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A riot approaches, Marbh tells me. Similar messages must break out across Aretia, because I’m not the only rider desperately searching out windows for proof of our dragons’ messages.
Friend or foe? How many?
My dragon’s response doesn’t come right away, but he’s always been one to gather answers before jumping into sharing. I take the time to assume the worst, winding my way through the suddenly panicked hallways of Riorson House to head to the assembly room. If we need to take action, it will need to be fast. How many riders do we have ready to fight? Aretia’s defense has always been its top advantage, not its ability to attack. The tunnels underneath the city can keep more safe if necessary, though I refuse to spend another battle hidden safely in their darkness.
Sgaeyl leads the riot. Marbh’s mental voice is calm now. Irritated, but not at alert in the same way he had been a moment ago.
A breath of relief escapes. Riorson has returned: unscheduled, perhaps, but not unwelcome.
Unless it means the worst. There are few reasons Riorson would risk exposing Aretia by arriving, not only in broad daylight, but with a full riot. The last time he’d approached his home at all was after the disastrous battle at Resson. If a similar tragedy has occurred…
Three dragons -- the massive bodies of Sgaeyl and Tairn, who seems to be carrying Andarna -- land in the courtyard while dozens trail behind, little more than specs in the distance. What the hell do those two think they’ve done?
I spot Violet, eclipsed by Tairn’s head and neck. I can’t see the details of her face from within Riorson House, but the tender way she holds herself has me running through the door.
“Violet!” I shout, sprinting towards her. Injured, ushering in a chaotic scene: the whole situation reminds me too much of the last time she landed in Aertia, but at least she’s conscious this time. Riorson already waits at the foot of her dragon by the time she dismounts, whispering into her hair as he catches her.
Gods, her face. The way she cradles her arm against her…
“What the fuck did you get her into this time?” I yell at Xaden, though Violet is quick to jump to his defense.
“He got me out.”
“Oh?” I keep my gaze locked on Xaden. “Then why is it she’s half dead every time you bring her to me?” I reach for her face, unsure of what will cause her pain, pulling my hand back at the last second. “Oh gods, Violet.” My tone drops into a gentle pitch, worry coloring the tone. “What did they do to you?”
“I’m alright,” she reassures me, stepping forward and I wrap her in my arms, holding her steady. “I could probably use some mending.”
Some is an understatement.
I’m distracted by the massive roar of wing beats as a ride of dragons soars overhead. Counting the horde of dragons proves impossible quickly, and from the way Marbh has gone silent in my head means he’s distracted by the new dragons too.
“What have you two done?”
“Ask your sister,” Xaden deadpans, his eyes also locked on the riot.
“I mean,” Violet smiles up at me, her cracked lips leaking blood. “You did say you needed riders.”
I blink back surprise at her flippant words, unwilling to unpack them while she was so seriously injured. My eyes rake over Violet’s bruised face and down her weary body, wanting to triage what areas need my focus first. Had they needed to fight their way out of Basgiath? Why wasn’t Xaden a similar level of injured? “Can you walk?”
Violet stumbles a step forward, but her muscles clearly locked up during the lengthy flight, following her body’s lifelong trend of not cooperating with her. Her gaze snaps to mine, anger lighting up her eyes as I reach for her. “I can walk.”
“Let me rephrase my last question,” I say, pulling back as Xaden’s shadows help steady her. “Do you want me or Riorson to help you inside?”
“I can walk,” Violet says again, but she doesn’t protest as Xaden reaches for her.
“I know you can.” Xaden’s response is equally quiet, a tender edge I’d never heard in his voice before. He swoops her into his arms and I try not to think too hard about her discolored face she hides in Xaden’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”
“Let’s take her back to your room,” I say, eyeing the growing crowd of people. Emotions run wild through the crowd, and I’d rather Xaden and Violet were safely out of the way by the time the pressure cooker of confusion explodes into something more dangerous. The Assembly waits somewhere in that crowd, desperate for an explanation, but will have to be someone else who gives it. Xaden wordlessly agrees with me, sliding through the first stone door into Riorson House sideways, careful of Violet’s dangling feet. I direct my next question at him. “You know you’re in so much trouble, right?”
