the Shadow assessments had been exact.

I had not completed a single test at the minimum heir standard.

The flight platform rose forty feet above the chamber floor. Candidates normally shifted after stepping from its edge, giving examiners a clear view of wingspan, speed, and control.

A net had been stretched below for young dragons attempting their first academy examination.

It would not make falling from the platform less pointless.

“I’m aware that I may skip it,” I said.

The examiner held her writing slate against her chest. “Then you may come down.”

I looked over the edge.

Even with the net, my stomach tightened. I had climbed higher ladders in the Hall to clean the upper displays, but those ladders had rungs and solid flooring beneath them.

“Is there a human-form equivalent?”

A brief silence followed.

“We can test your balance and landing strength from a lower height,” she said.

“How low?”

“The first ledge.”

It stood perhaps eight feet above the floor.

Rafe looked up at me. Whatever careless remark he had been about to make disappeared when he saw my face.

“I can jump from higher than that.”

“The test is intended to evaluate the transition from human to dragon form,” the examiner explained. “Without a transition, increased height would only create unnecessary risk.”

I climbed down.

No one laughed.

That made it worse.

The examiner directed me to the lower ledge. I jumped, landed with bent knees, and held my balance despite the pain that traveled through my bruised shoulder when I straightened.

She recorded the result.

“Human-standard landing completed.”

Not passed.

Completed.