Don't Fuck with Fate

by Lilmissliss94

Summary:

Fate is a fickle Mistress, this is something Violet Sorrengail has come to know. She may have been destined for the Scribe Quadrant, but fate had other plans, which came in the form of General Sorrengail. Once across the parapet she will forge alliances, and friendships that help build and carry her. She can't overcome her disabilities, but she can sure as shit figure out how to survive this death college.

She never counted on bonding Xaden Riorsons dragons mate. Fate is a bitch, and so is Xaden. Emotionally stunted and as closed off as a tortoises asshole he puts her through the ringer. Can she survive his specialized brand of psychological warfare, or will he be the one to doom them both?

Spoilers for all 3 books!

Chapter 1

A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.

 

—Article One, Section One
The Dragon Rider’s Codex

 

My joints ached, they always ached. But the dark gray storm cloud that had settled over Basgiath yesterday, and refused to leave, brought with them a bone deep anguish. One that always told me when the weather was about to turn, and when my mother was not in control of her emotions. Despite the pain, or maybe because of it the sunrise is especially beautiful this morning as the sun lights the underside of the ever darkening clouds. It might be because I know it could be my last, after all Conscription Day is always the deadliest for the Rider Quadrant. 

 

The black leather I was currently sporting was a far cry from the cream colored scribe robes I believed I would be donning today. Mira had crept into my room in the wee hours of light and gotten me dressed.  I hadn’t seen her in almost a year and my first sight of her was upending my carefully organized pack.

 

“What are you doing, that took me all of last night to pack?” my voice is panicked as I watch her start pitching things left and right. 

 

“What Brennan did for me,” she says softly, and grief lodges in my throat. “Can you use a sword?”

 

I shake my head, though I love the look and fighting style my wrist simply couldn’t handle them. “Too heavy. I’m pretty quick with daggers, though.” Really damned quick. Lightning quick. What I lack in strength, I make up for in speed. 

 

“I figured. Good. Put these on” She sorts through the items she’s brought, handing me new boots and a black uniform. The boots are rubber bottomed, broken in but not really used. I wonder who Mira recruited to break them in, because her feet certainly weren’t my size. I was dressing in the black leather Mira tossed on my bed when books start flying, landing in the vicinity of the crate.

 

“Hey, I can only take what I can carry, and I want those!” I lunge for the next book before she has a chance to toss it, barely managing to save my favorite collection of dark fables.

 

“Are you willing to die for it?” she asks, her eyes turning hard.

 

“I can carry it!” This is all wrong. I’m supposed to be dedicating my life to books, not throwing them in the corner to lighten my rucksack.

 

“No. You can’t. You’re barely thrice the weight of the pack, the parapet is roughly eighteen inches wide, two hundred feet aboveground, and last time I looked, those were rain clouds moving in. They’re not going to give you a rain delay just because the bridge might get a little slick, sis. You’ll fall. You’ll die. Now, are you going to listen to me? Or are you going to join the other dead candidates at tomorrow morning’s roll call?” There’s no trace of my older sister in the rider before me. This woman is shrewd, cunning, and a touch cruel. This is the woman who survived all three years with only one scar, the one her own dragon gave her during Threshing. “Because that’s all you’ll be. Another tombstone. Another name scorched in stone. Ditch the books.”

 

“Dad gave this one to me,” I murmur, pressing the book against my chest. Maybe it’s childish, just a collection of stories that warn us against the lure of magic, and even demonize dragons, but it’s all I have left.

 

She sighs. “Is it that old book of folklore about dark-wielding vermin and their wyvern? Haven’t you read it a thousand times already?”

 

“Probably more,” I admit. “And they’re venin, not vermin.”

 

“Dad and his allegories,” she says. “Just don’t try to channel power without being a bonded rider and red-eyed monsters won’t hide under your bed, waiting to snatch you away on their two-legged dragons to join their dark army.” She retrieves the last book I packed from the rucksack and hands it to me. “Ditch the books. Dad can’t save you. He tried. I tried. Decide, Violet. Are you going to die a scribe? Or live as a rider?”

 

I glance down at the books in my arms and make my choice. “You’re a pain in the ass.” I put the fables in the corner but keep the other tome in my hands as I face my sister.

 

“A pain in the ass who is going to keep you alive. What’s that one for?” she challenges me.

 

“Killing people.” I hand it back to her.

 

A slow smile spreads across her face. “Good. You can keep that one. Now, finish getting changed while I sort out the rest of this mess.” The bell rings high above us. We have forty-five minutes.

 

I dress quickly, but everything feels like it belongs to someone else, though it’s obviously tailored to my size. My tunic is replaced by a tight-fitting black shirt that covers my arms, and my breezy pants are exchanged for leather ones that hug every curve. Then she laces me into a vest-style corset over the shirt.

 

“What is this?” I test the material just above my heart, scratching it with my fingernail.

 

“Something I designed,” she explains, tugging my braid painfully tight against my scalp. “I had it specially made for you with Teine’s scales sewn in, so be careful with it.”

 

“Dragon scales?” I jerk my head back to look at her. “How? Teine is huge.”

 

“I happen to know a rider whose powers can make big things very small.” A devious smile plays across her lips. “And smaller things…much, much bigger.”

 

I roll my eyes. Mira’s always been more vocal about her men than I have been…about all two of them. “I mean, how much bigger?” I can’t stop myself from asking, and the self-satisfied smile that creeps across her features says it all. 

 

Once she finishes my braid, I catch my reflection in the lone mirror adorning the walls of my former room and I have to admit, I look pretty badass ass. The sheaths that line my rib cage are the perfect size for the daggers she hands me next. They are small, light and fit perfectly in my small hands, a problem that I had come across when trying to outfit myself over the past 6 months. 

 

I had found 4 that were workable, but I added the 6 that Mira clearly had made with me and my, differences , aside. I try not to sound too bitter in my own mind as I think about my personal failings, the whole reason I had thought I would walk into the Scribe Quadrant today. 

 

Pushing those thoughts to the side, I snag my now much lighter pack and we begin the walk from the Admin Housing down to the Gates that would lead all the conscripted to their desired, or in my case demanded, Quadrants within the walls of Basgiath War College.

 

As we walk Mira continues to summarize years of knowledge into fifteen harried minutes, barely pausing to breathe.

 

“Be observant. Quiet is fine, but make sure you notice everything and everyone around you to your advantage. You’ve read the Codex?” She may ask the question but I know it’s rhetorical. She knew I would have read what is basically the only required reading for the Riders Quadrant as soon as I had found out about my new future. The Codex is the rule book for the Riders Quadrant and it is a fraction of the length of the other divisions’. Probably because riders have trouble obeying rules.

 

“Wear the armor at all times. Keep your daggers on you at all times.” She points to the sheaths down my sides and thighs. 

 

“Someone’s going to say I didn’t earn them.”

 

“You’re a Sorrengail,” she responds, as if that’s answer enough. “Fuck what they say.”

 

“And you don’t think the dragon scales are cheating?”

 

“There’s no such thing as cheating once you climb the turret. There’s only survival and death.” The bell chimes—only thirty minutes left. She swallows. “It’s almost time. Ready?”

 

“No.”

 

“Yeah I wasn’t either, but don’t wait on the stairs, you have to get across the parapet before the terror conquers your mind. Don’t let the wind sway your steps, and if it comes down to you or your pack, lose the pack. Nothing in it is worth your life.” Mira’s sharp advice keeps battering its way into my brain as she leads me towards the turret that houses the 250 steps that climb to the parapet. 

 

The line moves, and the bell chimes again. It’s eight o’clock. “Focus,” Mira snaps, and I whip my head forward. “This might sound harsh, but don’t seek friendships in there, Violet. Forge alliances.”

 

There are only two ahead of us now—a woman with a full pack, whose high cheekbones and oval face remind me of renderings of Amari, the queen of the gods. Her dark brown hair is worn in several rows of short braids that just touch the equally dark skin of her neck. The second is the muscular blond man with the woman crying all over him. He’s carrying an even bigger rucksack.

 

I look around the pair toward the roll-keeping desk, and my eyes widen. “Is he…?” I whisper.

 

Mira glances and mutters a curse. “A separatist’s kid? Yep. See that shimmering mark that starts on the top of his wrist? It’s a relic from the rebellion.”

 

I lift my eyebrows in surprise. The only relics I’ve ever heard of are when a dragon uses magic to mark the skin of their bonded rider. But those relics are a symbol of honor and power and generally in the shape of the dragon who gifted them. These marks are swirls and slashes that feel more like a warning than a claiming.

 

“A dragon did that?” I whisper.

 

She nods. “Mom says General Melgren’s dragon did it to all of them when he executed their parents, but she wasn’t exactly open to further discussion on the topic. Nothing like punishing the kids to deter more parents from committing treason.”

 

It seems…cruel, but the first rule of living at Basgiath is never question a dragon. They tend to cremate anyone they find rude.

 

“Most of the marked kids who carry rebellion relics are from Tyrrendor, of course, but there are a few whose parents turned traitor from the other provinces—” The blood drains from her face, and she grips the straps of my pack, turning me to face her. “I just remembered.” Her voice drops, and I lean in, my heart jumping at the urgency in her tone. “Stay the hell away from Xaden Riorson.”

 

The air rushes from my lungs. That name…

 

“That Xaden Riorson,” she confirms, fear lacing her gaze. “He’s a third-year, and he will kill you the second he finds out who you are.”

 

“His father was the Great Betrayer. He led the rebellion,” I say quietly. “What is Xaden doing here?”

 

“All the children of the leaders were conscripted as punishment for their parents’ crimes,” Mira whispers as we shuffle sideways, moving with the line. “Mom told me they never expected Riorson to make it past the parapet. Then they figured a cadet would kill him, but once his dragon chose him…” She shakes her head. “Well, there’s nothing much that can be done then. He’s risen to the rank of wingleader.”

 

“That’s bullshit,” I seethe.

 

“He’s sworn allegiance to Navarre, but I don’t think that will stop him where you’re concerned. Once you get across the parapet—because you will make it across—find Dain. He’ll put you in his squad, and we’ll just hope it’s far from Riorson.” She grips my straps tighter. “Stay. Away. From. Him.”

 

“Noted.” I nod. I was looking forward to seeing Dain again, it had been a year since I had seen him off for his walk across the parapet into the Riders Quadrant. 

 

“Next,” a voice calls from behind the wooden table that bears the rolls of the Riders Quadrant. The marked rider I don’t know is seated next to a scribe I do, and Captain Fitzgibbons’s silver eyebrows rise over his weathered face. “Violet Sorrengail?”

 

I nod, picking up the quill and signing my name on the next empty line on the roll.

 

“But I thought you were meant for the Scribe Quadrant,” Captain Fitzgibbons says softly.

 

I eye his cream-colored tunic, unable to find the words.

 

“General Sorrengail chose otherwise,” Mira supplies.

 

Sadness fills the older man’s eyes. “Pity. You had so much promise.”

 

“By the gods,” the rider next to Captain Fitzgibbons says. “You’re Mira Sorrengail?” His jaw drops, and I can smell his hero worship from here.

 

“I am.” She nods. “This is my sister, Violet. She’ll be a first-year.”

 

“If she survives the parapet.” Someone behind me snickers. “Wind just might blow her right off.”

 

“You fought at Strythmore,” the rider behind the desk says with awe. “They gave you the Order of the Talon for taking out that battery behind enemy lines.”

 

The snickering stops.

 

“As I was saying.” Mira puts a hand at the small of my back. “This is my sister, Violet.”

 

“You know the way.” The Captain nods and points to the open door into the turret. It looks ominously dark in there, and I fight the urge to run like hell.

 

“I know the way,” she assures him, leading me past the table so the snickering asshole behind me can sign the roll.

 

We pause at the doorway and turn toward each other.

 

“Don’t die, Violet. I’d hate to be an only child.” She grins and walks away, sauntering past the line of gawking candidates as word spreads of exactly who she is and what she’s done.

 

“Tough to live up to that,” the woman ahead of me says from just inside the tower.

 

I roll my eyes as we begin the climb “It is.” 

 

“Sorrengail as in…?” the woman asks, looking over her shoulder as we begin to climb the hundreds of stairs that lead to our possible deaths.

 

“Yep.” There’s no railing, so I keep my hand on the stone wall as we rise higher and higher.

 

“The general?” the blond guy ahead of us asks.

 

“The same one,” I answered, offering him a quick smile. Anyone whose mother holds on that tight can’t be that bad, right?

 

“Wow. Nice leathers, too.” He smiles back.

 

“Thanks. They’re courtesy of my sister.”

 

“I wonder how many candidates have fallen off the edge of the steps and died before they even reach the parapet,” the woman says, glancing down the center of the staircase as we climb higher.

 

“Two last year.” I tilt my head when she glances back. “Well, three if you count the girl one of the guys landed on.”

 

The woman’s brown eyes flare, but she turns back around and keeps climbing. “How many steps are there?” she asks.

 

“Two hundred and fifty,” I answer, and we climb in silence for another five minutes.

 

“Not too bad,” she says with a bright smile as we near the top and the line comes to a halt. “I’m Rhiannon Matthias, by the way.”

 

“Dylan,” the blond guy responds with an enthusiastic wave.

 

“Violet.” I give them a tense smile of my own, blatantly ignoring Mira’s earlier suggestion that I avoid friendships and only forge alliances. 

 

“I feel like I’ve been waiting my entire life for this day.” Dylan shifts his pack on his back. “Can you believe we actually get to do this? It’s a dream come true.”

 

Right. Naturally, every other candidate but me is excited to be here. This is the only quadrant at Basgiath that doesn’t accept conscripts—only volunteers.

 

“I can’t fucking wait.” Rhiannon’s smile widens. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to ride a dragon?”

 

Me . Not that it doesn’t sound fun in theory. It does. It’s just the probability of surviving to graduation that sour my stomach. And not just in general either, although those chances are small enough, with all my shortcomings, the odds of me flying out of here on graduation day are downright abysmal. 

 

The two of them continue talking as we inch up the stairs, Rhiannon glances back at me. “What about you? Let me guess. With a name like Sorrengail, I bet you were the first to volunteer this year.”

 

“I was more like volun-told.” My answer is far less enthusiastic than hers.

 

“Gotcha.”

 

The snickering candidate behind me finally catches up, sweating and red. Look who isn’t snickering now. My joints may be screaming at me but my lungs are kind of enjoying this. Through his labored breathing he takes the chance to be a jackass once again. 

 

“The frail one here is a breeze away from the bottom of the ravine.”

 

I roll my eyes.

 

“Shut up and focus on yourself,” Rhiannon snaps, her feet clicking against the stone as we climb.

 

The top comes into sight, the doorway full of muddled light. Mira was right. Those clouds are going to wreak havoc on us, and we have to be on the other side of the parapet before they do.

 

Another step, another tap of Rhiannon’s feet. They’re to loud, to punctuated for them to be anything but equestrian. 

 

“Let me see your boots,” I say quietly so the jerk behind me can’t hear.

 

Her brow puckers, and confusion fills her brown eyes, but she shows me the soles. They’re smooth, just like the ones I was wearing earlier. My stomach sinks like a rock.

 

The line starts moving again, pausing when we’re only a few feet from the opening. “What size are your feet?” I ask.

 

“What?” Rhiannon blinks at me.

 

“Your feet. What size are they?”

 

“Eight,” she answers, two lines forming between her brows.

 

“I’m a seven,” I say quickly. “It will hurt like hell, but I want you to take my left boot. Trade with me.” I have a dagger in the right one.

 

“I’m sorry?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have.

 

“These are rider boots. They’ll grip the stone better. Your toes will be scrunched and generally miserable, but at least you’ll have a shot at not falling off if that rain hits.”

 

Rhiannon glances toward the open door—and the darkening sky—then back to me. “You’re willing to trade a boot?” I can’t decipher if the look on her face is awe or scepticism. 

 

“Just until we get on the other side.” I look through the open door. Three candidates are already walking across the parapet, their arms stretched out wide. “But we have to be quick. It’s almost our turn.”

 

Rhiannon purses her lips in debate for a second, then agrees, and we swap left boots. I barely finish lacing up before the line moves again.

 

“Let’s go. Some of us have things to do on the other side.” His voice grates on my last freaking nerve, but before I have a chance to move he shoves on my lower back, sending me staggering onto the platform and into the open air, I trip on the lip of the last step and go careening to the stone floor. 

 

Heat floods my face as I realize that I haven’t even made it to the Parapet and I have fallen. Rhiannon whips around to help me to my feet, her strong arm snagging my pack and my hand, all as she glares down the brute who can’t control his laughter. 

 

The candidates in front of us clear and I notice three riders waiting at the entrance, which for the record is nothing more than a gaping hole in the wall of the turret. One, who’s shaved all his hair with the exception of a strip down the top center, instructs Dylan as he moves into position. 

Another with ripped-off sleeves, his powerful arms a clear sign of why his shirt no longer bears them. His dark curly hair is falling into green eyes as he records the names of the candidates as they step out onto the treacherous crossing. The relic scrolling down his muscled arm and ending at his fingertips brands him as a child of the rebellion, but the smile on his face as he meets my gaze sends my heart skittering as I step towards him. The crisp line of his jaw is clean shaven and tightens as his smile grows. His gaze hasn’t left mine and now my cheeks are red for a whole new reason. 

 

There is no way he is on the ‘Mira Approved’ list of bed mates. 

 

He takes Rhiannon’s name, breaking the trance I seem to be in, when my eyes catch the third rider and my heart simply… stops. 

 

He’s tall, with windblown black hair and dark brows. The line of his jaw is strong and covered by warm tawny skin and dark stubble, and when he folds his arms across his torso, the muscles in his chest and arms ripple, moving in a way that makes me swallow. And his eyes… His eyes are the shade of gold-flecked onyx. The contrast is startling, jaw-dropping even—everything about him is. His features are so harsh that they look carved, and yet they’re astonishingly perfect, like an artist worked a lifetime sculpting him, and at least a year of that was spent on his mouth.

 

He’s the most exquisite man I’ve ever seen.

 

And living in the war college means I’ve seen a lot of men.

 

Even the diagonal scar that bisects his left eyebrow and marks the top corner of his cheek only makes him hotter. Flaming hot. Scorching hot. Gets-you-into-trouble-and-you-like-it level of hot. Suddenly, I can’t remember exactly why Mira told me not to fuck around outside my year group.

 

“See you two on the other side!” Dylan says over his shoulder with an excited grin before stepping onto the parapet, his arms spread wide.

 

“Ready for the next one, Riorson?” the rider with the ripped sleeves says.

 

Xaden Riorson?

 

“You ready for this, Sorrengail?” Rhiannon asks, moving forward.

 

The black-haired rider snaps his gaze to mine, turning fully toward me, and my heart thunders for all the wrong reasons. A rebellion relic, curving in dips and swirls, starts at his bare left wrist, then disappears under his black uniform to appear again at his collar, where it stretches and swirls up his neck, stopping at his jawline.

 

“Oh shit,” I whisper, and his eyes narrow, as if he can hear me over the howl of wind that rips at my secured braid.

 

“Sorrengail?” He steps toward me, and I look up…and up.

 

Good gods, I don’t even reach his collarbone. He’s massive. He has to be more than four inches over six feet tall.

 

I feel exactly what Mira called me—fragile—but I nod once, and the shining onyx of his eyes transforms to cold, unadulterated hatred. I can almost taste the loathing wafting off him like a bitter cologne.

 

“Violet?” Rhiannon asks, moving forward.

 

“You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest.” His voice is deep and accusatory.

 

“You’re Fen Riorson’s son,” I counter, the certainty of this revelation settling in my bones. I lift my chin and do my best to lock every muscle in my body so I don’t start trembling.

 

He will kill you the second he finds out who you are. Mira’s words bounce around my skull, and fear knots in my throat. He’s going to throw me over the edge. He’s going to pick me up and drop me right off this turret. I’m never going to get the chance to even walk the parapet. I’ll die being exactly what my mother’s always danced around calling me—weak.

 

Xaden sucks in a deep breath, and the muscle in his jaw flexes once. Twice. “Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution.”

 

Wait. Like he has the only right to hatred here? Rage races through my veins. “Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we’re even.”

 

“Hardly.” His glaring gaze strokes over me like he’s memorizing every detail or looking for any weakness. “Your sister is a rider. Guess that explains the leathers.”

 

“Guess so.” I hold his glare, as if winning this staring competition will gain me entrance to the quadrant instead of crossing the parapet behind him. Either way, I’m getting across. Mira isn’t going to lose both her siblings.

 

His hands clench into fists, and he tenses.

 

I prepare for the strike. He might throw me off this tower, but I won’t make it easy for him.

 

“You all right?” Rhiannon asks, her gaze jumping between Xaden and me.

 

He glances at her. “You’re friends?”

 

“We met on the stairs,” she says, squaring her shoulders.

 

He looks down, noting our mismatched shoes, and arches a brow. His hands relax. “Interesting.”

 

“Are you going to kill me?” I lift my chin another inch.

 

His gaze clashes with mine as the sky opens and rain falls in a deluge, soaking my hair, my leathers, and the stones around us in seconds. My mother is clearly trying to kill me, there is no way this could be seen as favoritism for me. 

 

A scream rends the air, and Rhiannon and I both jerk our attention to the parapet just in time to see Dylan slip.

 

I gasp, my heart jolting into my throat.

 

He catches himself, hooking his arms over the stone bridge as his feet kick beneath him, scrambling for a purchase that isn’t there.

 

“Pull yourself up, Dylan!” Rhiannon shouts.

 

“Oh gods!” My hand flies to cover my mouth, but he loses his grip on the water-slick stone and falls, disappearing from view. The wind and rain steal any sound his body might make in the valley below. They steal the sound of my muffled cry, too.

 

Xaden never takes his eyes from me, watching silently with a look I can’t interpret as I bring my horrified gaze back to his.

 

“Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet is going to do it for me?” A wicked smile curves his lips. “Your turn.”

 

The next moments of my life are a blur. I don’t remember giving the gorgeous roll keeper my name, or stepping on the parapet. But I am jolted out of my own head as thunder cracks, the wind slams into me, and I flail my arms. “Shit!”

 

My body sways left with the gale, and I drop to the parapet, holding on to the edges and crouching so I don’t lose my footing, making myself as small as possible as the wind howls over and around me. Stomach churning, I feel my lungs threaten to hyperventilate as panic seizes me at knifepoint. 

 

A scream reaches my ears for an instant before fading as he falls out of sight.

 

Holy shit.

 

“You’re next, Sorrengail!” the brute from behind me bellows, and I jerk my gaze from the ravine to see him pointing at me, a sinister smile curving his mouth. Then he comes for me, his strides eating up the distance between us with horrifying speed.

 

Move. Now.

 

Another gust slams into me, and my foot slips off the parapet. My heart lurches. The parapet rushes up to meet me as I stumble and fall. My knee slams into the stone, and I yelp at the sharp bite of pain. My hands scramble for purchase as my left leg dangles off the edge of this bridge from hell, he’s not far behind now. Then I make the gut-twisting error of looking down.

 

Water runs off my nose and chin, splattering against the stone before falling to join the river gushing through the valley more than two hundred feet below. I swallow the growing knot in my throat and blink, fighting to steady my heart rate.

 

I will not die today.

 

Gripping the sides of the stone, I brace as much of my weight as I can trust on the slick stones to hold and swing my left leg up. The ball of my foot finds the walkway. From here, there aren’t enough facts in the world to steady my thoughts. I need to get my right foot under me, the one that has better traction, but one wrong move and I’ll find out just how cold that river is beneath me.

 

You’ll be dead on impact.

 

“I’m coming for you, Sorrengail!” I hear from behind me.

 

I shove off the stone and pray my boots find the pathway as I burst to my feet. If I fall, fine, that would be my error. But I’m not about to let this asshole murder me. Best to get to the other side, where the rest of the murderers wait. Not that everyone in the quadrant is going to try to kill me, just the cadets who think I’ll be a liability to the wing. There’s a reason strength is revered among riders. A squad, a section, a wing is only as effective as its weakest link, and if that link breaks, it puts everyone in danger.

 

He either thinks I’m that link or he’s an unstable asshole who just enjoys killing. Probably both. Either way, I need to move faster. I can hear his voice behind me, but the words don’t seem to register with my brain. Not until the asshole roars in frustration, and the sound grips my heaving chest like a vise. 

 

I jump the remaining few feet into the turret and off the parapet, not even gaining my footing before I’m spinning. I rip a dagger from its sheath at my ribs just as he skids to a halt above me on the parapet, his breath choppy and his face ruddy. Murder is etched in his narrowed, glacial blue eyes as he glares down at me…and where the tip of my dagger now indents the fabric of his breeches—against his balls.

 

“I think. I’ll be safe. For right. Now,” I manage between ragged breaths, my muscles trembling but my hand more than steady.

 

“Will you?” he vibrates with rage, his thick blond brows slashing down over arctic blue eyes, every line of his monstrous frame leaning my way. But he doesn’t take another step.

 

“It is unlawful for a rider to cause another harm. While in a quadrant formation or in the supervisory. Presence of a superior-ranking cadet,” I recite from the Codex, my heartbeat still in my throat. “As it will diminish the efficacy of the wing. And given the crowd behind us, I think it’s clear to argue that it’s a formation. Article Three, Section—”

 

“I don’t give a shit!” He moves, but I hold my ground, and the new dagger that Mira gave me  slices through the first layer of his breeches, his under wear and blood is now dripping down the blade. They’re a little sharper than the ones I had been practicing with the last few months. 

 

The  face is enough to tell me that it definitely hurts. “I suggest you reconsider.” I adjust my stance just in case he doesn’t. “I might slip” pausing to look down at where my dagger has him hostage “well, further.” I don’t recognize my own voice, where the hell has the devil may care attitude come from. Did I lose my marbles when I fell on the parapet, all sense of self preservation lost to the river 200’ below the 18” stone walkway?

 

“Name?” the rider next to me drawls, as if we’re the least interesting thing she’s seen today. I don’t even glance in her direction. 

 

Violet Sorrengail,” I answer, but a hundred percent of my focus is on the jackass again. The rain drips off the lowered ridge of his brow. “And before you ask, yes, I’m that Sorrengail.”

 

“Not surprised, with that maneuver,” the woman says, then asks for the other cadet's name. 

 

“Well, Jack,” the male rider on my right says slowly, “Cadet Sorrengail has you by the actual balls here, in more ways than one. She’s right. Regs state that there’s nothing but respect among riders at formation. You want to kill her, you’ll have to do it in the sparring ring or on your own time. That is, if she decides to let you off the parapet. Because technically, you’re not on the grounds yet, so you are not a cadet. She is.”

 

“And if I decide to snap her neck the second I step down?” Jack growls, and the look in his eyes says he’ll do it.

 

“Then you get to meet the dragons early,” the redhead answers, her tone bland. “We don’t wait for trials around here. We just execute.”

 

“What’s it going to be, Sorrengail?” the male rider asks. “You going to have Jack here start as a eunuch?"

 

Shit. What is it going to be? I can’t kill him, not at this angle, and slicing off his balls is only going to make him hate me more, if possible. 

 

Oh well Mira said alliances, and I certainly wasn’t going to make one with this ogre. 

 

My wrist flicks, there is a sickening sound of suction, a quick ‘ plop plop’ and then the sweet sound of Jack Barlowe’s scream as I move sideways to avoid the blood spray. 

 

I turn on my heel feeling it wobble, Rhiannon's size 8 is sloppy around my ankle, Jack's voice screaming out “You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you.”

 

He doesn’t seem like too much of a threat to me right now but I can't help but throw over my shoulder “You may want to get him to the Healers before he bleeds out.” I’m channeling Mira right now as I try to waltz away without a care in the world, even though internally I’m vomiting.

 

AN: Well here goes, we shall see how this idea progresses. But I can't seem to shake it out of my brain, so I bring it to you in all it's emotionally stunted and angst ridden glory. 

 

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Asher, I sure hope you knew what you were doing over there with her. I’m following your wishes to the letter, but something feels as though I have just conscripted our daughter to her death. 

 

- Recovered Dairy Entry from General Sorrengail

It’s still early, probably around nine, but already I see there aren’t as many cadets as there were candidates ahead of me in line. Based on the overwhelming presence of leather, both the second- and third-years are here as well, taking stock of the new cadets.

 

The rain eases into a drizzle, as if it had only come to make the hardest test of my life even harder…but I did it.

 

I’m alive.

 

I made it.

 

The adrenaline begins to wane and my body begins to tremble, and a throbbing pain erupts in my left knee—the one I slammed on the parapet. I take a tentative step, and it threatens to give out on me. However the binds I put on this morning are doing their job and holding me together as I search for Rhiannon, I need my boot back. I find her and she grins at me giving my shoulders a squeeze. 

 

“We made it!” she crows, and her exuberance is contagious. 

 

“We made it,” I repeat with a smile. 

 

“I can’t thank you enough. There were at least three times I would have fallen off if you hadn’t helped me. You were right—those soles were slick as shit. Have you seen the people around here? I swear I just saw a second-year with pink streaks in her hair, and one guy has dragon scales tattooed up his entire biceps.”

 

“Conformity is for the infantry,” I mumble as she loops her arm through mine and tugs me along toward the crowd. My knee screams, pain radiating up to my hip and down to my foot, and I limp, but manage to keep up with her long strides. 

 

Speaking of which,” she says, glancing down. “We need to trade boots. There’s a bench—”

 

Thank fuck because now I’m shaking and I can feel the world beginning to blur out around me. 

 

A tall figure in a pristine black uniform steps out of the crowd, charging toward us, and though Rhiannon manages to dodge, I stumble smack into his chest.

 

“Violet?” Strong hands catch my elbows to steady me, and I look up into a pair of familiar, striking brown eyes, flared wide in obvious shock.

 

Relief sweeps through me, and I try to smile, but it probably comes out like a distorted grimace. He seems taller than he was last summer, the beard that cuts across his jaw is new, and he’s filled out in a way that makes me blink…or maybe that’s just my vision going hazy at the edges. The beautiful, easygoing smile that’s starred in way too many of my fantasies is far from the scowl that purses his mouth, and everything about him seems a little…harder, but it works for him. The line of his chin, the set of his brow, even the muscles of his biceps are rigid under my fingers as I try to find my balance. Sometime in the last year, Dain Aetos went from attractive and cute to gorgeous.

 

And I’m about to be sick all over his boots.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he barks, the shock in his eyes transforming to something foreign, something deadly. What the fuck? This isn’t the same boy I grew up with. He’s a second-year rider now.  

 

I manage to shrug him off, his hostile greeting having soured my attitude. The trembles turn to full-on shakes, and bile creeps up my throat, dizziness only making the nausea worse. My knees give out.

 

“Damn it, Violet,” he mutters, hauling me back to my feet. With one hand on my back and the other under my elbow, he quickly guides me away from the crowd and into an alcove in the wall, close to the first defensive turret of the citadel. It’s a shady, hidden spot with a hard wooden bench, which he sits me on, then helps me out of my rucksack.

 

Spit floods my mouth. “I’m going to be sick.” Maybe I can aim for his boots. 

 

I hear approaching footsteps on the gravel. “Who the hell are you?”

 

“I’m Rhiannon. I’m Violet’s…friend.”

 

I stare at the gravel under my mismatched boots and will the meager contents of my stomach to stay put.

 

“Listen to me, Rhiannon. Violet is fine,” he commands. “And if anyone asks, then you tell them exactly what I said, that it’s just the adrenaline working out of her system. Understand?”

 

“It’s no one’s business what’s going on with Violet,” she retorts, her tone just as sharp as his. “So I wouldn’t say shit. Especially not when she’s the reason I made it across the parapet. I should be asking just who the hell you think you are?” the sass she is giving Dain right now makes me smile. 

 

“He’s one of my oldest friends.” I reluctantly admit, he sure as shit isn’t acting like it. The trembles slowly subside, and the nausea wanes, but I’m not sure if it’s from timing or my position, so I keep my head between my knees while I manage to unlace my left boot.

 

“Oh,” Rhiannon answers.

 

“And a second-year rider, cadet,” he growls at her before turning back to me. “Are you hurt?” His gaze rakes over me with a desperate edge, like he needs to see every inch for himself.

 

“My knee is sore,” I admit in a whisper, because it’s Dain. Dain, whom I’ve known since we were five and six. Dain, whose father is one of my mother’s most trusted advisers. Dain, who held me together when Mira left for the Riders Quadrant and again when Brennan died.

 

He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, turning my face left and right for his inspection. “That’s all? You’re sure?” His hands run down my sides and pause at my ribs. “Are you wearing daggers?”

 

I don’t do more than nod. 

 

“Huh.” He drops his hands and looks at me like he’s never seen me before, like I’m a complete stranger, but then he blinks and it’s gone. “Get your boots switched. You two look ridiculous. Vi, do you trust this one?” He nods toward Rhiannon. I nod again, not trusting my voice at the moment. 

 

He runs his hands through his hair, a sure sign he is frazzled, before sending Rhiannon off to go add our names to his squad. Waiting until she has rounded the corner to turn his furious gaze back on me. Launching into a tirade that is overheard by what looks like no less than half the people standing in the courtyard. 

 

I'm embarrassed as he begins to list out my faults, all the reasons I shouldn’t be here, and how he is going to try to get me out of here. My anger simmers and then boils as he continues on without a single word of input from me. 

 

Finally I can't hold it in anymore “Dain, just shut up would you? I didn’t need all my faults announced to the entire quadrant on my first day.” My voice is exasperated and Dain looks as though I’ve physically slapped him. 

 

His entire posture droops, and the plea in his eyes shreds some of my indignation. “Please let me save you.”

 

“You can’t,” I whisper. “She said she’d haul me right back. I either leave here as a rider or as a name on a stone.”

 

“She didn’t mean it.” He shakes his head. “She can’t mean that.”

 

“She means it. Even Mira couldn’t talk her out of it.”

 

He searches my eyes and tenses, as if he sees the truth of it there. “Shit.”

 

“Yeah. Shit.” I shrug as I begin to walk away from him, like it’s not my life we’re talking about here.

 

It takes me a few minutes to find Rhiannon in the growing crowd, talking to another girl whose jet-black hair is cut just as short as Dain’s.

 

“There you are!” Rhiannon’s smile is genuine and full of relief. “I was worried. Is everything…” She lifts her eyebrows.

 

“I’m good to go.” I nod and turn toward the other woman as Rhiannon introduces us. Her name is Tara, and she’s from the Morraine province to the north, along the coast of the Emerald Sea. She has that same air of confidence Mira does, and her eyes dance with excitement as she and Rhiannon talk about how they’ve both obsessed over dragons since childhood. I pay attention but only enough to recall details if we need to form an alliance.

 

An hour passes, then another, according to the Basgiath bells, which we can hear from here. Then the last of the cadets walks into the courtyard, followed by the three riders from the other turret.

 

Xaden is among them. It’s not just his height that makes him stand out in this crowd but the way the other riders all seem to move around him, like he’s a shark and they’re all fish giving him a wide berth. For a second, I can’t help but wonder what his signet is, the unique power from the bond with his dragon, and if that’s why even the third-years seem to scurry out of his way as he strides up to the dais with lethal grace. There are ten of them in total up there now, and from the way Commandant Panchek moves to the front, facing us—

 

“I think we’re about to start,” I say to Rhiannon and Tara, and they both turn to face the dais. Everyone does.

 

“Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek starts with a politician’s smile, gesturing to us. The guy has always talked with his hands. “Good job. Sixty-seven did not.”

 

My chest clenches as my brain spins the calculation quickly. Almost twenty percent. Was it the rain? The wind? That’s more than average. Sixty-seven people died trying to get here.

 

“As the Codex says, now you begin the true crucible!” Panchek shouts, his voice carrying over the five hundred of us that I estimate are in this courtyard. “You will be tested by your superiors, hunted by your peers, and guided by your instincts. If you survive to Threshing, and if you are chosen, you will be riders. Then we’ll see how many of you make it to graduation.”

 

“Your instructors will teach you,” Panchek promises, his hand sweeping to the line of professors standing at the doors to the academic wing. “It’s up to you how well you learn.” He swings his pointer finger at us. “Discipline falls to your units, and your wingleader is the last word. If I have to get involved…” A slow, sinister smile spreads across his face. “You don’t want me involved.

 

“With that said, I’ll leave you to your wingleaders. My best advice? Don’t die.” He walks off the dais with the executive commandant, leaving only the riders on the stone stage.

 

A brunette woman with wide shoulders and a scarred sneer stalks forward, the silver spikes on the shoulders of her uniform flashing in the sunlight. “I’m Nyra, the senior wingleader of the quadrant and the head of the First Wing. Section leaders and squad leaders, take your positions now.”

 

My shoulder is jostled as someone walks by, pushing between Rhiannon and me. Others follow suit until there are about fifty people in front of us. Rhiannon and I are both called to Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing. We get into formation quickly, lining up in a square. A quick glance tells me that we have a squad leader—Dain, who isn’t looking at me—a female executive squad leader, four riders who look like they might be second- or third-years, and nine first-years. One of the riders with two stars on her uniform and half-shaved, half-pink hair has a rebellion relic that winds around her forearm, from her wrist to above her elbow, where it disappears under her uniform, but I look away so she won’t catch me staring.

 

We’re silent as the rest of the wings are called. I try to keep my gaze on the roll-keeper, but my eyes jerk right like the traitors they are, and my pulse leaps.

 

Xaden watches me with a cold, calculating look that feels like he’s plotting my death from where he stands as the wingleader for Fourth Wing.

 

I lift my chin. Apparently the quiet, shy scribe is long gone. 

 

He cocks his scarred eyebrow. Then he says something to Second Wing’s wingleader, and then every wingleader joins in on what’s obviously a heated discussion.

 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Rhiannon whispers.

 

“Quiet,” Dain hisses.

 

My spine stiffens. I can’t expect him to be my Dain here, not under these circumstances, but still, the tone is jarring.

 

Finally, the wingleaders turn around to face us, and the slight tilt to Xaden’s lips makes me instantly queasy.

 

“Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s,” Nyra orders.

Dain nods, then turns to us. “Follow me.” He says it once, then strides through formation, leaving us to scurry after him. 

 

The very breath freezes in my lungs.

 

We’re moving to Fourth Wing. Xaden’s wing.

 

It takes a minute, maybe two, and we take our place in the new formation. I force myself to breathe. There’s a fucking smirk on Xaden’s arrogant, handsome face.

 

I’m now entirely at his mercy, a subordinate in his chain of command. He can punish me however he likes for the slightest infraction, even imaginary ones.

 

He steps forward, taking Nyra’s place and finally breaking our staring contest. I’m pretty sure he won, considering my heart is galloping like a runaway horse.

 

“You’re all cadets now.” Xaden’s voice carries out over the courtyard, stronger than the others. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.”

 

Most of the others cheer, but I keep my mouth shut, I know he’s taunting us.

 

Xaden’s eyes find mine, and my stomach clenches before he looks away. “And I bet you feel pretty badass right now, don’t you, first-years?”

 

More cheers.

 

“You feel invincible after the parapet, don’t you?” Xaden shouts. “You think you’re untouchable! You’re on the way to becoming the elite! The few! The chosen!”

 

Another round of cheers goes up with each declaration, louder and louder. Idiots.

 

Wait. That’s not just cheering, it’s the sound of wings beating the air into submission.