Anger flashes across his eyes. “That’s far down my list of concerns.”
I shrug. My priorities are also Violet’s health and safety, but he should know what’s coming for him.The entire population of Aretia panicked at the approaching horde of dragons; the reassurance of allies, not foes, arriving only transformed the panic into fierce, personalized anger. An interrogation awaits Riorson.
If they can pull him away from Violet. That’s one big if.
Xaden leads the way to his bedroom, the same place I’d mended Violet last summer. Everyone in Aretia knows to leave Xaden’s room alone, especially in the nights he actually occupies it, few and far between as they are. Between the privacy and the sound shields Xaden has protected the room with, it’s exactly what Violet needs.
“Thank you,” Violet whispers as he lays her down on the bed. He doesn’t answer -- out loud -- but his tender expression replies well enough. I look away as he lays a delicate hand on her damaged face. Whatever side of Xaden Riorson my little sister brings out likely isn’t something he wants shared with others, even me. If I can offer a small amount of privacy, I’ll give what I can. I take his place as he moves, settling in beside her. Her eyes are closed, and only her deep inhales and exhales calm my panic as my gaze drags over her broken form. She’s too pale, her injuries too severe. She looks like a corpse. I brush a light finger over her mottled cheek, desperate for her eyes to open. I wait until she focuses on me to continue.
“You know this will hurt, right?” I ask, hesitating with my hands inches above her. In my hurry to get Violet out of the chaos, I didn’t bring any medical supplies other than what my signet provides. “I can grab something to numb it, if you want.”
“I’m familiar with mending,” Violet replies with the ghost of a smirk on her lips. Her joke falls flat immediately. “I want it over with.” Her voice comes out muted, as if she was drifting off to sleep rather than in intense amounts of pain. Was she disassociating? I’d have to check in on her mental state later, as well as her physical state. Both are important, but I only have the expertise to fix one.
“You can tell me to stop at any point, Vi.”
“You’re stalling, Brennan.”
She’s right, but she doesn’t need to know that. Gently as I can, I smooth my hands over her ribs. A barely controlled flinch flashes across her features, but she and I both know there’s worse coming. Violet takes deep breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She needs the technique too often in her life, but I’m thankful she knows them now.
“Deep breath, then.” The command is intended for Violet, but Xaden’s sharp intake of breath fills the room. I know the two share some kind of mental bond -- I have absolutely no desire to know how they normally use it -- and am sure Xaden aches over her pain as well.
Running his hands down Violet’s violated arms, I focus on anything other than her sharp inhales and goans of pain. The whole situation feels too familiar: Xaden landing at Aretia with a highly damaged Violet and a desperate crew of riders following. Last time had been worse, of course; at least Violet is conscious and attempting reassuring smiles for him. That fact alone saves Xaden from a broken nose and a black eye.
Well, that and his terrifying, overly protective dragon.
Marbh supplies frequent updates about the number of dragons arriving, and the ages of the riders accompanying them. Most bring out pleased hums of approval from my dragon, but a few bring out disgruntled growls. Dain Aetos is the most surprising member of the list; both he and his dragon are not received well. I have a small moment of sympathy for him: judgment based on your parent’s actions is no easy ground to navigate.
He is being judged with an appropriate amount of caution , Marbh corrects.
Violet cries out as the broken bone of her arm knits back together, quickly clenching her teeth together to cover the sound. Her muscles strain, clearly fighting the urge to flinch away from the pain I’m causing her.
“Which one of you wants to explain what happened?” A distraction might help all three of us survive this without heart palpitations. Besides, I need answers. Xaden may command rooms at a glance, but he riled up emotions, not soothe them over: that is my job, and how we function so well as a team. Xaden, charging forward, inspiring loyalty. Myself, Tyrrendor’s ghost, subtly influencing behind closed doors.
“I needed new reading material,” Violet quips. Her humor could be an excellent sign of her mental state, or a horrific coping mechanism. I aim a raised eyebrow at Xaden, waiting for a better answer.
