CHAPTER TWO. ✷ don't look down.
HONESTLY, PARAPET MIGHT JUST BE THE EASIEST THING YOU'LL GO THROUGH THIS YEAR.
— RECOVERED CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN LIEUTENANT COLONEL CYPRUS BARREGAIN AND NIAMH BARREGAIN
Niamh's body is tense as she fiddles with the dagger strapped to her thigh, tracing circles around the end of it hoping the cold metal will calm her rabid nerves. It's conscription day and she's stood in a tight line that slowly inches up, up, up to the stone bridge that's called parapet. She mumbles under her breath, convincing herself that it's no different than crossing the fallen log that stretches across a large ditch near her house. Of course, if she fell from the tree, she wouldn't immediately plummet to her death and offer her soul to Malek.
Over the past twenty minutes, she's spotted several family members bid their candidates goodbye. Whether it be mothers, sisters, or even lovers. Niamh, however, arrived alone. Her father stayed back in Elsum, not even having the courtesy to make the carriage ride over with her. Her brother is no doubt on the other side of the bridge, loathing the fact that he has to welcome every new cadet that makes it across, and her mother is probably watching him do so with a satisfied smile.
Rian's always been hard to control. While she and Cyprus usually found themselves abiding by their parent's rules, more or less, Rian was a wild card. There was no telling what he would or wouldn't do. No amount of scolding or punishments could tame him. For his sake, Niamh hopes he's changed during his time at Basgiath.
She tries to control her breathing. Seven seconds in. Seven seconds out. She keeps replaying the words on the letter Cyprus wrote her a few days earlier. Focus on something in the distance, and don't look away. That was his biggest piece of advice. He claims it's what got him across. Something about tearing the focus away from your mind and filling it with something else. The only thing you need to care about is your footing. One in front of the other. Slow and controlled, delicate movements. It's hard for her to imagine her brother being delicate about anything.
The person in front of her is a shorter man with red hair. He's got a lanky build with elbows that stick out too far for his arms. He'll either fall or die later in the year, Niamh thinks to herself. He's wearing something similar to her: a long black sleeve and tight pants. His don't look as breathable as hers do. She didn't bother wearing any sort of leather, she's not a rider yet. She also wears her hair in a braid, tied off by a red ribbon—something he, of course, does not have. She found it to be a rather clever way of keeping her family close to her while also conforming to the dress code. While black might be the color of riders, red is the color of Berragains.
She hasn't bothered to so much as turn around to see who is behind her. She hasn't spoken a word to anybody. It will be best if she doesn't get to know anyone quite yet. You never know who will make it and who won't, better to not make friends. Other people in line have other ideas, talking and laughing as if more than half of them won't plummet to their deaths. She guesses that everyone has different ways to take the edge off.
"Sorrengail?" She hears someone a few bodies behind her question, causing her to knit her brows, "As in..."
"Yep." Another person says. She knows the voice anywhere. Violet. When the line stops, Niamh whips her head around, ignoring everyone but the silver-haired girl about four people back. What the hell is she doing here? She's going to get herself killed!
Violet Sorrengail is the daughter of General Lilith Sorrengail, a woman her father fought beside during the Tyrrish Rebellion. She's seen the girl a few times before. She and her silver-tipped hair and stick-like frame. Knobby knees and eyes too big for her slender face. She has just about as good of a chance of surviving as the redhead in front of her. It's a pity, she really is a nice girl.
The line moves again and Niamh whips her head back around before Violet can spot her. She takes a step up, now about half a flight of stairs away from the crossing. Seven seconds in. Seven seconds out. Circle the dagger. Focus. Up, up, up, Gods be with her. She's waited her entire life for this day, and now that it's here she wants nothing more than to be in the comfort of her queen bed at the Brennagain house.
Three riders wait at the top. The only one Niamh cares to notice is the one recording names. "Jesper Floyd." The boy in front of her says and the man with the clipboard writes it down. He doesn't even look up before another man grabs hold of the ginger and starts instructing him.
The ginger hesitates for a second before stepping onto the bridge; his first mistake. His second was closing his eyes for more than a heartbeat. She thinks he might have been praying, or holding back tears. Whatever it was, he shouldn't have done it. Within seconds, he's wobbling...and then he's gone. Niamh's breath leaves her chest at the sight, though she can't say she's surprised.
"Name?" The man says, still not looking up. She tears her eyes away from the bridge so that she can look at him.
"Berragain," A voice that isn't her own answers for her, "Niamh Berragain."
She looks to the side to the third man standing a few steps away from her. His large frame towers over her. He's maybe a foot taller, her head reaching the middle of his neck. He has tanned skin, a wide frame, black hair, and the most beautiful eyes she's ever seen. Eyes that directly contrast the scar across his left brow and the rebellion relic that trails out of his uniform and up his neck. He's got this sort of rugged handsomeness that somehow makes her feel small. Or maybe that's just because he's a separatist kid.
Marked ones, as her father calls them, are the children of the leaders of the Tyrrish Rebellion. Each and every one of them has been orphaned and sent to the rider's quadrant, as ordered by General Melgren. She'd imagine that they'd hate anyone even involved with someone who gave them this new life, and that is exactly who Niamh is.