 

“Oh gods, they’re beautiful,” Rhiannon whispers at my side as they come into view—a riot of dragons.

 

I’ve spent my life around dragons, but always from a distance. They don’t tolerate humans they haven’t chosen. But these eight? They’re flying straight for us—at speed.

 

Just when I think they’re about to fly overhead, they pitch vertically, whip the air with their huge semitranslucent wings, and stop, the gusts of wing-made wind so powerful that I nearly stagger backward as they land on the outer semicircular wall. Their chest scales ripple with movement, and their razor-sharp talons dig into the edge of the wall on either side. Now I understand why the walls are ten feet thick. It’s not a barrier. The edge of the fortress is a damned perch.

 

My mouth drops open. In my five years of living here, I’ve never seen this, but then again, I’ve never been allowed to watch what happens on Conscription Day.

 

A few cadets scream.

 

Guess everyone wants to be a dragon rider until they’re actually twenty feet away from one.

 

Steam blasts my face as the navy-blue one directly in front of me exhales through its wide nostrils. Its glistening blue horns rise above its head in an elegant, lethal sweep, and its wings flare momentarily before tucking in, the tip of their top joint crowned by a single fierce talon.

 

 “We’re going to have to bring the masons in again,” Dain mutters as chunks of rock crumble under the dragons’ grips, crashing to the courtyard in boulders the size of my torso.

 

My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, and I absolutely agree with it, because I’d like to run, too. Just thinking that I’m supposed to ride one of these is fucking ludicrous.

 

A cadet bolts out of Third Wing, screaming as he makes a run for the stone keep behind us. We all turn to look as he sprints for the giant arched door at the center. I can almost see the words carved into the arch from here, but I already know them by heart. A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead.

 

The red dragon on the left opens its vast mouth, revealing teeth as big as I am. Fire erupts along its tongue, then shoots outward in a macabre blaze toward the fleeing cadet. He’s a pile of ash on the gravel before he can even make it to the shadow of the keep.

 

The navy dragon closest to me seems to tilt its head at me, as if its narrowed golden eyes can see straight through me to the fear fisting my stomach and the doubt curled insidiously around my heart. I bet it can even see the wraps binding my joints. It knows I’m at a disadvantage, that I’m too small to climb its foreleg and mount, too frail to ride. Dragons always know.

 

But I will not run. I wouldn’t be standing here if I’d quit every time something seemed impossible to overcome. I will not die today. The words repeat in my head just like they had before the parapet and on it.

 

I force my shoulders back and lift my chin. I will not show weakness, I earned the right to stand here today. Steam blows back what hair the storm managed to wrestle from my braid, and my heart stutters in my chest like it’s going to either stop or beat right out of my chest. Finally the massive blue blinks, and focuses her attention elsewhere. It feels like I have passed a test. Until the brown right next to it takes over the staredown. 

 

I continue holding myself together with sheer will and stubbornness. But this one takes things a step further and clacks it’s teeth together, the intimidating snap sounding like death. But still I stand, refusing to back down, which may be incredibly stupid of me. But the brown just blinks, inclining his chin before looking away. 

 

“Anyone else feel like changing their mind?” Xaden shouts, scanning the remaining rows of cadets with the same shrewd gaze of the navy-blue dragon behind him. “No? Excellent. Roughly half of you will be dead by this time next summer.” The formation is silent except for a few untimely sobs from my left. “A third of you again the year after that, and the same your last year. No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?”

 

No one cheers.

 

Another blast of heat rushes—this time directly at my face—and every muscle in my body clenches, preparing for incineration. But it’s not flames…just steam, and it blows back Rhiannon’s braids as the dragons finish their simultaneous exhale. The breeches on the first-year ahead of me darken, the color spreading down his legs.

 

They want us scared. Mission accomplished.

 

“Because you’re not untouchable or special to them.” Xaden points toward the navy dragon and leans forward slightly, like he’s letting us in on a secret as we lock eyes. “To them, you’re just the prey.”

 -     -     -

The next morning finds me under my covers rewrapping my fragile joints, before donning my standard issue summer weight uniform. The armored corset Mira made me isn’t regulation, but I fit right in among the hundreds of modified uniforms around me as we stand in morning formation.

 

There’s no formal conclusion to the formation, no last moment of silence. The names on the scroll leave the dais with the scribes, and the quiet is broken as the squad leaders all turn and begin to address their squads.

 

“Hopefully you all ate breakfast, because you’re not going to get another chance before lunch,” Dain says, his eyes meeting mine for the span of a heartbeat before he glances away, feigning indifference.

 

“He’s good at pretending he doesn’t know you,” Rhiannon whispers at my side.

 

“He is,” and after the shitshow that was yesterday I’m not upset by it. 

 

“Second- and third-years, I’m assuming you know where to go,” Dain continues, there’s a mutter of agreement from the senior cadets ahead of us. As first-years, we’re in the back two rows of the little square that makes up Second Squad.

 

“First-years, at least one of you should have memorized your academic schedule when it was handed out yesterday.” Dain’s voice booms over us, and it’s hard to reconcile this stern-faced, serious leader with the funny, grinning guy I’ve always known. “Stick together. I expect you all to be alive when we meet this afternoon in the sparring gym.”

 

Fuck, I’d almost forgotten that we’re sparring today. We only have the gym twice a week, so as long as I can get through today’s session unscathed, I’m in the clear for another couple of days. 

 

“And if we’re not?” the smart-ass first-year behind me asks.

 

I don’t bother looking, but Rhiannon does, rolling her eyes as she turns back forward.

 

“Then I won’t have to be concerned with learning your name, since it will be read off tomorrow morning,” Dain answers with a shrug.

 

A second-year ahead of me snorts a laugh, the movement jangling two small hoop earrings in her left lobe, but the pink-haired one stays silent.

 

“Sawyer?” Dain looks at the first-year to my left.

 

“I’ll get them there.” The tall, wiry cadet whose light complexion is covered with a smattering of freckles answers with a tight nod. His freckled jaw ticks, and my chest pangs with sympathy. He’s one of the repeats—a cadet who didn’t bond during Threshing and now has to start the entire year over. 

 

Maybe if I make friends, I could learn a few tips and tricks to keep myself alive in this death trap. As we move off a bird whistles to the left, and I look over the crowd, my heart leaping because I immediately recognize the tone. Dain.

 

The call sounds again, and I narrow it down to somewhere near the door to the rotunda. He’s standing at the top of the wide staircase, and the second our eyes lock, he motions toward the door with a subtle nod.

 

“I’ll be—” I start saying to Rhiannon, but she’s already followed my line of sight.

 

“I’ll grab your stuff and meet you there. It’s under your bunk, right?” she asks.

 

I nod, thanking her and move to go figure out what Dain wants. He better hope nobody recognizes that the bird call he used, isn’t even found in this part of the continent. 

 

Dain grabs my arm and pulls me into the little alcove with him.

 

“It’s just me.” Dain’s voice is low and quiet as he turns me to face him. Tension radiates from every line of his frame.

 

“I figured, since you were the one birdcalling me.” I grin, shaking my head. He’s been using that signal since we were kids living near the Krovlan border while our parents were stationed there with the Southern Wing.

 

He’s rapid firing off questions at me, and my hackles begin to rise again. I try pushing past him to get back to the rotunda and head for class. But he grabs my arm again, if he’s not careful he’s going to leave bruises with how often he’s doing it. 

 

“Just do your best to keep a low profile, especially when we’re in Battle Brief. Not like the colors in your hair don’t give you away, but that’s the one class the entire quadrant takes. I’ll see if one of the second-years can stand guard—”

 

“No one is going to assassinate me during history.” I roll my eyes. “Academics are the one place I don’t have to worry. What is Xaden going to do? Pull me out of class and run me through with a sword in the middle of the hallway? Or do you honestly think he’ll stab me in the middle of Battle Brief?”

 

“I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s fucking ruthless, Violet. Why do you think his dragon chose him?”

 

“The navy-blue one who landed behind the dais yesterday?” My stomach twists. The way those golden eyes assessed me…

 

Dain nods. “Sgaeyl is a Blue Daggertail, and she’s…vicious.” He swallows. “Don’t get me wrong. Cath is a nasty piece of work when he gets riled—all Red Swordtails are—but even most dragons steer clear of Sgaeyl.”

 

I stare at Dain, at the new scar that defines his jaw and the hard set of his eyes that are familiar and yet not.

 

“What?” he asks. The voices around us grow louder, and there are more footsteps coming and going.

 

“You bonded a dragon. You have powers I don’t even know about. You’re a squad leader.” I say the sentences slowly, hoping they’ll sink in, that I’ll truly grasp how much he’s changed. “It’s just hard to wrap my head around you still being…Dain.”

 

“I’m still me.” His posture softens, like he’s trying to morph back into my friend. 

 

“What’s your signet power?” I ask and I can’t help but wonder what Xaden’s signet is—and if he’ll use it to kill me when I least expect it.

 

“I can read a person’s recent memories,” Dain admits quietly. “Not like an inntinnsic reads minds or anything—I have to put my hands on the person, so I’m not a security risk. But my signet’s not common knowledge. I think they’ll use me in intelligence. I’m still learning, and of course I’m better at it the closer I am to Cath, but yeah. I just put my hands on someone’s temples, and I can see what they saw. It’s…incredible.”

 

My body stills, despite the smile on my face. He. Fucking. WHAT! 

 

I try to think about everything that has happened since I crossed the parapet, did he touch my head? I’m still running through everything that happened yesterday when I announce “I have to get to class.”

 

“Yeah, and I’m going to be late to the flight field.” He motions toward the edge of the pillar. “Look, Riorson is still a wingleader. He’ll be after you, but he’ll find a way to do it within the rules of the Codex, at least when people are watching. I was…” His cheeks flush. “Really good friends with Amber Mavis—the current wingleader for Third Wing—last year, and I’m telling you, the Codex is sacred to them. Now, you go first. I’ll see you in the sparring gym.” He smiles reassuringly.

 

 I start walking around the base of the massive pillar into the semi-crowded rotunda. There’re a couple dozen cadets in here, walking from one building to another, and it takes a second to get my bearings. I spot the academic doors between the orange-and-black pillars and start that way, blending into the crowd.

 

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a chill races down my spine as I cross the center of the rotunda, then my steps halt. Cadets move around me, but my eyes are drawn upward, toward the top of the steps that lead to the gathering hall.

 

Oh shit.

 

Xaden Riorson is watching me with narrowed eyes, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up his massive arms that remain folded across his chest, the warning in his relic-covered arm on full display. My heart jumps and lodges in my throat. There’s maybe twenty feet between us. My fingers twitch, ready to grab one of the blades sheathed at my ribs. Is this where he’ll do it? In the middle of the rotunda? The marble floor is gray, so it shouldn’t be that hard for the staff to get the blood out.

 

His head tilts, and he studies me with those impossibly dark eyes, like he’s deciding where I’m most vulnerable. I should run, right? But at least I can see him coming if I hold this position. His attention shifts, glancing to my right, and he lifts a single brow at me. My stomach pitches as Dain emerges from behind the pillar.

 

“What are you—” Dain starts as he reaches me, his brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“Top of the steps. Fourth door,” I hiss, interrupting him. How the hell could he not feel him up there? Every nerve ending in my body was aware that there was a predator in the room.

 

Dain’s gaze snaps up as the crowd thins out around us, and he mutters a curse, not-so-subtly stepping closer to me. Fewer people mean fewer witnesses, but I’m not foolish enough to think Xaden won’t kill me in front of the whole quadrant if he wants.

 

“I already knew your parents are tight,” Xaden calls out, a cruel smile tilting his lips. “But do you two have to be so fucking obvious?” The few cadets who are still in the rotunda turn to look at us. “Let me guess,” Xaden continues, glancing between Dain and me. “Childhood friends? First loves, even?” He pauses dramatically, before unfolding his arms and placing his palms on the second floor railing. It makes his already muscular forearms look even more capable of choking the air from my lungs, if he could just get his hands on me.

“I expected you to do a better job of hiding where your affections lie, Aetos.” Xaden moves, walking down the steps. The broad shouldered roll keeper from yesterday follows him closely. Somehow he’s even taller and wider than Riorson. But his face isn’t drawn into the mask of hatred, in fact he’s smirking at me. Something about that causes my stomach to flutter in a way that isn’t panic. But every step brings Riorson closer to where I stand. 

 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

“Run, Violet,” Dain orders me. “Now.”

 

For once Dain’s words match the ones in my own head. I bolt.

 

AN: The first few chapters are going to look alot like the book, with some minor adjustments that will turn into bigger things down the road. 

 

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

There’s a misconception that it’s kill or be killed in the Riders Quadrant. Riders, as a whole, aren’t out to assassinate other cadets…unless there’s a shortage of dragons that year or a cadet is a liability to their wing. Then things may get…interesting.

-Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

 

 

“Welcome to your first Battle Brief,” Professor Devera says from the recessed floor of the enormous lecture hall later in the morning, a bright purple Flame Section patch on her shoulder matching her short hair perfectly. This is the only class held in the circular, tiered room that curves the entire end of the academic hall and one of only two rooms in the citadel capable of fitting every cadet. Every creaky wooden seat is full, and the senior third-years are standing against the walls behind us, but we all fit.

Ridoc cracked wise-ass comments all through history and I haven’t been able to keep the smile off my face at his antics. Hopefully he knows better than to try the same thing here, though. Professor Devera isn’t the joking kind.

“In the past, riders have seldom been called into service before graduation,” Professor Devera continues, her mouth tensing as she paces slowly in front of a twenty-foot-high map of the Continent mounted to the back wall that’s intricately labeled with our defensive outposts along our borders. Dozens of mage lights illuminate the space, more than making up for the lack of windows and reflecting off the longsword she keeps strapped to her back.

“And if they were, they were always third-years who’d spent time shadowing forward wings, but we expect you to graduate with the full knowledge of what we’re up against. It’s not about just knowing where every wing is stationed, either.” She takes her time, making eye contact with every first-year she sees. The rank on her shoulder says captain, but I know she’ll be a major before she leaves her rotation teaching here, given the medals pinned on her chest. “You need to understand the politics of our enemies, the strategies of defending our outposts from constant attack, and have a thorough knowledge of both recent and current battles. If you cannot grasp these basic topics, then you have no business on the back of a dragon.” She arches a black brow a few shades darker than her deep-brown skin.

“No pressure,” Rhiannon mutters at my side, furiously taking notes.

“We’ll be fine,” I whisper in her direction. “Third-years have only been sent to midland posts as reinforcements, never the front.” I’d kept my ears open around my mother and her aide enough to know that much, even before I knew I was becoming a rider. Come to think of it, there was lots of scribe training that I was going to be able to turn into critical thinking and strategizing as a rider. If I made it that far. 

But the voice from the back of my mind, the one that I had found on the parapet, whispers You are a Sorrengail, you shall NOT submit! This was the one that helped me find the strength to stand back up and keep going, the one that led to the wrist flick that left Jack Barlowe without his twig and berries. I liked the voice, it helped me feel powerful and capable, despite physically being anything but. 

“This is the only class you will have every day, because it’s the only class that will matter if you’re called into service early.” Professor Devera’s gaze sweeps from left to right and pauses on me. Her eyes flare wide for a heartbeat, but she gives an approving smile and nod before moving on. “Because this class is taught every day and relies on the most current information, you will also answer to Professor Markham, who deserves nothing but your utmost respect.”

She waves the scribe forward, and he moves to stand next to her, the cream color of his uniform contrasting with her stark black one. He leans in when she whispers something to him, and his thick eyebrows fly high as he whips his head in my direction.

There’s no approving smile when the colonel’s weary eyes find mine, only a sigh that fills my chest with heavy sorrow when I hear it. I was supposed to be his star pupil in the Scribe Quadrant, his crowning achievement before he retires. How absolutely ironic that I’m now the least likely to succeed in this one.

“It is the duty of the scribes not only to study and master the past but to relay and record the present,” he says, rubbing the bridge of his bulbous nose after finally tearing his disappointed gaze from mine. “Without accurate depictions of our front lines, reliable information with which to make strategic decisions, and—most importantly—veracious details to document our history for the good of future generations, we’re doomed, not only as a kingdom but as a society.”

Which is exactly why I’ve always wanted to be a scribe. Not that it matters now.

“First topic of the day.” Professor Devera moves toward the map and flicks her hand, bringing a mage light directly over the eastern border with the Poromiel province of Braevick. “The Eastern Wing experienced an attack last night near the village of Chakir by a drift of Braevi gryphons and riders.”

Oh shit. A murmur rips through the hall, and I dip my quill into the inkpot on the desk in front of me so I can take notes. I can’t wait to channel so I can use the type of coveted pens Mom keeps on her desk. A smile curves my lips. There could definitely be perks to being a rider. There will be.

“Naturally, some information is redacted for security purposes, but what we can tell you is that the wards faltered along the top of the Esben Mountains.” Professor Devera pulls her hands apart and the light expands, illuminating the mountains that form our border with Braevick. “Allowing the drift not only to enter Navarrian territory but for their riders to channel and wield sometime around midnight.”

My stomach sinks as a murmur rises from the cadets, especially the first-years. Dragons aren’t the only animals capable of channeling powers to their riders. Gryphons from Poromiel also share the ability, but dragons are the only ones capable of powering the wards that make all other magic but their own impossible within our borders. They’re the reason Navarre’s borders are somewhat circular—their power radiates from the Vale and can only extend so far, even with squads stationed at every outpost. Without those wards, we’re fucked. It would be open season on Navarrian villages when the raiding parties from Poromiel inevitably descend. Those greedy assholes are never content with the resources they have. They always want ours, too, and until they learn to be content with our trade agreements, we have no chance of ending conscription in Navarre. No chance of experiencing peace.

But if we’re not on high alert, then they must have gotten the wards rewoven, or at least stabilized.

“Thirty-seven civilians were killed in the attack in the hour before a squad from the Eastern Wing could arrive, but the riders and dragons managed to repel the drift,” Professor Devera finishes, folding her arms over her chest. “Based on that information, what questions would you ask?” She holds up a finger. “I only want answers from first-years to start.”

 

My initial question would be why the hell the wards faltered, but it’s not like they’re going to answer a question like that in a room full of cadets with zero security clearance.

 

I study the map and my brain churns, scribe training kicking in, pulling facts and statistics out of the rolodex that is my brain. The Esben Mountain Range is the highest along our eastern border with Braevick, making it the least likely place for an attack, especially since gryphons don’t tolerate altitude nearly as well as dragons, probably due to the fact that they’re half-lion, half-eagle and can’t handle the thinner air at higher altitudes.

 

There’s a reason we’ve been able to fend off every major assault on our territory for the last six hundred years, and we’ve successfully defended our land in this never-ending four-hundred-year-long war. Our abilities, both lesser and signet, are superior because our dragons can channel more power than gryphons. So why attack in that mountain range? What caused the wards to falter there?

 

“Come on, first-years, show me you have more than just good balance. Show me you have the critical-thinking skills to be here,” Professor Devera demands. “It’s more important than ever that you’re ready for what’s beyond our borders.”

 

“Is this the first time the wards have faltered?” a first-year a couple of rows ahead asks.

 

Professors Devera and Markham share a look before she turns toward the cadet. “No.”

 

My heart jolts into my throat and the room falls pin-drop quiet.

 

It’s not the first time.

 

The girl clears her throat. “And how…often are they faltering?”

 

Professor Markham’s shrewd eyes narrow on her. “That’s above your pay grade, cadet.” He turns his attention to our section. “Next relevant question to the attack we’re discussing?”

 

“How many casualties did the wing suffer?” a first-year down the row to my right asks.

 

“One injured dragon. One dead rider.”

 

Another murmur rises from the hall. Surviving graduation doesn’t mean we’ll survive service. Statistically, most riders die before retirement age, especially at the rate riders have been falling over the last two years.

 

“Why would you ask that particular question?” Professor Devera asks the cadet.

 

“To know how many reinforcements they’ll need,” he answers.

 

Professor Devera nods, turning toward Pryor, the meekest first-year in our squad, who has his hand up, but he lowers it quickly, scrunching his dark eyebrows. “Did you want to ask a question?”

 

“Yes.” He nods, sending a few locks of black hair into his eyes, then shakes his head. “No. Never mind.”

 

“So decisive,” Luca—the catty first-year in our squad I’ll do just about anything to avoid—mocks from next to him, tilting her head as cadets laugh around them. A corner of her mouth tilts up into a smirk, and she flips her long brown hair over her shoulder in a move that’s anything but casual. Like me, she’s one of the few women in the quadrant who didn’t cut her hair. I envy her confidence that it won’t be used against her, but not her attitude, and I’ve known her less than a day.

 

“He’s in our squad,” Aurelie—at least I think that’s her name—chastises, her no-nonsense black eyes narrowing on Luca. “Show some loyalty.”

 

“Please. No dragon is bonding to a guy who can’t even decide if he wants to ask a question. And did you see him at breakfast this morning? He held the entire line up because he couldn’t choose between bacon or sausage.” Luca rolls her kohl-rimmed eyes.

 

“If Fourth Wing is done picking at one another?” Professor Devera asks, lifting a brow.

 

“Ask what altitude the village is at,” I whisper to Rhiannon.

 

“What?” Her brow furrows.

 

“Just ask,” I reply, trying to keep Dain’s advice in mind. I swear I can feel him staring at the back of my neck from seven rows behind me, but I’m not going to turn and look, not when I know Xaden’s up there somewhere, too. I already have enough of a target on my back, I don’t need to make it bigger by being the know it all. 

 

“What altitude is the village at?” Rhiannon asks.

 

Professor Devera’s eyebrows rise as she turns to Rhiannon. “Markham?”

 

“A little less than ten thousand feet,” he answers. “Why?”

 

Rhiannon darts a dose of side-eye at me and clears her throat. “Just seems a little high for a planned attack with gryphons.”

 

“Good job,” I whisper.

 

“It is a little high for a planned attack,” Devera says. “Why don’t you tell me why that’s bothersome, Cadet Sorrengail? And maybe you’d like to ask your own questions from here on out.” She levels a stare on me that has me squirming in my seat. Every head in the room turns in my direction. If anyone had an inkling of doubt about who I am, it’s long gone now. 

 

Well cat’s out of the bag, I might as well embrace the brain that I’ve been honing longer than the blades I now carry. “It’s well known that Gryphons aren’t as strong at that altitude, and neither is their ability to channel, even if it is a SummitWing Drift” I announce. “It’s an illogical place for them to attack unless they knew the wards would fail, especially since the village looks to be about what…an hour’s flight from the nearest outpost?” I glance at the map to be sure I’m not making a fool of myself. “That is Chakir right there, isn’t it?” Scribe’s training for the win.

 

“It is.” A corner of Professor Devera’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “Keep going with that line of thought.”

 

Wait a second, the facts swirl and coalesce, bringing me to a conclusion that’s either going to set me apart or make me look like a complete idiot. “Didn’t you say it took an hour for the squad of riders to arrive?” My gaze narrows.

 

“I did.” She looks at me with expectation. 

 

“Then they were already on their way,” I blurt, my cheeks heating as a mumble of laughter sounds around me.

 

“Yeah, because that makes sense.” Jack Barlowe turns around in his seat from the front row and openly laughs at me. Unfortunately, the riders I left him with in the turret were able to get him to the healers with plenty of time to spare. He must be on some of the good pain meds because he doesn’t even look bothered. “General Melgren knows the outcome of a battle before it happens, but even he doesn’t know when it will happen, dumbass.”

 

I feel the chuckling of my classmates reverberate in my bones. I want to crawl under this ridiculous desk and disappear. I know I am right, they just can’t see it. They don’t have the facts I do, and therefore can’t arrive at the same conclusion I had.

 

“Fuck off, Barlowe,” Rhiannon snaps. I’m so glad I was in line with her. I give her a thankful smile as she knocks shoulders with me. 

 

“I’m not the one who thinks precognition is a thing,” he retorts with a sneer. “Gods help us if that one ever gets on the back of a dragon.” Another round of laughter has my neck flaming, too. I understand his thinking, even if it is basic. Melgren can see the outcome of battle, just not when it would take place. His legendary signet is pretty common knowledge among the riders, because we all hope to manifest something even half as spectacular. 

 

“Why do you think that, Violet—” Professor Markham winces, as do I, the familiarity isn’t going to gain me any points in this quadrant. “Cadet Sorrengail?”

 

“Because there’s no logical way they get there within an hour of the attack unless they were already on their way,” I argue, shooting a glare at Jack. Fuck him and his laughter. I might be weaker than he is, but I’m a hell of a lot smarter. “It would take at least half that long to light the beacons in the range and call for help, and no full squad is sitting around just waiting to be needed. More than half those riders would have been asleep, which means they were already on their way.”

 

“And why would they already be on their way?” Professor Devera prods, and the light in her eyes tells me I’m right, giving me the boost of confidence I need to take my train of thought a step further.

 

“Because they somehow knew the wards were breaking.” I lift my chin, simultaneously hoping I’m right and praying to Dunne—the goddess of war—that I’m wrong, because if the Gryphon Drifts knew the wards would break, we’re fucked. 

 

“That’s the most—” Jack starts.

 

“She’s right,” Professor Devera interrupts, and a hush falls over the room. “One of the dragons in the wing sensed the faltering ward, and the wing flew. Had they not, the casualties would have been far higher and the destruction of the village much worse.”

 

How much worse? The thought bounces around my brain as a little bubble of confidence rises in my chest, which is promptly popped by Jack’s glare, telling me he hasn’t forgotten his promise to kill me. I can only imagine the loss of his precious manhood wasn’t something he was going to take lying down. 

 

“Second- and third-years, take over,” Professor Devera orders before I can voice the thought. “Let’s see if you can be a little more respectful to your fellow cadets.” She arches a brow at Jack as questions begin to fire off from the riders behind us.

 

How many riders were deployed to the site?

 

What killed the lone fatality?

 

How long did it take to clear the village of the gryphons?

 

Were any left alive for questioning?

 

I write down every question and answer, my mind organizing the facts into what kind of report I would have filed if I’d been in the Scribe Quadrant, which information was important enough to include, and what was extraneous.

 

“What was the condition of the village?” a deep voice asks from the back of the lecture hall, giving voice to the thought that had continued to bother me. 

 

The hairs on my neck rise, my body recognizing the imminent threat behind me.

 

“Riorson?” Markham asks, shielding his eyes from the mage lights as he looks toward the top of the hall.

 

“The village,” Xaden restates. “Professor Devera said the damage would have been worse, but what was the actual condition? Was it burned? Destroyed? They wouldn’t demolish it if they were trying to establish a foothold, so the condition of the village matters when trying to determine a motive for the attack.”

 

Professor Devera smiles in approval. “The buildings they’d already gone through were burned, and the rest were being looted when the wing arrived.”

 

“They were looking for something,” Xaden says with complete conviction. “And it wasn’t riches. That’s not a gem mining district. Which begs the question, what do we have that they want so badly?”

 

He is wicked smart, there a reason he is a wingleader. 

 

“Exactly. That’s the question.” Professor Devera glances around the room. “And that right there is why Riorson is a wingleader. You need more than strength and courage to be a good rider.”

 

“So what’s the answer?” a first-year to the left asks.

 

“We don’t know,” Professor Devera answers with a shrug. “It’s just another piece in the puzzle of why our constant bids for peace are rejected by the kingdom of Poromiel. What were they looking for? Why that village? Were they responsible for the collapse of the ward, or was it already faltering? Tomorrow, next week, next month, there will be another attack, and maybe we’ll get another clue. Go to history if you’re looking for answers. Those wars have already been dissected and examined. Battle Brief is for fluid situations. In this class, we want you to learn which questions to ask so all of you have a chance at coming home alive.”

 

I had enjoyed history, something about the familiarity of retaining and regurgitating information. But I had a feeling I was going to love Battle Brief, even if the topic was morose. The loss of life of our civilians and military alike. But I liked the fast pace and cognitive power required. 

 

 

-   -   -

 

 

 “You seriously knew every answer in history and apparently every right question to ask in Battle Brief,” Rhiannon says, shaking her head as we stand on the sidelines of the sparring mat after lunch, watching Ridoc and Aurelie circle each other in their fighting leathers. They’re evenly matched in size. Ridoc is on the smaller side, and Aurelie is built just like Mira, which doesn’t surprise me because she’s a legacy on her father’s side. “You’re not even going to have to study for tests, are you?”

 

The rest of the first-years stand on our side, but the second- and third-years line the others. They’re definitely at an advantage here, considering they’ve already had at least a year of combat training.

 

“I was trained to be a scribe.” I shrug, and the vest Mira made me shimmers slightly with the movement. Other than the times the scales catch the light under the camouflaging mesh, it fits right in with the tops we’d been given from central issue yesterday. All the women are dressed similarly now, though the cuts of their leathers are chosen by preference.

 

The guys are mostly shirtless because they think shirts give their opponent something to grab onto. Personally, I’m not arguing with their logic, just enjoying the view…respectfully, of course. My eyes float over the second and third years again, my gaze snagging on the new addition. 

 

Riorson's shadow, without Riorson. His undershirt is taught across a massive chest, stretched by shoulders that I could do pull ups from, if I could do pull ups. His forearms are sculpted with muscle, the relic enhancing his left arm. I can’t help but follow the lines that dance like tendrils of smoke from his shoulder, where they disappear under his shirt, down to his finger tips. His tawny golden skin a beautiful backdrop for the rebellion relic. His stance is wide, accentuating powerful thighs encased in leather that looks like it’s holding on for dear life. 

 

The wall behind him is made entirely of windows and doors, casting his features in shadow. Despite all of those windows being left open to let in the breeze, it’s still stiflingly hot. Sweat trickles down my spine under my vest. I’m not sure all of it is from the heat, because as I finish my perusal of the mountain of a man, I realize his eyes are on me. 

 

Our gazes clash and his left eyebrow lifts in a smirk that sends a jolt travelling down my spine. I quickly look away, but the damage has already been done. He is well aware I was checking him out. Mira is going to fucking murder me. If Jack Barlowe doesn’t beat her to it. 

 

There are three squads from each wing here this afternoon, and lucky me, First Wing has sent their third squads, which include numbnuts, who’s been glaring at me from two mats over since I walked in.

 

“Guess that means you’re not worried about academics,” Rhiannon says, her brows rising at me, and bringing me out of my trance. “I’m worried about this,” I tell Rhiannon honestly, tilting my chin toward the mat.

 

“Really?” She shoots me a skeptical look. Her braids are twisted into a small bun at the nape of her neck. “I figured as a Sorrengail, you’d be a hand-to-hand threat.”

 

“Not exactly.” At my age, Mira had been training in hand-to-hand for twelve years. I have a whopping six months under my belt, which wouldn’t matter as much if I wasn’t as breakable as a porcelain teacup, but here we are. I can still feel my knee throbbing beneath the wrappings from yesterday. 

 

“What about you?” I ask as Ridoc lands a jab to Aurelie’s ribs.

 

“Shit!” He shakes his head and backs up a step. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

Aurelie holds her ribs but lifts her chin. “Who said you hurt me?”

 

“Pulling your punches does her a disservice,” Dain says, folding his arms. “The Cygnis on the northeast border aren’t going to give her any quarter because she’s a woman if she falls from her dragon behind enemy lines, Ridoc. They’ll kill her just the same.” I had a feeling if I was in Auralie’s place he wouldn’t have said it. I had already gotten an earful about my participation in Battle Brief. 

 

“Let’s go!” Aurelie shouts, beckoning Ridoc by curling her fingers. It’s obvious that most cadets have trained their whole lives to enter the quadrant, especially Aurelie, who slips a jab from Ridoc and twists to land a quick tap to his kidneys.

 

Ouch.

 

“I mean…damn,” Rhiannon mutters, giving Aurelie another look before turning back to me. “I’m pretty good on the mat. My village is on the Cygnisen border, so we all learned to defend ourselves fairly young. Physics and math aren’t problems, either. But history?” She shakes her head. “That class might be the death of me.”

 

“They don’t kill you for failing history,” I say as Ridoc charges Aurelie, taking her to the mat with enough force to make me wince. “I’m probably going to die on these mats.”

 

“I could probably offer some tips to survive combat training,” Sawyer says from Rhiannon’s other side, running his hand over a day’s growth of brown stubble that doesn’t quite cover his freckles. “History isn’t my strongest subject, though.”

 

 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Rhiannon says, locking her brown eyes with mine. “Let’s help each other out. We’ll help you with hand-to-hand if you help us with history. Sound like a deal, Sawyer?”

 

“Absolutely.”

 

“Deal.” This was the opening I was looking for with him. I swallow as one of the third-years wipes down the mat with a towel. “But I think I’m getting the better end of that.”

 

“You haven’t seen me try to memorize dates,” Rhiannon jokes. I’m not worried, I have quite a few memory tricks that I can help her utilize.

 

A couple of mats over, someone shrieks, and we all turn to look. Jack Barlowe has another first-year in a headlock. The other guy is smaller, thinner than Jack, but still has a good fifty pounds on me.

 

Jack yanks his arms, his hands still secure around the other man’s head.

 

“That guy is such an ass—” Rhiannon starts.

 

The sickening crack of bones breaking sounds across the gym, and the first-year goes limp in Jack’s hold. It doesn’t appear his missing appendage is bothering him at all. 

 

“Sweet Malek,” I whisper as Jack drops the man to the ground. I’m starting to wonder if the god of death lives here for how often his name must be invoked. 

 

“What did I say?” their instructor shouts as he charges onto the mat. “You broke his damned neck!”

 

“How was I supposed to know his neck was that weak?” Jack argues.

 

You’re dead, Sorrengail, and I’m going to be the one to kill you . His promise from yesterday slithers through my memory. I shudder and force the thought down. Turning my mind to the past 6 months worth of combat training, as Rhiannon makes quick work of her opponent. There are too many new faces, even I am struggling to keep everyone straight.

 

 “I don’t know, Tynan, you might want to yield,” Dain says with a grin. “She’s handing you your ass.”

 

Ah, that’s right. Tynan.

 

Emeterrio announces his yield since, Tynan seems to have more ego than sense, and then picks the next pairing. “You—” Emetterio points to the pink-haired second-year with the rebellion relic. “And you.” His finger swings to me.

 

She’s at least a head taller than me, and if the rest of her body is as toned as her arms, then I’m pretty much fucked. I can’t let her get her hands on me.

 

My heart threatens to beat out of my chest, but I nod and step onto the mat. “You’ve got this,” Rhiannon says, tapping my shoulder as she passes me.

 

“Sorrengail.” The pink-haired girl from my squad looks me over like I’m something she’s scraped off the side of her boot, narrowing her pale green eyes. At least she can’t kill me. “You really should dye your hair if you don’t want everyone to know who your mother is. You’re the only silver-haired freak in the quadrant.”

 

“Never said I cared if everyone knows who my mother is.” I circle the second-year on the mat. Her anger prods at something sore in my chest and I snap back. “I am proud of her service to protect our kingdom—from enemies both without and within.” 

As her jaw tightens at the dig, a bubble of hope rises in my chest, it worked. Marked ones, as I’d heard some people this morning refer to those carrying rebellion relics on their arms, blame my mother for the execution of their parents. Fine. Hate me. Mom often says the minute you let emotion enter a fight, you’ve already lost. I’ve never prayed harder that my ice-in-her-veins mother was right.

 

“You bitch,” she seethes. “Your mother murdered my family.” I don’t respond, because I know it isn’t exactly true. 

 

She lunges forward and swings wildly, and I quickly sidestep, spinning away with my hands up. We do that for a few more rounds, and I land a few jabs, each one I land makes her face twist with more and more rage. 

 

She growls low in her throat as she misses me again, and her foot flies at my head. I easily duck, but then she drops to the ground and kicks out with her other foot, which lands square in my chest, sending me backward. I hit the mat with a thud, and she’s already above me, so damn fast.

 

“You can’t use your powers in here, Imogen!” Dain shouts.

 

Shit, maybe I was wrong, despite being in my squad Imogen is trying her best to kill me. Her eyes are above mine, and I feel the quick slide of something hard against my ribs as she smiles at me. But her smile fades as we both look down, and I can’t help but notice a dagger being re-sheathed.

 

The armor just saved my life. Thank you, Mira.

 

Confusion mars Imogen’s face for just a second, long enough for me to send my fist into her cheek and roll out from under her. My hand screams with pain even though I’m sure I formed the fist right, but I block it out as we both gain our feet. If I was prepared for anything when it came to being in this death college, it was blocking out the pain and working through it. 

 

“What kind of armor is that?” she asks, staring with wide eyes at my ribs as we circle each other. She thought she had won. 

 

“Mine.” I duck and dodge as she comes at me again, but her movements are a blur. Considering shes using powers, if Dain’s incessant shouting was right, I’m feeling pretty good about having lasted this long. 

 

I swerve the wrong way this time and she catches me, taking me to the floor. The mat smacks my face, and her knee digs into my back as she pulls my right arm behind me.

 

“Yield!” she shouts.

 

I can’t. If I yield on the first day, what will the second bring? I will only ever be seen as an easy target “No!” Now I’m the one lacking common sense like Tynan, and I’m far more breakable. You are a Sorrengail, and you shall not submit. 

 

She pulls my arm farther, and pain consumes every thought, blackening the edges of my vision. I cry out as the ligaments stretch, shred, then pop. Dislocated shoulder, I could pop it back into place myself.

 

“Yield, Violet!” Dain yells.

 

“Yield!” Imogen demands.

 

Gasping for breath against the weight of her on my back, I turn my face to the side as she wrenches my shoulder apart, the pain consuming me. I am about to give in when Emetterio saves me the trouble.

 

“She yields,” Emetterio says. “That’s enough.” But he’s not quick enough. I hear it again—the macabre sound of snapping bone—but this time it’s mine.

 

Dain carries me to the Healer Quadrant, while I focus on my breathing and not letting out the scream that is constantly fighting to erupt from my throat. Dain’s long strides are eating up the distance, but simultaneously jostling my ruined shoulder. 

 

“Almost there,” he reassures me, his grip firm but careful on my rib cage and beneath my knees as my useless arm rests on my chest.

 

“Everyone saw you lose it,” I whisper, I watched him lose it. How could he let that happen. The leash he is supposed to have over his emotions just dissolved as he had shouted, rushing to pick me up before Emetterio had even asked for me to be taken to the healers. 

 

Winifred answers the door Dain has been kicking incessantly, anger marring her features, before she sees me in his arms. Oh no, Violet?” Her eyes fly wide.

 

“Hi, Winifred,” I manage over the pain. Hopefully Nolon’s around tonight, since he’s been mending me for the last five years. Dain gently lays me onto the bed Winifred brings us to, then she leans into the edge of the mattress, near my hip. Every creased line in her face is a comfort as she strokes a weathered hand across my forehead. “Helen, go get Nolon,” Winifred orders a healer in her forties walking by.

 

“No!” Dain barks, panic lacing his tone.

 

Excuse me? What the fuck is he on about. If I’m not mended then I’m dead. I try to focus on Dain through the throbbing in my shoulder, but the room is starting to spin. I want to ask him why wouldn’t he want my shoulder mended, but another wave of pain threatens to pull me into unconsciousness. 