“Violet found journals that should help us recreate the wards,” Xaden explains. “We weren’t as subtle as we thought retrieving them.”
A deep breath in through my nose, knowing I would need more to get through this conversation. “Dare I ask where you got this new material?”
“King Tauri’s personal vault.” Xaden’s clipped tone explains exactly who’s idea this was.
“How many days ago did you stage this epic heist?”
“Five,” Violet answers, her voice breaking in the middle of the word as my hands cover the discolored bruises on her face. I should have started there -- at least her blatant injuries would stop staring us in the face. “Xaden was gone already, but Nolon and Varrish found me pretty quickly.”
Varrish. The major’s name highlighted all recent updates from Basgiath, none of them good. His name answered the question of Violet’s intense injuries. These weren’t battle wounds I was healing; this is the result of a multi-day interrogation.
“I hope it’s worth it.” I glance towards Xaden. His tight jaw and crossed arms match my feelings: Almost nothing is worth what Violet endured.
We fall into silence, only broken by Violet’s cries of pain. Resetting her hip causes the most pain: Xaden almost needed to hold herdown. I resist the urge to mutter apologies the entire time by telling myself I’ll find some way to make it up to her.
This is what she needs, Marbh reassures me. Her healing would be much worse naturally.
My dragon rarely comments during mending, allowing me to focus on the work in front of me, but, as per usual, he’s right. I know he is -- logically, but seeing Violet’s obvious distress does its best to convince me otherwise. No way around it: mending can be a real bitch on the system.
Xaden remains quiet, leaning against the wall. The last time we were in this position, he’d paced the room anxiously, demanding updates and debriefing the previous battle. This time, he barely moves, his silence echoing. If every muscle wasn’t stretched tight and his jaw hadn’t been locked shut the entire time I’d been mending Violet, he might look casual. Might , if the whole room wasn’t filled with his anxiety.
Our anxiety. Mending Violet isn’t any easier the second time around, though knowing she’s awake and alert eases my worry, somehow even more than her muted noises of pain distress me.
“Better?” I murmur, pausing as Violet reaches for her newly mended arm. The breaks, layered one after another on barely healed bone, needed more power than I’d expected. Whatever Nolon had done between sessions of torture seemed damn near useless, but there’s no way for me to know if that was intentional or incompetence. At least her face no longer sports ugly, multi-colored bruises and her hip should move without pain.
Violet hesitates before she answers, her eyes flicking to Xaden. “It’s hard to tell what still hurts and what’s phantom pains.”
“I can go back over them if you want.”
“I trust you.” Her answering smile is brighter than I deserve. For an instant, she seems much younger. Returning to my sisters after my final year at Basgiath flashes through my mind: Violet had been the first to see me and the smile she’d given me then mirrors her smile now. “Thank you, Brennan.”
“Anything for you, little sister.” I run a hand over her forehead, smoothing back some loose hairs from her braid. Taking care of Violet is a job I’ve taken seriously since the first time my father introduced my tiny bundle of a little sister to me decades ago. Nothing will make up for the years I left her to believe I was dead, but I’ll do what I can to make a difference. “Now before you pass out on me, when was the last time you ate?”
“I’ve been fed.”
“Violet.” Judging by the derisive snort behind me, Xaden also hates her non-answer. “That answer is anything but reassuring.”
“I could eat,” she corrects. “But I really just want to shower and sleep.”
“Food is important, Violence,” Xaden says, which Violet makes a face at.
“Why don’t Riorson and I grab you something from the kitchen while you get cleaned up?” I send a stern look over my shoulder at Xaden, telling him this is not optional. Surprisingly, he doesn’t protest. “You can rest after."
Violet stands up, only wobbling for a moment, and waves me out of the room. Xaden lingers for a moment longer before joining me in the hallway, closing the door quietly behind him. His eyes drilled into mine. “Will she be fine?”
“No lasting damage, as far as I can tell,” I reassure him. “Obviously I’ll check again if she needs.”
Xaden runs an exhausted hand over his face. Normally, the man is the perfect picture of stoicism: Seeing him so deeply affected by Violet’s injuries still shocked me. Without Violet, I know a very different man. The fact that my youngest sister is bringing out this drastic change? I don’t know if that is touching or distressing.