She meets his eyes with a narrow gaze, wondering how exactly he knows her. Then again, her hair is probably a dead giveaway. Not many people in Navarre have white hair unless they're descended from Caibre—her mother's maiden name—bloodline.
The boy writing down names finally looks up with a quirked brow, "Rian's sister?" The black-haired man nods. So that's what she's been reduced to? Someone's sister? All the more reason to prove herself today.
"So, you've heard of me?" Niamh asks with a cocky tone, hoping no one picks up on her fake confidence.
"I've heard whispers." The tall man says, taking her attention again, "You're smaller than I expected."
"Did you expect me to be the same height as my brother?" Rian is about six foot two where as she stands at five feet and six inches. Which, she will say, is average for a woman.
"I meant in terms of mass." Creases form between his brows, "The way he describes you, I thought you might as well be Dunne herself."
"Glad to know my brother speaks highly of me." She grins.
He returns the expression, although holding menacing undertones, "I didn't say that." Her smile falls.
"You done yet, Riorson?" The other man asks and Niamh's eyes grow wide. Riorson, as in Xaden Riorson, as in Fen Riorson's son. The only child of the Great Betrayer stands before her, likely trying not to stab her with the dagger attached to his hip. Her father killed his uncle...Oh Gods, Violet, she thinks as she glances back. Violet's mother was the one who executed Xaden's father. Her nerves tick again as she silently prays to Zihnal that Xaden wouldn't recognize the Sorrengail girl. She'd hate for the only person she knows to die before even stepping on the bridge.
He studies her for a second more, then presses his lips into a taut line and backs away, leaning against the wall. "Great," The other boy says, waving Niamh over. She stops at the ledge, gulping back her fear as she looks at the stone bridge. She can already feel the wind on her skin. The boy beside her is providing her with instructions that she can't seem to pay attention to. "Ready?" He asks finally, though she knows he doesn't exactly care.
Niamh shakes her head, clearing her mind of all thoughts, "Ready." She lifts her foot to step onto the parapet, but before she can start walking, a hand grips her wrist and tugs her back slightly. She whips her head to see Xaden looking down at her. It's just then that she notices the wingleader patch he wears.
"I don't typically concern myself with the first years." He starts off with a hard tone, "But I happen to respect your brother. So, for his sake, don't look down."
At that moment, there's an unspoken truce. It doesn't matter who did what or who killed who, just a superior looking out for the relative of a friend...or whatever Rian is to Xaden Riorson. Peer might be the better word. Friend seems hard for her to believe.
Niamh's nod is hardly noticeable, "Wasn't planning on it." She states and he lets go. She notes the red forming in her skin in the shape of his large hand. Just like that, he's focused on the boy behind her and she's turning around again.
Her eyes lock on a singular branch in the distance, blurring everything else around her. She takes a deep breath in, then steps out again. She makes sure her foot is firmly placed on the stone beneath her before taking another step. Just like that, she's fully on the parapet.
The wind is harsh, sweeping up her braid instantly. She finds herself stretching her arms out to the side slightly, trying to keep her balance. She doesn't take her eyes off the branch as she takes the next two steps. The nearest person is about ten feet in front of her. The person behind her has not stepped onto the bridge quite yet. Or maybe they have. She doesn't dare look back. She doesn't dare speed up.
One foot in front of the other. Focus. Don't look down.
Her heart is in her ears as she advances, now about three-fourths of the way across. Her chest is heaving, despite her desperate attempts to slow her breath. The one thing she has accomplished to do is clear her mind. All she can think about is her footing, all she can see is the branch. Until she can't.
A roll of fog sweeps over the space in front of her, blocking any view she has. Her heart nearly stops and, in her panic, she comes to an abrupt halt. The wind takes hold of her rucksack filled with several daggers and letters from her brother. She feels it slide off of her shoulder and, without thinking, she reaches for it.
Three seconds. That's all it takes for everything to go completely wrong.
Her hand grips the straps of the rucksack roughly. Her outstretched arm causes her to stumble. Her feet shuffle to the side, and as she nears the edge, she looks down. A mistake. A complete accident. Just a product of her trying to get her balance back, yet her total downfall.
For the first time since stepping onto the bridge, she feels the fear completely. She freezes and her breath escapes her. And suddenly, the wind is so much stronger than it was before. Instead of taking her braid, this time, it takes her. Her left foot slips first, then her right. She's free-falling.
Everything comes back to her in a snap. It takes a heavy beat of her heart to realize her situation and she quickly rips her mother's dagger from her tights and digs it into the stone. She slides an inch or two, then stops. There she is, dangling in the wind with nothing but a dagger to hold her entire body weight.
Her arm strains and her face twists with the pain. Niamh groans as she tosses her rucksack back onto the stone bridge. She then takes her other free dagger from her hip and digs it into the stone as well. With any luck, she'll be able to climb her way back. She swings her feet forward, trying to find something the place them on, and ends up hitting air. It's then she remembers there's nothing but ground for miles. This is just one long piece of stone hovering above the Earth, and she's hanging off the edge.