 

Dain pulls a wooden chair closer to my bed, and it scrapes the floor with a god-awful sound. “Violet, I know you’re hurting, but maybe…”

 

“Maybe what, Dain Aetos? You want to see her suffer?” Winifred lectures. “I told her they’d break you,” she mutters as she leans over me, her gray eyes full of worry as she assesses me. Winifred is the best healer Basgiath has, and she prepares every tonic she prescribes herself—and has seen me through more scrapes than I care to count over the years. “Would she listen to me? Absolutely not. Your mother is so damned stubborn.”

 

“You can’t ask him to mend her,” Dain protests as she uncorks a glass of something, looks like a pain tonic. Thank the Gods. 

 

“The pair of us have been mending her for the past five years,” she lectures, bringing the vial closer. “Don’t start telling me what I can and cannot do.”

 

“I don’t want her in pain—that’s why we’re here. But if she’s injured this severely, surely we can see if the scribes will take her as a late admission. It’s only been a day.”

 

As his reasoning for not wanting a mender sinks in, my anger is able to pierce through the pain long enough for me to bite out, “I’m not going to the scribes.” This fucking asshole, he hasn’t let up about it. How he thinks he’s going to sneak me out, right under my mothers nose is beyond me, he is clearly delusional. 

 

While my brain spins from the pain tonic as Dain talks with Nolon. “So you won’t mend her, right?” Dain asks softly so he can’t be heard outside the curtain. “I’m just asking that the healers do their work and let nature take the time it needs. No magic. She doesn’t stand a chance if she goes back in there in a cast or has to defend herself while her shoulder heals from reconstruction surgery. The last one took her four months. This is our chance to get her out of the Riders Quadrant while she’s still breathing.”

 

“I’mnotgoingtothesibes.” So much for not slurring. “Sibes,” I try again. “SIBES.” Oh, fuck it. “Mendme.”

 

“I will always mend you,” Nolon promises.

 

“Just. This. Once.” I concentrate on every word. “If. The others. See I need. Mending. Allthetime, they’ll. Think. I’m weak.”

 

“Which is why we have to use this opportunity to get you out!” Panic rises in Dain’s voice, and my heart sinks. He can’t protect me from everything, especially in here, and watching me break, watching me eventually die is going to ruin him. “Walking out of here and going straight to the Scribe Quadrant is your best chance at survival.”

 

I glare at Dain and choose my words carefully. “I’m not. Leavingtheriders. Just so Mom. Canthrowmeback. I’m. Staying.” I turn my head and the room spins as I look for Nolon. “Mend me…but justthisonce.”

 

Nolon tells Dain to get lost and I’m thankful because this is going to hurt like a bitch. 

 

AN: Moving right along. Hopefully you're enjoying the little tweaks. They'll become a butterfly effect later.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

“The sparring ring is where riders are made or broken. After all, no respectable dragon would choose a rider who cannot defend themselves, and no respectable cadet would allow such a threat to the wing to continue training.”

-Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

I make my way back to the barracks, having refused the light blue sling that Nolon offered me. Instead I had taken the shirt Winifred had cut me out of and fashioned it into a sling with her help. I was hoping the ‘Kill me I’m weak’ sign wasn’t as obvious. 

 

Rhiannon greets me and asks how I’m doing, and promises that our deal with Sawyer is still on. I smile gratefully at her and slide my good arm under my pillow to try and get comfortable, but there is something there. 

 

I pull out a small book—no, it’s a journal—with a folded note on top that says Violet in Mira’s handwriting. One-handed, I open the note.

 

Violet,

 

I stayed long enough to read the rolls this morning, and you aren’t on them, thank gods. I can’t stay. I’m needed back with my wing, and even if I could stay, they wouldn’t let me see you anyway. I bribed a scribe to sneak this into your bunk. I hope you know how proud I am to be your sister. Brennan wrote this for me the summer before I entered the quadrant. It saved me, and it can save you, too. I added my own bits of hard-earned wisdom here and there, but mostly it’s his, and I know he’d want you to have it. He’d want you to live.

 

Love,

 

Mira.

 

I swallow past the knot in my throat and set the note aside.

 

“What is it?” Rhiannon asks.

 

“It’s my brother’s.” The words barely make it past my lips as I open the cover. Mother burned everything he owned after he died, as tradition dictates.

 

It’s been ages since I’ve seen the bold strokes of his handwriting, and yet there they are. My chest tightens and a fresh wave of grief sweeps through me. “The book of Brennan,” I read along with the first page and then flip to the second.

 

Mira,

 

You’re a Sorrengail, so you will survive. Perhaps not as spectacularly as I have, but we all can’t live up to my standards, can we? All kidding aside, this is everything I’ve learned. Keep it safe. Keep it hidden. You have to live, because Violet is watching. You can’t let her see you fall.

 

Brennan.

 

Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them back. “It’s just his journal,” I lie, thumbing through the pages. I can hear his quippy, sarcastic tone as I skim over his words, as though he’s standing here, making light of every danger with a wink and a grin. Damn, I miss him. “He died five years ago.”

 

“Oh, that’s…” Rhiannon leans in, her eyes heavy with sympathy. “We don’t always burn everything, either. Sometimes it’s nice to have something, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” I whisper. It’s everything to have this, and yet I know Mom will toss it in the fire if she ever finds it. Rhiannon sits back on her bed, opening her history book, and I fall back into Brennan’s history, starting on the third page.

 

You survived Parapet. Good. Be observant the next few days, and don’t do anything to draw attention to yourself. I’ve sketched a map that shows you not only where the classrooms are but where the instructors meet, too. I know you’re nervous about challenges, but you shouldn’t be, not with that right hook of yours. The matches might seem random, but they’re not. What the instructors don’t tell you is that they decide challenges the week before, Mira. Any cadet can request a challenge, yes, but instructors will assign your matches based on weeding out the weakest. That means once the real hand-to-hand starts, the instructors already know who you’ll be up against that day. Here’s the secret—if you know where to look and can get out without being seen, you’ll know who you’re fighting so you can prepare.

 

I suck in a breath and devour the rest of the entry, hope blossoming in my chest. If I know who I’m fighting, then I can begin the battle before we even step on the mat. My mind spins, a plan taking shape.

 

Two weeks, that’s how long I have to get everything I’ll need before challenges begin, and no one knows the grounds of Basgiath like I do. It’s all here.

 

A slow smile spreads across my face. I know how to survive. 

-    -    -

Despite the moon being full, picking my way through the waist high grass on the riverbank inevitably means I’m stumbling around when I trip over rocks. The Iakobos is full with the summer snow runoff, which led to a cadet dying when he fell during our downtime yesterday. Fucking idiot, he never should have been playing around. Somehow, my squad is the only one to have not lost someone yet, not that I’m getting comfortable with that, it’s unlikely to last in this ruthless school. 

 

I know there is an oak tree down here that has a vine of Fonilee Berries, that won’t be ripe yet since it’s not quite their season. They are barely edible when ripe, but dried whilst green, they will be perfect to add to my quickly growing arsenal of survival. The apothecary book I made Mira leave with me was full of important things, like how to make a mild pain tonic that wouldn’t alter mental or physical state, the proper things to eat and drink to help with general soreness, a buttload of poisons and much to my surprise a plant that was supposed to be a paralytic, but taken in minute doses, was helping my joints and muscles not be so stretchy. 

 

That was a terrifying first free day, taking the smallest dose I could manage to make, and having Rhiannon monitor me so that I wasn’t paralyzed by myself in the barracks. It had turned out better than expected, not only was I overextending my joints less, but the stiffness helped my muscles have to work more, instead of just stretching. I was gaining muscle tone and it was seriously helping in our group sparring, and it had been less than a week. 

 

I was going to take the wins where I could get them, no matter how small. I now had special tea that I drank every morning with breakfast. I had been drinking the herbal tea Winifred had helped me concoct for years to help with energy and healing, but it was the addition of Water Hemlock that was truly helping. 

 

Spotting the boulder I’ve used as a landmark for the past five years, I count the trees on the riverbank. “One, two, three,” I whisper, spotting the exact oak I’ll need. Its branches spread wide and high, some even daring to reach out over the river. Lucky for me, the lowest is easily climbable, even more so with the grass oddly trampled underneath.

 

The fonilee vine looks deceptively like ivy as it winds up the trunk, but I’ve scaled this particular tree enough times to know this is the one. I’ve just never had to climb the damn thing in a cloak before. It’s a pain in my ass. The fabric catches on almost every branch as I move upward, slowly and steadily, climbing past the wide branch where I used to spend hours reading.

 

“Shit!” My foot slips on the bark and my heart stutters for a heartbeat while my feet find better holds. This would be so much easier during the day, but I can’t risk being caught.

 

Bark scrapes my palms as I climb higher. The tips of the vine leaves are white at this height, barely visible in the mottled moonlight through the canopy, but I grin as I find exactly what I’ve been searching for.

 

“There you are.” The purple berries are a gorgeous, unripe lavender. Perfect. Digging my fingernails into the branch above me, I manage to keep from wobbling long enough to retrieve an empty vial in my satchel and uncork it with my teeth. Then I pluck just enough berries off the vine to fill the glass and shove the stopper back in. Between these, the mushrooms I’ve already hunted tonight, and the other items I’ve collected, I should be able to make it through the next month of challenges.

 

I place the vial back in it’s place and look down to plan how I’m going to get out of this tree when I spot it, another Water Hemlock. I had plucked the only one I had found so far nearly to death, so finding a second one would allow me to breathe a little easier. I’m almost down the tree, only a handful of branches to go, when I spot movement beneath me and pause. Hopefully it’s just a deer.

 

But it’s not. It’s Imogen, and a second cloaked figure that turns out to be Xaden Riorson. Son of a bitch, what have I stumbled upon. I knew that fraternization in the line of command was frowned on, but it wasn’t strictly forbidden. 

 

There’s maybe fifteen feet between us and nothing—and no one—out here to stop him from killing me,  shit I doubt they would even find my body if he were to throw it in the Iakobos. Fear clenches my throat and holds tight as I white-knuckle the branches around me, debating the merits of holding my breath so he can’t hear me versus falling out of the tree if I faint from lack of oxygen.

 

They begin speaking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying, not with the river rushing by. Relief fills my lungs. If I can’t hear them, they can’t hear me, either, as long as I sit tight. But all it takes is for him to look up, and I’ll be toast, literally if he decides to feed me to that Blue Daggertail of his. The moonlight I was thankful for a few minutes ago has now become my biggest liability.

 

Slowly, carefully, quietly, I move out of the patchy moonlight to the next branch over, cloaking myself in shadow. What is he doing out here with Imogen? Are they lovers? Friends? It’s absolutely none of my business, and yet I can’t help but wonder if she’s the kind of woman he goes for—one whose beauty is only outmatched by her brutality. They fucking deserve each other.

 

I’m almost rolling my eyes in disgust when the shadow I am hiding in suddenly wraps itself around me tightly, one of the tendrils covering my mouth like a gag. What in the actual fuck, I can’t scream, I can’t move and I can barely breathe. 

 

Xaden turns away from the river, as though he’s looking for someone, and sure enough, more riders arrive, gathering under the tree. They’re all dressed in black cloaks as they shake hands. And they all have rebellion relics.

 

My eyes widen as I count. There are almost two dozen of them, a few third-years and a couple of seconds, but the rest are all firsts. I know the rules. Marked ones can’t gather in groups larger than three. They’re committing a capital offense simply by being together. It’s obviously a meeting of some sort.

 

Their gathering could be completely harmless, right? Maybe they’re homesick, like when the cadets from the Morraine province all spend a Saturday at the nearby lake just because it reminds them of the ocean they miss so much. 

 

Or maybe marked ones are plotting to burn Basgiath to the ground and finish what their parents started. Which is more likely considering one of them is using their signet to hold me hostage. 

 

“We’ve already lost Sutherland and Luperco,” Riorsons shadow says, but I can’t make out the response. 

 

“Like it or not, we’re going to have to stick together if you want to survive until graduation,” Imogen says. 

 

“And if they find out we’re meeting?” a first-year girl with an olive complexion asks, her eyes darting around the circle.

 

“We’ve done this for two years and they’ve never found out,” Xaden responds, folding his arms and leaning back against the limb below my right. “They’re not going to unless one of you tells. And if you tell, I’ll know.” The threat is obvious in his tone. Holy shit, was he addressing me, was he the one who controlled the shadows? “Like Garrick said, we’ve already lost two first-years to their own negligence. There are only forty-one of us in the Riders Quadrant, and we don’t want to lose any of you, but we will if you don’t help yourselves. The odds are always stacked against us, and trust me, every other Navarrian in the quadrant will look for reasons to call you a traitor or force you to fail.”

 

There’s a muttered assent, and my breath hitches at the intensity in his voice. Damn it, I don’t want to find a single thing about Xaden Riorson admirable, and yet here he is, being all annoyingly admirable. Asshole.

 

Have to admit, it would be nice if a high-ranking rider from my province gave a shit if the rest of us from the province lived or died.

 

“How many of you are getting your asses handed to you in hand-to-hand?” Xaden asks.

 

Four hands shoot into the air, none of which belong to the spiky-blond-haired first-year standing with his arms crossed, a head taller than most others. Liam Mairi. He’s in Second Squad, Tail Section of our wing and already the top cadet in our year. He practically ran across the parapet and destroyed every opponent on assessment day.

 

“Shit,” Xaden swears, and I would give anything to see his expression as he lifts a hand to his face.

 

The big beasty one sighs,  “I’ll teach them.”

 

At some point I have to learn his name, not only is he super fucking hot, but he also happens to be the Flame Section leader in Fourth Wing. My direct superior above Dain.

 

Xaden shakes his head. “You’re our best fighter—”

 

“You’re our best fighter,” a second-year near Xaden counters with a quick grin. He’s handsome, with tawny brown skin crowned by a cloud of black curls and a litany of patches on what I can see of his uniform under his cloak. His features are close enough to Xaden’s that they might be related. Cousins, maybe? Fen Riorson had a sister, if I remember correctly. Shit, what was the guy’s name?

 

“Dirtiest fighter, maybe,” Imogen snarks.

 

Most everyone laughs, and even the first-years crack a smile.

 

“Fucking ruthless is more like it,” Beasty adds.

 

There’s a general consensus of nods, including one from Liam Mairi.

 

“Garrick is our best fighter, but Imogen is right up there with him, and she’s a hell of a lot more patient,” Xaden notes, which is just ludicrous considering she didn’t seem too patient while breaking my arm. Also, the big handsome one was Garrick, mental note filed. “So the four of you split yourselves up between the two of them for training. A group of three won’t draw any unwanted attention. What else is giving you trouble?”

 

“I can’t do this,” a gangly first-year says, rolling his shoulders inward and lifting his slim fingers to his face.

 

“What do you mean?” Xaden asks, his voice taking on a hard edge.

 

“I can’t do this!” The smaller one shakes his head. “The death. The fighting. Any of it!” The pitch of his voice rises with every statement. “A guy had his neck snapped right in front of me on assessment day! I want to go home! Can you help me with that?”

 

Every head swings toward Xaden.

 

“No.” Xaden shrugs. “You’re not going to make it. Best accept it now and not take up more of my time.”

 

It’s all I can do to smother my gasp, and some of the others in the group don’t bother trying. What. A. Dick.

 

The smaller guy looks stricken, and I can’t help but feel bad for him.

 

“That was a little harsh, cousin,” the second-year who looks a little like Xaden says, lifting his eyebrows.

 

“What do you want me to say, Bodhi?” Xaden cocks his head to the side, his voice calm and even. “I can’t save everyone, especially not someone who isn’t willing to work to save themselves.”

 

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick rubs the bridge of his nose. “Way to give a pep talk.”

 

“If they need a fucking pep talk, then we both know they’re not flying out of the quadrant on graduation day. Let’s get real. I can hold their hands and make them a bunch of bullshit empty promises about everyone making it through if that helps them sleep, but in my experience, the truth is far more valuable.” He turns his head, and I can only assume he’s looking at the panicked first-year. “In war, people die. It’s not glorious like the bards sing about, either. It’s snapped necks and two-hundred-foot falls. There’s nothing romantic about scorched earth or the scent of sulfur. This”—he gestures back toward the citadel—“isn’t some fable where everyone makes it out alive. It’s hard, cold, uncaring reality. Not everyone here is going to make it home…to whatever’s left of our homes. And make no mistake, we are at war every time we step foot in the quadrant.” He leans forward slightly. “So if you won’t get your shit together and fight to live, then no. You’re not going to make it.”

 

Only crickets dare to break the silence.

 

“Now, someone give me a problem I can actually solve,” Xaden orders.

 

“Battle Brief,” a first-year I recognize says softly. Her bunk is only a row away from Rhiannon’s and mine. “It’s not that I can’t keep up, but the information…” She shrugs.

 

“That’s a tough one,” Imogen responds, turning to look at Xaden. Her profile in the moonlight is almost unrecognizable as the same person who shredded my shoulder. That Imogen is cruel, vicious even. But the way she’s looking at Xaden softens her eyes, her mouth, her whole posture as she tucks a short strand of pink hair behind her ear.

 

“You learn what they teach you,” Xaden says to the first-year, his voice taking a hard edge. “Keep what you know but recite whatever they tell you to.”

 

My brow furrows. What the hell does he mean by that? Battle Brief is one of the classes taught by scribes to keep the quadrant up-to-date on all nonclassified troop movements and battle lines. The only things we’re asked to recite are recent events and general knowledge of what’s going on near the front lines.

 

“Anyone else?” Xaden asks. “You’d better ask now. We don’t have all night.”

 

It hits me then—other than being gathered in a group of more than three, there’s nothing wrong with what they’re doing here. There’s no plot, no coup, no danger. It’s just a group of older riders counseling first-years from their province. But if Dain knew, he’d be honor bound to—

 

“When do we get to kill Violet Sorrengail?” a guy toward the back asks.

 

My blood turns to ice.

 

The murmur of assent among the group sends a jolt of terror down my spine. I’m literally stuck hear listening ad they plan on plotting my murder. 

 

“Yeah, Xaden,” Imogen says sweetly, lifting her pale green eyes to him. “When do we get to finally have our revenge?”

 

He turns just enough for me to see his profile and the scar that crosses his face as he narrows his eyes at Imogen. “I told you already, the youngest Sorrengail is mine, and I’ll handle her when the time is right.”

 

He’ll…handle me? My muscles thaw with the heat of indignation. I’m not some inconvenience to be handled. My short-lived admiration of Xaden is over. He was definitely the asshole
I had him pegged as. 

 

“Didn’t you already learn that lesson, Imogen?” the look-alike Xaden chides from halfway down the circle. “What I hear, Aetos has you scrubbing dinner dishes for the next month for using your powers on the mat.”

 

Imogen’s head snaps in his direction. “Her mother is responsible for the execution of my mom and sister. I should have done more than just snap her shoulder.”

 

“Her mom is responsible for the capture of nearly all our parents,” Beasty counters, folding his arms over his wide chest. “Not her daughter. Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish.”

 

“So we get conscripted because of what our parents did years ago and shoved into this death sentence of a college—” Imogen starts.

 

“In case you didn’t notice, she’s in the same death sentence of a college,” Garrick retorts. “Seems like she’s already suffering the same fate.”

 

Am I seriously watching them debate over whether I should be punished for being Lilith Sorrengail’s daughter?

 

“Don’t forget her brother was Brennan Sorrengail,” Bodhi adds. “She has just as much reason to hate us as we do her.”

 

Xaden pointedly looks at Imogen and the first-year who raised the question. “I’m not going to tell you again. She’s mine to handle. Anyone feel like arguing?”

 

Silence reigns.

 

“Good. Then get back to bed and go in threes.” He motions with his head, and they slowly disperse, walking away in groups of threes just like he ordered. Xaden and Garrick are the last to leave.

 

The shadows that have kept me contained this whole time, shuttle me down to the two of them. I am struggling earnestly now, but nothing I try works. It’s official, I’m going to die. The shadows drop me on my ass in front of them.

 

“Scream and you die,” Xaden spits out, “Fucking Sorrengail.” His hand yanks back the hood of my cloak. 

 

I stare defiantly into his onyx eyes “Is this how you plan to handle me?”

 

“Eavesdropping, were we?” He arches a black brow leans back against the tree like I couldn’t possibly pose a threat to him, which only serves to piss me off even more. “Now I might actually have to kill you.” There’s an undertone of truth in those mocking eyes.

 

This is just…bullshit.

 

“Then go ahead and get it over with.” 

 

He pulls a dagger from a sheath on his thigh, but Garrick puts his hand on his arm to stop him. “Let’s hear her out first.” 

 

The exaggerated sigh he lets out makes it sound like Beasty just ruined all his fun. “Do you plan on telling anyone about my little club?” His eyes meet mine, and there’s nothing but cold, calculating death waiting there.

 

“No,” I answer truthfully, suppressing a shiver. The shadows have gotten so tight I can barely expand my lungs to take a breath

 

“Why not?” He tilts his head to the side, examining my face like I’m an oddity as the shadows loosen. “It’s illegal for the children of separatist officers to assemble in—”

 

“Groups larger than three. I’m well aware. I’ve lived at Basgiath longer than you.” I lift my chin gasping for breath.

 

“And you’re not going to run off to Mommy, or your precious little Dain, and tell them we’ve been assembling?” His gaze narrows on mine.

 

My stomach twists just like it did before I stepped out onto the parapet, like my body knows that whatever action I take next will determine my life-span. “You were helping them. I don’t see why that should be punished.” It wouldn’t be fair to him or the others. Was their little meeting illegal? Absolutely. Should they die for it? Absolutely not. And that’s exactly what will happen if I tell. Those first-years will be executed for nothing more than asking for tutoring, and the senior cadets will join them just because they helped. “I’m not going to tell.”

 

He looks at me like he’s trying to see through me, and ice prickles my scalp.

 

My hand is steady, but my nerves tremble at what the next thirty seconds might bring. He can kill me right here, toss my body into the river, and no one will know I’m gone until they find me downstream.

 

But I won’t let him end me without drawing his blood first, that’s for damn sure.

 

“Interesting,” he says. “We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” Then he steps away, turns, and walks off with Garrick, heading back toward the staircase in the cliff that leads up to the citadel.

 

Speaking of favors, it would appear I owe Garrick one for convincing Xaden to hear me out. 

 

Wait. What? “You’re not going to handle me?” I call after him, shock raising my brows.

 

“Not tonight!” he tosses over his shoulder.

 

I scoff. “What are you waiting for?”

 

“It’s no fun if you expect it,” he answers, striding into the darkness. “Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.”

 

“What?” I gawk after him. “You’re my wingleader!”

 

But he’s already disappeared into the shadows, leaving me talking to myself like a fool.

 

He didn’t even ask what was in my satchel.

 

A slow smile spreads across my face as I tuck my arm back into my sling, sighing with relief as the weight is taken off my shoulder. A fool with fonilee berries and a new location to pick Water Hemlock. 

-    -    - 

The scribe hours I used to keep ensure I’m awake at an obscene hour, but it works in my favor as I was able to get myself put on breakfast duty. I pat the vial stashed in my pocket as I head out the door to the dorms, heading for the kitchens. Dain pushes off the wall next to the door and begins to walk next to me. He’s quiet for a few strides before asking “Are you ready for today? For the challenges to start this afternoon?”

 

My stomach knots.

 

“I’ll be all right,” I assure him, but he moves in front of me, halting my steps.

 

“I know you’ve been practicing with Rhiannon and the squad, but…” Worry lines his forehead.

 

“I’ve got it,” I promise, looking into his eyes so he knows I mean it. “You don’t have to worry about me.” Last night, Oren Seifert’s name was posted next to mine right where Brennan said it would be. He’s a tall blond in First Wing with tolerable knife skills but one hell of a punch.

 

“I always worry about you.” Dain’s hands curl into fists.

 

“Don’t.” I shake my head. “I can handle myself.”

 

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

 

My ribs squeeze my heart like a vise. It was sweet, but so gods damned overbearing. 

 

“Then don’t watch.” I take his calloused hand in mine. “You can’t save me from this, Dain. I’m going to be challenged once a week just like every other cadet. And it’s not going to stop there. You can’t protect me from Threshing, or the Gauntlet, or Jack Barlowe—”

 

“You need to lay low with that one.” Dain grimaces. “Avoid that pompous ass whenever you can, Vi. Don’t give him an excuse to come after you. He’s already responsible for too many names on the death roll.” Apparently Dain hadn’t heard that I was the reason he needed to be taken to the healers on day one. He already had all the reason he needed to come after me. 

 

“Then the dragons are going to love him.” They always go for the vicious ones.

 

Dain squeezes my hand gently. “Just steer clear of him.” He drops his hand and shoves it into a pocket of his pants. “Hopefully he’ll forget all about his little vendetta against you.”

 

“Do most men forget when a woman uses a dagger to make them a eunuch?” I cock an eyebrow at him.

 

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline and I can tell I’ve shocked him with this revelation. The bells ring, marking quarter past five and saving me from another session of Dain begging me to run away to the Scribe Quadrant. I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving him mouth agape as I make my way to the kitchen. I’m always the first here, and today is no exception.

 

The dried Fonilee berry powder is nearly white, nearly invisible as I take my place in the serving line an hour later, and completely undetectable as I sprinkle it over Oren Seifert’s scrambled eggs when he approaches.

 

AN: Things they are a changing! While the storyline remains the same, it will be pretty easy to continue pumping out chapters. 

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

“Blue dragons descend from the extraordinary Gormfaileas line. Known for their formidable size, they are the most ruthless, especially in the case of the rare Blue Daggertail, whose knifelike spikes at the tip of their tail can disembowel an enemy with one flick.”

-Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

We had Professor Kaori’s Dragonkind class after breakfast, and with his Illusionist signet that allowed him to project thoughts, it was definitely one of the cooler classes we attended. “Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from at Threshing,” Professor Kaori says, his serious, dark eyes slashing toward his nose as he studies the new recruits for a beat, then he changes the projection he’s conjured from a Green Daggertail to a Red Scorpiontail. 

 

The Red Scorpiontail in the center of our circled tables is a fraction of its actual size, six feet tall at most, but it’s an exact replica of the actual firebreather waiting in the Vale for Threshing.

 

“Red Scorpiontails, like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper,” Professor Kaori continues, his perfectly trimmed mustache curving as he smiles at the illusion like he’s the dragon himself. We all take notes. “So if you offend him, you’re—”

 

“Lunch,” Ridoc says from my left, and the class laughs. Even Jack Barlowe, who hasn’t quit glaring at me since his squad took over their quarter of the room a half hour ago, snorts.

 

“Precisely,” Professor Kaori responds. “So what’s the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?” He glances around the room.

 

I know the answer, but I keep my hand to myself, heeding Dain’s advice to lay low. I didn’t need to be exceptional in this class as well. 

 

“How many dragons are there in total?” Rhiannon asks.

 

“A hundred for this year,” Professor Kaori answers, changing the image again. “But some might change their minds during Presentation in about two months, depending on what they see.”

 

My stomach hits the floor. “That’s thirty-seven fewer than last year.” Maybe even fewer if they don’t like the look of us after we have to parade by them for their perusal two days before Threshing. Then again, there’s usually fewer cadets after that particular event anyway.

 

Professor Kaori’s dark eyebrows rise. “Yes, Cadet Sorrengail, it is, and twenty-six fewer than the year before that.”

 

Fewer dragons are choosing to bond, but the number of riders entering the quadrant has remained steady. My mind whirls. Attacks at the eastern borders are increasing, according to every Battle Brief, and yet there are fewer dragons willing to bond in order to defend Navarre.

 

“Will they tell you why they won’t bond?” another first-year asks.

 

“No, jackass,” Jack scoffs, his icy-blue gaze narrowing on the cadet. “Dragons only talk to their bonded riders, just like they only give their full name to their bonded rider. You should know that by now.”

 

Professor Kaori sends Jack a look that shuts the first-year’s mouth but doesn’t stop him from sneering at the other cadet. “They don’t share their reasons,” our instructor says. “And anyone who respects their life won’t ask a question they’re not willing to answer.”

 

“Do the numbers affect the wards?” Aurelie asks from where she sits behind me, tapping her quill against the edge of her desk. She’s never happy sitting still.

 

Professor Kaori’s jaw ticks twice. “We’re not sure. The number of bonded dragons has never affected the integrity of Navarre’s wards before, but I’m not about to lie to you and say that we’re not seeing increased breaches when you know from Battle Brief that we are.”

 

The wards are faltering at a rate that makes my stomach tense every time Professor Devera starts our daily Battle Brief. Either we’re weakening or our enemies are getting stronger. Both possibilities mean the cadets in this room are needed more than ever.

 

Even me.

 

The image changes to Sgaeyl, the navy-blue dragon bonded to Xaden.

 

My stomach pitches as I remember the way she looked right through me that first day.

 

“You won’t have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this Threshing, but you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her,” Professor Kaori says.

 

“So you can fucking run,” Ridoc drawls.

 

I nod along while others laugh.

 

“She’s a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should…definitely find somewhere else to be. Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. In fact, if you see any of the blues, don’t approach them. Just…”

 

“Run,” Ridoc repeats, raking his hand through his floppy brown hair.

 

“Run,” Professor Kaori agrees with a smile, the mustache above his top lip quivering slightly. “There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you’ll find them all along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense. They’re all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all.”

 

My breath catches. No wonder Xaden can wield shadows—shadows that can pin people in place just as well as he could do himself. And once again I find myself wondering why he let me live. 

 

Probably just to screw with you, a monster playing with his prey before pouncing.

 

“What about the black dragon?” the first-year next to Jack asks. “There’s one here, right?”

 

Jack’s face lights up. “I want that one.”

 

“Not that it’s going to matter.” Professor Kaori flicks his wrist and Sgaeyl disappears, and a massive black dragon takes her place. Even the illusion is bigger, making me crane my neck slightly to see its head. “But just to appease your curiosity, since this is the only time you’ll ever see him, here is the only other black besides General Melgren’s.”

 

“He’s huge,” Rhiannon says. “And is that a clubtail?”

 

“No. A morningstartail. He has the same bludgeoning power of a clubtail, but those spikes will eviscerate a person just as well as a daggertail.”

 

“Best of both worlds,” Jack calls out. “He looks like a killing machine.”

 

“He is,” Professor Kaori answers. “And honestly, I haven’t seen him in the last five years, so this image is more than a little outdated. But since we have him up here, what can you tell me about black dragons?”

 

“They’re the smartest and most discerning,” Aurelie calls out.

 

“They’re the rarest,” I add in. “There hasn’t been one born in the last…century.”

 

“Correct.” Professor Kaori spins the illusion again, and I’m met with a pair of glaring yellow eyes. Eyes that seem to stare directly into my soul, and something deep inside gives a tug. “They’re also the most cunning. There’s no such thing as outsmarting a black dragon. This one is a little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged. He’s revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish rebellion. Add to it that he’s a morningstartail, and he’s one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre.”

 

“I bet he powers one hell of a signet. How do you approach him?” Jack asks, leaning forward in his seat. He is way too interested in this dragon.

 

“You don’t,” Professor Kaori answers. “He hasn’t agreed to bond since his previous and only rider was killed during the uprising, and the only way you’d ever be near him is if you’re in the Vale, which you won’t be, because you’d be incinerated before you ever got through the gorge.”

 

“Someone should ask him again,” Jack urges.

 

“It doesn’t work that way, Barlowe. Now, there is only one other black dragon, which is in service—”

 

“General Melgren’s,” Sawyer says. His book is closed in front of him, but I can’t blame him. I’d hardly be taking notes, either, if this was the second time I’d gone through this class. “Codagh, right?”

 

“Yes.” Professor Kaori nods. “The eldest of their den and a swordtail.”

 

“But just for curiosity’s sake.” Jack’s glacial-blue gaze doesn’t stray from the illusion of the unbonded black dragon still being projected. “What signet ability would this guy gift his rider?”

 

Professor Kaori closes his fist, and the illusion disappears. “There’s no telling. Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet.”

 

“Fine. What was his previous rider’s?” Jack asks.

 

“Naolin’s signet was siphoning.” Professor Kaori’s shoulders fall. “He could absorb power from various sources, other dragons, other riders, and then use it or redistribute it.”

 

“Badass.” Ridoc’s tone has more than a little hero worship.

 

“He was,” Professor Kaori agrees.

 

“What kills someone with that kind of signet?” Jack asks, crossing his arms over his thick chest.

 

Professor Kaori glances at me for a heartbeat before looking away. “He attempted to use that power to revive a fallen rider—which didn’t work, because there’s no signet capable of resurrection—and depleted himself in the process. To use a phrase you’ll become accustomed to after Threshing, he burned out and died next to that rider.”

 

Something in my chest shifts, a feeling that I can’t explain and yet can’t shake.

 

The bells ring, signaling the hour is up, and we all begin to gather our things. The squads filter out to the hallway, emptying the room, and I rise from behind my desk, shouldering my satchel as Rhiannon waits for me by the door, a puzzled expression on her face. “It was Brennan, wasn’t it?” I ask Professor Kaori.

 

Sadness fills his gaze as he meets mine. “Yes. He died trying to save your brother, but Brennan was too far gone.”

 

“Why would he do that?” I shift the weight of my satchel. “Resurrection isn’t possible. Why would he essentially kill himself when Brennan was already gone?” A stampede of grief tramples my heart, stealing my breath. Brennan never would have wanted anyone to die for him. That wasn’t in his nature.

 

Professor Kaori sits back against his desk, pulling at the short, dark hairs of his mustache as he stares at me. “Being a Sorrengail doesn’t do you any favors in here, does it?”

 

I shake my head. “There are more than a few cadets who would like to take me—and my last name—down a peg.”

 

He nods. “It won’t be like that once you leave. After graduation, you’ll find that being General Sorrengail’s daughter means others will do just about anything to keep you alive, even pleased, not because they love your mother but because they either fear her or want her favor.”

 

“Which was Naolin?”

 

“A little bit of both. And sometimes it’s hard for a rider with a signet that powerful to accept his limits. After all, bonding makes you a rider, but resurrecting someone from the dead? Now, that makes you a god. I somehow don’t think that Malek takes kindly to a mortal treading on his territory.”

 

“Thank you for answering.” I turn and start toward the door.

 

“Violet,” Professor Kaori calls out, and I pivot to look back. “I taught both your siblings. A signet like mine is too useful here in the classroom to let me deploy with a wing for long. Brennan was a spectacular rider and a good man. Mira is shrewd and gifted in the seat when it comes to riding.”

 

I nod.

 

“But you’re smarter than both of them.”

 

I blink. It’s not often I get compared to my brother and sister and somehow come out on top.

 

“From what I’ve seen of you helping your friend study in commons every night, it seems you might be more compassionate, too. Don’t forget that.”

 

“Thank you, but being smart and compassionate isn’t going to help me when it comes to Threshing.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes. “You know more about dragons than anyone else in the quadrant, probably anyone else on the Continent. They choose strength and shrewdness.”

 

“They choose for reasons they don’t see fit to share with us.” He pushes off his desk. “And not all strength is physical, Violet.”

 

Kaori’s words batter around my skull all through lunch, which I barely eat since I know what is coming for me when it’s over. 

 

Rhiannon makes it look easy as she wins again, claiming her first dagger. Dain comes to stand next to me “Seifert is going to kill you.” He whispers it in my ear, like it’s a secret. 

 

“No shit Dain, have you seen who he has been hanging out with?” I look over to Oren where he has been staring me down for the last 10 minutes. Though the green tinge to his complexion gives me a boost. 

 

 “I’m going to be fine,” I recite, because that’s my fucking mantra, righty next to ‘ You shall not submit’ . I’m stripped down to the dragon-scale vest that’s starting to feel like a second skin and my fighting leathers. All 10 of my daggers are sheathed, and if my plan goes correctly, I’ll have one more to add to my collection soon.

 

“Good luck Sorrengail.” The unmistakable voice of Jack Barlowe comes from the other side of Dain, where he stands against the wall. 

 

“Fuck off, Barlowe.” I gift him the middle finger.

 

“I honestly hope you win today’s challenge.” His eyes dance with a sadistic glee that makes me queasy. “It would be a shame for someone else to kill you before I get the chance. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Violets are such delicate…fragile things, you know.”

 

I am so tired of assholes right now. Jack, Dain, Xaden. Something comes over me and I unsheathe both daggers from my ribs and flick them in his direction in one smooth movement. They land right where I intended—one nearly nicking his ear and the other an inch beneath his lack of balls. A stark reminder of what I am capable of. 

 

Fear widens his eyes.

 

I shamelessly grin and wiggle my fingers in a wave.

 

“Violet,” Dain hisses as Jack maneuvers around my blades, stepping away from the wall.

 

“You’ll pay for that.” Jack points at me and stalks off, but the rise and fall of his shoulders is a little choppy.

 

I watch his back retreat, then retrieve my daggers, sheathing them at my ribs before returning to Dain’s side.

 

“What the hell was that?” he seethes. “I told you to lay low when it comes to him, and you…” He shakes his head at me. “You just piss him off even more?”

 

“Laying low wasn’t getting me anywhere,” I say with a shrug as Rhiannon’s opponent is carried off the mat. “He needs to realize I’m not a liability.” And I’ll be harder to kill than he thinks.

 

There’s no ignoring the prickle at my scalp, and I turn to find Riorson staring me down. As is Garrick next to him, though Beasty's gaze is far less ‘I’ll murder you if you talk’ and more ‘I like what I see’. 

 

“Badass,” Rhiannon says as she moves to my other side. “I thought Jack was going to shit himself.”

 

I smother a smile and tear my gaze from Garricks. 

 

“Stop encouraging her,” Dain chastises.

 

“Sorrengail.” Professor Emetterio glances at his notebook and raises one bushy black brow before continuing. “Seifert.” 

 

I take a deep breathe to center myself and swallow back the panic that threatens to creep up my throat. I step onto the mat opposite Oren, who’s definitely looking green now. Right on time.

 

I’ve prepared the best I can, wrapping my ankles and my knees just in case he goes for the legs.

 

“Don’t take this personally,” he says as we start to circle, both our hands raised. “But you’ll only be a hazard to your wing.”

 

He charges at me, but his footwork is sluggish and I spin away, landing a punch to his kidney before bouncing back on my heels and palming a dagger.

 

“I’m no more a hazard than you are,” I accuse.

 

His chest heaves once and sweat dots his forehead, but he shakes it off, blinking rapidly as he reaches for his own knife. “My sister is a healer. I’ve heard your bones snap like twigs.”

 

“Why don’t you come find out?” I force a smile and wait for him to charge again, because that’s what he does. I’ve had three sessions to watch him from a few mats over. He’s a bull, all power and no grace.

 

His entire body rolls like he’s going to vomit, and he covers his mouth with his empty hand. 

 

It would be dumb not to take advantage of it. So I do, heart and feet pounding as I rush him, tilting my dagger just right so that it nicks him in the side. I dodge to the left, avoiding his reach, then turn and deliver a kick to his back, sending him sprawling.

 

Now! He falls to the mat, and I take immediate advantage, digging a knee into his spine just like Imogen had with me and putting my blade to his throat. “Yield.” Who needs strength when you have speed and steel?

 

“No!” he shouts, but his body undulates under mine, and he retches, bringing up everything he’s eaten since breakfast and splattering it across the mat to the side of us.

 

So fucking gross.

 

“Oh my gods,” Rhiannon calls out, disgust dripping from her tone.

 

“Yield,” I demand again, but he’s heaving in earnest now and I have to pull my knife away so I don’t accidentally slit his throat.