“Did you think about what’s next?” Now that Violet’s out of danger, I need to bring Xaden back to the other pressing matters.
“I didn’t intend to bring half the population of Basgiath to Aretia, so no,” Xaden sighs. Reality seems to be slowly dawning on him. “The plan was to get Violet and the marked ones out. She is right, though. We desperately need more riders.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And you were desperate enough to bring Dain Aetos?”
Xaden scowls. “He kept Violet alive. I’ll let you interview him and decide if he stays.”
“Does he know I’m alive?” I hope not, but likely know better. That kid’s signet raises too many red flags. He was a chronic rule follower as a child, and reports say he never grew out of his obsession. Tattletale is hard wired into him. Hopefully morals are as well.
“Upset you’ve lost the element of surprise?” Xaden smirks.
“I thrive off the thrill, obviously.” I roll my eyes. Glancing back at Riorson’s closed door, I change the subject. “I’m surprised you left her alone.” After Resson, Xaden barely allowed her out of his sight. I’m pretty sure he didn’t sleep for days in exchange for keeping an eye on Violet.
Xaden only shakes his head, eyes going distant, likely listening to either Violet or Sgaeyl. After a moment, he answers quietly, “I think she needs a minute to herself.”
I shudder, thinking of my days of RSC, knowing the training course paled in compared to the endless days Violet ensured. I knew I would leave the interrogation room if I passed; how many days did Violet endure thinking no one would come for her?
We start down the hallway, but don’t get very far before noise filters up from the foyer. I hesitate at the stop of the staircase, curiosity getting the better of me. Multiple stories up is too high to observe the chaos (or be observed), but the cacophony of voices gives me pause. Would this mass influx of new riders -- mainly cadets, not fully trained riders -- help or hinder the success of the Assembly? Would we be able to use them to our advantage, or will the chaos cause our ultimate demise?
By the time I turn away, I find Xaden half hidden in the shadows of a hidden stairwell, Garrick Tavis beside him. The second man shoots me a smile as I approach.
“He tried to sneak out the back,” Garrick explains, gesturing towards the stairwell normally hidden behind a tapestry and a heavy stone door, “but he’s not nearly as unpredictable as he thinks.”
“There’s only two options, asshole,” Xaden retorts.
“Either you’re holding out on us, or Riorson House really needs more secret passageways,” Garrick shoots back. His face turns serious as he looks back at me. “Is Violet alright?”
“She’s fine. How’s the Assembly?” Ferris won’t be pleased, but if I can play my cards right, I can probably get Trissa on my side…
“Pissed, obviously,” Garrick rolls his eyes and points at Xaden. “You are in big trouble the second they get their hands on you.”
“That sounds like something that can wait until tomorrow,” Xaden says, crumbling a piece of paper in his hands.
Garrick puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m just the messenger, but I’d love it if one of the two of you would return to the assembly room with me. I think the chances of my head staying intact increase.”
Xaden looks at me and the message is clear. As much as I’d love to return to my sister and check on her again, that’s Xaden’s priority. Falling back into my role as peacemaker, I nod towards Garrick. “Lead the way, Lieutenant.”
“Thank you,” Xaden says as we part at the bottom of the stairwell. If anyone knows how to travel through Riorson House without being detected, it’s the man who bears its name. “I’ll find you tomorrow, once she’s awake.”
“Call me if she needs anything.” I don’t add my concerns about her mental state. Thanks to their mental bond, Xaden probably has the best knowledge of that out of anyone. Xaden meets my eyes seriously and nods before slipping off towards the kitchen. I motion Garrick towards the assembly room. The quicker they have us in front of them, the less likely they’ll be to complain about Xaden being AWOL.
Garrick breaks the silence. “Got a lovely chance to chat with your mom, by the way.”
I roll my eyes at Garrick’s flippant comment. “I’m sure she was pleasant and reasonable as always.”
“Sure was,” Garrick grins, holding open the door to the assembly room as I question his sanity. “Held a sword to my neck and everything.”