"You don't want me," She says under her breath to the God of death, "Not today Malek. Please not today." Niamh flexes her arms as she tries to pull herself up. The right dagger cuts closer to the edge, and she stops pulling, her heart skipping a beat.
"You look like you could use some help!" A voice shouts down to her. She looks up to see a boy with blonde hair dangling in his face. He has piercing blue eyes that stare down at her as his light brows form a look of concern. He reaches out his hand for her. The sleeve of his shirt rises, revealing the rebellion relic on his arm. She stares at it for a moment. "Take my hand! I'll pull you up!"
Niamh shakes her head, "No! I'll only pull you down with me!"
He laughs. He dares to laugh. "At least then you won't die alone." He waves his arm around slightly to display urgency, "Come on! Take it!"
She hesitates for a moment before letting go of one of the daggers and interlocking her hand with his. He plants his feet wide and wraps his other hand around the middle of her arm. With one struggled pull, she's rising. She lifts her leg and puts her foot on the edge of the parapet, then the other. He puts one hand on her back and pulls her all the way onto the bridge, stepping back at the same time so they can both fit. She pulls her mother's dagger from the ground and picks up her rucksack, leaving the other dagger in the stone.
Niamh opens her mouth to speak, but he interrupts her before she can, "Thank me when we're on the other side! Go!" She does exactly what he says and faces forward, making sure she has her footing once more before continuing to cross. Don't look down. Xaden's advice plays in her head now more than ever. Gods, why did she ever look away in the first place?
She sways a few more times, swearing under her breath. She ponders looking back to see if the blonde boy is still with her. As if reading her mind, he says, "I'm right behind you, Brennagain." Guess everyone's heard of her around here. Stupid noble status.
She can see the rider's quadrant now. Her instincts tell her to speed up, but her mind forces her to stay at the same place. One foot in front of the other. It feels like forever before she's met with two stone walls on either side, but eventually, she gets there. Her breath falls heavy as her feet plant on the other side of the parapet. She quickly spins on her feet, watching as the blonde takes his final step as well. She instantly beams.
"I knew you'd make it," A voice beside her says. She looks over to see another boy with a clipboard. Six foot two with long, white hair. And while he looks older and completely different, this is still unmistakably her brother. He's got a large scar running across his face, right through his eyes that a patch now covers. She's tempted to ask what happened but represses the urge. "Good to see you, mutt."
Mutt. The nickname he gave her when they were little. She's always hated it. But now, it's never sounded better. "Good to see you, Rian. Miss me?"
He shakes his head with a smile, "Not at all." Rian puts a hand on her shoulder and pulls her in for a quick side-hug, ignoring the glares he gets from the other cadets for going off the books. "You look different."
Niamh quirks a brow, "I could say the same for you."
He snorts, "Dain is expecting you." He nods toward the stairs. Dain Aetos, the son of one of her father's friends. She's seen him around her house a few times. She doesn't remember them ever reaching friendship status, though their parents claim they did at some point. Still, it's not as if she hates him.
"Really? Figured he'd be completely focused on Violet." Niamh folds her arms over her chest.
Rian's eyes flare, "Violet's here?" He lowers his voice to a whisper.
"Yeah," Niamh nods, "Saw her in line on my way up the stairs."
"Gods, help her." He groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. Rian then takes a sharp breath in and diverts his gaze to the blonde boy behind her, "Name." She now knows the reunion has ended.
"Liam Mairi," The blonde says as she walks away. She stops before the steps, waiting for him.
He meets her eyes as he walks away from Rian. There's a smile on his face as he folds his arms behind his back. "I think this is yours," He says as he stops in front of her. He reveals his marked arm; or rather, the red and black dagger he holds in his hand.
"Thank you," Niamh says as she looks down at the dagger, "For the dagger and for saving my life."
"It was no trouble." He assures.
"Oddly enough," Niamh smirks as she looks back up at him, "Keep it. You brought it over. It's yours. Think of it as a 'thanks for not letting me die' gift."
"A dagger gifted by the heir to Elsum?" He tilts his chin up proudly, "Well aren't I lucky?"
"I'm third in line."
He shrugs, "For now."
Niamh's lips part as she is suddenly at a loss for words. She watches as he passes her, heading down the steps and sheathing his new dagger.
"Is that a threat?" She asks, now the one trailing after him.
"Not if you don't take it as one." He taps the dagger at his side, "You shouldn't be so reliant on these things. You might not always have them by you at all times."
"Trust me, I will." She counters.
His eyes focus on the brown bag she carries, "Say, what's in that bag that is so important you nearly died over it?"
"Simple things," She shrugs, "Some more daggers. A few letters. Lipgloss."
He does a double take, "You risked your life over...lipgloss?" Now that he says it out loud, it was a stupid move for her to make.
"Among other things." It wasn't the lipgloss she was trying to save. It wasn't even the daggers. It was the letters. Likely the only form of communication she'll have with Cyprus all year. They're special to her. But he doesn't need to know that.
NOTE: Liam and Niamh world domination ya'll!!! She hasn't even been at Basgiath for a day and is already making friends with her father's enemies.