 

“He yields,” Professor Emetterio declares, his face contorted in revulsion. I breathe through my mouth, refusing to drag the smell into my nose, dodging the pile of vomit as I make for the dagger Seifert dropped. The knife is heavier and longer than my others, but it’s mine now, and I earned it. I sheathe it in my belt as I have no desire to put in my daily wear. 

 

Timing is the hardest thing about my plan.

 

I win the next week when a stocky girl from First Wing can’t concentrate long enough to throw a decent punch thanks to a few Leighorrel mushrooms and their hallucinogenic properties that somehow wind up in her lunch. She gets in a good kick to my knee, but it’s nothing a few days in a wrap won’t heal.

 

I continue my winning streak for 5 more weeks, even as I lower the doses of the poisons, consequently increasing the challenge. Come early September, there’s a spring in my step as I walk onto the mat. I’ve taken down five opponents without killing any of them, something a quarter of our year can’t say after almost twenty more names have been added to the death roll the last month for the first-years alone. However my challenges are getting bloodier, I know its only a matter of time before it happens, especially if Jack gets his way. 

 

I roll my sore shoulders and wait for my opponent. We had been hitting the gym pretty hard and I was feeling it. Should probably institute a rest day on the day before challenges. 

 

However Rayma Corrie never steps forward. Instead Xaden fucking Riorson steps to Emetterio and they converse for a moment before Emetterio glances back at me, then turning back to nod at Xaden. 

 

My stomach hits the floor.

 

And Xaden walks onto the mat.

 

I’m so completely screwed.

 

Xaden steps forward—all six-foot-everything of him—dressed in midnight fighting leathers and a tight-fitted short-sleeve shirt that only seems to make the shimmering, dark rebellion relics on his skin seem like an even bigger warning, which I know is ridiculous but somehow true.

 

My heartbeat kicks up to a full gallop, as if my body knows the truth my mind hasn’t quite accepted yet. I’m about to have my ass kicked…or worse.

 

“You are all in for a treat,” Professor Emetterio says, clapping his hands. “Xaden’s one of the best fighters we have. Watch and learn.”

 

“Of course you are,” I mutter.

 

“A little out of her league, don’t you think?” Dain argues from the side of the mat, tension radiating from every word.

 

“Relax, Aetos.” Xaden looks over my shoulder, his gaze hardening toward where I know Dain is standing, where he always stands when I’m on the mat. The look Xaden gives him makes me realize he’s been taking it easy on me in the glaring department. “She’ll be in one piece when I’m finished teaching her.”

 

“I hardly think it’s fair—” Dain’s voice rises.

 

“No one asked you to think, squad leader,” Xaden fires back as he moves to the side, discarding every weapon on his body—and there’s a lot of them—and handing them to Imogen.

 

“You don’t think you’ll need those?” I ask, palming my own blades. His chest is massive, with wide shoulders and heavily muscled arms alongside. A target this big should be easy to hit.

 

“Nope. Not when you brought enough for the both of us.” A wicked smile curves his mouth as he stretches out his hand and curls his fingers in a come-hither motion. “Let’s go.”

 

My heart beats faster than the wings of a hummingbird as I take a fighting stance and wait for him to strike. This mat is only twenty feet in either direction, and yet my entire world narrows to its confines and the danger within.

 

He’s not in my squad. He can kill me without punishment.

 

I fling a dagger straight at his ridiculously well-sculpted chest.

 

He fucking catches it and clucks his tongue. “Already seen that move.”

 

Holy shit is he fast.

 

I have to be faster. It’s the single advantage I have—that’s my only thought as I move forward in a swipe-and-kick combo Rhiannon’s drilled into me over the past six weeks. He artfully dodges my blade and then captures my leg. The earth spins and I slam onto my back, the sudden impact driving the air from my lungs.

 

But instead of the blow I think is coming, he simply waits. My lungs finally draw oxygen and I use the opportunity to lunge up at him with another blade in hand, aimed at his thigh. He simply blocks it with his forearm, twisted his palm over my wrist as he forces me to drop the dagger to the ground, kicking it off the mat. “You are quite a Violent little thing aren’t you?” 

 

He’s not taking my daggers to use against me; he’s disarming me just to prove he can. My blood boils.

 

“My name is Violet,” I seethe.

 

He releases my wrist and stands, offering me a hand. “We’re not done yet.”

 

My chest heaves, still recovering from the way he’s knocked the wind out of me, and I take the offering. He tugs me to my feet, then twists my arm behind my back and yanks me against his hard chest, pinning our joined hands before I have a chance to get my balance.

 

“Damn it!” I snap.

 

There’s a tug at my thigh and another of my daggers is pressed to my throat as he pins me to his chest with a  forearm locked across my ribs. He might as well be a statue for all the give there is in his frame. There’s no use slamming my head back—he’s so tall that I’d only annoy him.

 

He drops the third dagger he’s taken from me and kicks it forward—to where Dain stands, the other two already in his hand. There’s murder in his eyes as he glares at Xaden.

 

Xaden continues to disarm me at every turn, the pile of daggers in Dains hands getting bigger. He isn’t harming me, but he isn’t going easy on me either. I am going to be covered in bruises and sore for days. I punch forward, but he dips and my knife sails over his shoulder, missing him by six inches. My stomach drops as he grips my arm, yanking me forward and flipping me around the side of his body. I’m airborne for a heartbeat before I smack into the mat, my ribs taking the impact.

 

He cranks my arm into a submission hold and white-hot pain shoots down the limb as I cry out, dropping the dagger, but he’s not done. No, his knee is in my ribs and, though he holds my arm captive with one hand, the other plucks a dagger from its sheath and flings it toward Dain’s feet before taking another and holding it to the tender area where my jaw meets my neck. It’s one of the Mira daggers and the razor sharp edge nicks the skin of my throat. 

 

Then he leans closer. “Taking out your enemy before the battle is really smart; I’ll give that to you,” he whispers too low for anyone to hear. Oh gods. He knows what I’ve been doing. The pain in my arm is nothing compared to the nausea churning in my stomach at the thought of what he might do with that knowledge.

 

“I fucking hate you.” The words are past my lips before I can shut my mouth.

 

“That doesn’t make you special.”

 

The pressure releases from my chest and arm as he gets on his feet, kicking both daggers toward Dain.

 

Two more. I only have two more, and now my indignation and anger far outweigh my fear.

 

Ignoring Xaden’s outstretched hand, I gain my feet and his lips curve into I don’t think. I just act, going low and kicking out the backs of his knees.He goes down like a tree, the sound more than satisfying, and I pounce, trying for a headlock. Doesn’t matter how big someone is—they still need air. Catching his throat in the crook of my elbow, I squeeze.

 

Instead of going for my arms, he twists, grabbing ahold of the backs of my thighs so I lose my leverage and our bodies careen into a roll. He comes out on top. Of course he does.

 

His forearm presses against my throat, cutting off air and his hips have mine pinned, my legs useless in between his as he sits heavily on my thighs. He’s unmovable.

 

Everything around us fades as my world narrows to the arrogant glint in his gaze. He’s all I can see, all I can feel. I can’t let him win.

 

I slip one of my last daggers free and go for his shoulder. He seizes my wrist and pins it above my head. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

 

Heat rushes up my neck and flames lick my cheeks as he lowers his face so his lips are only inches away from mine. I can make out every speck of gold in his onyx eyes, every bump and ridge of his scar.

 

Beautiful. Fucking. Asshole.

 

My breath catches and my body warms, the traitorous bitch. You are not attracted to toxic men, I remind myself, and yet, here I am, getting all attracted.

 

He pushes his fingers into my fist, forcing it open, then sends the blade skittering across the mat before letting go of my wrist.

 

“Get your dagger,” he orders.

 

“What?” My eyes fly wide. He has me defenseless and in the kill position already.

 

“Get. Your. Dagger,” he repeats, taking my hand in his and retrieving the last blade I have. His fingers curl over mine, clasping the hilt.

 

Fire races along my skin at the feel of his fingers lacing with mine.

 

Toxic. Dangerous. Wants to kill you. Nope, doesn’t matter. My pulse still skitters like a teenager.

 

“You’re tiny.” He says it like an insult.

 

“Well aware.” My eyes narrow.

 

“I think she’s been taught enough for the day,” Dain barks, reminding me that we’re far from alone. No, we’re a damned spectacle.

 

he guides our hands back to my ribs and slides the ruby-hilted blade back into its sheath.

 

The move is unnervingly…hot.

 

“You’re not going to disarm me?” I challenge as he releases his grip and pushes up more, removing his weight from my body. My ribs expand as I take my first full breath.

 

“Nope. Defenseless women have never been my type. We’re done for today.” He stands, then walks away without another word, taking his weapons from Imogen as I roll to my knees. Every part of my body aches, but I manage to stand.

 

There’s pure relief in Dain’s eyes when I reach his side to retrieve the daggers Xaden took from me. “You all right?”

 

I nod, my fingers trembling as I rearm myself. He’s had every chance, and every reason, to kill me, and now he’s let me walk away twice. What kind of game is he playing?

 

“Aetos,” Xaden calls out from across the mat.

 

Dain’s head snaps up and his jaw locks.

 

“She could use a little less protection and a little more instruction.” Xaden stares Dain down until he nods.

 

Professor Emetterio calls the next challenge.

 

Dain takes me to his room that night, under the guise of checking my wrappings. Only what he does is belittle me over and over, before telling me he went behind my back to Professor Markham in an attempt to sneak me into the Scribe Quadrant. 

 

With every word he says the gap between us widens, he’s telling me without saying it that he doesn’t think I will make the cut. Dain Aetos, my long time childhood best friend, the boy I once dreamed of marrying, thinks I won’t bond with a dragon. I had been holding out hope that one day he would wake up and see me surviving, see me getting stronger and faster, and realize that I can do this. But as he continues talking, I know it will never happen. The fight leaves me, and when he asks me if I will think about his offer, I tell him I will. 

 

Not because I am actually going to give it any thought, but because I shouldn’t have to convince my best friend to believe in me.

 

AN: Are we starting to see the changes yet? If you are, are you enjoying them?

 

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Don’t underestimate the challenge of the Gauntlet, Mira. It’s designed to test your balance, strength, and agility. The times don’t matter for shit, only that you make it to the top. Reach for the ropes when you have to. Coming in last is better than coming in dead.

 

—Page forty-six, the Book of Brennan

I look up, and up, and up, fear coiling in my stomach like a snake ready to strike. I push it down. You are a Sorrengail and you shall not submit. 

 

“Well, that’s…” Rhiannon swallows, her head tilted just as far back as mine as we stare at the menacing obstacle course that’s carved into the front of a ridgeline so steep, it might as well be a cliff. The zigzagging death trap of a trail rises above us, climbing in five distinct switchbacks of 180-degree turns, each increasing in difficulty on the way to the top of the bluff that divides the citadel from the flight field and the Vale.

 

“Amazing.” Aurelie sighs.

 

Everyone in our squad turns to look at her staring like she must have hit her head.

 

“You think that hellscape looks amazing?” Rhiannon asks.

 

“I’ve been waiting years for this!” Aurelie grins, her normally serious black eyes dancing in the morning sun as she rubs her hands together, shifting from one toned leg to the other in glee. “My dad—he was a rider until he retired last year—used to set up obstacle courses like this all the time so we could practice, and Chase, my brother, said it’s the best part of being here before Threshing. It’s a real adrenaline rush.”

 

Auralie starts breaking down every obstacle on the Gauntlet, with some input from Sawyer who had successfully ran the course. A fact that Luca and Tynan were using to gang up on him. I could slowly see him shrinking in on himself. I knew that feeling all too well and before I knew it I was standing between them. 

 

“If you two don’t shut up I will personally find a way to make sure you shit your leathers every day for a month. Better keep an eye on your breakfasts.” My voice was laced with vitriol as I defended Sawyer, making them both shrink back. 

 

Turning to Sawyer, having to crane my neck to look into his eyes I put my hand on his arm and said in a soft voice “You are going to bond this year Sawyer, you’re dragon just wasn’t ready last year. It wasn’t you. You were meant to be a rider.” 

 

Ridoc was standing close enough to catch my words and instead of the humor he usually resorted to he looked completely honest when he added “Yeah dude, you were supposed to be part of the iron squad. Wait, isn't your birthday like 3 days before Conscription?” He looks thoughtful as Sawyer nods. 

 

Facts tick over in mind, and combine with what I know about Sawyer. “Holy shit Sawyer, you’re a premie right?” He nods with a curious look on your face, so I continue. “Had you been born on your due date, instead of early, you wouldn’t have even been here last year. You only would have been a candidate this year like the rest of us!” 

 

I had no clue if dragons knew these things, or how they chose their riders, but something inside me just told me this was right. That Sawyer was meant to be with us. I felt it in my soul. As I look at Sayer, I watch as something visibly changes inside of him, his features harden and his resolve strengthens. He gives me a nod and then in what look slightly involuntary, he scoops me up in a hug before setting me back and turning towards where Emeterrio now stands. 

 

“As you know, hand-to-hand challenges are on hold for the next two and a half weeks before Presentation so you can focus here.” Professor Emetterio flips a page on the little notebook he carries. “Sawyer, you’re going to show them how it’s done, since you already have the lay of the land. Then Pryor, Trina, Tynan, Rhiannon, Ridoc, Violet, Aurelie, and Luca.” A smile curves the harsh line of his mouth as he finishes calling out every name in our squad, and we file into order. “You’re the only squad to remain intact since Parapet. That’s incredible. Your squad leader must be very proud. Wait here for a second.” He walks past us, waving at the time keeper high up on the cliff. 

 

Tynan looks like he wants to talk shit about Dain and I’s friendship, like he so frequently does, but it seems as though my threat has made him think before opening his mouth. Small Mercies. 

 

“Here we go!” Professor Emetterio walks to the head of our line. “You’ll get your time at the top of the course, if you make it, but remember, you’ll still have nine practice sessions before we rank you for Presentation in two and a half weeks, which will determine if the dragons find you worthy at Threshing.”

 

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to let first-years start practicing this thing right after Parapet?” Rhiannon asks. “You know, to give us a little more time so we don’t die?”

 

“No,” Professor Emetterio replies. “The timing is part of the challenge. Any words of wisdom, Sawyer?”

 

Sawyer blows out a slow breath, his gaze following the treacherous course. “There are ropes every six feet that run from the top of the sheer cliffside to the bottom,” he says. “So if you start to fall, reach out and grab a rope. It’ll cost you thirty seconds, but death costs you more.”

 

“I mean, there’s a perfectly good set of steps over there.” Ridoc points to the steep staircase carved into the cliff beside the wide switchbacks of the Gauntlet.

 

“Stairs are for reaching the flight field on the top of the ridgeline after Presentation,” Professor Emetterio says, then lifts his hands toward the course and flicks his wrist, pointing at various obstacles.

 

The fifteen-foot log at the start of the uphill climb begins to spin. The pillars on the third ascent shake. The giant wheel at the first switchback starts its counterclockwise rotation, and those little posts all twist in opposite directions. Just like Auralie described. Damnit Brennan you couldn’t have given me some tips and tricks. 

 

“Every one of the five ascents on this course is designed to mimic the challenges you’ll face in battle.” Professor Emetterio turns to look at us, his face just as stern as it is during our usual combat training. “From the balance you must keep on the back of your dragon, to the strength you’ll need to hold your seat during maneuvers, to”—he gestures upward, toward the last obstacle that looks like a ninety-degree ramp from this angle—“the stamina you’ll need to fight on the ground, then still be able to mount your dragon at a second’s notice.”

 

The posts knock a chunk of granite loose, and the rock tumbles down the course, smacking every obstacle in its path until it crashes twenty feet in front of us. If there was ever a metaphor for this fucking place, well…that’s it.

 

“Whoa,” Trina whispers, her brown eyes wide as she stares at the pulverized rock. I’m the smallest of our squad, but Trina is the quietest, the most reserved. I can count on both hands the number of times she’s spoken to me since Parapet. If she didn’t have friends in First Wing, I’d worry, but she doesn’t have to open up to us to survive the quadrant.

 

“You all right?” I ask her in a whisper.

 

She swallows and nods, one of her auburn ringlet curls bouncing against her forehead.

 

“What if we can’t make it up?” Luca asks from my right, securing her long hair in a loose braid, her usual haughtiness not so in-your-face today. “What’s the alternative route?”

 

“There’s no alternative. If you don’t make it, you can’t get to Presentation, can you? Take your position, Sawyer,” Professor Emetterio orders, and Sawyer moves to the beginning of the course. “After he makes it past the final obstacle, so everyone can learn from this cadet completing the course, the rest of you will start every sixty seconds. And…go!”

 

Sawyer is off like a shot. He easily runs the fifteen feet across the single log spinning parallel with the cliff face and then the raised pillars, but it takes him three rotations inside the wheel before he jumps through the lone opening, but other than that, I don’t see a single misstep in the first ascent. Not. One.

 

He turns and rushes toward a series of giant hanging balls that makes up the second ascent, jumping and hugging one after another. His feet back on the ground, he turns again and heads up the third ascent, which is divided into two sections. The first part has giant metal rods hanging parallel to the cliff wall, and he easily swings arm over arm, using his body’s weight and momentum to swing the bar forward and reach the next bar hanging half a foot higher than the previous as he climbs the side of the cliff. From the last bar, he jumps onto a series of shaking pillars that make up the second half of this ascent before finally leaping back onto the gravel path.

 

By the time he reaches the fourth ascent, the spinning logs Aurelie’s brother warned us about, Sawyer’s made it all look like child’s play, and I start to feel a bubble of hope that maybe the course isn’t as difficult as it looks from the ground.

 

But then he faces a giant chimney formation rising high above him at a twenty-degree angle and pauses.

 

“You got this!” Rhiannon yells from my side.

 

As though he heard, he sprints toward the leaning chimney and flings himself upward, grabbing onto the sides by forming an X with his body, then starts hopping up the conduit until he reaches the end and drops down in front of the final obstacle, a massive ramp that reaches up to the top of the cliff’s edge at a nearly vertical climb.

 

My breath catches in my throat as Sawyer sprints toward the ramp, using his speed and momentum to carry him two-thirds of the way up the ramp. Just before he starts to fall, he reaches up with one arm and grasps the lip of the ramp and hauls himself over the edge.

 

Rhiannon and I scream and cheer for him. He made it. In an almost flawless approach.

 

“Perfect technique!” Professor Emetterio calls out. “That’s exactly what you should all be doing.”

 

“I’m too short for the chimney and the ramp,” I whisper to Rhi.

 

She glances over at me, and then back to the obstacles. “You’re wicked fast. If you get your speed up, I bet the momentum will take you to the top of the ramp. But I see your point, you definitely won’t be able to use Sayers technique to get up the chimney”

 

Everybody has their issues, Pryor—the shy cadet from the Krovlan border region—struggles on the swinging steel rods in the third ascent due to some rather predictable hesitation on his part, but he makes it just as Trina nearly falls at the shaking pillars, reaching for a rope. Tynan hangs, shrieking, seemingly stuck from the second of five buoy balls on the second ascent. 

 

Rhi has to bring him the rope as she uses the chains on the buoy balls instead of trying to wrap around them. And it inspires something in me, the obvious way to scale these isn’t always going to be the only way. 

 

“Violet, begin!” Emetterio orders.

 

Be with me, Zihnal. I haven’t spent nearly enough time at temple for the god of luck to care much about what happens to me right now, but it’s worth a shot.

 

I bolt up the first part of the ascent, coming to the spinning log within seconds. My stomach feels like it’s being stirred by this balance beam from hell. “It’s just balance. You can balance,” I mumble and start across. “Quick feet. Quick feet. Quick feet,” I repeat all the way across, jumping off the end to land on the first of four granite columns, each one higher than the last.

 

There are about three feet between them, but I manage to leap from one pillar to the next without skidding off the ends. And this is the easy part. A knot of fear works its way up my throat.

 

I jump into the rotating wheel and run, leaping over the only opening as it flies by once, then watching it come around a second time. Timing. This one is all about timing.

 

The opportunity comes and I seize it, racing through the opening and turning back onto the gravel path of the second ascent. The buoy balls are just ahead and I focus on proper breathing, needing every ounce of my lung capacity as I spring from the edge of the path onto the first ball, grasping it up top like Rhiannon did. The immediate strain on my shoulders makes me tense but the combination of the Water Hemlock and my strengthening muscles keep the joints from dislocating.

 

Throwing my weight, I force the ball to rotate, swinging me toward the next one. I repeat motions, grasping from one ball to the next, keeping my eyes on the chains and nothing else. I reach the fifth and final ball. With one last swing, I throw myself sideways, releasing the ball and landing on the shoulder-wide gravel path without rolling an ankle.

 

It’s all momentum for the next ascent. I line my body up with the first metal rod and get ready to sprint forward. There are three iron rails in front of me, each lined up like a battering ram toward the next. “The Scribe Quadrant is looking pretty good right now,” I grumble under my breath, then launch myself toward the first. At least the texture gives me something to keep hold of as I work my way hand over hand. The ache in my shoulders grows into a throbbing pain when I reach the end of the first rail, swinging my feet to work up the momentum for the next.

 

The first clang of iron as the rails meet makes my fingers slip, and I gasp as terror claws its way out of my stomach.  My right hand loses purchase and my weight swings me into the face of the steep mountainside, my cheek slamming into the rock. A high-pitched ringing erupts in my ears and my vision darkens at the edges.

 

“Violet!” Rhiannon shouts from the top.

 

“Next to you! The rope is next to you!” Aurelie calls up from behind me.

Iron scrapes my fingertips as my left hand slips, but I spot the rope and take hold, bracing my feet on the knot beneath me and clinging tight until the ringing fades in my head. I have to swing over or climb down. You’re a Sorrengail, and you shall not submit. 

 

I’ve survived seven weeks in this damned quadrant, and this course isn’t going to beat me today.

 

Pushing off the edge, I swing out for the rail and make it, immediately starting the hand over hand to get me to the next one and then the next, until I finally let go, landing on the first shaking iron pillar. My brain is rattled as the thing shudders violently, and I leap to the next, barely gaining a foothold before jumping to the gravel path at the end of the ascent.

 

Aurelie is right behind me, landing with a grin. “This is the best!”

 

“You clearly need to see the healers. You must have hit your head if you think this is fun.” My breaths are choppy gasps, but I can’t help but smile at her obvious joy.

 

“Just run straight across this one,” she says as we reach the twisting staircase posts jutting straight from the side of the cliff face.

 

Each three-foot-wide timber rotates from its base in one of the steepest sections of the course. I quickly calculate if you fall off one of the posts, you’d probably drop at least thirty or forty feet onto the rocky terrain below. I swallow down the terror trying to crawl up my throat and focus on my agility and lightness.

 

She continues. “Trust me. If you pause, it’ll roll you right off.”

 

I nod and bounce on my feet, then I run. My feet are quick, making contact with each post only long enough to push off for the next, and within a few heartbeats, I’m on the other side.

 

“Yes!” I shout, throwing my fist up in celebration as I get out of the way for Aurelie.

 

“Go, Violet!” she shouts. “Here I come!” Her footwork is more agile than mine as she springs from spinning post to post. A roar sounds from overhead, and I jerk my gaze up just in time to see the underbelly of a Green Daggertail as it flies directly over us, headed back to the Vale.

 

I’m never going to get used to that.

 

Aurelie cries out and my head snaps toward hers just in time to see her wobble and slip on the fifth post. The air freezes in my lungs as she careens forward, her belly hitting the next-to-last spinning log as if in slow motion.

 

“Aurelie!” I scream, lunging for her, my fingertips skimming the seventh post.

 

Our eyes meet, shock and terror filling her wide black eyes as the post rolls her away from me and she falls. Halfway down the cliff.

-    -    -

 

The sun burns my eyes as we stand in morning formation.

 

“Calvin Atwater,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads, his voice solemn like always.

 

First Squad, Claw Section, Fourth Wing. He sits two rows behind me in Battle Brief. He sat.

 

There’s nothing special about this morning. Our first trial on the Gauntlet has made the roll longer, but it’s just another list on just another day…except it’s not. The exceptional cruelty of this ritual has never hit me this hard before. It’s not like the first day anymore. I know more than half of the names as they’re called. My vision blurs. “Newland Jahvon,” he continues.

 

Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing. He had breakfast duty with me. We have to be in the twenties by now. How can this be all there is? We say their names once and then go on as if they never existed? Rhiannon shifts her weight at my side, and she abruptly sniffles, the motion jerking her shoulders once.

 

“Aurelie Donans.”

 

A single tear escapes and I bat it away, ripping open one of the scabs along my cheek. A trickle of blood follows as the next name is called, but I let that one stain me.

-    -    -

“You’re sure about this?” Dain asks the next night, two worried lines between his brows as he clasps my shoulders.

 

“If her parents aren’t coming to bury her body, then I should be the one to handle her things. I’m the last person she saw, and we were friends” I explain, rolling my shoulders to adjust the weight of Aurelie’s pack. 

 

Every Basgiath parent has the same option when their cadet is killed. They can retrieve the body and personal effects for burial or burning or the school will put their body under a stone and burn their effects themselves. Aurelie’s parents have chosen door number two.

 

“And you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks, palming my neck.

 

I shake my head. “I know where the burn pit is.”

 

He mutters a curse. “I should have been there.”

 

“You couldn’t have done anything, Dain,” I say softly. “None of us could have. She didn’t even have time to reach for the rope,” I whisper. I’ve replayed that moment over and over in my head, coming to the same conclusion each time. I couldn’t have done anything to help, not without getting myself killed in the process. 

 

“I never got the chance to ask you if you made it all the way up,” he says.

 

I shake my head. “I got caught at the chimney formation and had to use a rope to get back down. I’m too short to span the distance, but I’m not thinking about that tonight. I’ll figure something out before the official timed Gauntlet on Presentation day.”

 

I’ll have to. They don’t allow cadets to climb back down on the final day. You either complete the Gauntlet—or you fall to your death. 

 

“All right. Let me know if you need me.” He lets me go.

 

I nod and make every excuse to get out of the dormitory hallway. The weight of Aurelie’s pack is staggering. She was strong enough to carry so much over the parapet, and yet she fell.

 

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m carrying her with me as I climb the stairs of the academic tower’s turret, past the Battle Brief room and up to the stone roof, going by a few other cadets on their way down. The burn pit is nothing more than an extra-wide fancy iron barrel, whose only purpose is to incinerate, and the flames burn bright against the night sky as I stumble out onto the roof, my lungs straining for oxygen.

 

A couple of months ago, I couldn’t have carried a pack this heavy. There’s no one else up here as I slip the bag from my shoulder, and I take a moment to just process the memories I have of Auralie. 

 

“I’m so sorry,” I finally whisper, my fingers digging into the wide strap of the pack as I fling it up and over the metal edge of the bin. The flames catch and whoosh as it becomes more fuel for the fire, just another tribute to Malek, the god of death.

 

Instead of walking back down the stairs, I make my way to the edge of the turret. It’s a cloudy night, but I can make out the shadows of three dragons as they approach from the west and even see the ridge where the Gauntlet lays, waiting to claim its next victim.

 

It won’t be me. I stand here, letting minutes tick by before the bells sound for curfew. I climb back down the stairs. I walk through the courtyard, empty but for a couple who can’t decide if they’d rather kiss or walk near the dais, and I avert my gaze, heading for the alcove where Dain and I first sat after Parapet.

 

It’s almost been two months, and I’m still here. Still waking every morning to the sunrise. Doesn’t that mean something? Isn’t there a chance, no matter how small, that I might just be enough to make it through Threshing? I had to be. I’m strengthening my resolve when the door that leads to the tunnel we took to cross the ridgeline to the Gauntlet this morning opens along the courtyard wall, just left of the academic building, and my brow furrows. Who would be returning this late?

 

Sitting back against the wall, I let the darkness conceal me as Xaden, Garrick, and Bodhi—Xaden’s cousin and a Squad Leader—pass under a mage light, headed in my direction. Three dragons. They were out…doing what? There were no training ops that I know of tonight, not that I’m privy to everything third-years do.

 

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking to Xaden, his voice low as they pass by me, their boots crunching on the gravel.

 

“We’re doing everything we can,” Garrick hisses.

 

My scalp prickles and Xaden stops mid-step ten feet away, the set of his shoulders rigid.

 

Shit.

 

He knows I’m here.

 

Instead of the usual fear that spikes in his presence, only anger rises in my chest. If he wants to kill me, then fine. I’m over waiting for it to happen. Over walking through the halls in fear.

 

“What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, immediately looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction, toward the couple who definitely decided making out is more important than getting into the dorms by curfew.

 

“Go on. I’ll meet you inside,” Xaden says.

 

“You sure?” Bodhi’s forehead puckers, and his gaze sweeps over the courtyard.

 

“Go,” Xaden orders, standing completely still until the other two walk into the barracks, turning left toward the stairwell that will take them to the second- and third-year floors. Only when they’re gone does he turn and face the exact spot where I’m sitting.

 

“I know you know I’m here.” I force myself to stand and move toward him so he doesn’t think I’m hiding or worse—scared of him. “And please don’t prattle on about commanding the dark. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

 

“No questions about where I’ve been?” He folds his arms across his chest and studies me in the moonlight. His scar looks even more menacing in this light, but I can’t seem to find the energy to be scared.

 

“I honestly don’t care.” I shrug, the movement making the throb in my shoulders intensify. I may not be worried about them dislocating, but damn if I don’t need to be putting in some more hang time to give them a boost. 

 

He cocks his head to the side, studying my face in a way that makes my scalp prickle. “You really don’t, do you?”

 

“Nope. It’s not like I’m not out after curfew myself.” A heavy sigh blows through my lips.

 

“What are you doing out after curfew, first-year?”

 

“Debating running away,” I retort. “How about you? Feel like sharing?” I ask mockingly, knowing he’s not about to answer me.

 

“The same.”

 

Sarcastic ass.

 

“Look, are you going to kill me or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.” I lift a hand to my shoulder and roll it, pressing in on the sore muscles, but it doesn’t help the ache.

 

“Haven’t decided yet,” he answers, like I’ve just inquired about his dinner preferences, but his gaze narrows on my cheek.

 

“Well, could you?” I mutter. “It would definitely help me make my plans for the week.” 

 

“Am I affecting your schedule, Violence?” There’s a definite smirk on those lips.

 

“I just need to know what my chances are here.” My hands curl into fists.

 

The ass has the nerve to smile. “That’s the oddest way I’ve ever been hit on—”

 

“Not my chances with you, you conceited prick!” Fuck this. Fuck all of this. I move past him, but he catches my wrist, his grip firm. His fingertips on my pulse, I’m sure he’s tracking it.

 

“Chances at what?” he asks, giving me a little shake.

 

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t understand. He’s a damned wingleader, which means he’s excelled at everything in the quadrant, even somehow managing to get past his own last name.

 

“Chances at what?” he repeats. “Do not make me ask three times.” His tone is ominous as he pulls me closer, and shit, does he have to smell so good? Like mint and leather and something I can’t quite identify, something that borders between citrus and floral.

 

My emotions are everywhere after burning Auralie’s things and something bursts inside me, and words start tumbling out of my mouth “At living through all of this! I can’t make it up the damned Gauntlet.” I half-heartedly tug at my wrist, but he doesn’t let go, just like I knew he wouldn’t. 

 

“I see.” He’s so infuriatingly calm, and I can’t even get a grip on my emotions.

 

“No, you don’t. You’re probably celebrating because I’ll fall to my death and you won’t have to go to the trouble of killing me.”

 

“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Violence. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.”

 

My gaze swings up to clash with his, but his face is unreadable, cloaked in shadow, go figure.

 

“Sorry to be a hassle.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “You know the problem with this place?” I tug my arm back again, but he holds fast. “Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?” My eyes narrow on him.

 

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” I answer before I can think better of it. “Hope.”

 

“Hope?” He tips his head closer to mine, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me right.

 

“Hope.” I nod. “Someone like you would never get it, but I knew coming here was a death sentence. It didn’t matter that I’ve been trained my entire life to enter the Scribe Quadrant; when General Sorrengail gives an order, you can’t exactly ignore it.” Gods, why am I running off at the mouth to this man? What’s the worst he’ll do? Kill you?

 

“Sure you can.” He shrugs. “You just might not like the consequences.”

 

I roll my eyes, and to my utter embarrassment, instead of pulling away now that I’m free, I lean in just a little, like I can siphon off some of his strength. He certainly has enough to spare.

 

“I knew what the odds were, and I came anyway, concentrating on that tiny percentage of a chance that I would live. And then I make it almost two months and I get…” I shake my head, clenching my jaw. “Hopeful.” The word tastes sour.

 

“Ah. And then you lose a squadmate, and you can’t quite get up the chimney, and you give up. I’m starting to see. It’s not a flattering picture, but if you want to run off to the Scribe Quadrant—”

 

I gasp, fear punching a hole in my stomach. “How do you know about that?” If he knows…if he tells, Dain is in danger.

 

A wicked smile curves Xaden’s perfect lips. “I know everything that goes on here.” Darkness swirls around us. “Shadows, remember? They hear everything, see everything, conceal everything.” The rest of the world disappears. He could do anything to me in here and no one would be the wiser.

 

“My mother would definitely reward you if you told her about Dain’s plan,” I say softly.

 

“She’d definitely reward you for telling her about my little…what did you call it? Club.”

 

“I’m not going to tell her.” The words sound defensive.

 

“I know. It’s why you’re still alive.” He holds my gaze locked with his. “Here’s the thing, Sorrengail. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”

 

“So I’m supposed to what? Not hope that I live? Just plan for death?” I sound as frustrated as I feel. 

 

“You’re supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways to not die.” He shakes his head. “I can barely count the number of people in this quadrant who want you dead, either as revenge against your mother or because you’re just really good at pissing people off, but you’re still here, defying the odds.” Shadows wrap around me, and I swear I feel a caress along the side of my wounded cheek. “It’s been rather surprising to watch, actually.”

 

“Happy to be your entertainment. I’m going to bed.” Spinning on my heel, I head toward the entrance to the barracks, but he’s right behind me, close enough that the door would slam in his face if he wasn’t so unnaturally fast at catching it.

 

“Maybe if you stopped sulking in your self-pity, you’d see that you have everything you need to scale the Gauntlet,” he calls after me, his voice echoing down the hallway.

 

“My self-what?” I turn around, my jaw dropping.

 

“People die,” he says slowly, his jaw ticking before he drags in a deep breath. “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die. You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”

 

“I’m too short to span the distance!” I hiss, uncaring that anyone could hear us.

 

“The right way isn’t the only way. Figure it out.” Then he turns and walks away.

 

Fuck. Him.

 

The next practice sessions of the Gauntlet are no more successful than my first, but at least we don’t lose another squadmate. Tynan has quit running his mouth, since he can’t seem to make it up fully, either.

 

The buoy balls are his downfall.

 

The chimney is mine.

 

But I have slowly been testing new techniques to scale the chimney, and I think this time is the one. I launch myself into the angled cavern, but instead of trying to span the distance I bounce off the side, using the rough edge as a spring board to the other side. Switching legs and propelling myself further and further up the chimney. Due to its decreasing size the further up you go I am now able to employ the ‘X’ formation Sawyer uses so successfully. My shoulders are screaming and my hips definitely agree with them. But I’m at the top and I manage to throw myself clear.

 

I lay on my back and just soak in the fact that I did it! I didn’t give up and I found a way. I roll up onto my knees and stare down the ramp. Do I have the energy to try it? If I fail it will just slide me back to the bottom of it, and there's plenty of space so I wouldn’t fall off the edge of the cliff. 

 

Fuck it, I made it this far. 

 

I stand and grit my teeth, launching myself at the ramp, gaining as much speed as I can. My lungs are burning now but I'm powering up the ramp. Propelling myself with every stride. I’m reaching the point where my momentum is about to stop helping me, the point that gravity is going to return me to the earth. So I gather the last vestiges of the energy left in my legs and I use it to jump.

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

You are a Sorrengail, and you shall not submit.

-Violet’s personal addendum to the Book of Brennan

“Arvel Pelipa.”

 

Imogen and Quinn—both second-years—suck in a breath ahead of me. First-years aren’t the only ones at risk; we’re just the most likely to die.

 

“Michel Iverem.” Captain Fitzgibbons closes the roll. “We commend their souls to Malek.” And with that final word, formation breaks.

 

“Second- and third-years, unless you’re on Gauntlet duty, head to class. First-years, it’s time to show us what you’ve got.” Dain forces a smile and skips right over me as he looks at our squad.

 

“Good luck today.” Imogen tucks an errant strand of pink hair behind her ear and aims a sickly-sweet smile right at me. “Hopefully you won’t fall…short.”

 

“See you later,” I reply, lifting my chin.

 

She stares at me with complete loathing for a second, then walks off with Quinn and Cianna, our executive officer, her shoulder-length blond curls bouncing.

 

“Best of luck.” Heaton—the thickest third-year in our squad, with red flames cut and dyed into their hair—taps their heart, right over two of their patches, and offers us all a genuine but flat-lipped smile before heading to class.

 

As I stare at their retreating back, I wonder what the circular patch on their upper right arm with water and floating spheres means. I know the triangular patch to the left of that one, with the longsword, means they’re not to be messed with on the mat. Since Dain told me about the patch denoting his top secret signet, I’ve been paying close attention to the patches other cadets have sewn into their uniforms. Most wear them like badges of honor, but I recognize them for what they really are—intelligence that I might one day need to defeat them.

 

“I didn’t realize Heaton actually knew how to speak.” Two lines appear between Ridoc’s brows.

 

“Maybe they figure they should at least say hi before we’re potentially roasted today,” Rhiannon says.

 

“Back into formation,” Dain orders.

 

“Are you going with us?” I ask.

 

He nods, still not looking at me.

 

The eight of us fall into two lines of four, the same as the other squads around us.

 

“Awkward,” Rhiannon whispers from my side. “He seems kind of pissed at you.”

 

“He wants something I can’t give him.” Her eyebrows rise at my confession.

 

I roll my eyes. “Not like…that.”

 

“I wouldn’t care if it was like that,” she replies under her breath. “He’s hot. He has that whole boy-next-door-who-can-still-kick-your-ass vibe going for him.”

 

I fight a smile because she’s right. He so does, even if he’s a dick.

 

“We’re the biggest squad,” Ridoc notes behind us as the squads farthest left—from First Wing—file out through the western gate in the courtyard.

 

“What are we down to?” Tynan asks. “Hundred and eighty?”

 

“Hundred and seventy-one,” Dain answers. Squads from Second Wing begin to move, led by their wingleader, which means Xaden is somewhere ahead of us.

 

My nerves are reserved for the obstacle course, but I can’t help but wonder which way his scales will tip today.

 

“For a hundred dragons? But what will we…” Trina asks, nerves cutting off her words.

 

“Stop letting fear leach into your voice,” Luca snaps from behind Rhiannon. “If the dragons think you’re a coward, you’ll be nothing but a name tomorrow.”

 

“She says,” Ridoc narrates, “inducing more fear.”

 

“Shut up,” Luca fires back. “You know it’s true.”

 

“Just portray confidence, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.” I lean forward so our squadmates behind us can’t hear me as Third Wing begins to march for the gate.

 

“Thanks,” Trina whispers in reply.

 

Dain’s narrowed gaze finally locks on mine, but at least he doesn’t call me a liar. There’s enough accusation in his eyes that I might as well be tried and convicted of it, though.

 

“Nervous, Rhi?” I ask, knowing we’re about to be called next.

 

“For you?” she asks. “Not at all. We’ve got this.”

 

“Oh, I meant about the history test tomorrow,” I tease. “There’s nothing going on today to panic about.”

 

“Now that you mention it, the whole Treaty of Arif might just be the death of me.” She grins.

 

“Ahh, the agreement between Navarre and Krovla for mutually shared airspace for both dragons and gryphons over a narrow strip of the Esben Mountains, between Sumerton and Draithus,” I recall, nodding.

 

“Your memory is terrifying.” She shoots me a smile.

 

“Fourth Wing!” Xaden calls out from somewhere in the distance. I don’t even need to see to know that it’s him who gave the order and not his executive officer. “Move out!”

 

We file off, Flame Section, then Claw, and finally Tail.

 

There’s a bit of a bottleneck at the gate, but then we’re through, walking into the mage-lit dimness of the tunnel that we take every morning to reach the Gauntlet. Shadows blanket the edges of the rocky floor along our path.

 

What are the limits of Xaden’s power anyway? Could he use shadows to choke out every squad in here? Would he need to rest or recharge after? Does such a vast power come with any sort of checks or balances?

 

Dain falls back so he walks between Rhiannon and me. “Change your mind.” It’s barely a whisper.

 

“No.” I sound way more confident than I feel.

 

“Change. Your. Mind.” His hand finds mine, concealed by our tight formation as we descend through the passage. “Please.”

 

“I can’t.” I shake my head. “Any more than you would leave Cath and run to the scribes yourself.”

 

“That’s different.” His hand squeezes mine, and I can feel the tension in his fingers, his arm. “I’m a rider.”

 

“Well, maybe I am, too,” I whisper as light appears ahead. I didn’t believe it before, not when I couldn’t leave because my mother wouldn’t let me, but now I have a choice. And I choose to stay.

 

“Don’t be—” He cuts himself off and drops my hand. “I don’t want to bury you, Vi.”

 

“It’s inevitable that one of us will have to bury the other.” It’s not macabre, just fact.

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

The light grows into an archway that’s ten feet high, leading us to the base of the Gauntlet.

 

“Please don’t do this,” Dain begs, not bothering to lower his voice this time as we emerge into the mottled sunlight.

 

The view is spectacular as always. We’re still high on the mountain, thousands of feet above the valley, and the greenery seems to stretch endlessly to the south, with random clusters of squat trees among colorful slopes of wildflowers. My gaze turns to the Gauntlet carved into the face of the cliff, and I can’t help but follow each obstacle higher and higher until I’m staring at the top of the ridgeline that the maps I’ve studied show leads into a box canyon—the flight field. I bite my lip as I stare at the break in the tree line.

 

Normally, only riders are allowed on the flight field—except for Presentation.

 

“I don’t know if I can watch,” Dain says, drawing my attention back to his strong face. His perfectly trimmed beard brackets full lips drawn tight into a frown.

 

“Then close your eyes.” Her may have been my best friend, but I didn’t need this bullshit, not when I needed to focus.

 

“What changed between Parapet and now?” Dain asks again, a wealth of emotions in his eyes that I can’t begin to interpret. Well, except the fear. That doesn’t need any interpretation.

 

“Me Dain. I’ve changed.” I square my shoulders and turn away from him, ending the conversation. 

 

-    -    -

 

An hour later, my feet fly over the spinning posts of the staircase, and I jump to the safety of the gravel path. Third ascent complete. Two more to go. And I haven’t touched a single rope.

 

I swear I can feel Dain staring from the bottom of the course, where Tynan and Luca have yet to start their climb, but I don’t look down. There’s no time for what he thinks will be one last look, and I can’t afford the delay of comforting him when there are still two obstacles ahead of me.

 

“You can do it!” Rhiannon yells from the top as I reach the chimney structure.

 

“Or you can do us all a favor and fall!” another voice yells. Jack, no doubt. At least it’s only been our squad at practice sessions, but every first-year can watch now, either from the base of the course or the edges of the cliff above.

 

I have managed to use the springboarding technique successfully a few times and I’m more confident in myself as I scale the chimney. Popping out the top and throwing myself clear. But it’s been the ramp that I haven’t managed to reach the top. I’m simply not tall enough to make use of what momentum I can generate. 

 

My chest heaves and my lungs ache, but I make it to my feet. I’m on the last ascent, the final path to the flight field, and standing in front of me is a ramp made of wood that juts out ten feet from the cliff wall, then curves upward like the inside of a bowl, the highest point level with the cliff top ten feet above.

 

The obstacle is meant to test a cadet’s ability to scale a dragon’s foreleg and reach its saddle. And I’m too short.

 

But Xaden’s words that the right way wasn’t the only way have played over and over in my head all week long. I’ve been using the same thought to modify my attack to almost every obstacle, so much so that my way looks almost nothing like anyone else's. Same goes for what I am about to attempt. I only hope I can actually pull it off.

 

I unsheathe my largest dagger from home and wipe away the sweat on my forehead with the back of my dirty palm. Then I forget the agony in my arms, the throbbing of my shoulders, and the twinge in my knee from landing wrong after the pillars. I block out all the pain, lock it behind a wall like I’ve done my entire life, and focus on the ramp as though my life depends on making it.

 

There’s no rope here. There’s only one way I’m getting over this. Sheer fucking will. You are a Sorrengail and you shall not submit. 

 

And so I charge, using my speed to my advantage.

 

There’s a drumlike sound as my feet beat against the ramp and the incline sharpens. Just because I haven’t personally conquered this obstacle doesn’t mean I haven’t watched my squadmates take it over and over again. I throw my body forward and momentum carries me upward, running up the side of the ramp.

 

I wait until I feel the precious shift, the moment gravity reclaims my body almost two feet from the top, and I swing my arm up and slam my dagger into the slick, soft wood of the ramp—and use it to fling myself the last foot upward. 

 

A primal scream rips from my throat as my shoulder cries in protest I throw my foot and calf over the top to gain more leverage, pushing my upper body further using the dagger and manmage to snag the lip of the ramp. I pull myself up and over, but I’m not done yet.

 

On my stomach, I turn to face the ramp, then reach over the side and yank my dagger free, sheathing it at my ribs before I stagger to my feet. I made it. Relief sucks the adrenaline straight out of my body.

 

Rhiannon’s arms sweep around me, taking my weight as I gasp for air. Ridoc hugs my back, squeezing me like I’m the filling of a sandwich as he hollers in happiness. I’d protest, but right now they’re all that’s keeping me upright.

 

“She can’t do that!” someone shouts.

 

“Yeah, well, she just did!” Ridoc tosses over his shoulder, loosening his grip on me.

 

My knees shake, but they hold as I suck in breath after breath.

 

“You made it!” Rhiannon takes my face in her hands, tears filling her brown eyes. “You made it!”

 

“Luck.” I draw in another breath and beg my galloping heart to slow. “And. Adrenaline.”

 

“Cheating!”

 

I turn toward the voice. It’s Amber Mavis, the strawberry-blond wingleader from Third Wing who was Dain’s close friend last year, and there’s nothing but fury on her face as she charges toward Xaden, who’s only a couple of feet away with the roll, recording times with a stopwatch and looking rather bored with it all.

 

“Back the hell up, Mavis,” Garrick threatens, the sun flashing off the two swords the handsome curly-haired section leader keeps strapped to his back as he puts his body between Amber and Xaden.

 

“The cheater clearly used foreign materials,” Amber yells. “It’s not to be tolerated! We live by the rules or we die by them!”

 

No wonder she and Dain are so close—they’re both in love with the Codex. I wonder if they fucked with it in bed with them. The thought makes me snort and all eyes whip to me. 

 

“I don’t take kindly to calling anyone in my section a cheater,” Garrick warns, his massive shoulders blocking her from view as he turns. “And my wingleader will handle any rule-breaking in his own wing.” He moves to the side, and I’m met with Amber’s glaring blue eyes.

 

“Sorrengail?” Xaden asks, arching an eyebrow in obvious challenge, a pen poised over the book. I notice not for the first time that other than his Fourth Wing and wingleader emblems, he doesn’t wear the patches others are so fond of displaying. Smart man, not displaying information that could be used against him. 

 

Garrick is the opposite, his broad chest covered in patches, many denoting his prowess with weapons and lethality on the mat. He also carries a gauntlet patch. Holy shit he beat Xaden up the gauntlet! My mind snaps back to reality when Garrick clears his throat, and eyebrow arched at me, but a smile on his face. Damnit he thinks he caught me checking him out. 

 

I clear my throat to speak but Amber cuts me off by shrieking “She’s disqualified.” When Xaden doesn’t answer, she turns that glare on him. “Surely she’s out! You can’t tolerate lawlessness within your own wing, Riorson!”

 

But Xaden’s gaze never leaves mine as he silently waits for my explanation. It crosses my mind that he knows I have one. 

 

“A rider may only bring to the quadrant the items they can carry—” I start.

 

“Are you quoting the Codex to me?” Amber shouts.

 

“—and they shall not be separated from those items no matter what they may be,” I continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “For once carried across the parapet, they are considered part of their person. Article Three, Section Six, Addendum B.”

 

Her blue eyes flare wide as I glance at her. “That addendum was written to make thievery an executional offense.”

 

“Correct.” I nod, looking between her and the onyx eyes that see straight through me. “But in doing so, it gave any item carried across the parapet the status of being a part of the rider.” I unsheathe the chipped and battered blade with a sharp bite of pain in my palm. “This isn’t a challenge blade. It’s one I carried across and therefore considered part of myself.”

 

His eyes flare, and I don’t miss the hint of a smirk on that infuriatingly decadent mouth of his. It should be against the Codex to look that good and be so ruthless.

 

“The right way isn’t the only way.” I use his own words.

 

Xaden holds my gaze. “She has you, Amber.”

 

“On a technicality!”

 

“She still has you.” He turns slightly and delivers her a look that I never want directed at me.

 

“You think like a scribe,” she barks at me.

 

It’s intended as an insult, but I just nod. “I know.”

 

She marches off, and I sheathe the dagger again, letting my hands fall to my sides and closing my eyes as relief shucks the weight from my shoulders. I did it. I passed another test.

 

“Sorrengail,” Xaden says, and my eyes fly open. “You’re leaking.” His gaze drops pointedly to the hand I used to fling myself up the ramp. Where blood is dripping from my fingertips.

 

Now that I’ve seen it, pain erupts, pushing past my mental dam like a raging river at the sight of the mess I’ve made of my palm. I’ve shredded it.

 

“Do something about it,” he orders. I nod and back away. 

 

Rhiannon helps me cut off the sleeve of my shirt to bandage my hand. We make a unanimous fashion decision and cut the other one off as well. I am ready to return to the squad when a voice makes me jump. 

 

“Looking like a cute little mini me there Vi.” It’s Garrick, and his breath is warm on my ear, and it makes a shiver wrack through my body. He is close enough that his scent floods my nose, citrus, bergamot and something sweet. I drag it through my nose as he grabs my wrapped hand. His voice is pitched low, quiet so no one hears, but something about it causes my heart to race and my muscles to tighten. “Come see me after Presentation, I have a salve that will help with this.” 

 

He walks back to Xaden and I join my squad to help cheer our last two squadmates to the top.

We all make it.

-    -    -

“Let’s go, Second Squad, you’re up next,” Garrick says, beckoning us with a wave that makes the rebellion relic on his bared arm gleam. He is the only one I’ve seen where it wraps all the way to his fingertips. 

 

“Into formation,” Garrick orders, his tone all business, which doesn’t surprise me given that his leadership style is more mission first, niceties last. Go figure he seems to be so close to Xaden. 

 

We comply, and Rhiannon and I end up near the back this time. There’s a sound like rushing wind in the distance that stops as quickly as it starts, and I know someone else has been found lacking.

 

Garrick’s hazel eyes skim over us. “Hopefully Aetos has done his job, so you know that it’s a straight walk down the meadow. I’d recommend staying at least seven feet apart—”

 

“In case one of us gets torched,” Ridoc mutters from ahead.

 

“Correct, Ridoc. Cluster if you want, just know if a dragon finds disfavor with one of you, it’s likely to burn the whole lot to weed one out,” Garrick warns, holding my gaze for a beat longer than strictly necessary and I feel my cheeks heat. I catch a smile crossing his features before I lower my head to escape his gaze. “Also, remember you’re not here to approach them, and if you do, you won’t be making it back to the dormitory tonight.”

 

“Can I ask a question?” Luca says from the front row.

 

Garrick nods, but the ticking of his jaw says he’s annoyed. I can’t blame him. Luca annoys the shit out of me, too. It’s her constant need to tear everyone down that makes most of us keep our distance.

 

“Third Squad, Tail Section of Fourth Wing already went through, and I talked to some of the cadets…”

 

“That’s not a question.” He lifts his brows.

 

Yep, he’s annoyed, and somehow it’s hot. Jesus christ I need an orgasm.

 

“Right. It’s just that they said there’s a feathertail?” Her voice pitches upward.

 

“A f-feathertail?” Tynan sputters from directly in front of me. “Who the hell would ever want to bond a feathertail?”

 

I roll my eyes, and Rhiannon shakes her head.

 

“Professor Kaori never told us there would be a feathertail,” Sawyer says. “I know because I memorized every single dragon he showed us. All hundred of them.”

 

“Well, guess there’s a hundred and one now,” Garrick replies, looking at us as if we’re children he’d like to be rid of before glancing back over his shoulder at the entrance to the valley. “Relax. Feathertails don’t bond. I can’t even remember the last time one has been seen outside the Vale. It’s probably just curious. You’re up. Stay on the path. You walk up, you wait for the entire squad, you walk back down. It really doesn’t get any easier than this from here on out, kids, so if you can’t follow those simple instructions, then you deserve whatever happens in there.” He turns and heads over to a path before the canyon wall where the dragons are perched.

 

We follow, breaking away from the crowd of first-years. The breeze bites at my bare shoulders from where we ripped my sleeves for bandages, but we got the blood flow stopped at my hands.

 

“They’re all yours,” Garrick says to the quadrant’s senior wingleader, a woman I’ve seen a few times in Battle Brief murmuring to Xaden. Her uniform still has her signature spikes on the shoulders, but this time they’re gold and look sharp as hell—like she wanted to throw in a little extra badass today.

 

She nods and dismisses him. “Single file.”

 

We all shuffle into a line. Rhiannon is at my back and Tynan just ahead of me, which means I’ll be treated to his commentary the whole time, no doubt. Awesome.

 

“Talk,” the senior wingleader says, folding her arms across her chest.

 

“Nice day for a Presentation,” Ridoc jokes.

 

“Not to me.” The senior wingleader narrows her gaze on Ridoc, then motions to the line of cadets before her. “Talk to your nearby squadmates while you’re on the path, as it will help the dragons get a sense of who you are and how well you play with others. There’s a correlation between bonded cadets and level of chatter.”

 

And now I want to switch places.

 

“Feel free to look at the dragons, especially if they’re showing off their tails, but I would abstain from eye contact if you value your life. If you come across a scorch mark, just make sure nothing’s currently on fire before continuing along.” She pauses long enough for that bit of advice to sink in, then adds, “See you after your stroll.”

 

With a sweep of her hand, the senior wingleader steps to the side, revealing the dirt path that leads through the center of the valley, and up ahead, sitting so perfectly still that they might be gargoyles, are the hundred and one dragons who have decided to bond this year.

 

The line starts, and we give one another the suggested seven feet before following.

 

I’m hyperaware of every step as I walk down the path. The trail is hard beneath my boots, and there’s a definite lingering odor of sulfur.

 

We pass a trio of red dragons first. Their talons are almost half my size.

 

“I can’t even see their tails!” Tynan shouts from in front of me. “How are we supposed to know what breed they are?”

 

I keep my eyes locked at the level of their massive, muscled shoulders as we walk by. “We’re not supposed to know what breed they are,” I respond.

 

“Fuck that,” he says over his shoulder. “I need to figure out which one I’m going to approach during Threshing.”

 

“Pretty sure this little walk is so they can decide,” I retort. There was no way you could influence a dragon to choose you, it already knew. They could see inside us in a way that defied logic, defied medicine. It was magic. 

 

“Hopefully one of them will decide you don’t get to make it to Threshing,” Rhiannon says, her voice quiet so it barely reaches me.

 

I laugh as we approach a set of browns, both slightly smaller than my mother’s Aimsir, but not by much.

 

“They’re a little bigger than I thought they would be,” Rhiannon says, her voice rising. “Not that I didn’t see the ones at Parapet, but…”

 

I look over my shoulder to see her wide gaze flickering between the path and the dragons. She’s nervous.

 

“So do you know if you’re having a niece or nephew?” I ask, continuing to walk forward past a handful of oranges.

 

“What?” she answers.

 

“I’ve heard some of the healers can make pretty good guesses once a woman is further along in her pregnancy.”

 

“Oh. No,” she says. “No clue. Though I’m kind of hoping she’ll have a girl. I guess I’ll find out once we finish the year and can write our families.”

 

“That’s a bullshit rule,” I say over my shoulder, lowering my gaze immediately when I accidentally make eye contact with one of the oranges. Breathe normally. Swallow the fear. Fear and weakness will get me killed, and since I’m already bleeding, the odds aren’t exactly in my favor here.

 

“You don’t think it encourages loyalty to the wing?” Rhiannon asks.

 

“I think I’m just as loyal to my sister whether I’ve had a letter from her or not,” I counter. “There are bonds that can’t be broken.”

 

“I’d be loyal to your sister, too,” Tynan says, turning around and grinning as he walks backward. “She’s one hell of a rider, and that ass. I saw her right before Parapet and damn, Violet. She’s hot.”

 

We pass by another set of reds, then a single brown and a pair of greens.

 

“Turn around.” I make the spinning motion with my finger. “Mira would eat you for breakfast, Tynan.”

 

“I’m just wondering how one of you got all the good traits and the other looks like she got the leftovers.” His gaze skims down my body.

 

Full-body-shudder gross.

 

“You’re an asshole.” I flip him the middle finger.

 

“Just saying, maybe I’ll write a letter of my own once we get privileges.” He turns and continues walking. I vow not to listen to another damn word he says. 

 

“A nephew would be good,” Rhiannon says, like the conversation was never interrupted. “Boys aren’t too bad.”

 

“My brother was awesome, but he and Dain are my only experience with growing up around little boys.” We pass more dragons, and my breathing starts to settle. The smell of sulfur disappears, or maybe I’ve just grown accustomed to it. They’re close enough to torch us, the half dozen singe marks testify to that, but I can’t hear them breathing or feel it, either. “Though I think Dain was probably a little more rule-abiding than most kids. He likes order and pretty much detests anything that doesn’t fit neatly into his plan. He’s probably going to give me shit about how I got up the Gauntlet, just like Amber Mavis did.”

 

We pass the halfway mark and continue.

 

Is the way the dragons stare at us scary as hell? Absolutely, but they want to be here the same as we do, so at least I hope they’ll be judicious with their firepower.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me about the dagger?” Rhiannon asks, hurt pitching her tone. “You can trust me, you know.”

 

“I didn’t think of it until yesterday,” I answer, taking the time to look over my shoulder so I can see her. “And if it didn’t work, I didn’t want you to be an accomplice. You have a real future here, and I refuse to bring you down with me if I didn’t make it.”

 

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

 

“I know. But it’s just what friends do, Rhi.” I shrug as we walk by a trio of browns, the soft crunch of our boots on the dark gravel path the only sound for a few minutes.

 

“You keeping any other secrets up there?” Rhiannon eventually asks.

 

Guilt settles in my stomach when I think of Xaden and his meeting with the other marked ones. “I think it’s impossible to know everything there is to know about someone.” I feel like shit but keep from lying, at least.

 

She snorts a laugh. “If that wasn’t skirting the question I’m not sure I know what was. How about this? Promise me that if you need help, you’ll let me give it to you.”

 

A smile spreads across my face despite the terrifying greens we’re walking by. “How about this,” I toss over my shoulder. “I promise that if I need help you’re capable of giving, I’ll ask, but only”—I hold up my forefinger—“if you promise the same.”

 

“Deal.” She smiles wide.

 

The rest of the squad is gathered ahead of us, facing our direction at the end of the path, but all their attention is focused to the right.

 

We pass the last brown dragon, and I inhale sharply.

 

“What the hell?” Tynan stares.

 

“Keep walking,” I order, but my gaze is transfixed.

 

Standing at the end of the line is a small golden dragon. Sunlight reflects off its scales and horns as it stands to its full height, flicking a feathered tail around the side of its body. The feathertail.

 

My jaw drops as I take in the sharp teeth and quick, darting movements of its head as it studies us. At its full height, it’s probably only a few feet taller than I am, like a perfect miniature of the brown next to it.

 

I walk straight into Tynan’s back and startle. We’ve reached the end of the path, where the rest of the squad has been waiting.

 

“Get off me, Sorrengail,” Tynan hisses and shoves me back. “Who the hell would bond that thing?”

 

My chest tightens. “They can hear you,” I remind him.

 

“It’s fucking yellow.” Luca points right at the dragon, disgust curling her lip. “So not only is it obviously too small to carry a rider in battle, but it’s not even powerful enough to be a real color.”

 

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” Sawyer says quietly. “Maybe it’s a baby orange.”

 

“It’s full grown,” Rhiannon argues. “There’s no way the other dragons allow a baby to bond. No human alive has ever seen a baby.”

 

“It’s a mistake all right.” Tynan looks at the golden one and scoffs. “You should totally bond it, Sorrengail. You’re both freakishly weak. It’s a match made in heaven.”

 

“It looks powerful enough to burn you to death,” I counter, heat flushing my cheeks. He called me weak, and not just in front of our squad but in front of them. 

 

Sawyer lunges between us, grabbing Tynan’s collar. “Don’t ever say that about a squadmate, especially not in front of unbonded dragons.”

 

“Let him go—he’s just saying what we’re all thinking,” Luca mutters.

 

I turn slowly to stare at her, my mouth slightly agape. Is this what happens to us the second we’re out of hearing range of any superior cadet? We turn on one another.

 

“What?” She gestures to my hair. “Half your hair is silver and you’re…petite,” she finishes with a fake smile. “Golden and…small. You match.”

 

Trina puts her hand on Sawyer’s arm. “Don’t make a mistake in front of them. We don’t know what they’ll do,” she whispers. And now we’re grouped up.

 

I shuffle backward a little as Sawyer drops Tynan’s collar.

 

“Someone should kill it before it bonds,” Tynan sputters, and for the first time in my life, I actually want to kick someone while they’re down…and keep kicking until they stay down. “It’s just going to get its rider killed, and it’s not like we get a choice if it wants to bond us.”

 

“You’re just picking up on that now, are you?” Ridoc shakes his head.

 

“We should go back,” Pryor says, his gaze darting around the group. “I mean…if you think we should. We don’t have to, of course.”

 

“For once in your life,” Tynan says, pushing past Pryor to start down the path, “make a damn decision, Pryor.”

 

We take off one by one, leaving the suggested space between us. Rhiannon goes before me this time and Ridoc follows behind, with Luca bringing up the rear.

 

“They’re pretty incredible, aren’t they?” Ridoc says, and the wonder in his voice makes me smile.

 

“They are,” I agree.

 

“They’re honestly a little underwhelming after seeing that blue at Parapet.” Luca’s voice carries all the way to Rhiannon, who turns around with an incredulous look. I mean I was also thinking that, but would never have the audacity to say it out loud in the presence of 101 dragons. Sgaeyl was a force to be reckoned with, and I am almost certain most of the dragons today would agree. 

 

“Like this isn’t stressful enough without you insulting them?” Rhi asks.

 

I need to defuse this quickly. “I mean, it could be worse. We could be walking past a line of wyvern, right?”

 

“Oh please, Violet, do give us one of your nervous-babble story times,” Luca says sarcastically. “Let me guess. Wyvern are some elite squad of gryphon riders created because of something we did at a battle only you can manage to remember with your scribe brain.”

 

“You don’t know what a wyvern is?” Rhi asks, then begins walking again. “Didn’t your parents tell you bedtime stories, Luca?”

 

“Do enlighten me,” Luca drawls.

 

I roll my eyes, continuing along the path. “They’re folklore,” I say over my shoulder. “Kind of like dragons but bigger, with two feet instead of four, a mane of razor-sharp feathers streaking down their necks, and a taste for humans. Unlike dragons, who think we’re a little gamey.”

 

“My mom used to love telling my sister Raegan and me that we’d be plucked right off the front porch by one if we talked back, and their eerie-eyed venin riders would take us prisoner if we took treats we weren’t allowed to have,” Rhi says, flashing a grin at me, and I can’t help but notice that her step is lighter.

 

Mine is, too. I notice each dragon as we pass, but my heartbeat steadies. “My dad used to read to me those fables every night,” I tell her. “And I seriously asked him one time if Mom was going to turn into a venin because she could channel.”

 

Rhiannon chuckles as we walk by a set of glaring reds. “Did he tell you people supposedly only turn into venin if they channel directly from the source?”

 

“He did, but it was after my mom had a really long night while we were stationed near the eastern border, and her eyes were bloodshot red, so I freaked out and started shrieking.” I can’t help but smile at the memory. “She took my book of fables away for a month because the outpost guards all came running, and I was hiding behind my brother, who couldn’t stop laughing, and, well…it was a mess.” I keep my eyes front and center as a large orange sniffs the air when I pass.

 

Rhiannon’s shoulders shake with laughter. “I wish we’d had a book like that. I seriously think Mom just altered the stories to scare us whenever we stepped out of line.”

 

“That sounds like some border-village nonsense.” Luca scoffs. “Venin? Wyvern? Anyone with a modicum of education knows that our wards stop all magic that isn’t channeled directly from dragons.”

 

“They’re stories, Luca,” Rhi says over her shoulder, and I can’t help but notice how much ground we’ve covered. “Pryor, you can walk a little faster if you want up there.”

 

“Maybe we should slow down and take our time?” Pryor suggests from ahead of Rhiannon, rubbing his palms along the sides of his uniform. “Or I guess we can go faster if we want to get out of here.”

 

A red steps out of line, putting one claw forward toward us, and my stomach drops to the ground from the weight of the dread filling my entire body, freezing me in place.

 

The red opens its mouth, exposing sharp, glistening fangs, and fire erupts along the sides of its tongue, streaming through the air and into the path ahead of Rhiannon.

 

She yells in shock.

 

Heat blasts the front of my face.

 

Then it’s over.

 

The scent of sulfur and burned grass…burned…something fills my lungs, and I see a charred patch of ground in front of Rhiannon that hadn’t been there before.

 

“Are you all right, Rhi?” I call forward.

 

She nods, but the movement is hurried and jerky. “Pryor is… He’s…”

 

Pryor’s dead. My mouth waters like I’m going to vomit, but I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth until the feeling passes.

 

“Keep walking!” Sawyer shouts from farther down the path.

 

“It’s all right, Rhi. You just have to…” She just has to what? Walk over his corpse? Is there a corpse?

 

“Fire’s out,” Rhiannon says over her shoulder.

 

I nod, because there’s nothing I can say to reassure her. Holy shit are we insignificant. She walks forward and I follow, maneuvering around the pile of ash that used to be Pryor.

 

“Oh my gods, the smell,” Luca complains.

 

“Could you please have some level of decency?” I snap, turning around to level a glare at her, but Ridoc’s face makes me pause.

 

His eyes are as wide as saucers, and his mouth hangs open. “Violet.”

 

It’s a whisper, and I wonder briefly if I heard him as much as I saw the word forming on his lips.

A warm huff of steam blows against the back of my neck. My heart thunders, the beat increasing erratically as I take what might be my last breath and turn toward the line of dragons.

 

The golden eyes of not one but two greens meet mine, consuming my field of vision.

 

Oh. Fuck.

 

To approach a green dragon, lower your eyes in supplication and wait for their approval. That’s what I read, right?

 

I drop my gaze as one chuffs another breath at me. It’s hot and appallingly wet, but I’m not dead yet, so that’s a plus. The one on the right chortles deep in its throat. Wait, is that the sound of approval I’m looking for? Shit, I wish I’d asked Mira. Or that Brennan had included anything helpful on the subject in his book. 

 

I lift my head and suck in a sharp breath. They’re even closer. The one on the left nudges my ruined hand with its giant nose, but I somehow stand my ground, rocking back on my heels to keep from falling over.

 

Greens are the most reasonable.

 

“I cut my hand climbing the obstacle course.” I shift my palm up, like they can see through the black fabric binding my wounds.

 

The one on the right sets its nose right at my breasts and chuffs again.

 

What. The. Hell.

 

It inhales, making that noise in its throat, and the other shoves its nose into my ribs, making me raise my arms just in case they feel like taking a little nibble.

 

“Violet!” Rhiannon whisper-shouts.

 

“I’m all right!” I call back, then wince, hoping I didn’t just seal my fate by screaming in their ears.

 

Another chuff. Another chortle, like they’re talking to each other as they sniff me. The one under my arm moves its nostrils to my back and sniffs again.Realization hits and I choke out a tight, surreal laugh. “You smell Teine, don’t you?” I ask quietly.

 

They both draw back, just far enough for me to look them in their golden eyes, but they keep their jaws shut, giving me the courage to keep talking.

 

“I’m Mira’s sister, Violet.” Slowly lowering my arms, I run my hands over my snot-covered vest and the armor carefully sewn into it. “She collected Teine’s scales after he shed them last year and had them shrunk down so she could sew them into the vest to help keep me safe.”

 

The one on the right blinks. The one on the left sticks its nose in again, sniffing loudly.

 

“The scales have saved me a few times,” I whisper. “But no one else knows they’re in there. Just Mira and Teine.”

 

They both blink at me, and I lower my gaze, bowing my head because it feels like the thing to do. Professor Kaori taught us every way to approach a dragon and exactly zero ways to disengage one. Step by step, they retreat until I see them take up their places in line in my peripherals, and I finally raise my head.

 

“Violet.” Rhiannon is only a few feet away, a look of terror in her eyes. She must have been right behind their heads.

 

“I’m fine.” I force a smile and nod. “I have dragon-scale armor under the vest,” I whisper. “They smell my sister’s dragon.” If she wants trust, there it is. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

 

“I won’t,” she whispers. “You’re all right?”

 

“I think I just shat myself,” Ridoc says, and laughter bubbles out of me as we move through the field once again. 

 

“Honestly, I thought they were going to eat you,” Luca remarks.

 

I focus on the path and keep walking. I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting that for a minute there I thought the same thing. 

 

“What? She’s obviously our weakest link after Pryor, and I don’t blame them for snuffing him out,” she argues. “He could never make a decision, and no one wants someone like that as their rider—”

 

A blast of heat singes my back and I halt.

 

Don’t be Ridoc. Don’t be—

 

“Guess the dragons think she’s insufferable, too,” Ridoc mutters.

 

Our squad is down to six first-years.

 

 

AN: Whoops this one got a little longer than I thought it would! Do you guys prefer longer or shorter chapters?

Chapter 8

There is nothing quite as humbling, or as awe-inspiring, as witnessing Threshing…for those who live through it anyway.

 

—Colonel Kaori’s Field Guide to Dragonkind

 Showered and palm cleaned, I climbed the stairs to the third year dorms. I was wondering how I would find Garricks when I passed an open door. A peek inside reveals Garrick lounging on his bed, flipping a dagger end over end above his head before he catches it deftly between his fingers and launches it towards the ceiling again. 

 

He hasn’t noticed me yet and I take a moment to take him in. He isn’t wearing his leathers, instead a pair of loungepants and a tight t-shirt, but that’s not what surprises me, it’s the color. They are gray, not typical rider black, and the sleeves are still attached. But it looks like they are struggling to contain the thick bulk of his biceps, especially as they bunch and extend with every flick of the dagger. 

 

His room is clean, but not neat. His armoire door sits ajar against one of his discarded boots that hasn't quite made it inside. His desk is covered with books and folders, in no clear sense of order. There is a full weapons rack, and more weapons scattered across the room, the bookshelf, top of his armoire, under his bed. Weapons specialist indeed. 

 

I knock on the wooden doorjam to get his attention. He catches the dagger before looking to see who’s here. He smiles and gets off the bed, striding to the door. He reaches for me hand and I give it to him, surprised when he forcefully pulls me into his room. But the reason is clear when his doorway feels like I'm trudging through wet cement. It snaps over me as I pass through it and I turn to him “Wards?” 

 

The smile he gives me as he closes his door behind us makes my stomach feel like there's a hoard of butterflies trapped inside. “I knew you were smart Sorrengail.” He still has a hold of my hand as he speaks. I try to pull it back gently, but he moves his grasp to my wrist and flips my hand over, inspecting the ruined mess of my palm. He grimaces as he gets a good look at it. 

 

“Damn girl, you did a number on this, why didn’t you wrap the handle first?” He doesn’t sound scolding, just curious. 

 

“Because the handle was already too big, if I had wrapped it for comfort, I wouldn’t have been able to hold on to it.” He nods as if it makes sense and then stops. 

 

“Wait, it was one you brought, why doesn’t it fit your hand? I’ve seen the daggers you spar with, they're perfect for you.” He’s been watching me? The butterflies are now wyvern. 

 

He’s waiting for my response so I answer him. “Those are the daggers Mira had made for me, and they are perfect. But I didn’t want to ruin or lose one of those, so I used the biggest of the ones I had sourced myself.” Garrick nods understandingly. 

 

He still has a grip on my wrist, but it’s tender and warm. His hand is massive, he easily encircles my wrist with his fingers. He pulls me towards his desk, and I note the chair is full of clothes that look like they just came from the laundry, needing folded and put away. 

 

He turns back to me, releasing my wrist but grabbing ahold of my waist with both hands and lifting me easily up onto his desk. He steps back, blush spreading across his cheeks as he quickly turns and riffles through the drawers on his desk. 

 

He procures a small vat, filled with a thick oily substance. He swipes his finger through it, setting the pot on his desk and grabbing my wrist once more. He pulls it towards him but the angle is awkward. He steps between my legs which allows him to smooth the salve over my tender palm. I hiss as it burns in the open wounds, and he grimaces, empathizing with me. He finishes covering my palm and reaches for the bandage roll he had also grabbed from the drawer. 

 

Twisting my hand this way and that he wraps my palm, in an almost sparring protective wrap style. He uses one of the billion daggers around his room to cut slits that he carefully feeds my fingers through. He grins at his work when he finishes and finally looks up at me. “How does that feel?”

 

I give my hand and wrist a few flicks and stretches, but the bandage moves with it, not pulling or binding in anyway. There’s awe in my voice “Garrick, that's amazing, I’ve never thought about wrapping it this way.” I look up at him and realize he’s close, very close. He is still standing between my thighs, and somehow I missed it when that’s where his massive hands landed after he stopped holding mine. 

 

There’s a knock sequence on his door that I assume means something to him, as he jerks out from between my legs and moves over to open it. Xaden is leaning on the door jam on the other side, with a smile like a cat who caught the canary. 

 

I hop off Garrick's desk, muttering a thank you as I make my escape. Garrick doesn’t say a word as I go to leave. Xaden on the other hand can’t seem to help himself “Looking a little flushed there Violence.” He says it in that teasing voice that tells me he’s enjoying my embarrassment. What a dick. 

-    -    -

October first is always Threshing.

 

Monday, Wednesday, or Sunday, it doesn’t matter where it falls on any given year. On the first of October, the first-year cadets of the Riders Quadrant enter the bowl-shaped forested valley to the southwest of the citadel and pray they come out alive.

 

You are a Sorrengail and you shall not submit. 

 

I didn’t bother eating this morning, for the exact reason I’m currently pitying Ridoc, who’s heaving up the contents of his stomach against a tree to my right.

 

A sword is strapped to Rhiannon’s back, the hilt jostling against her spine as she bounces, stretching her arms across her chest one at a time.

 

“Remember to listen here,” Professor Kaori says from in front of the 147 of us here, tapping his chest. “If a dragon has already selected you, they’ll be calling.” He thumps his chest again. “So pay attention to not just your surroundings but your feelings, and go with them.” He grimaces. “And if your feelings are telling you to go in the other direction…listen to that, too.”

 

“Which one are you going for?” Rhiannon asks quietly.

 

“I don’t know.” I shake my head but can’t ditch the feeling of absolute failure in my chest. At this point, Mira knew she wanted to seek out Teine.

 

“You memorized the cards, right?” she asks, lifting her brows. “So you know what’s out there?”

 

“Yes. I just don’t feel connected to any of them.” Which is better than feeling connected to a dragon another rider has their eye on. I have no desire to fight to the death today. “Dain tried talking me into a brown.”

 

“Dain lost his vote when he tried talking you into leaving,” she counters.

 

There’s a lot of truth to that. I’ve only talked to him once in the past two days since Presentation, and he tried to get me to run within the first five minutes. We’ve only seen professors this morning, but I know the second- and third-year riders are scattered throughout this valley in order to observe. “What about you?”

 

She grins. “I’m thinking about that green. The one closest to me when they got all up close and personal with you.”

 

“Well, it didn’t eat you, so that’s a promising start.” I smile despite the fear racing through my veins.

 

“I think so, too.” She links her arm with mine, and I focus back on what Professor Kaori is telling us.

 

“If you go in groups, you’re more likely to be incinerated than bonded,” Professor Kaori argues with someone near the center of the valley. “The scribes have run the statistics. You’re better off on your own.”

 

“And what if we aren’t chosen by dinner?” a man with a short beard to my left asks.

 

Looking past him, I catch Jack Barlowe running a finger across his neck at me. So original. Then Oren and Tynan flank his sides. That might be a problem today.

 

“If you’re not chosen by nightfall, there’s a problem,” Professor Kaori responds, his thick mustache turned down at the ends. “You’ll be brought out by a professor or senior leadership, so don’t give up and think we’ve forgotten about you.” He checks his pocket watch. “Remember to spread out and use every foot of this valley to your advantage. It’s nine, which means they should be flying in any minute now. The only other words I have for you are ‘good luck.’” He nods, sweeping his gaze over the crowd of us with such intensity that I know he’ll be able to re-create this moment in a projection.

 

Then he leaves, marching up the hill to our right and disappearing into the trees.

 

My mind whirls. It’s time. I’ll either leave this forest as a rider…or likely never leave.

 

“Be careful.” Rhiannon pulls me into a hug, her braids swinging over my shoulder as she tightens her arms around me.

 

“You too.” I squeeze her back and am immediately swept into another pair of arms.

 

“Don’t die,” Ridoc orders and I snort as he passes me to Sawyer.

 

I look him in the eye “Your dragon is out there, go find it!” The determination on his face means he believes me. I can only hope I’m not lying to him. 

 

Our squad separates, each heading in our own direction like we’ve been flung apart by centrifugal motion, at the mercy of a spinning wheel.

-    -    -

 

Guessing by the position of the sun, it’s been at least a couple of hours since the dragons flew overhead, landing in the valley in a succession that sounded like thunder and making the earth shake.

 

I’ve come across two greens, a brown, four oranges, and—

 

My heart stumbles and my feet freeze to the forest floor as a red steps into my field of vision, its head just under the canopy of enormous trees. This is not my dragon. I’m not sure how I know, but I do.

 

I hold my breath, trying not to make a sound as its head sweeps right, then left, and my gaze plummets to the ground as I bow my head. For the last hour or so, I’ve seen dragons launch into the air with a cadet—now a rider—on their back, but I’ve also seen more than a couple of plumes of smoke, and I have no desire to be one of those.

 

The dragon huffs a breath, then continues along its path, its clubtail flicking upward and catching one of the lower-hanging branches. The limb falls to the ground with a monstrous crash, and only after the footsteps recede do I finally raise my head. I’ve now come across every color of dragon, and none of them has spoken to me or given me the sense of connection we’re reportedly supposed to feel.

 

My stomach sinks. What if I’m one of the cadets who’s destined to never become a rider? One who’s thrown back time and again to restart their first year until eventually something puts me on the death roll? Has this all been for nothing? The thought is too heavy to carry.

 

Maybe if I could just see the valley, then I’d get a feeling like Professor Kaori was talking about.

 

I spot the nearest climbable tree and get to work, scaling branch after branch. Pain radiates from my hand, but Garrick's wrap job is still holding strong. Pretty sure the higher branches aren’t going to support my weight, so I stop about three-quarters to the top and survey the immediate area.

 

There are a few greens in plain sight to my left, standing out against the fall foliage. This is the one time of year when oranges, browns, and reds have the highest chance of blending in. I watch the trees for movement and spot a couple more directly south, but there’s no pull, no aching need to head in that direction, which probably means those aren’t mine, either.

 

Relief hits me embarrassingly hard when I count at least half a dozen first-years wandering aimlessly. I shouldn’t be so happy that they haven’t found their dragons, either, but at least I’m not the only one, which gives me hope.

 

There’s a clearing to the north, and my eyes narrow as a flash, like a mirror, catches the sun. Or like a golden dragon. Guess the little feathertail is still out here appeasing its curiosity. But I’m apparently not going to find my dragon up a tree, so I climb down carefully and as quietly as possible. My feet hit the ground just before voices approach, and I tuck myself against the trunk to hide from being seen.

 

We’re not supposed to be in groups.

 

“I’m telling you, I think I saw it headed this way.” It’s a cocky voice I immediately recognize as Tynan.

 

“You’d better be right, because if we just hiked all the way the fuck over here just to find nothing, I’m going to run you through.” My stomach twists. It’s Jack. No one else’s voice has that physical effect on me, not even Xaden’s.

 

“You sure we shouldn’t be spending our time looking for our own dragons instead of hunting the freak down?” Recognition tickles the edges of my mind, but I lean out from my hiding place just to be sure. Yep, it’s Oren. I should have known these assholes would stick together today. 

 

I dart back behind the cover of the tree as the trio passes, each strapped with a deadly sword. There are nine daggers tucked against my body in various places, so it’s not like I’m unarmed, but I feel tragically disadvantaged by my inability to wield a sword effectively. They’re just too damned heavy.

 

Wait…what did they say they were doing? Hunting?

 

“It’s not like our dragons are going to bond other riders,” Jack snaps. “They’ll wait for us. This has to be done. That scrawny one is going to get someone killed. We have to take it out.”

 

Nausea swirls in my stomach, and my fingernails bite into my palms. They’re going to try and kill the little golden one.

 

“If we get caught, we’re fucked,” Oren comments.

 

That’s an understatement. I can’t imagine dragons would take kindly to killing one of their own, but they seem to be focused on culling the weak from the herd in our species, so it’s not a stretch to imagine they do the same with their own.

 

“Then you’d better shut your mouth so no one hears us,” Tynan counters, his voice rising in that mocking tone that makes me want to punch him in the face.

 

“It’s for the best,” Jack argues, his tone dropping. “It’s unrideable, a certified freak, and you know feathertails are useless in combat. They refuse to fight.” His voice fades as they walk farther away, headed directly for the clearing where I saw the flash. 

 

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath even though the assholes are out of hearing range by now. No one knows anything about feathertails, so I don’t know where Jack is getting his information, but I don’t have time to focus on his assumptions right now.

 

I have no way of contacting Professor Kaori, and there hasn’t even been a hint that the senior riders are watching us, so I can’t count on them to stop this madness, either. The golden dragon should be able to breathe fire, but what if it can’t?

 

There’s a chance they won’t find it, but… Shit, I can’t even convince myself of that one. They’re headed the right way and that dragon is pretty much a shiny beacon. They’ll find it.

 

My shoulders sag and I sigh at the sky, blowing out a frustrated breath. I can’t just stand here and do nothing. You can get there first and warn it. Solid plan, and way better than option two, where I’d be forced to take on three armed men with at least a combined two hundred pounds on me.

 

I keep my footsteps silent and race across the forest floor at a slightly different angle than Jack’s little posse, thankful I grew up playing hide-and-seek with Dain in the woods. This is one area of expertise I can confidently claim.

 

They’ve got a head start on me, and the clearing is closer than I realized, so I kick up my speed, my gaze darting between the leaf-covered path I’ve chosen and where I think—scratch that, where I know they are toward the left. I can make out their lumbering shapes in the distance.

 

The tinge of satisfaction that I beat Jack here is almost enough to make me smile. The meadow is big enough for ten dragons, ringed by several large trees, but the golden one stands alone in the center, like it’s trying to get a suntan. It’s just as beautiful as I remember, but unless it can breathe fire, it’s a sitting duck.

 

“You have to get out of here!” I hiss from the cover of the trees, knowing it should be able to hear me. “They’re going to kill you if you don’t leave!”

 

Its head pivots toward me, then tilts at an angle that makes my own neck hurt.

 

“Yes!” I whisper loudly. “You! Goldie!”

 

It blinks its golden eyes and swishes its tail.

 

You have to be fucking kidding me.

 

“Go! Run! Fly!” I shoo at it, then remember it’s a godsdamned dragon, capable of shredding me with its claws alone, and drop my hands. This is not going well. It’s going the opposite of well.

 

The trees rustle from the south, and Jack steps into the clearing, his sword swaying in his right hand. A step later, he’s flanked by Oren and Tynan, both their weapons drawn. The golden dragon’s head snaps in their direction, a low growl rumbling in its chest.

 

“Shit,” I mutter, my chest tightening. This is now officially going horribly. Time to resort to plan two then. 

“We’ll make it painless,” Jack promises, like that makes the murder acceptable.

 

“Scorch them,” I whisper-shout, my heart pounding as they draw closer. But the dragon doesn’t, and somehow, I’m certain in the marrow of my bones that it can’t. Other than its teeth, it’s defenseless against three trained warriors.

 

It’s going to die just because it’s smaller, weaker than the other dragons…just like me. My throat closes. The dragon backs up, its growl growing louder as it bares its teeth. Stomach pitching, I have that Parapet feeling again—whatever I do next has overwhelming odds of ending my life.

 

And yet, I’m still going to do it because this is wrong.

 

“You can’t do this!” I take the first step into the shin-high grass and Jack’s attention swings my way. 

 

“Oh, look!” Jack grins, pointing his sword my way. “We can take out both the weakest links at the same time!” He looks at his friends and laughs, pausing their advance.

 

I make my way to the center of the clearing, putting myself between Jack’s group and the golden dragon.

 

“Been waiting a long time for this, Sorrengail.” He walks forward slowly.

 

“If you can fly, now would be a good time,” I shout over my shoulder at the small dragon, drawing two daggers from the sheaths at my ribs.

 

The dragon chuffs. So helpful.

 

“You can’t kill a dragon,” I try reasoning, shaking my head at the trio, adrenaline lacing my veins. I know that reasoning isn’t going to work, because you cannot reason with stupid. 

 

“Sure we can.” Jack shrugs, but Oren looks a little uncertain, so I pin my gaze on him as they spread out slightly about a dozen feet away, setting up the perfect formation for an attack.

 

“You can’t,” I say directly to Oren. “It goes against everything we believe in!”

 

He flinches. Jack doesn’t.

 

“Letting something so weak, so incapable of fighting, live is against our beliefs!” Jack shouts, and I know he’s not just talking about the dragon.

 

“You’re going to have to get through me, then.” My heart thunders against my ribs as I raise my daggers, flipping one to pinch the tip so I’m ready to throw and measuring the twenty or so feet separating me from my attackers.

 

“I don’t really consider that a problem,” Jack snarls.

 

They all lift their swords, and I draw a deep breath, readying myself to fight. This isn’t the mat. There are no instructors. No yielding. Nothing to stop them slaughtering me…slaughtering us.

 

“I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions,” a voice—his voice—demands from across the field to my right.

 

My scalp prickles as each of our heads swivel in his direction.

 

Xaden is leaning against the tree, his arms folded across his chest, and behind him, watching with narrowed golden eyes, her fangs exposed, is Sgaeyl his terrifying navy-blue daggertail. For the first time, the sight of him fills my chest with hope. He won’t let this happen. He might hate me, but he’s a wingleader. He can’t just watch them kill a dragon.

 

But I know the rules probably better than anyone else in this quadrant. He has to. Bile rises in my throat, and I tilt my chin to quell the burning. What Xaden wants, which is always debatable, doesn’t matter here. He can only observe, not interfere.

 

I’m going to have an audience for my death. Fantastic. So much for hope.

 

“And if we don’t want to rethink our actions?” Jack shouts.

 

Xaden looks toward me, and I swear I can see his jaw clench, even from this far away. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities. Xaden’s words come back to me with alarming clarity, and I rip my gaze from his and concentrate on the three probabilities in front of me.

 

“There’s nothing you can do, right? Wingleader?” Jack bellows.

 

Guess he knows the rules, too.

 

“It’s not me you should worry about today,” Xaden responds and Sgaeyl tilts her head, nothing but menace in her eyes when I glance over.

 

“You really going to do this?” I ask Tynan. “Attack a squadmate?”

 

“Squads don’t mean shit today,” he seethes, menace curling his lips into a sinister smile just as Jack roars a battle cry and sprints toward me. I don’t hesitate. I whip my blade across the rapidly closing space between us, and the dagger finds its mark in the shoulder of his sword arm. His sword falls as he hits his knees, crying out this time in pain.

 

Good. But Oren and Tynan have charged at the same time, and they’re almost on me. I fling my second dagger at Oren and catch him in the thigh, slowing but not stopping him.

 

Tynan swings for my neck and I duck, unsheathing another blade and slicing him along the ribs just like I did during our challenge, following it with a direct kick to his ribs, the pain in my shin is a symbol of victory as I hear a crack. 

 

He recovers and pivots with the sword, catching me at my stomach in a clean slice that would eviscerate me if not for Mira’s armor. Instead, the blade skims the scales, sliding right off me.

 

“What the hell?” Oren’s eyes fly wide.

 

“She’s destroyed my shoulder!” Jack cries, stumbling to his feet and distracting the others. “I can’t move it!” He clutches the joint, and I grin.

 

“That’s the thing about having weak joints,” I say, palming another blade. “You know exactly where to strike.”

 

“Kill her!” Jack orders, still clutching his shoulder as he backs away a few steps, then turns and runs in the opposite direction, disappearing into the tree line in no time. Fucking coward.

 

Tynan jabs with his sword and I spin away, white-hot pain stealing my sight for a heartbeat before I swipe backward, plunging my dagger into his gut, before using all of my strength to eviscerate him. 

 

“You fucking bitch!” Tynan screams, pressing both hands to his stomach in an attempt to keep his guts inside his body. He won’t last long. Two down, one to go

 

I take advantage of Oren’s dazed expression and slice open his hip. The move costs me, and a scream rips from my throat as Oren reacts and brings his sword down towards my neck. I raise a dagger and block the swing, but it deflects and gashes into my forearm. The pain makes me see stars and I drop the dagger out of reflex. 

 

“Your arm is shot, Sorrengail,” Oren hisses, his face pale and sweaty.

 

I know he is right, I can’t even make a fist, let alone hold the dagger with any sort of grip. But I don’t need to let him know that. My gaze drops meaningfully to his side and then his thigh, where his leathers are saturated. “I know exactly where I’ve sliced into you. If you don’t get to a healer soon, you’ll bleed out internally.”

 

Rage contorts his features, and he moves to strike.

 

Just as Oren reaches up to two-hand his sword, preparing for a killing blow, I catch a glimpse of movement to my right. It’s Xaden. And rules be damned, he steps forward as though he intends to stop Tynan from killing me.

 

I barely have a moment to register surprise that Xaden would ever save me, for any reason, when a gust of wind slams into my back, and I stumble forward onto my destroyed ankle, flinging my arms out to keep my balance and grimacing at the shooting pain.

 

Oren’s mouth hangs open and he staggers backward, his head tilting so far back it’s nearly perpendicular to his torso. Shade envelops us both as he continues to back away.

 

Chest heaving, my lungs desperate for air, I chance a look over my shoulder to see why he’s retreating.

 

And my heart lurches into my throat. Standing with the golden one tucked under an enormous, scarred black wing is the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen in my life—the unbonded black dragon Professor Kaori showed us in class. I don’t even come close to reaching its ankle.

 

A growl resonates through its chest, vibrating the ground around me as it lowers its gigantic head, baring dripping teeth. Fear ripples through every cell in my body as its hot breath blows over me. 

 

“ Step aside, Silver One ,” a deep, gruff, definitely male voice orders.

 

I blink. Wait. What? Did he just speak to me?

 

“Yes. You. Move.” 

 

There’s zero room for argument in his tone, and I stagger to the side, nearly stumbling over Tynan's dead body as Oren breaks into a screaming run, fleeing for the trees.

 

The black dragon’s eyes narrow to glare at him and he opens his mouth wide a second before fire shoots across the field, blasting heat against the side of my face and incinerating everything in its path…including Oren.

 

Flames crackle at the edges of the blackened path, and I turn slowly to face the dragon, wondering if I’m about to be next.

 

His giant golden eyes study me, but I hold my ground, tilting my chin upward.

 

“You fought well.”

 

My eyebrows jerk upward. His mouth didn’t move. He spoke to me, but…his mouth didn’t move. Oh shit. Because he’s in my head. 

 

There’s a flash of blue out of the corner of my eye, then a whoosh of air as Xaden and Sgaeyl take off, leaving me here with the giant black dragon and the little golden one. Guess Xaden’s momentary concern for my life is over.

 

The dragon’s giant nostrils flare.

 

“You’re bleeding. Stop it.”

 

My arm.

 

“It’s not that simple when you’ve been slashed to the bone with a—” I shake my head again. Am I seriously arguing with a dragon? This is so fucking surreal. “You know what? That’s a great idea.” I manage to cut off what remains of my right shirtsleeve and wrap it around the wound, holding one end of the fabric with my teeth as I tie it tight to apply pressure and slow the bleeding. That’s two shirts that look like they belong to Garrick now. “There. Better?”

 

“It will do.” He tilts his head at me. 

“Your hands are bound, too. Do you bleed often?”

 

“I try not to.”

 

He scoffs. “Let’s go, Violet Sorrengail.” 

 

He lifts his head, and the golden dragon peeks out from under his wing.

 

“How do you know my name?” I gawk up at him.

 

“ And to think, I’d almost forgotten just how loquacious humans are.”  

He sighs, the gust of his breath rattling the trees. “Get on my back.”

 

Oh. Shit. He’s choosing…me.

 

“Get on your back?” I repeat like a fucking parrot. “Have you seen you? Do you have any idea how huge you are?” I’d need a damned ladder to get up there.

 

The look he gives me can only be described as annoyance. 

 

“One does not live a century without being well aware of the space one takes up.

Now get on.”

 

The golden one moves out from under the shelter of the big one’s wing. It’s tiny compared to the monstrosity before me, and apparently completely defenseless with the exception of those teeth, like a playful puppy. “I can’t just leave it,” I say. “What if Jack comes back?”

 

The black dragon chuffs.

 

The golden one bends down, flexing its legs, and then launches into the sky, its golden wings catching the sun as it flies off, skimming the tops of the trees.

 

So it can fly. That would have been nice to know twenty minutes ago.

 

“Get. On, ” the black dragon growls, shaking the ground and trees at the edge of the field.

 

“You don’t want me,” I argue. “I’m—”

 

“I’m not going to tell you again.”

 

Point taken.

 

Fear grasps my throat like a fist, and I move over to his leg. This isn’t like climbing a tree. There are no handholds, no easy path, just a series of hard-as-stone scales that don’t exactly give me a foothold. My arm isn’t doing me any favors, either. How the hell am I going to get up there? I raise my left arm and suck in a breath before placing my hand on his front leg.

 

The scales are larger and thicker than my hand and surprisingly warm to the touch. They layer into the next above them in an intricate pattern that leaves no space to grab hold.

 

“You a re a rider, are you not?”

 

“That seems up for debate at the moment.” My heart thunders. Is he going to cook me alive for being too slow?

 

A low, frustrated grumble sounds in his chest, and then he shocks me to the core as he stretches forward, his front leg becoming a ramp. Dragons never supplicate for anyone, and yet here he is, bowing to make it easier for me to climb on. It’s steep but manageable.

 

"This is more for me than it is for you. I've seen your method of making it up the last steep ramp you ascended."

 

Ah the dagger. I don’t hesitate, crawling up his front leg, but the strain on my injured arm has me gasping by the time I climb over his shoulder and reach his back, dodging the pointed spikes that ripple down most of his neck like a mane.

 

Holy shit. I’m on the back of a dragon.

 

“Sit.”

 

I see the seat—the smooth, scaly divot, just in front of his wings—and sit, bending my knees like Professor Kaori taught us. Then I grab ahold of the thick ridges of scales we call the pommel, where his neck meets his shoulders. Everything about him is bigger than any model we practiced on. My body isn’t built to stay on any dragon, let alone one of his size. There’s no way I’ll be able to stay seated. This is about to be the first and last ride of my life.

 

“My name is Tairneanach, son of Murtcuideam and Fiaclanfuil, descended from the cunning Dubhmadinn line. ” He stands to his full height, bringing me eye level with the canopy of trees around the clearing, and I squeeze a little tighter with my thighs. “But I’m not going to assume that you’ll be able to remember that once we reach the field, so Tairn will do until I inevitably have to remind you.”

 

I inhale swiftly, but there’s no time to process his name—his history—before he bends slightly and launches us into the sky.

 

It feels like I imagine a stone does after being flung from a catapult, except it takes every ounce of strength I have to stay on this particular stone.

 

“Holy shit!” The ground falls away as we soar, Tairn’s enormous wings beating the air into submission and pitching upward.

 

My body lifts off his back, and I dig in with my legs, trying to keep anchored, but the wind, the angle, it’s all too much, and my single hand grip falters and then slips.

 

“Fuck!” Scrambling for purchase, my hands rake down Tairn’s back as I skid past his wings, rapidly approaching the sharp scales of his morningstar tail. “No, no, NO!”

 

He banks left and whatever hope I had of getting a handhold tumbles right off with me.

 

I’m in free fall.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Just because you survive Threshing doesn’t mean you’ll survive the ride to the flight field. Being chosen isn’t the only test, and if you can’t hold your seat, then you’ll fly straight into the ground.

 

—Page fifty, the Book of Brennan

Terror clogs my throat and stutters my heart. Air rushes past me as I plummet toward the mountainous terrain beneath, and the sun catches the scales of the golden one far beneath me. I’m going to die. That’s the only possible outcome.

 

Vises clamp around my ribs and over my shoulders, stopping my descent, and my body jerks with whiplash as I’m yanked upward again.

 

“You’re making us look bad. Stop it.”

 

I’m clasped in Tairn’s claws. He’s actually…caught me instead of finding me unworthy and letting me fall to my death. “It’s not like it’s easy to stay on your back when you’re doing acrobatics!” I shout up.

 

He glances down at me, and I swear the ridge above his eye arches.

 

 “Simple flight is hardly acrobatics.”

 

“There is absolutely nothing simple about you!” I wrap my arms around the knuckles of his claws, noting that his sharp talons are draped harmlessly around the sides of my body. He’s huge, but he’s also careful as he flies us along the mountain.

 

He’s one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre. Professor Kaori’s lesson. What else had he said? The only unbonded black dragon hadn’t agreed to bond this year. He hadn’t even been seen in the last five years. His rider died in the Tyrrish rebellion.

 

Tairn swings me upward and then releases me, sending me flying high above him, and I flail. My stomach drops at the height of his toss, and then I fall for two heartbeats before Tairn rushes up, catching me on his back between his wings.

 

“Now get in the seat and actually hold on this time, or no one is going to believe that I’ve actually chosen you,” he growls.

 

“I still can’t believe you’ve chosen me!” I have half a mind to tell him that getting back to the seat isn’t as easy as he’s implying, but he levels out and his wings catch the air in a gentle glide, cutting the wind resistance. Inch by inch, I crawl up his back until I reach the seat and settle in again. I hold on to his ridges so hard, my hands cramp and shooting pain radiates up my arm from clamping my ruined palm.

 

“You’re going to have to strengthen your legs. Didn’t you practice?”

 

Indignation ripples up my spine. “Of course I practiced!”

 

“There’s no need to shout. I can hear you just fine. 

The entire mountain can probably hear you.”

 

Was everyone’s dragon a curmudgeon? Or just mine?

 

My eyes widen. I have…a dragon. And not just any dragon. I have Tairneanach.

 

“Grip harder with your knees. I can barely feel you back there.”

 

“I’m trying.” I push my knees in and the muscles of my thighs tremble as he banks left, softer this time than last, his angle not quite as steep as he changes course in a wide arc, taking us back toward Basgiath. “I’m just…not built the same as other riders.”

 

“I know exactly who and what you are, Violet Sorrengail.”

 

My legs shake until they lock, the muscles freezing in place as though bands have been wrapped around them, but there’s no pain. I glance over my shoulder and see his morningstar tail, what feels like miles behind us.

 

He’s doing this. He’s holding me in place.

 

Guilt settles in my stomach. I should have focused more on strength training for my legs and less time on my arms. I should have spent more time preparing myself for this. He shouldn’t have to spend his energy on keeping his rider seated. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think I’d make it this far.”

 

A loud sigh resonates through my mind.

 “I didn’t think I would, either, so we have that in common.”

 

I sit higher in the seat and look out over the landscape, wind ripping tears from the corners of my eyes. No wonder most riders choose to wear goggles. There are at least a dozen dragons in the air, each putting their rider through a trial of dips and turns. Reds, oranges, greens, browns, the sky is speckled with color.

 

My heart lurches as I see a rider fall from the back of a Red Swordtail and, unlike Tairn, the dragon doesn’t dip to catch the first-year. I look away before the body hits the ground.

 

It’s not anyone you know. That’s what I tell myself. Rhiannon, Ridoc, Trina, Sawyer… They’re all probably safely bonded and already waiting at the field.

 

“We’re going to have to put on a show.”

 

“Awesome.” The idea is anything but.

 

“You will not fall. I will not allow it.” 

 

The bands around my legs extend to my hands, and I feel the pulse of invisible energy. 

 

“You will trust me.”

 

Not a question. An order.

 

“Let’s get it over with.” I can’t move my legs, my fingers, my hands, so there’s nothing I can do but sit back and hope I enjoy whatever hell he’s about to put me through.

 

His wings give a mighty beat, and we lurch upward in what feels like a ninety-degree climb, leaving my stomach back at the lower altitude. He crests the top of the snow-dusted peaks, and we hang there for a breath of a second before he twists, diving back down at the same terrifying angle.

 

It’s the most exhilarating moment of my life. The wind rushing past my face screams in my ears and makes my eyes water, the fear has turned to adrenaline and I let out a whoop of excitement.

 

But then he twists again, sending us into a spiral. My body is wrenched this way and that as he completes turn after turn, pulling us out of the dive only to bank so hard, I swear the land becomes the sky, then repeats it all until my face splits into a grin.

 

There is nothing like this.

 

“I think we made our point.” 

 

He pulls us level, then banks right, starting up the valley that leads to the box canyon of the training fields. The sun is close to setting behind the peaks, but there’s plenty of light to see the golden dragon up ahead, hovering as though it’s waiting. Maybe it didn’t choose a rider, but it will live to decide again next year, and that’s all that matters.

 

Or maybe it will see that we humans aren’t so great after all.

 

“Why did you choose me?” I have to know, because as soon as we land, there are going to be questions.

 

“Because you saved her.” 

 

Tairn’s head inclines toward the golden as we approach, and she follows after us. Our speed slows.

 

“But…” I shake my head. “Dragons value strength and cunning and…ferocity in their riders.” None of which defines me.

 

“Please, do tell me more about what I should value.” 

 

Sarcasm drips from his tone as we pass over the Gauntlet and crest the narrow entrance to the training fields.

 

I suck in a sharp breath at the sight of so many dragons. There are hundreds gathered along the rocky edges of the mountain slopes behind the bleachers that were erected overnight. Spectators. And at the bottom of the valley, in the same field I’d walked only a couple of days before, are two lines of dragons facing each other.

 

“They are divided between those still in the quadrant who chose in years past and those who chose today. We are the seventy-first bond to enter the fields.”

 

A ferocious roar of celebration goes up among the dragons as we fly in, every head swinging our way, and I know it’s in deference to Tairn. So is the parting of the dragons at the very center of the field, making room for Tairn to land. He releases the bands holding me in my seat, then hovers over the grass for a few wing beats, and I see the golden dragon flying furiously to catch up.

 

How ironic. Tairn is the most celebrated dragon in the Vale, and I’m the most unlikely rider in the quadrant.

 

“You are the smartest of your year. The most cunning.”

 

I gulp at the compliment. I was trained as a scribe, not a rider. 

 

“You defended the smallest with ferocity. And strength of courage is more important than physical strength. Since you apparently need to know before we land.”

 

My throat tightens from his words, emotion forming a knot I have to swallow past.

 

Oh. Shit. I hadn’t spoken those words. I’d thought them.

 

He can read my thoughts.

 

“See? Smartest of your year.”

 

So much for privacy.

 

“You’ll never be alone again.”

 

“That sounds more like a threat than a comfort,” I think. Of course I knew that dragons maintain a mental bond with their riders, but the extent of it is more than a little daunting.

 

Tairn scoffs in reply.

 

The golden dragon reaches us, her wings beating twice as fast as Tairn’s, and we land in the dead center of the field. The impact jars me slightly, but I sit up tall in the seat and even let go of the pommel ridges.

 

“See, I can hang on just fine when you’re not moving.”

 

Tairn tucks his wings up and looks over his shoulder at me with an expression that’s the closest thing to a dragon rolling his eyes that I’ve ever seen. 

 

“You need to dismount before I rethink my selection, then tell the roll-keeper—”

 

“I know what to do.” I pull in a shaky breath. “I just didn’t think I’d be alive to do it.” 

I scoot over the scales of Tairn’s shoulder and, before I can lament the distance I’m about to have to slide Tairn shifts, just slightly and send me careening down his leg. 

 

I shoot down the obscene length of his leg like a ramp and find myself at the bottom far too quickly. Instead of the graceful dismount I had always pictured I find myself tripping and about to eat dirt. What a fine way to announce myself as a rider. 

 

Suddenly there is a golden blur and the little dragon is in front of me catching my fall. I pat the shimmering scales thankfully and stand on my own power.

 

“I’m glad you made it.” “Glad” isn’t even the right word. Thrilled, relieved, grateful. “But maybe you should fly off the next time someone suggests you save yourself, eh?”

 

She blinks. 

 

“Maybe I was saving you.” 

 

Her voice is higher, sweeter in my mind.

 

My lips part, and the muscles in my face go slack with shock. “Didn’t anyone tell you that you’re not supposed to speak to humans who aren’t your rider? Don’t go getting yourself in trouble, Goldie,” I whisper. “From what I hear, dragons are pretty strict about breaking that rule.”

 

She simply sits, tucking her wings in, and tilts her head at me in that should-be-impossible angle that almost makes me laugh.

 

The first step hurts like hell, my hips hurts and my spine is complaining. But as usual I tuck it all away and straighten my spine, lifting my chin and begin the walk to the dais. There’s a sound from the slopes that reminds me of muttering…if dragons mutter.

 

“They do and they are. Ignore it.” 

 

Again, there’s no room for argument in his tone.

 

“Thanks,” I can’t stop the smile on my face or the joy that stings my eyes at the sight of other first-years standing in front of their dragons. I’m alive, and I’m no longer a cadet. I’m a rider.

 

“That’s more like it. 

Remember you are a Sorrengail.”

 

And like we had been finishing each others thoughts for years instead of months i reply in my mind “and I shall not submit!”

 

“Holy hell!” the rider of the red dragon to my right exclaims, and I turn toward him. He’s a first-year from Claw Section, Fourth Wing, but I don’t remember his name. “Is that…” He openly stares with fear-wide eyes at Tairn.

 

“Yeah,” I say, smiling wider. “He is.”

 

I’m making my way to where leadership is sat. Behind me, wind sporadically gusts as more dragons land and their riders dismount to have their names recorded, but it’s softer and softer as the line spreads farther down the field.

 

Dusk falls, and a series of mage lights illuminates the crowd in the bleachers and on the dais. In the very center, right above where the redhead from Parapet is recording roll, sits my mother, dressed in all her military finery, medals and all, lest anyone forget exactly who she is. Though there is an assortment of generals on the dais, each representing their wing, there’s only one more highly decorated than Lilith Sorrengail.

 

And Melgren, the commanding general of all Navarrian forces, has his beady eyes on Tairn in open assessment. His focus flicks toward me, and I suppress a shudder. There’s nothing but cold calculation in those eyes.

 

Mom rises as I approach the roll-keeper at the base of the dais, who’s recording bonded pairs before motioning the next rider forward to maintain secrecy of a dragon’s full name.

 

Professor Kaori jumps off the six-foot platform to my left and stares open-mouthed at Tairn, his gaze sweeping over the massive black dragon, memorizing every single detail.

 

“Is that really—” Commandant Panchek starts, hovering at the edge of the dais with more than a dozen other uniformed, high-ranking officers, all gaping. 

 

“Don’t say it,” Mom hisses, her eyes on Tairn, not me. “Not until she does.”

 

Because only a rider and the roll-keeper know a dragon’s full name and she’s not certain I’m really his. That’s exactly what she’s implying. Like I’d be able to hijack Tairn. Anger simmers in my veins, overtaking the pain coursing through my body as I move forward in the line so there’s only one other rider ahead of me.

 

Mom forced me into the Riders Quadrant. She didn’t care if I lived or died as I crossed the parapet. The only thing she cares about now is how my flaws might mar her sterling reputation or how my bonding might further her own agenda.

 

And now she’s staring at my dragon without even bothering to look down and see if I’m all right.

 

Fuck. Her.

 

It’s everything I expected and yet still so disappointing.

 

The rider ahead finishes, moving out of the way, and the roll-keeper looks up, glancing wide-eyed at Tairn before lowering her shocked gaze to mine and beckoning me forward.

 

“Violet Sorrengail,” she says as she writes in the Book of Riders. “Nice to see that you made it.” She offers me a quick, shaky smile. “For the record, please tell me the name of the dragon who chose you.”

 

I lift my chin. “Tairneanach.”

 

“Pronunciation could use some work. ” 

Tairn’s voice rumbles through my head.

 

“Hey, at least I remembered,” I think back in his general direction, wondering if he’ll hear me across the field.

 

“At least I didn’t let you fall to your death.” 

He sounds utterly bored, but he definitely heard me.

 

The woman grins, shaking her head as she writes down his name. “I can’t believe he bonded. Violet, he’s a legend.”

 

I open my mouth to agree—

 

“Andarnaurram.” 

The sweet, high voice of the golden fills my mind. 

“Andarna for short.”

 

I feel the blood rush from my face, and the edges of my vision sway as I pivot, staring back across the field at where the golden dragon—Andarna—now stands between Tairn’s front legs. “Excuse me?”

 

“Violet, are you all right?” the redhead asks, and everyone around me, above me, leans in.

 

“Tell her, ” the golden insists.

 

“Tairn. What am I supposed to—” I think at him.

 

“ Tell the roll-keeper her name,” Tairn echoes.

 

“Violet?” the roll-keeper repeats. “Do you need a mender?”

 

Yes, but not for the reasons you think. I turn back to the woman and clear my throat. “And Andarnaurram,” I whisper.

 

Her eyes fly wide. “Both dragons?” she squawks.

 

I nod. And watch as pandemonium breaks out across the dais.

 

The generals have been screaming at each other for the last half hour. “Absolutely not!” one general shouts loud enough that I can hear her all the way from the little medical station that’s been set up at the end of the bleachers for riders. It’s nothing but a row of a dozen tables and some flown-in supplies to tide us over until we can get to the Healer Quadrant, but at least the pain medication is taking effect.

 

Professor Kaori has wrapped my arm, but it’s going to need mended. Oren managed to sever muscle and tendon down to the bone. It’s disgustingly interesting to look at.

 

Unlucky for me, Jack is getting his shoulder examined about a dozen feet away. He strutted over from the back of an Orange Scorpiontail to record his bond with the roll-keeper, who’d kept doing her job regardless of the generals arguing on the dais behind her.

 

Jack hasn’t quit staring at Tairn across the field.

 

“How is that?” Professor Kaori asks quietly, tightening the last piece of tape holding it together. There are about a million other questions in his slashing, dark eyes, but he keeps them to himself.

 

“Hurts like hell.”

 

He frowns but nods.

 

“Do you know who made it out of my squad?” I ask, fear knotting my throat. Please let Rhiannon be alive. And Trina. And Ridoc. And Sawyer. All of them.

 

“I haven’t seen Trina or Tynan,” Professor Kaori answers slowly, like he’s trying to soften a blow. It doesn’t.

 

“Tynan won’t be coming,” I say without an ounce of guilt. He chose his fate. 

 

“I see,” Professor Kaori murmurs and I can hear the surprise in his voice.

 

“What the hell do you mean you think it needs surgery?” Jack bellows from my left.

 

“I mean, it looks like the weapon severed a couple of ligaments, but we’ll have to get you to the healers to be sure,” the other instructor says, his voice infinitely patient as he secures Jack’s sling.

 

I look Jack straight in those evil eyes and smile. I’m done being scared of him. He ran back in that meadow.

 

Rage mottles his cheeks in the mage light, and he swings his feet over the end of his table and charges toward me. “You!”

 

“I what?” I slip off the end of my table and leave my hands loose by the sheaths at my thighs.

 

Professor Kaori’s eyebrows jump as he glances between us. “You?” he murmurs.

 

“Me,” I answer, keeping my focus on Jack.

 

But Professor Kaori moves between us, throwing his palm out at Jack. “I wouldn’t get any closer to her.”

 

“Hiding behind our instructors now, Sorrengail?” Jack’s uninjured fist curls.

 

“I didn’t hide out there, and I’m not hiding here.” I raise my chin. “I’m not the one who ran.”

 

“She doesn’t need to hide behind me when she’s bonded to the most powerful dragon of your year,” Professor Kaori warns Jack, whose eyes narrow on me. “Your orange is a good choice, Barlowe. Baide, right? He’s had four other riders before you.”

 

Jack nods.

 

Professor Kaori looks back over his shoulder at the line of dragons. “As aggressive as Baide might be, from the way Tairn’s looking at you, he’ll have no problem scorching your bones into the earth if you take another step toward his rider.”

 

Jack stares at me in disbelief. “You?”

 

“Me.” I stand tall and proud, because I fucking am. Tairn chose me. 

 

He shakes his head, and the look in his eyes transforms from shock, to envy, to fear as he pivots toward the professor. “I don’t know what she told you about what happened out there—”

 

“Nothing.” The instructor folds his arms across his chest. “Is there something I need to know?”

 

Jack pales, going white as a sheet in the mage light as another injured first-year hobbles over, blood streaming from his thigh and torso.

 

“Everyone who needs to know already knows.” I lock eyes with Jack.

 

“Guess we’re done for the night,” Kaori says as a line of dragons flies in, only visible by their silhouettes in the darkness. “The senior riders are back. You two should return to your dragons.”

 

Jack huffs and marches off across the field.

 

I glance at the generals still gathered in heated discussion on the dais. “Professor Kaori, has anyone ever bonded two dragons?” If anyone knows, it’s the professor of Dragonkind.

 

He turns with me to face the arguing leadership. “You would be the first. Not sure why they’re fighting about it, though. The decision won’t be up to them.”

 

“It won’t?” Wind gusts as dozens of dragons land on the opposite side of the first-years, rows of mage lights hanging between them.

 

“Nothing about who dragons choose is up to humans,” Kaori assures me. “We only like to maintain the illusion that we’re in control. Something tells me they’ve just been waiting for the others to make it back before they meet.”

 

“The leadership?” My brow furrows.

 

Kaori shakes his head. “The dragons.”

 

The dragons are going to meet? “Thank you for tending to my arm. I’d better get back over there.” I offer him a tentative smile and head across the dimly lit field to Tairn and Andarna, feeling the weight of every stare in the valley as I stop and stand between the two dragons.

 

“You two are causing a ruckus, you know.” I look at Andarna, then glance up at Tairn before turning around to face the field like the other first-years. “They’re not going to let us do this.” Oh shit, what if they make me choose?

 

My stomach plummets.

 

“It’s up to the Empyrean to decide,”  

Tairn says, but there’s an edge of tension in his tone. 

“Don’t leave the field. This might take a while.”

 

“What might—” My question dies on my tongue as the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen, even larger than Tairn, stalks toward us from the opening to the valley. Each dragon it passes walks into the center of the field and follows after, gathering dozens as it walks. “Is that…”

 

“Codagh,” Tairn answers.

 

General Melgren’s dragon.

 

I make out the patchy holes in his battle-scarred wings as he comes closer, his golden gaze focused on Tairn in a way that makes me nauseous. He growls, low in his throat, turning those sinister eyes on me.

 

Tairn rumbles his own growl, stepping forward so I’m between his massive claws.

 

There’s zero doubt I’m the subject of both disgruntled snarls.

 

“Yep! We’re talking about you!”  

Andarna says as the line passes by, and she joins.

 

“Stay close to the wingleader until we return,” 

Tairn orders.

 

Surely he meant to say squad leader.

 

“You heard what I said.”

 

Or not.

 

I glance around and spot Xaden standing across the field, his arms crossed and legs spread as he stares at Tairn. Beside him as usual is Garrick, who leans against the leg of a brown clubtail. 

 

The riders are eerily silent as the dragons empty the meadow, taking flight in a steady stream near the end and landing halfway up the southernmost peak in a shadowy grouping I can barely define in the moonlight.

 

The second the last of the dragons flies off, chaos erupts. First-years swarm the center of the field, where I happen to be standing, shouting in exuberance and searching for their friends. My eyes scan the crowd, hoping for some glimpse of—

 

“Rhi!” I shout, spotting Rhiannon in the mob and start her way.

 

“Violet!” She crushes me into a hug, pulling away when I wince at the fresh pain in my arm. “What happened?”

 

“Oren’s sword.” I barely get the answer out of my mouth before I’m snatched off my feet by Ridoc, who spins me around, my feet flying out in front of me.

 

“Look who rode in on the baddest motherfucker around!”

 

“Put her down!” Rhiannon chides. “She’s bleeding!”

 

“Oh shit, sorry,” Ridoc says, and my feet find the ground.

 

“It’s fine.” There’s fresh blood on the bandage, but I don’t think it’s too bad. And painkillers are awesome. “Are you all right? Who did you guys bond?”

 

“The Green Daggertail!” Rhiannon grins. “Feirge. And it was just…easy.” She sighs. “I saw her and just knew.”

 

“Aotrom,” Ridoc says with pride. “Brown Swordtail.”

 

“Sliseag!” Sawyer throws his arms around Rhiannon’s and Ridoc’s shoulders. “Red Swordtail!” We all cheer, and I’m swept into his hug next. Out of all of us, I’m happiest for him, for all he’s had to endure to get here.

 

“Trina?” I ask as he lets me go.

 

One by one, they shake their heads, looking to the others for answers. An impossible heaviness settles in my heart, and I search for any other reason. “I mean…there’s a possibility she’s just unbonded, right?”

 

Sawyer shakes his head, sorrow slackening his shoulders. “I saw her fall from the back of an Orange Clubtail.”

 

My heart sinks.

 

“Tynan?” Ridoc asks, his gaze jumping between us.

 

“I killed him,” I state. “He was trying to—”

 

“He tried what?”

 

I’m spun around by the shoulders and yanked against a chest. Dain. My arms wind around his back and hold fast as I breathe deeply.

 

“Damn it. Violet. Just…damn.” He squeezes me tight, then pushes me to arm’s length. “You’re hurt.”

 

“I’m fine,” I assure him, but that doesn’t quell the worry in his eyes. I’m not sure anything ever will. “But we’re all that’s left of our squad’s first-years.”

 

Dain’s gaze rises to look at the others, and he nods. “Four out of nine. That’s”—his jaw ticks once—“to be expected. The dragons are currently holding a meeting of the Empyrean—their leadership. Stay here until they return,” he says to the others before looking down at me. “You come with me.”

 

It’s probably my mother, beckoning me through him. Surely she’ll want to see me with everything that’s going on. I glance across the field, but it’s not Mom I find watching me but Xaden, his expression unreadable.

 

When Dain takes my hand and tugs, I turn away from Xaden, following Dain to the opposite edge of the field, where we’re hidden in shadow. Guess it’s not about Mom.

 

“What the actual fuck happened out there? Because I’ve got Cath telling me that not only did Tairn choose you but so did the small one—Adarn?” His fingers lace with mine, panic swirling in his brown eyes.

 

“Andarna,” I correct him, a smile playing on my lips at the thought of the small golden dragon.

 

“They’re going to make you choose.” His expression hardens, and the certainty there makes me recoil.

 

“I’m not choosing.” I shake my head, disengaging our hands. “No human has ever chosen, and I’m not about to be the first.” And who the hell is Dain to tell me that?

 

“You are.” He rips his hand over his hair, and his composure slips. “You have to trust me. You do trust me, right?”

 

“Of course I do—”

 

“Then you have to choose Andarna.” He nods as if his decree equals a decision made. “The gold one is the safest choice of the two.”

 

Why, because Tairn is…Tairn? Does Dain think I’m too weak for a dragon as strong as Tairn? My mouth opens, then shuts like a fish out of water as I search for any reply that isn’t fuck off. There’s no way in hell I’m rejecting Tairn. But my heart won’t let me reject Andarna, either.

 

“Are they going to make me choose?” I think in their direction.

 

There’s no response, and where I’ve felt an…extension in my mind, of who I am, stretching my mental boundaries since Tairn first spoke to me in that field, there’s nothing now.

 

I’m cut off. Don’t panic.

 

“I’m not choosing,” I repeat, softer this time. What if I can’t have either of them? What if they’ve broken some sacred rule and now we’ll all be punished?

 

“You are. And it has to be Andarna.” He grips my shoulders and leans in, an edge of urgency in his tone. “I know she’s too small to bear a rider—”

 

“That hasn’t been tested,” I say defensively even though I know it’s true. The physics just don’t match up. She’s the size of a large pony, and while it works on the ground, that wouldn’t be true in the air. 

 

“And it doesn’t matter. It will mean that you won’t be able to ride with a wing, but they’ll probably make you a permanent instructor here like Kaori.”

 

“That’s because his signet power makes him indispensable as a teacher, not because his dragon can’t fly,” I argue. “And even he had the requisite four years with a combat wing before he was put behind a desk.”

 

Dain looks away, and I can almost see the gears in his mind turning as he calculates…what? My risk? My choice? My freedom? “Even if you take Andarna into combat, there’s only a chance you’ll be killed. You take Tairn, and Xaden will get you killed. You think Melgren is terrifying? I’ve been here for a year longer than you have, Vi. At least you know what you’re getting when it comes to Melgren. Xaden isn’t only twice as ruthless, but he’s dangerously unpredictable.”

 

I blink. “Wait. What are you saying?”

 

“They’re a mated pair, Tairn and Sgaeyl. The strongest bonded pair in centuries.”

 

My mind whirs. I knew this. The facts about mated pairs blur through my mind. Mated pairs can’t be separated for long or their health diminishes, so they’re always stationed together. Always. Which means—oh gods.

 

“Just…tell me how it happened.” He must see me fumbling because his voice softens.

 

So I do. I tell him about Jack and his band of murderous friends hunting Andarna. I tell him about the field, and Xaden watching, Xaden…shockingly protecting me with his warning when Oren was at my back. He had the perfect opportunity to end me without it tipping his scales, and he chose to help. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

 

“Xaden was there,” Dain says quietly, but the gentleness leaches from his voice.

 

“Yes.” I nod. “But he left after Tairn showed up.”

 

“Xaden was there when you defended Andarna, and then Tairn just…showed up?” he asks slowly.

 

“Yes. That’s what I just said.” Was the timeline confusing him? “What are you getting at?”

 

“Don’t you see what happened? What Xaden’s done?” His grip tightens. Thank gods for the dragon-scale armor, or I would have bruises tomorrow.

 

“Please, do tell me what it is you think I’ve done.” A shape emerges from the shadows, and my pulse quickens as Xaden steps into the moonlight, darkness falling off him like a discarded veil.

 

Heat rushes through every vein, wakes every nerve ending. I hate the reaction of my body to the sight of him, but I can’t deny it. His appeal is so fucking inconvenient.

 

“You manipulated Threshing.” Dain’s hands drop from my shoulders, and he turns to face our wingleader, the set of his shoulders rigid as he puts himself between us.

 

Oh shit, that’s a huge allegation to hurl.

 

“Dain, that’s…” Paranoid. I sidestep Dain’s back. If Xaden was going to kill me, he wouldn’t have waited this long to do it. He’s had every possible opportunity, and yet I’m still standing here. Bonded. To his dragon’s mate.

 

Xaden’s not going to kill me. The realization makes my chest tighten, makes me reexamine everything that happened in that field, makes my sense of gravity shift beneath my feet.

 

“Is that an official accusation?” Xaden looks at Dain like a hindrance, an annoyance.

 

“Did you step in?” Dain demands.

 

“Did I what?” Xaden arches a dark brow and levels a look on Dain that would make a lesser person wither. “Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded? Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless?” He turns that stare on me, and I feel the impact all the way to my toes.

 

“And I would do it again.” I raise my chin.

 

“Well-the-fuck-aware,” Xaden roars, losing his temper for the first time since I met him on Parapet.

 

I pull in a quick breath, and Xaden does the same, as if he’s just as shocked by his outburst as I am.

 

“Did I see her fight off three bigger cadets?” His glare pivots to Dain. “Because the answer to all of those is yes. But you’re asking the wrong question, Aetos. What you should be asking is if Sgaeyl saw it, too.”

 

Dain swallows and looks away, obviously rethinking his position.

 

“His mate told him,” I whisper. Sgaeyl called for Tairn.

 

“She’s never been a fan of bullies,” Xaden says to me. “But don’t mistake it as an act of kindness toward you. She’s fond of the little dragon. Unfortunately, Tairn chose you all on his own.”

 

“Fuck,” Dain mutters.

 

“My thought exactly.” Xaden shakes his head at Dain. “Sorrengail is the last person on the Continent I’d ever want to be chained to me. I didn’t do this.”

 

Ouch. It takes all the willpower in my body not to reach for my back and make sure he didn’t just use his shadows to stab me, which makes absolutely zero sense, since I feel the same way about him. He’s the son of the Great Betrayer. His father was directly responsible for Brennan’s death.

 

“And even if I had.” Xaden moves toward Dain, towering over him. “Would you really level that accusation knowing it would have been what saved the woman you call your best friend?”

 

My gaze flies to Dain, and a silent, damning moment passes. It’s a simple question, and yet I find myself holding my breath for his answer. What do I really mean to him?

 

“There are…rules.” Dain tilts his chin to look Xaden in the eyes.

 

“And out of curiosity, would you have, let’s say, bent those rules to save your precious little Violet in that field?” His voice ices over as he studies Dain’s expression with rapt fascination.

 

Xaden had taken a step. Right before Tairn landed, he’d moved…toward me. He was going to break the rules to save me, but why? He had been nothing but a dick to me since I got here. 

 

Dain’s jaw flexes, and I see the war in his eyes.

 

I move to Dain’s side because I want to see his face when he answers. The sound of whipping wings interrupts the night. The dragons are flying back. They’ve made their decision.

 

“I’m ordering you to answer, squad leader.” Xaden doesn’t even spare me a glance.

 

Dain swallows, his eyes slamming shut. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

 

My heart hits the ground. I’ve always known deep down that Dain valued rule and order more than relationships, more than me, but to have it so cruelly displayed cuts deeper than Oren’s sword.

 

Xaden scoffs.

 

Dain immediately jerks his head toward mine. “It would have killed me to watch something happen to you, Vi, but the rules—”

 

“It’s all right,” I force out, touching his shoulder, but it isn’t. Our friendship was already strained with how he had been acting. But this. It felt like the fraying strands holding us together just gave out. 

 

“The dragons are returning,” Xaden says as the first of them lands on the illuminated field. “Get back to formation, squad leader.”

 

Dain rips his gaze from mine and walks away, blending into the crowd of hurried riders and their dragons.

 

“Why would you do that to him?” I hurl at Xaden, then shake my head. I don’t care why. “Forget it,” I mutter, then march off, heading back toward the spot where Tairn told me to wait.

 

“Because you put too much faith in him,” Xaden answers anyway, catching up to me without even lengthening his stride. “And knowing who to trust is the only thing that will keep you alive—keep us alive—not only in the quadrant but after graduation.”

 

“There is no us,” I say, dodging a rider as she races past. Dragons land left and right, the ground trembling with the force of the riot’s movement. I’ve never seen so many dragons at flight in the same moment.

 

“Oh, I think you’ll find that’s no longer the case,” Xaden murmurs next to me, gripping my elbow and yanking me out of the path of another rider running from the other direction.

 

Yesterday, he would have let me run headfirst into him.

 

Hell, he might have even pushed me.

 

“Tairn’s bonds are so powerful, both to mate and rider, because he’s so powerful. Losing his last rider nearly killed him, which, in turn, nearly killed Sgaeyl. Mated pairs’ lives are—”

 

“Interdependent, I know that.” We move forward until we’re dead center in the line of riders. If I wasn’t so aggravated, I would take the time to admire just how spectacular it is to see hundreds of dragons land all around us. 

 

“Each time a dragon chooses a rider, that bond is stronger than the last, which means that if you die, Violence, it sets off a chain of events that potentially ends with me dying, too.” His expression is immovable marble, but the anger in his eyes leaves me breathless. It’s pure…rage. “So yeah, unfortunately for everyone involved, there’s now an us if the Empyrean lets Tairn’s choice stand.”

 

Oh. Gods.

 

I’m tethered to Xaden Riorson.

 

“And now that Tairn is in play, that other cadets know he’s willing to bond…” He sighs, annoyance rippling over his features, his strong jaw working as he looks away.

 

“That’s why Tairn told me to stay with you,” I whisper as the consequences of today’s actions settle in my churning stomach. “Because of the unbonded.” There are at least three dozen of them standing on the opposite side of the field, watching us with avarice in their eyes.

 

“The unbonded are going to try to kill you in hopes they’ll get Tairn to bond them.” Xaden shakes his head at Garrick as he approaches, and the section leader glances between us, his mouth sets in a firm line before retreating across the field. I wish he would have stayed.

 

“Tairn is one of the strongest dragons on the Continent, and the vast power he channels is about to be yours. The next few months, the unbonded will try to kill a newly paired rider while the bond is weak, while they still have a chance of that dragon changing its mind and picking them so they’re not set back a full year. And for Tairn? They’ll do just about anything.” He sighs again like it’s his new full-time job. “There are forty unbonded riders for which you are now target number one.” He holds up a single finger.

 

“And Tairn thinks you’ll play bodyguard.” I snort. “Little does he know just how much you dislike me.”

 

“He knows exactly how much I value my own life,” Xaden retorts, glancing at my face. “You’re freakishly calm for someone who just heard she’s about to be hunted.”

 

“It’s a typical Wednesday for me.” I shrug. “And honestly, being hunted by forty people is a lot less intimidating than constantly watching dark corners for you.”

 

A breeze hits my back as Andarna lands behind me, followed by a gust of wind and shuddering ground when it’s Tairn.

 

Without another word, Xaden rips his gaze from mine and walks away, cutting a slightly diagonal path across the field to where Sgaeyl overshadows the other wingleaders’ dragons.

 

“Tell me it’s going to be all right,” I murmur toward Andarna and Tairn.

 

“It is how it should be,” 

Tairn answers, his voice gruff and bored at the same time.

 

“You didn’t answer before.” My mental voice shakes, as I remember the feeling of loneliness, and the thought that maybe I had lost them before I ever really had them.

 

“Humans can’t know what’s said within the Empyrean,”  

Andarna answers.

 “It’s a rule.”

 

So every rider was blocked, not just me. The thought is oddly comforting. Also, the whole Empyrean is a new term for me today. Kaori must be in heaven tonight with all the dragon politics coming to light. What did they decide?

 

I glance at my mother, but she’s looking everywhere but my direction. No surprise there.

 

General Melgren moves toward the front of the dais, his uniform dripping in medals. Dain’s right in one way—the top general in our kingdom is terrifying. He’s never had an issue using infantry for fodder, and his cruelty when it comes to overseeing the interrogation—and execution—of prisoners is well-known, at least at my family’s dining room table. His enormous nightmare of a dragon takes up the entire space beside the dais, and a hush falls over the crowd as Melgren angles his hands in front of his face.

 

“Codagh has relayed that the dragons have spoken regarding the Sorrengail girl.” Lesser magic allows his voice to magically amplify over the field for all to hear.

 

Woman, I mentally correct him, my stomach knotting.

 

“While tradition has shown us that there is one rider for every dragon, there has never been a case of two dragons selecting the same rider, and therefore there is no dragon law against it,” he declares. “While we riders may not feel as though this is…equitable”—his tone implies that he’s one of them—“dragons make their own laws. Both Tairn and…” He looks over his shoulder and his aide rushes forward to whisper in his ear. “Andarna have chosen Violet Sorrengail, and so their choice stands.”

 

The crowd murmurs, but my shoulders sag in acute relief. I don’t have to make an impossible choice.

 

“As it should be,”

 Tairn grumbles.

 “Humans have no say in the laws of dragons.”

 

Mom steps forward and makes the same gesture with her hands to project her voice, but I can’t concentrate on what she’s saying as she closes out the formal portion of the Threshing ceremony, promising the unbonded riders another chance next year. If they don’t manage to kill one of us while our bonds are weak in the next few months and try to bond our dragons themselves.

 

I belong to Tairn and Andarna…and, in some really fucked-up way…Xaden.

 

My scalp prickles, and I glance across the field at him.

 

As if sensing my gaze, he looks over and holds up a single finger. Target number one.

 

“Welcome to a family that knows no boundaries, no limits, and no end,” my mother finishes, and a cheer resounds around the field. “Riders, step forward.”

 

I look left and right in confusion, but so does every other rider.

 

“Five steps or so,” 

Tairn says.

 

I take them.

 

“Dragons, it is our honor as always,” Mom calls out. “Now we celebrate!”

 

Heat blasts my back, and I hiss in pain as riders on both sides of me cry out. My back feels like it’s on fucking fire, and yet everyone across the field is cheering raucously, some of them racing our way.

 

Other riders are caught up in embraces.

 

“You’ll like it,”

 Tairn promises.

 “It’s unique.”

 

The pain fades to a dull ache, and I glance over my shoulder. There’s a solid black…something peeking out from the vest. “I’ll like what?”

 

“Violet!” Ridoc reaches me, his smile wide as he throws his arms around me. “You kept both of them!”

 

“I guess I did.” My lips curve. It’s all…surreal, all too much for one day.

 

“Where’s your…” He lets go and circles me. “Can I unlace this? Just the top?” he asks, tugging at the raised neck of the back of my vest.

 

I nod. A few pushes and pulls later, the crisp October air nips at the base of my neck.

 

“Holy shit. You have to see this.”

 

“Tell the boy to move,” 

Tairn orders.

 

“Tairn says you should move.”

 

Ridoc steps out of the way.

 

Suddenly, my vision isn’t mine. I’m looking at my own back through…Andarna’s eyes. A back that has a glistening black relic of a dragon mid-flight stretching from shoulder to shoulder and, in the center, the silhouette of a shimmering golden one.

 

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. I’m marked by their magic as a rider now, as their rider.

 

“We know,”  

Andarna answers.

 

I blink, and my vision is mine again, and Ridoc’s hands lace up my corset quickly and we both rush to the rest of the squad. 

 

AN: Well that was a long one. 

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Water Hemlock is considered one of the most deadly plants known to man. The side effects are deadly and there are no known cures.

However in doses small enough, it has been proven effective in assisting with those who have frequent strains, dislocations and other general weaknesses of the joints.

-An Apothecary Guide to Plants of the Continent

 

 

After sleeping in the crowded barracks for the last two months, it’s weird, and oddly decadent, to have my own room. I’ll never take the luxury of privacy for granted again. I’m sitting at my desk attempting to read the history assignment. But my mind keeps wandering. 

 

I’ve been awake for hours, but with no breakfast duty, keeping myself busy in the early hours of the morning had been futile. There’s a knock at my door and I open it to find my squad waiting on the other side. Must be time for breakfast. 

 

As I move through the line, I think about how weird it is to be on this side of it for once. I keep a close eye on the hands of all the unbonded behind the counter. I’m fairly certain I haven’t been poisoned this morning. 

 

We head toward the Fourth Wing section and find a table with three extra seats.

 

“Mind if we—” Ridoc starts.

 

“Absolutely! It’s yours!” A couple of guys from Tail Section scurry off the bench.

 

“Sorry, Sorrengail!” the other says over his shoulder as they find another table, leaving this one empty.

 

What the hell?

 

“Well, that was really fucking weird.” Rhiannon rounds the other side of the table, and I follow, putting our backs to the wall as we step over the bench and sit, setting our trays in front of us.

 

I’m half tempted to give my underarms a whiff to see if I smell.

 

“Even weirder?” Ridoc remarks, gesturing across the hall toward First Wing.

 

Following his line of sight, my eyebrows lift. Jack Barlowe is being squeezed out of his table. He’s forced to stand as others take his seat.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Rhiannon bites into a pear and chews.

 

Jack moves to another table—whose occupants won’t make room for him—and then finds a place two tables down.

 

“How the mighty have fallen,” Ridoc notes, watching the same show I am, but there’s no satisfaction in watching Jack struggle. Feral dogs bite harder when they’re cornered.

 

“Hey, Sorrengail,” the stocky girl from First Wing I beat in my second challenge says with a tight smile as she walks past our table.

 

“Hi.” I wave awkwardly as she walks away, then turn to whisper to Ridoc and Rhiannon. “She hasn’t spoken to me since I took one of her daggers in that challenge.”

 

“It’s because you bonded Tairn.” Imogen blows her pink hair out of her face and throws her leg over the bench across from us to sit, pushing up the sleeves of her tunic and revealing her rebellion relic. “The morning after Threshing is always a clusterfuck. Power balance shifts, and you, little Sorrengail, are now about to be the most powerful rider in the quadrant. Anyone with common sense is going to be scared of you.”

 

I blink, my pulse elevating. Is that what’s going on? I look around the hall and take note. Social groups have split up, and some of the cadets I would have considered threats are no longer sitting where they usually do.

 

“Which is why you’re now sitting with us?” Rhiannon arches a brow at the second-year. “Because I can count on one hand the number of nice words you’ve said to any of us.” She holds up a fist with zero fingers raised. I laugh, hold up my first and then launch the middle finger at her. 

 

Quinn—the tall second-year in our squad who hasn’t bothered to so much as look our way since Parapet—takes a seat next to Imogen, and Sawyer arrives, sitting on Rhiannon’s other side. Quinn tucks her blond curls behind her ears and brushes her bangs out of her eyes, her round cheeks rising as she smiles at something Imogen says. Have to admit, the hooped piercings that line the shells of both her ears are pretty awesome, and among her half dozen patches, it’s the dark-green one—the same color as her eyes—with two silhouettes that’s most intriguing. I should have studied up on what all the patches mean, but according to what I’ve heard, they change every year.

 

I’m personally a fan of the first ones we’ve been given. I had to sew the flame-shaped patch with the emblem for Fourth Wing and the centered, reddish number two with great care, being sure to only stitch the fabric of my corseted armor, since it’s not like any needle is going to penetrate the scales.

 

My favorite patch, though, is the one beside the Flame Section one. We’re the squad to have the most surviving members since Parapet, this year’s Iron Squad.

 

“You weren’t interesting enough to sit with before,” Imogen responds, then bites into a muffin.

 

“I usually sit with my girlfriend in Claw Section. Besides, no use getting to know you when most of you die,” Quinn adds, tucking her curls away again, just to have them spring forward. “No offense.”

 

“None taken?” I start on my bacon.

 

I nearly spit it out when Heaton and Emery, the only third-years in our squad, flank Imogen and Quinn on the bench across from us.

 

The only people we’re missing are Dain and Cianna, who are eating with leadership as usual.

 

“Barlowe bonded, unfortunately,” Ridoc says. “Though from what I’ve heard, his Orange Scorpiontail is on the smaller side.”

 

“She is,” Quinn confirms. “Which is why he’s struggling this morning.”

 

“Don’t worry—I’m sure he’ll make up for his lack of social standing in other ways,” Rhiannon mutters.

 

The conversation has turned to signets as I finish off my bacon and cheesy eggs. I pick up my mug of tea and let it warm my fingers. Another glorious side effect of my mother’s sickness when I was in utero, my circulation sucks. 

 

I fiddle with the new scar on my forearm, it is still sore as shit after being mended last night. 

 

“Sorrengail, after class is out today, you’re mine,” Imogen says.

 

I swallow my current mouthful of tea. “I’m sorry?”

 

“You can trust her,” 

Tairn says. 

“She hates me.”

 

“Stop arguing with me.” 

There’s zero room for debate in his tone.

 

My gaze rises to meet Imogen’s, and she tilts her head, staring back in challenge.

 

Her pale green eyes lock on mine. “Meet me in the sparring gym.”

 

“I’m already working with her on sparring—” Rhiannon starts.

 

“Good. We can’t afford her to lose any challenges,” Imogen retorts. “But I’m going to help you with weights. We need to strengthen the muscles around your joints before challenges resume. That’s the only way you’ll survive.”

 

The hairs rise on the back of my neck. “And since when do you care about my survival?” This isn’t a squad thing. It can’t be. Not when she didn’t give a shit before.

 

“Since now,” she says, gripping her fork in her fist, but it’s the lightning-fast glance toward the dais at the end of the hall that gives her away. Her concern isn’t coming from the goodness of her heart. Something tells me it’s an order. “Squads are about to be condensed at morning formation. We’ll be down to two in every section,” she continues. “Aetos kept the highest number of his first-years alive—hence the patch—so he’ll be allowed to retain his squad, but we’ll probably gain a few when they strip the squads from those who weren’t as successful.”

 

As discreetly as I can, I look to my right, past the other Fourth Wing tables and to the dais where Xaden sits with his executive officer and the section leaders, including Garrick, whose shoulders look like they should take up at least two seats. It’s Garrick who looks my way first, his forehead lining with… What is that? Worry? Then he looks away.

 

The only reason he’d be remotely worried—he knows. He knows my fate is tethered to Xaden’s.

 

My gaze snaps to Xaden, and my chest tightens. So. Freaking. Hot. Apparently my body doesn’t care that he’s as dangerous as they come in the quadrant, because heat rushes through my veins, flushing my skin. Reminding me that I still haven’t had an orgasm. Though now that I have my own room. I should have thought of that when I was struggling to entertain myself this morning. 

 

He’s using a dagger to peel an apple, removing the rind in one long curl, and the blade continues its path as his eyes lift, locking with mine.

 

My whole head tingles.

 

Gods, is there any part of my body that doesn’t physically react to the sight of him?

 

He glances toward Imogen and back to me, and that’s all it takes for me to know for certain. He’s ordered her to help train me. Xaden Riorson is now in the business of keeping his mortal enemy alive.

 

-    -    -

 

A few hours later, after the squads are rearranged and the death roll is read, all the first-year riders in Fourth Wing stand in our newly issued flight leathers, waiting in front of our dragons on the flight field. The uniform is thicker than our usual one, with a full jacket I’ve buttoned over my dragon-scale armor.

 

And unlike our regular uniforms, whatever we choose them to be, flight leathers bear no insignia besides our rank at our shoulder and any leadership designation. No names. No patches. Nothing that could give us away if we’re separated from our dragons behind enemy lines. Just a lot of sheaths for weapons.

 

I try not to think about possibly fighting in the war effort one day and focus on the organized chaos evolving on the flight field this morning. I can’t miss the way the other cadets look at Tairn or the wide berth the other dragons give him. Honestly, if I had those teeth bared at me, I’d back away, too.

 

“No you wouldn’t, because you didn’t. 

You stayed and defended Andarna.”

 

 His voice fills my head, and I can tell from his tone there are places he’d rather be.

 

“Only because there was a lot going on at the moment,” I respond. “Andarna isn’t coming this morning?”

 

“She has no need for flight lessons when she can’t bear you.”

 

“Good point.” Though it would have been nice to see her. She’s quieter in my head, too, not as meddlesome as Tairn.

 

“I heard that. Now pay attention.”

 

I roll my eyes but focus on what Kaori is saying from the center of the field. His hand is up, using common lesser magic to project his voice so we can all hear.

 

God help us when Ridoc figures out how to do that. I bite back a smile, knowing he’ll find some way to annoy the shit out of every rider in the quadrant, not just his squad.

 

“…and at only ninety-two riders, you are our smallest class to date.”

 

My shoulders dip. “I thought a hundred and one were willing to bond, plus you?”

 

“Willing doesn’t mean they found worthy riders,”

 Tairn answers.

 

“And yet two of you chose me?” With forty unbonded? That’s quite the insult.

 

“You’re worthy.

 At least I think you are, but you apparently don’t pay attention in class.” 

 

He chuffs and a warm puff of steam blasts the back of my neck.

 

“There are forty unbonded riders who would kill to be standing where you are,” Kaori continues. “And your dragons know that your bond is at its weakest point right now, so if you fall, if you fail, there’s a good chance your dragon might let you if it thinks the unbonded will be a better choice.”

 

“Comforting,” I mutter.

 

Tairn makes a noise that reminds me of a scoff.

 

“Now, we’re going to mount, then follow a series of specific maneuvers your dragons already know. Your orders are simple today. Stay in your seat,” Kaori finishes. Then he turns and breaks into a sprint, racing the dozen feet toward his dragon’s foreleg and making the vertical climb to mount.

 

Just like the last obstacle on the Gauntlet.

 

I swallow, wishing I hadn’t eaten so much for breakfast, and turn to face Tairn. To my left and right, other riders are doing the same mounting maneuver. I give myself a running start and I'm halfway up Tairn’s leg before I can really think about it. His rugged scales actually give me scales to hold onto and use as footholds. I navigate his spikes to find the seat. My thighs ache from yesterday, and I wince as I get into position, gripping the pommel of scales.

 

Kaori’s dragon launches into the sky.

 

“Hold tight.”

 

I feel the same bands of energy clamp around my legs, and Tairn crouches a millisecond before he hurls us skyward.

 

The wind tears at my eyes as my stomach falls away, and I risk holding on with one hand to lower my flight goggles. Immediate relief.

 

“We had to go second?” I ask Tairn as we fly out of the canyon and higher into the mountain range. I get it now, why I didn’t see the dragons training often even though I’ve basically grown up at Basgiath. The only people around us are other riders. “Everyone is going to see when I slide right off.”

 

“I only agreed to follow Smachd because his rider is your instructor.”

 

“So you’re an in-front kind of guy. Good to know. Remind me to spend some time at temple so I can make multiple appeals to Dunne.” I keep my focus on Kaori, watching for when the maneuvers will start.

 

“The goddess of strength and war?” 

Tairn clearly scoffs this time.

 

“What, dragons don’t think we need the gods on our side?” Shit, it’s cold up here. My gloved hands tighten on the pommel.

 

“Dragons pay no heed to your puny gods.”

 

Kaori banks right, and Tairn follows suit, leading us into a steep dive down the face of one of the peaks. I clench with my legs, but I know it’s Tairn keeping me in the seat.

 

He holds me there through another climb and even a near-spiral of a turn, and I can’t help but notice that he’s taking everything Kaori is doing and making it harder.

 

“You can’t hold me here the entire time, you know.”

 

“Watch me. 

Unless you’d rather be scraped off the glacier below like Gleann’s rider back there?”

 

I whip my head around to look, but all I see is Tairn’s tail swinging, his massive spikes blocking the view.

 

“Don’t look.”

 

“We already lost a rider?” My throat knots.

 

“Gleann chose poorly. He never bonds strongly anyway.”

 

Oh. My. God.

 

“If you keep holding me like this, your energy will go into keeping me on instead of channeling when we need power for battle,” I argue.

 

“It’s a minuscule amount of my power.”

 

How the hell am I supposed to be a rider if I can’t stay on my damn dragon by myself?

 

“Have it your way.”

 

The bands fall away.

 

“Thank yoooooh shit!” He banks left and my thighs slip.My hands slide. I skid right off his side, my fingers fumbling for purchase and finding none.

 

Rushing air fills my ears as I plummet toward the glacier, raw fear gripping my heart and squeezing like a vise. The shape of a body below grows bigger and bigger.

 

I’m yanked upward as Tairn’s claws catch me, harnessing me just like he did during Threshing. He climbs high, then tosses me again, but at least I’m prepared for impact this time as his back rises to meet my falling bottom.

 

There’s a disgusted roar of something I don’t understand in my head.

 

“What the hell does that mean?” I scramble for the seat and get myself into position as he flies level.

 

“The closest translation for humans is probably ‘for fuck’s sake.’ 

Now. Are you going to stay in your seat this time?”  

 

He dips back into formation, and I manage to stay on.

 

“I have to be able to do this by myself. We both need me to do this,” I argue.

 

“Stubborn silver human,” 

 

Tairn mutters, following Kaori into a dive. This time I don’t fall, but my seat is anything but steady. 

-    -    -

That evening when I arrive in the gym Imogen is waiting for me. She  leads me toward the corner on the left where glass meets stone and pushes open a door I’ve never taken the time to notice before.

 

The room is lit with mage lights and full of a variety of wooden machinery with racks and ropes and pulleys, benches with levers, and bars attached to the wall. And on the other side, doing push-ups on a mat, is one of the first-year Tyrs I saw in the woods that night, Garrick crouched down next to her, urging her on.

 

Damnit, why couldn’t he be my trainer. I’m still fairly certain Imogen would stab me given the chance. 

 

“Don’t worry, Sorrengail,” Imogen coos in a saccharine-sweet tone. “There’s only three of us in here. You’re perfectly safe.”

 

Garrick turns, his gaze meeting mine even as he continues calling off reps for the other first-year. He nods once, then goes back to his task. Ouch, that kinda hurt. 

 

“You’re the only one I worry about,” I say as she leads me to a machine with a polished wooden seat and two cushioned squares that meet in front of it at knee height.

 

She laughs, and I think it’s the first genuine sound I’ve heard her make. “Fair point. Now we’re going to start with the most important muscles you have for staying on a dragon.” She glances down my body and sighs with obvious distaste. “Those weak-ass inner thighs.”

 

Clearly she isn’t as excited about the changes my body has made since finding the Water Hemlock as I am. I guess it was easy to ignore when you weren’t the person in the failing body. 

 

“You’re only doing this because Xaden is making you, right?” I ask, parking my ass in the seat of the machine with the cushioned wood between my knees as she makes adjustments.

 

Her eyes meet mine and narrow. “Rule number one. He’s Riorson to you, first-year, and you never get to question me about him. Ever.”

 

“That’s two rules.” I’m starting to think my first guess about them is right. With that kind of fierce loyalty, they have to be lovers. What a lucky bitch. I bet he can do some bed shaking with that machine he inhabits. 

 

She scoffs and pulls a lever that puts immediate tension on the wood, and they rush outward, separating my thighs. “Now get to work. Push them back together. Thirty reps.”

 

I can’t do it and Imogen is exasperated. 

 

“How the fuck are you even still alive Sorrengail? You are the weakest rider I have ever seen. What the fuck was Tairn thinking?” She is ranting and pacing. 

 

My head is bowed, hiding the tears I can feel gathering in the corner of my eyes. She isn’t wrong. 

 

Garrick gets up from where he is seated on the mat watching his mentee. He walks over to us and sits down next to me, bumping my shoulder with his softly. He leans closer to me and whispers “Are you ok? I know Im can be, well a lot. But we’re all just worried about the new… development.” What a nice way of phrasing this bullshit attachment I now have with Xaden. 

 

I make sure the tears are going to stay in their ducts and then look at Garrick. “I’m not ok, and I’m not even sure I will be.” 

 

Garrick looks taken aback at my honesty and I continue “I can’t do this, not at the level she wants me at.” 

 

The placating sound of his voice grates a little more on my soul as he says “Maybe not now, but we can get you there.” 

 

And I lose it. That teetering grasp I had on my emotions just gives out. 

 

“No you can’t! You can’t overcome biology, Garrick. No matter how much I train, lift weights, stretch, run, spar, it will never ever be enough.” I’m yelling, and I know he doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t help it. 

 

“You will always be stuck protecting me, because I am now his weak spot.” It comes out quieter than I expected. 

 

Garrick scoots in front of me, his hand coming out to make sure I’m looking at him when he asks “What is this about Sorrengail?” It’s not demanding, it’s not full of disdain or even vitriol. It’s an honest question, he wants to know what I’m talking about. Even Imogen has stopped pacing to come stand behind him. 

 

I take a shaky breath, and prepare to tell them everything. 

 

“When my mom was pregnant with me, she got sick. For weeks, she ran a high fever and almost lost me. But she didn’t. Spent so much time with the healers she joked I would come out one.” Garrick smiles at that. “But it did something to me while I was in utero. When I was born I was sickly, small and fragile. Still am I guess. When I run fevers I have to be monitored extra closely or they could kill me, my circulation is abysmal and finally my tendons are extra stretchy and don’t always hold my joints in place.” 

 

I see Imogen wince, I’m sure she’s thinking back to our sparring match. Garrick's face is thoughtful and I can see the gears turning. But I forge on before he can say anything. “It is why I was supposed to be a scribe. My father taught me everything he knew. But 6 months before Conscription Day, Mom told me that Sorrengails are riders. I guess she was right.” I take another deep breath and mention “l found something with the help of Winifred that has been helping me with my tendons and joints. It keeps them more rigid, and in doing so has allowed me to put on some muscle tone.” 

 

It feels like a weight has been lifted. I haven’t told anyone in the quadrant about this until now. Dain knew of course, but he only viewed it as a weakness. Maybe that’s all it was. 

 

Garrick blows out a huge breath of air, “Well shit Vi, that explains… well alot.”

 

I can’t do more than nod my head. I look at Imogen who looks like she is about to apologize. But I cut her off. “Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault, and you only said what everyone is thinking.”

 

She gives me a curt nod and then I can see her go into planning mode. I leave her to think and focus back on Garrick. He looks a little shellshocked. 

 

His mouth opens and closes a few times before he asks “How did you do it?” I know he’s talking about how I’ve made it so far. 

 

“I’m a Sorrengail, and I shall not submit.”

Chapter 11: Chapter 11

Notes:

Posted 8/22/25

There are things happening in this Quadrant that no one knows about. Secrets that are being kept. But if they aren't careful someone smart is going to figure it out.
- Unknown Journal Entry

 

 

As Riders, we got an upgrade in duties. No longer were we saddled with the jobs nobody else wanted. Now that fell on the unbonded, which I thought just gave them another reason to hate us. Now our Squad leaders assigned us duties depending on our strengths or interests. Dain of course put me on Archives duty, not that I was really complaining. 

 

My first trip brought tears to my eyes, a whole future flashed in my head as I stepped through the massive doors for the first time in almost a year. A future that had shifted as quickly as the bond snapped into place. 

 

But it certainly had its perks. Namely Jesinia, one of my childhood friends. We had only grown closer when our career path choices had been the same. We had talked for a bit, my sign language coming back instantly, despite not having used it for some time. I had also asked her to search the Archives for a copy of my favorite childhood fables. 

 

Pushing the cart back out of the archives laden with books and missives, I realized I was running late. Quickly delivering it to the riders library, where it became someone else's duty to stock shelves, deliver missives, and organize the special requests. I rushed through the lunch line selecting what I had found to be the most helpful mix of protein and carbs and I’m in the middle of shoving it in my face while listening to my squad chat around me. 

 

I notice that Sawyer's plate is full of finger foods, which isn’t like him. Then I clock the fact that he has no silverware and offer him my fork. I watch as his face goes pale and he shakes his head violently. Ridoc leans into my view and is almost giddy, babbling about something that happened while they were sparring. Apparently Sawyer wielded for the first time and he is a metallurgist. That explains why he looked scared of my fork. 

 

I stand up, making my way to the kitchen where I rifle through some drawers because I vaguely remember seeing some wooden utensils. Retrieving one of the sets and ignoring the grumbles from anyone in the kitchen I made my way back to Sawyer and set them next to his plate. 

 

“Oh my god Vi, you are seriously a life saver.” Sawyer is mumbling into my side after he threw his arms around my waist when he realized what I had grabbed. I shrugged it off and moved back to my own plate, telling him to make sure he keeps that set so he didn’t need to ask for them. 

 

I saw Dain making a beeline for our table and bolted. He had been trying to apologize and I had been avoiding him at all costs. Until later that day after flight lessons. 

 

“You only slipped about a dozen times that trip,”  

Tairn remarks as we land on the flight field.

 

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or not.” I take deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart.

 

“Take it as you wish.”

 

I mentally roll my eyes and scoot out of the seat as he dips his shoulder so I can slide down his foreleg. The move has become so practiced, so commonplace for us, that I barely even notice that other riders are capable of leaping to the ground or descending the proper way. “Besides, you could make it easier, you know.”

 

“Oh, I know.”

 

“I’m not the one putting us into spirals with steep banks while Kaori is teaching plain dives.” My feet hit the ground of the field, and I arch an eyebrow at Tairn.

 

“I’m training you for battle. He’s teaching you parlor tricks.”

 

 He blinks a golden eye at me and looks away.

 

“Do you think we can get Andarna to join us next week? Even if it’s just to fly along?” I do all the checks Kaori has taught us, looking for any debris that could have lodged between the long, taloned toes of Tairn’s claws or between the rock-hard scales of his underbelly.

 

“I’m not foolish enough to not know that I have something stuck in my flesh. 

And I wouldn’t ask Andarna to join us unless she requested it. 

She can’t keep up the speed, and it would only draw unwanted attention.”

 

“I never get to see her,” I blatantly whine. “I’m always stuck with your grumpy ass.”

 

“I’m always here,” 

Andarna answers, 

 

but there’s no flicker of gold. She’s most likely in the Vale as usual, but at least she’s protected there.

 

“This grumpy ass just caught you a dozen times, Silver One.”

 

He had been letting me hold my own, but still snapped the bands into place when I began to slip. It was nice no longer falling, and no matter what anyone said, I was definitely improving. “Eventually you could call me Violet, you know.” I take the time to examine every row of his scales. One of the biggest dangers to dragons are the smallest things they can’t remove that penetrate between the scales, causing infection.

 

“I know,” he repeats. 

“And I could call you Violence like the wingleader.”

 

“You wouldn’t dare.” I narrow my eyes as I move forward, checking where his chest begins to rise. “And you know how much that ass annoys me.”

 

A growl rumbles through Tairn’s chest above me and vibrates my very bones. I pivot, my hands hovering along my sheathed daggers as Dain approaches.

 

“It’s just Dain.” I walk out from between Tairn’s forelegs when Dain pauses a dozen feet away.

 

“Anger does not suit hi m.”  

 

He growls again, and a puff of steam hits the back of my neck.

 

“Relax,” I say, I know I’ve been annoyed at him, but he wouldn’t hurt me. I glance back over my shoulder at him. My eyebrows shoot up.

 

Tairn’s golden eyes are narrowed in a glare on Dain, and his teeth are bared, dripping saliva as another growl rumbles.

 

“You’re a menace. Stop it,” I say.

 

“Tell him if he harms you, I’ll scorch the ground where he stands.”

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tairn.” I roll my eyes and walk to Dain, whose jaw is locked, but his eyes are wide with apprehension.

 

“Tell him, or I’ll take it up with Cath.”

 

“Tairn says if you harm me, he’ll burn you,” I say as dragons to the left and right launch skyward without their riders, headed back to the Vale. But not Tairn. Nope, he’s still standing behind me like an overprotective dad.

 

“I’m not going to harm you!” Dain snaps.

 

“Word for word, Silver One.”

 

I blow a breath out slowly. “Sorry, he actually said, if you harm me, he’ll scorch the ground where you stand.” I turn and look over my shoulder. “Better?”

 

Tairn blinks.

 

Dain keeps his eyes on me, but I see it there, the swirling anger Tairn warned me about. “I would rather die than harm you, and you know it.”

 

“Happy now?” I ask Tairn.

 

“I’m hungry. 

I think I’ll partake in a flock of sheep.” 

 

He launches with great beats of his wings.

 

“I need to talk to you.” Dain’s voice drops, and he narrows his eyes.

 

“Fine. Walk me back.” I motion at Rhiannon to go on without me, and she walks ahead with the others, leaving Dain and me to bring up the rear.

 

We fall back at the edge of the field.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me you can’t keep your fucking seat?” he shouts at me, grabbing my elbow.

 

“I’m sorry?” I yank my arm out of his hold.

 

Tairn growls in my mind.

 

“I’ve got this,” I shout back at him.

 

“All this time, I’ve been letting Kaori teach you, thinking he must have everything under control. After all, if the rider of the strongest dragon in the quadrant couldn’t keep her seat, then surely we’d all know.” He rips his hand over his hair. “Surely I would know if my best friend fell every fucking day that she flew!”

 

“I hardly fall anymore! I just can’t stop slipping and that’s not a secret!” Anger bubbles in my veins. “Everyone in our wing knows! I’m sorry if you haven’t been keeping tabs on your squad, but trust me, Dain. Everyone knows. And I’m not going to stand here while you lecture me like I’m a child.” I stalk off, my strides eating up the ground as I follow my wing.

 

“You didn’t tell me,” he says, anger in his voice giving way to hurt as he catches up, more than matching my pace.

 

“There’s not a problem.” I shake my head. “Tairn can keep me buckled in magically if he needs to. I’m the one asking him to loosen the restraints. And I’d think twice before you question him. He’s more of the char-first-ask-questions-later type.”

 

“It’s a huge problem, because he can’t channel—”

 

“His full powers?” I ask as we make it out of the field, heading toward the steps that descend next to the Gauntlet. “I know that. Why do you think I’m up there asking him to loosen up?” Frustration is a living, breathing thing inside me, eating up all rational thought.

 

He’s on my heels as I pick up my pace toward the path that will lead back to the citadel, the gravel crunching beneath my boots. “I just want to help you, Vi. How can I help?” 

 

“You want a list of my flaws?” I roll my eyes. “My thighs are too weak, but I’m building muscle. My hands can’t grip the pommel, but they’re getting stronger. But you don’t have to worry about me, Dain—Imogen is training me.”

 

“Because Riorson asked her to,” he guesses, folding his arms across his chest.

 

“Probably. Why does it matter?”

 

“Because he doesn’t have your best interest at heart.” He shakes his head, looking more like a stranger than I’ve ever seen him before. “First, it was bending the rules to make it up the Gauntlet, and yes, Amber lit into me for an hour about how you acted dishonorably.”

 

Dishonorably? Fuck this.

 

“And you just took her word for it? Without asking me what happened?”

 

“She’s a wingleader, Vi. I’m not about to question her integrity!”

 

“I proved myself with the Codex, and Riorson accepted it. He’s a wingleader, too.”

 

“Fine. You made it up. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t stand myself if something happened to you, whether you were handling the trial the right or wrong way. And then I thought you’d be fine if you survived Threshing, but even bonded to the strongest of them…” He shakes his head.

 

“Go ahead. Say it.” My hands curl into fists, my nails biting into my palms.

 

“I’m terrified you’re not going to make it to graduation, Vi.” His shoulders slump. “You know exactly how I feel about you, whether or not I can do anything about it, and I’m terrified.”

 

It’s that last line that does me in. Laughter bubbles up through my throat and escapes.

 

His eyes widen.

 

“This place cuts away the bullshit and the niceties, revealing whoever you are at your core.” I repeat his words from this summer. “Isn’t that what you said to me? Is this who you really are at your core? Someone so enamored with rules that he doesn’t know when to bend or break them for someone he cares about? Someone so focused on the least I’m capable of doing, he can’t believe I can do so much more?”

 

The warmth drains from his brown eyes.

 

“Let’s get one thing straight, Dain.” I take a step closer, but the distance between us only widens. “The reason we’ll never be anything more than friends isn’t because of your rules. It’s because you have no faith in me. Even now, when I’ve survived against all odds and bonded not just one dragon but two, you still think I won’t make it. So forgive me, but you’re about to be some of the bullshit that this place cuts away from me.” I move to the side and march past him through the tunnel, forcing air through my lungs.

 

Sunlight overpowers me for a second as I walk into the courtyard. Classes are out for the afternoon, and I see Xaden and Garrick leaned up against the wall of the academic building like gods surveying their domain.

 

Xaden arches a dark eyebrow as I pass by.

 

I flip him the middle finger.

 

I’m not taking his shit today, either.

 

“Everything all right?” Rhiannon asks as I catch up to her and the guys.

 

“Dain is an ass—”

 

“Make it stop!” someone screams, rushing down the steps of the rotunda and holding his head. It’s a first-year in Third Wing who sits two rows beneath me in Battle Brief and perpetually drops his quill. “For gods’ sake, make it stop!” he shrieks, stumbling into the courtyard.

 

My hands hover over my blades.

 

A shadow moves to my left, and a glance tells me Xaden has moved, casually putting himself just ahead of me.

 

The crowd hollows, forming a circle around the first-year as he screams, clutching his head.

 

“Jeremiah!” someone shouts, coming forward.

 

“You!” Jeremiah spins, pointing his finger at the third-year. “You think I’ve lost it!” His head tilts, and his eyes flare. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!” His tone shifts, like the words aren’t his own.

 

Chills race down my spine, dragging my stomach to the ground.

 

“And you!” He spins again, pointing at a second-year in First Wing. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?” He turns again, focused on Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!” The impression is uncanny, embarrassing, and terrifying.

 

“Oh gods,” I whisper, my heart thundering so loud, I can hear the pounding blood in my ears. Forget the embarrassment. Who cares if people know Dain is thinking about me? Jeremiah’s signet power is manifesting. He can read minds—an inntinnsic. His power is a death sentence.

 

Ridoc stumbles backward on my left—shoved aside—and I don’t need to look to know whose muscled arm now brushes my shoulder. The scent of citrus somehow steadies my heartbeat.

 

Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword. “Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” His panic is palpable, clogging my own throat.

 

Xaden’s unwavering, lethal focus is on Jeremiah, but his body tenses, ready to strike. “Start mentally reciting whatever bookish shit you’ve learned.”

 

“I’m sorry?” I hiss up at him.

 

“If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now,” Xaden orders.

 

Oh. Shit.

 

Nothing comes to mind, and we’re clearly in imminent danger. Um… I start humming my father’s favorite lullaby, the words calming my brain and slowing my racing heart. As I hum I can picture myself there with him, as he strokes my hair, putting me to sleep after I begged him for a story. His office is a scene of organized chaos, but somehow it’s my favorite place in the world. The massive L shaped desk and the built in bookcases he finally made when Mom got stationed here, knowing it would be the most permanent home they’d ever had. The smell of coffee and pages.

 

I’m jolted out of my mind as Jeremiah whips towards us and starts screaming again.

 

“And you!” Jeremiah turns, his gaze locking on Garrick. “Damn it all to hell. Vi will know about…”

The shadows around Jeremiah’s feet snake up his legs in a heartbeat, winding around his chest until they cover his mouth in bands of black.

 

My head whips to where Garrick stands behind me, Vi will know what? He shakes his head as a professor pushes through the crowd, his shock of white hair bouncing with every step of his large frame.

 

“He’s an inntinnsic!” someone shouts, and that seems to be all that’s necessary.

 

The professor grips Jeremiah’s head with both hands, and a crack echoes off the walls of the silent courtyard. Xaden’s shadows melt away and Jeremiah falls to the ground, his head at an unnatural, macabre angle. His neck is broken.

 

The professor bends down and lifts Jeremiah’s body with surprising strength, carrying him into the rotunda.

 

Xaden inhales sharply beside me, then walks away with Garrick, headed toward the academic wing. Nice to see you, too.

 

“Maybe I don’t want a signet power after all,” Ridoc murmurs.

 

“That death is merciful compared to what will happen if you don’t manifest one,” Dain says, and I swear I start to feel my relics burn across my back even though my dragons haven’t started channeling.

 

“And that,” Sawyer says from Rhiannon’s side, “was Professor Carr.”

-     -     -

 I knew I was dreaming because I was back in my dads home office. “You always have to check your sources,” Dad tells me, ruffling my hair as he stands beside me at the small desk he set up for me. “Remember that firsthand accounts are always more accurate, but you have to look deeper, Violet. You have to see who is telling the story.”

 

“But what if I want to be a rider?” I ask with the voice of a much-younger version of me. “Like Brennan and Mom?”

 

“WAKE.” 

 

A familiar, consuming voice rumbles through the room. A voice that doesn’t belong here.

 

“You’re not like them, Violet. That’s not your path.” Dad offers me an apologetic smile, the usual kind that says he sympathizes but there’s nothing he can do, the kind he gives me when Mom makes a choice he doesn’t agree with. “And it’s for the best. Your mother has never understood that while riders may be the weapons of our kingdom, it’s the scribes who have all the real power in this world.”

 

“Wake before you die!” The bookshelves on the shelves tremble, and my heart jolts. “Now!”

 

My eyes fly open, and I gasp as the dream disintegrates. I’m not in his office. I’m in my room in the Riders—

 

“Move!” 

Tairn bellows.

 

“Fuck! She’s awake!” Moonlight reflects off a sword slicing through the air above me.

 

Oh. Shit. I roll toward the opposite side of my bed, snagging the dagger I keep under my pillow, narrowly avoiding the blade that slams down on the bed right where I had been. I wasn’t quite fast enough, and found myself missing a chunk of hair.

 

Adrenaline courses through me as my knees slam into the hardwood floor, and I throw my dagger at the guy who tried to bring his sword down on me. The shocked look in his eyes as he stared at the dagger now impaled in his heart was everything. I thrust my hands beneath my bedmat , drawing back two daggers as I untangle from the covers and gain my feet. How the hell did they get my door unlocked?

 

Pushing my unbound hair out of my face, I meet the wide, shocked eyes of an unbonded first-year, and he’s not the only one. There are seven, well six now cadets in my room. Four are unbonded men. Three are unbonded women—I gasp with recognition—make that two as she runs for the door and slams it on the way out.

 

She opened the door. There’s no other explanation. That Codex loving bitch. 

 

They are all armed. All determined to kill me. All standing between my unlocked door and me. My hands curl around the hilts of my daggers and my heart rate skyrockets. “Guess it won’t do me much good to ask you to leave nicely?”

 

I’m going to have to fight my way out of here.

 

“Get away from the wall! Don’t let them trap you!”

 

Good point. But there’s not exactly a lot of places to go in this tiny room.

 

“Damn it! I told you Jack said her armor is impenetrable!” someone hisses from the other side of the room, blocking my exit. Fucking asshole.

 

I tighten my grip on my daggers, preparing myself to do anything necessary to stay alive and make it out of my own fucking room. The one place I should have been safe in this fucking place. 

 

A woman lunges for me, scrambling across my bed, and I dodge, bringing my dagger down, the meticulously maintained blade slices through the tendon on her wrist with ease. As I move my ass slides along the icy pane of the window. The window!

 

“It’s too high. You’ll fall to the ravine, and I can’t get there fast enough!”

 

No window. Got it. Another woman throws her knife, rending the fabric of my nightgown’s sleeve as it lodges in the armoire, but she misses any flesh. I have got to quit ending up dressed like Garrick. I spin, leaving the sleeve behind as it rips away, and flick my dagger as I round the end of my bed. It lands in her throat, my favorite target, and she goes down with a cry, clutching her wound.

 

But now I’m down to one dagger and the rest of my weapons are stored near the door. Shit. Shit. Shit.

 

“No more throwing things. Keep ahold of that weapon!”

 

For someone who can’t help, Tairn has no problem dishing out opinions.

 

“You have to go for her throat!” someone shouts. “I’ll do it myself!”

 

I move my blade to my right hand and fend off one attack from the left, slicing her down her face, blade dragging through her eye socket, and then another to the right, stabbing into a man’s thigh, his femoral artery arching blood with every rapid heartbeat. I kick out with my heel and catch another in the gut as he attacks, sending him careening back onto my bed, his sword tumbling after him.

 

But now I’m cornered between my desk and the armoire.

 

There are too many of them.

 

And they all rush at the same damn time.

 

My dagger is kicked out of my hand with appalling ease, and my heart seizes as one of Oren’s friends grips my throat, yanking me toward him. I sweep out for his knees, but my bare feet make no impact as he lifts me off the ground, cutting off my air supply as I kick for purchase.

 

No. No. No.

 

I dig my hands into his arm, my fingernails puncturing his skin as I claw, drawing blood. He might bear my scars after this, but his grip doesn’t ease as he crushes my throat. 

 

Air. There’s no air.

 

“He’s almost there!” 

Tairn promises, panic lacing his tone.

 

He who? I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

 

“Finish her!” one of the men yells. “He’ll only respect us if we finish her!”

 

They’re after Tairn. I can hear his roar reverberating around my skull. The sole thought of losing him renews my fight. My legs swing wildly and I connect with his balls. He drops to his knees and his grip on my neck loosens enough that I am able to put my fight training with Imogen to work and free myself. 

 

I snag a dagger from the sheaths at his side, ripping it up his chest and across his throat, turning to face the others as his body slumps to the ground behind me. 

 

In a move so reminiscent of mine, there is a dagger flying for my throat, and I am not quick enough to avoid it. I watch as the blade flips end over end and the only thing that comes to mind is that hopefully Tairn can move on one more time. 

 

My bedroom door flies open behind them, the wood splintering as it slams against the stone wall, but I don’t have a chance to process who is standing there before a shriek pierces my brain.

 

“Mine!”

Andarna screams.

 

Skin-prickling energy zings down my spine, then rushes to my fingertips and toes, and the next breath I take is in total, complete silence.

 

“Go!”

Andarna demands. 

 

I blink and realize the first-year in front of me doesn’t. She isn’t breathing. Isn’t moving.

 

No one is. It is as if everyone is frozen in place, except for me. 

 

What. The. Hell.

 

It’s as if everyone in my room has turned to stone, but I know that can’t be true. 

 

The dagger has only just reached my throat, a perfect throw if I do say so myself. A single drop of blood drips from the sharp tip, splattering on the hardwood, and there’s a trickle of wetness down my throat.

 

“Quick! I can’t hold it!”

Andarna urges, her voice thready.

 

She’s doing this? I gulp heaving breaths through my battered windpipe and snag the dagger out of the air. 

Complete, unearthly silence.

 

The clock on my desk isn’t ticking as I squeeze between Oren’s elbow and a giant guy who used to be from Second Wing. No one breathes. Their gazes are frozen. To the left, the woman I sliced open is hunched over, clutching her forearm, and the man I stabbed is leaned against the wall on the right, staring in horror at his thigh, the spurt of blood from his artery frozen in an arch across the room. 

 

I mark time in thunderous heartbeats as I stumble across the room and slit the throat of the woman who threw the very dagger I am holding. Viciously. Mercilessly. The same way they would have ended my life. 

 

Xaden fills the doorway like some kind of dark, avenging angel. He’s fully dressed, his face a mask of veritable rage as shadows curl from the walls on either side of him, hanging in midair.

 

Andarna gasps in my mind—and chaos resumes.

 

Nausea clenches my stomach. That was trippy. 

 

“It’s about damned time, ” 

Tairn rumbles.

 

Xaden’s gaze snaps to mine, his onyx eyes flaring in shock for no longer than a millisecond before he strides forward, his shadows streaming before him as he stands at my side. He snaps his fingers and the room illuminates, mage lights hovering above us.

 

“You’re all fucking dead.” His voice is eerily calm and all the scarier for it.

 

Every head in the room turns.

 

“Riorson!” one of them exclaims and their dagger clatters to the floor.

 

“You think surrendering will save you?” Xaden’s lethally soft tone sends goose bumps up my arms. “It is against our code to attack another rider in their sleep.”

 

“But you know he never should have bonded her!” Jacks buddy puts his hands up, his palms facing us. “You of all people have reason enough to want the weakling dead. We’re just correcting a mistake.”

 

“Dragons don’t make mistakes.” Xaden’s shadows grab every remaining assailant by the throat, then constrict. They struggle, but it doesn’t matter. Their faces turn purple, the shadows holding tight as they sag to their knees, falling in an arc in front of me like lifeless puppets.

 

I can’t find it in my heart to pity them.

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick walks in, sheathing his sword as his gaze rakes over the room. “No time for questioning?” His glance sweeps to me as if cataloging injuries, catching on my throat. The rage that consumes his face as seeing the offending mark surprises me. 

 

“No need for it, and she was more lethal than I was.” Xaden counters as Bodhi enters, doing the same quick assessment Garrick had. The similarity between the cousins still gives me pause. Bodhi has the same bronzed skin and strong brow line, but his features aren’t as angular as Xaden’s, and his eyes are a lighter shade of brown. He looks like a softer, more approachable version of his older cousin. An illogical laugh bubbles up through my lips, and all three men look at me like I’ve hit my head.

 

“Let me guess,” Bodhi says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re on cleanup?”

 

“Call in help if you need it,” Xaden answers with a nod.

 

Bodies.

 

I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive. I repeat the mantra in my head as Xaden wipes the blood from my dagger on the back of Oren’s tunic.

 

“Yes. You’re alive.” Xaden steps over Oren’s body and two others, retrieving my dagger from the fallen woman’s shoulder before reaching my armoire. I don’t even recognize her, and yet she tried to kill me.

 

Garrick and Bodhi haul out the first bodies.

 

“I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.” The trembling starts in my knees, and then nausea overpowers me. Fuck, I thought I’d worked past this kind of reaction to adrenaline, but here I am, shaking like a leaf as Xaden sorts through my armoire.

 

“It’s the shock,” he says, whipping my cloak from its hook and retrieving a pair of boots. I had never had that problem before, or maybe no one had told me. “Are you hurt?” His words are clipped and break whatever temporary block I had on the pain. It comes flooding back in a throbbing wave that centers in my back. So much for the adrenaline rush.

 

Every breath feels like I’m broken glass down my throat, so I keep them short and shallow. But I manage to stay on my feet, retreating until I feel the stone wall against my back, letting it take my weight.

 

“Come on, Violence.” his tone is as tense as his shoulders as he folds my cloak over his arm and brings my boots through the remaining bodies he’s left on my floor. “Pull your shit together and tell me where you’re hurt.” He’s killed three people without so much as a spot of blood on his midnight-black leathers. My boots hit the ground next to my feet and my cloak lands on the little armchair in the corner.

 

“You’re breathing like crap, so I’m guessing it has to do with—”

 

“My throat,” I finish before he can guess. “The one by the armoir choked me.” I’m glad Mira had insisted I sleep in the corset. I had worn it almost 24/7 since I got here and it had easily handled any and all of the dagger strikes that anyone had managed to land.

 

“I can see the holes in your nightdress where they tried to stab you. I’m guessing since there’s no blood, it has something to do with that corset you always wear.

 

“Trust him,” 

Tairn demands.

 

“It’s not that easy.”

 

“It has to be for now.”

 

“It’s dragon-scale.” I lift my right arm and pivot slightly so he can see the gaping hole in my nightdress. “Mira made it for me. It’s why I’ve lived this long.”

 

He glances at it, his mouth tensing before he nods once. “Ingenious, though I’d say there are multiple reasons for why you’ve made it this far.” Before I can argue that point, his gaze shifts to my throat and narrows at what I imagine has to be the purple imprint of a hand. 

 

“I’m fine.” I’m not.

 

His focus snaps back to my eyes. “Never lie to me.” He says it with such ferocity, bit out through gritted teeth, that I can’t help but nod in promise. It almost feels like he cares, but then he opens his mouth again “my life depends on my ability to keep you alive. Now let me see.”

 

I open and shut my mouth twice. “I’m fine.” I push past him, starting to pick up my clothes that the intruders have scattered all over the ground in the scuffle. If you could even call it that.

 

Two other men walk in through the open door, Garrick and Bodhi following closely after. They’re all…dressed. Fully clothed at—I glance at the clock—two a.m.

 

“Take those two, and we’ll get the last ones,” Garrick orders, and the others get to work, carrying the last of the bodies out through the door. I can’t help but notice they all have rebellion relics shimmering up their arms, but I keep the observation to myself.

 

“Thank you,” Xaden says, then returns his focus to me. “May I take a closer look” he motions to where the corset covers me from hip to sternum. 

I swallow, then nod. I turn my back on him, but I can see his face in the full-length mirror as I shrug out of the billowing sleeves of my nightdress, holding the material above my breasts as it dips in the back to my waist. “You’ll have to—”

 

“I know how to handle a corset.” His jaw flexes once, and something that reminds me of raw hunger flitters across his expression before he locks it down, drawing my hair over my shoulder with surprising gentleness.

 

His fingers skim my bare skin and I suppress a shiver, locking my muscles so I don’t arch into his touch.

 

What the hell is wrong with me? There’s still blood on my floor and yet my breaths are tight for the entirely wrong reason as he makes quick work of the laces, starting at the bottom. He wasn’t lying. He absolutely knows his way around a corset.

 

“How the hell do you get yourself into this thing every morning?” he asks, clearing his throat as inch after inch of my back is exposed.

 

“I’m freakishly flexible. It’s part of the whole bones-snapping, joints-tearing thing,” I answer over my shoulder. I knew Garrick and Imogen had talked to him about it, because the next night he had shown up in the gym and led me through a whole new series of exercises meant to help my tendons and joints.  

 

Our eyes meet, and warmth flutters through my stomach. The moment is gone as quickly as it came, and he pulls my armor apart, inspecting the corset with an intensity I had never seen. 

 

“Mira is brilliant, we should be making these.”

 

Of course she is, but I don’t need to tell him that. Instead I say “Teine helped Mira collect her shed scales, and then Mira had a friend size them down using their signet.”

 

He seems to think for a moment, probably remembering signets of cadets that graduated the past 2 years, and then he nods. 

 

“Now put your boots on.” His voice is gruff and he clearly expects me to just follow his orders. I put my boots on quickly, using the lacing technique I had picked up from Mira as it was 3x as fast as the usual way. 

 

“Let’s go.” He wraps my cloak around my shoulders and buttons it at my collar and tugs the hood over my head and halfway down my face. Dark and mysterious it is I guess. Then he grasps my hand and tugs me into the hallway. His fingers are strong as they curl around mine, his grip firm and bordering on too tight.

 

Every other door is shut. The attack wasn’t even loud enough to rouse my neighbors. I’d be dead by now if Xaden hadn’t shown up, even if I had managed to avoid the dagger. But how did that happen?

 

“Where are we going?” The hallways are dimly lit by blue mage lights, the kind that signal it’s still night for those without windows.

 

“Keep talking loud enough for others to hear, and someone will stop us before we get anywhere.”

 

“Can’t you just hide us in shadows or something?”

 

“Sure, because a giant black cloud moving down the hallway isn’t going to look more suspicious than a couple sneaking around.” He shoots me a look that keeps me from countering.

 

Point taken.

 

Not that we’re a couple.

 

Not that I wouldn’t climb the man like a tree if presented with the right set of circumstances. I cringe as we make it to the main hallway of the dormitory. There will never, ever be a right set of circumstances when it comes to him, let alone right after we’ve executed half a dozen people.

 

Even if he only did it because my life is tied to his. My chest screams for a break, but there’s none to be found as he leads me past the spiral staircase that leads up to the second- and third-year dorms and into the rotunda.

 

I can’t drag enough air through my throat, and every breath burns. But still he drags me behind him. Uncaring of my struggle. 

 

Our boots against the marble floor are the only sounds as we pass into the academic wing. Instead of turning left, toward the sparring gym, he takes us right, down a set of stairs that I know leads to storage.

 

Halfway down the steps, he pauses, and I nearly run into the sword strapped to his back. Then he gestures with his right hand, keeping mine in his left.

 

Click. Xaden pushes on the stones and a hidden door swings open.

 

“Holy shit,” I whisper at the expansive tunnel revealed before us.

 

“Hope you’re not afraid of the dark.” He pulls me inside, and suffocating darkness envelops us as the door closes.

 

This is fine. This is absolutely fine.

 

Then he snaps and a mage light hovers above our head, illuminating our surroundings.

 

“Thanks.” The tunnel is supported by arches of stone and the floor is smooth, as though it’s been traveled more than its entrance lets on. It smells like earth but isn’t dank, and it goes on for what seems like an eternity.

 

He drops my hand and starts walking. “Keep up.”

 

“You could—” I wince. Fuck, my throat hurts. “Be a little more considerate.” I trudge after him, dropping my hood.

 

“I’m not going to baby you like Aetos has. That’s only going to get you killed once we get out of Basgiath.”

 

“He doesn’t baby me.”

 

“He does and you know it. You hate it, too, if the vibe I’m picking up on is any indication.” He falls back to walk at my side. “Or did I read that wrong?”

 

“He thinks this place is too dangerous for someone…like me, and after what just happened, I’m not sure I can really argue with him.” I was asleep. That’s the only time we’re supposed to be guaranteed safety around here. “I don’t think I’ll bother sleeping again.” I shoot a look sideways. His expression gives away that he is clearly irritated. “And don’t you even think about suggesting that you sleep with me for safety from now on—” well apparently my filter is off tonight. 

 

He scoffs. “Hardly. I don’t fuck first-years—even when I was one—let alone…you.” The disgust on his face is scathing and I recoil. 

 

“Who said anything about fucking?” I fire back “I’d have to be a masochist to sleep with you, and I can assure you, I’m not.” 

 

“Masochist, huh?” A corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk.

 

“You hardly give off snuggly morning-after vibes.” A smile of my own curves my lips. “Unless you’re worried about me killing you while we sleep.” We round a corner, and the tunnel continues.

 

“As violent as you are, and skilled with those daggers, I’m not worried about you committing murder-suicide” He shoots a disapproving look my way. 

 

The hallway seems to go on forever, I’m not even sure where we are right now. “Where are we going?” 

 

“We’re going to ask Tairn what the hell just happened.” Xaden’s jaw flexes. “And I’m not talking about the attack. How the hell did they get past your locks?”

 

I shrug but don’t bother to explain. There’s no way he’ll believe me. I barely believe it myself.

 

“We’d better figure it out so it doesn’t happen again. I refuse to sleep on your fucking floor like some kind of guard dog.”

 

“Wait. This is another way to the flight field?” I do my best to mentally wall off the pain in my throat and ribs. “He’s bringing me to you,” I tell Tairn.

 

“I know.”

 

“Are you going to tell me what that was in there?”

 

“I would if I knew.”

 

“Yes,” Xaden says, and the path curves again. “It’s not exactly common knowledge. And I’m going to ask you to tuck this little tunnel into the file of secrets you keep on my behalf.”

 

“Let me guess, and you’ll know if I tell?”

 

“Yes.” Another smirk appears..

 

“Are you going to promise me another favor?” The path begins to climb, and the ascent is anything but gentle. Every breath reminds me of what happened less than an hour ago.

 

“Having one of my favors is more than enough, and we’ve already reached mutually assured destruction status, Sorrengail. Now, can you push through it, or do you need me to carry you?”

 

“That sounds like an insult, not an offer.”

 

“You’re catching on.” But his pace slows to match mine.

 

The ground shifts beneath my feet as though it’s rocking, but I know better. It’s my head, the result of the pain and stress. My steps wobble.

 

Xaden’s arm wraps around my waist, steadying me. I hate how his touch elevates my heart rate as we continue the climb, but I don’t protest. I don’t want to be grateful for anything when it comes to him. “What were you doing tonight anyway?”

 

“What makes you ask?” His tone clearly insinuates that I shouldn’t.

 

Too bad.

 

“You made it to my room within minutes, and you’re not exactly dressed for sleeping.” He’s strapped with a sword for crying out loud.

 

“Maybe I sleep in my armor, too.”

 

“Then you should pick more trustworthy bedmates.”

 

He snorts, a flash of a smile appearing for a heartbeat. A real one. Not the fake, forced sneer I’m used to seeing or the cocky little smirk. An honest, heart-stopping smile that I’m anything but immune to. It’s gone as fast as it appears, though.

 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” I ask. I’d be frustrated if I didn’t hurt so damned much. And I’m not even going to touch why he needed to haul us all the way to Tairn when I can chat with him anytime I want.

 

Unless he wants to talk to Tairn, which is…ballsy.

 

“Nope. Third-year business.” He lets go when we reach the stonewalled end of the tunnel. A few hand gestures and another click sounds before he pushes open the door.

 

We step out into crisp, freezingly cold November air.

 

“What the hell,” I whisper. The door is built into a stack of boulders on the eastern side of the field.

 

“It’s camouflaged.” Xaden waves a hand and the door closes, blending into the rock as if it’s a part of it.

 

There’s a sound I now recognize as the steady beat of wings, and I look up to see the three dragons block out the stars as they descend. The earth shudders as they land in front of us.

 

“I’m guessing the wingleader wants a word?” 

 

Tairn steps forward and Sgaeyl follows, her wings tucked in tight, her golden eyes narrowing on me. She regards me with as much disdain as her rider does. 

 

Andarna scurries between Sgaeyl’s claws, galloping toward us. She skids the last dozen feet, paws digging into the ground to stop just in front of me, bringing her nose to my chest as an urgent sense of anxiety fills my head, swamping me with feelings I know aren’t mine.

 

“I’m ok,” I promise, stroking my hand over the bumpy ridges of her head. 

 

“You’re sure?”  

she asks, worry widening her eyes.

 

“As sure as I can be.” I force a smile. Trudging out here in the middle of the night is worth it to alleviate her anxiety.

 

“Yes, I want a word. What the hell kind of powers are you channeling to her?” Xaden demands, staring up at Tairn like he isn’t…Tairn.

 

Yep. Ballsy. Every muscle in my body locks, sure that Tairn is about to torch Xaden for impudence.

 

“None of your business what I choose or do not choose to channel toward my rider,” 

Tairn answers with a growl.

 

This is going well.

 

“He says—” I start.

 

“I heard him,” Xaden counters, not sparing me a glance.

 

“You what?” My eyebrows hit my hairline, and Andarna retreats to stand with the others. Dragons only talk to their riders. That’s what I’ve always been taught.

 

“It’s absolutely my business when you expect me to protect her,” Xaden retorts, his voice rising.

 

“I got the mes sage to you just fine, human.” 

Tairn’s head swivels in that snakelike motion that puts me on alert. He’s more than agitated.

 

“And I barely made it.” The words come out clipped through clenched teeth. “She would have been dead if I’d been thirty seconds later.”

 

“Seems like you had thirty seconds gifted to you.”  

Tairn’s chest rumbles with a growl.

 

“And I’d like to know what the fuck happened in there!”

 

I inhale sharply.

 

“Don’t hurt him,” I beg Tairn. “He saved me.” I’ve never seen someone so much as dare to speak to another rider’s dragon, yet alone yell at one, especially not one as powerful as Tairn.

 

He grumbles in response.

 

“We need to know what happened in that room.” Xaden’s dark gaze cuts through me like a knife for a millisecond before he glares back at Tairn.

 

“Do not dare to try and read me, human, or you’ll regret it.” 

 

Read him? What the hell is Tairn talking about? Tairn’s mouth opens, his tongue curling in a motion I know all too well.

 

I move between the two and tilt my chin at Tairn. “He’s just a little freaked out. Don’t scorch him.”

 

“At least we agree on something.”  

A feminine voice sounds through my head.

 

Sgaeyl.

 

In awe, I blink up at the navy-blue daggertail as Xaden moves to my side. “She talked to me.”

 

“I know. I heard.” He folds his arms across his chest. “It’s because they’re mates. It’s the same reason I’m chained to you.”

 

“You make it sound so pleasant.”

 

“It’s not.” He turns to face me. “But you and I are exactly that, Violence. We’re chained. Tethered. You die, I die, so I damn well deserve to know how the hell you were about to take a knife to the throat one second and across the room in another. Is that the signet power you’ve manifested with Tairn? Come clean. Now.” His eyes bore into me.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” I answer honestly.

 

“Nature likes all things in balance,” 

Andarna says like she’s reciting facts, just like I do when I’m nervous. 

“That’s the first thing we’re taught.”

 

I pivot to face the golden dragon, repeating what she said to Xaden.

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks me, not her.

 

Guess that means he can hear Tairn, but not Andarna.

 

“Well, not the first thing.” 

Andarna sits, flicking her feathertail along the frost-laden grass.

 “The first thing is we shouldn’t bond until we’re full-grown.” 

She cocks her head to the side. 

“Or maybe the first is where the sheep are? I like goats better, though.”

 

“This is why feathertails don’t bond.”  

Tairn sighs with a hefty dose of exasperation.

 

“Let her explain, ” 

Sgaeyl urges, clicking her talons like nails on the ground.

 

“Feathertails shouldn’t bond because they can accidentally gift their powers to humans,” Andarna continues. 

“Dragons can’t channel—not really—until we’re big, but we’re all born with something special.”

 

I relay the message. “Like a signet?” I ask out loud so Xaden can hear.

 

“No,” 

Sgaeyl answers.

  “A signet is a combination of our power with your own ability to channel. It reflects who you are at the core of your being.”

 

Andarna sits up and tilts her head proudly.

“But I gave my gift directly to you. Because I’m still a feathertail.”

 

I repeat again, staring at the smaller dragon. Almost nothing is known about feathertails because they’re never seen outside the Vale. They’re guarded. They’re… I swallow. Wait. What did she say? “You’re still a feathertail?”

 

“Yep! For another couple of years, probably.” 

She blinks slowly and then cracks a yawn, her forked tail curling.

 

Oh. Gods. “You’re…you’re a hatchling,” I whisper.

 

“I am not!” 

Andarna puffs steam into the air. 

“I’m two! The hatchlings can’t even fly!”

 

“She’s a what?” Xaden’s gaze swings between Andarna and me.

 

I glare up at Tairn. “You let a juvenile bond? A juvenile train for war?”

 

“We mature at a much faster rate than humans,” 

he argues, having the nerve to look affronted. 

“And I’m not sure anyone lets Andarna do anything.”

 

“How much faster?” I gasp. “She’s two years old!”

 

“She’ll be full-grown in a year or two, but some are slower than others,” 

Sgaeyl answers. 

“And if I thought she’d actually bond, I would have objected harder to her Right of Benefaction.” She chuffs at Andarna in obvious disapproval.

 

“Hold on. Is Andarna yours?” Xaden walks a step toward Sgaeyl, and the tone in his voice is one I’ve never heard. He’s…hurt. “Have you hidden a hatchling away from me these last two years?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Sgaeyl blows out a blast of air that ruffles Xaden’s hair. 

“Do you think I’d let my offspring bond while still feathered?”

 

“Her parents passed before hatching,” 

Tairn answers.

 

My heart sinks. “Oh, I’m sorry, Andarna.”

 

“I have lots of elders,” 

she responds, as though that makes up for it, but having lost my dad…I know it doesn’t.

 

“Not enough to keep you off the Threshing field,”  

Tairn grumbles.

 “Feathertails don’t bond because their power is too unpredictable. Unstable.”

 

“Unpredictable?” Xaden questions.

 

“ The same way you wouldn’t hand a toddler your signet, would you, wingleader?”

 Tairn grunts when Andarna sags against his foreleg.

 

“Gods, no. I could barely control it as a first-year.” Xaden shakes his head.

 

It’s odd to imagine Xaden ever not being in control. Hell, I’d pay good money to see him lose it. To be the one he lost it with. Nope. I shut that thought down immediately.

 

“Exactly. Bonding too young allows them to give their gift directly, and a rider could easily drain them and burn out.”

 

“I would never!” I shake my head.

 

“That’s why I chose you.”  

Andarna’s head flops against Tairn’s leg. How could I not see it before now? Her rounded eyes, her paws…

 

“Of course, you wouldn’t know. Feathertails aren’t supposed to be seen,”

 Tairn says, glancing sideways at his mate.

 

She doesn’t even roll her eyes.

 

“If leadership knew riders could take her gifts for themselves, rather than depending on their own signets…” Xaden says, staring at Andarna as she blinks slower and slower.

 

“She’d be hunted,” I finish quietly.

 

“Which is why you can’t tell anyone what she is,”  

Sgaeyl says. 

“ Hopefully she’ll mature once you’re out of the quadrant, and the elders are already placing more…stringent protections on the feathertails.”

 

“I won’t,” I promise. “Andarna, thank you. Whatever you did saved my life.”

 

“I made time stop.” 

Her mouth drops open into another jaw-cracking yawn.

 “But only for a little bit.”

 

Wait. What? My stomach hits the ground as I stare into Andarna’s golden eyes and forget the pain, the solid earth beneath my feet, even the need to breathe as shock rolls through me, robbing me of logic.

 

No one can stop time. Nothing can stop it. It’s…unheard of.

 

“What did she say?” Xaden asks, gripping my shoulders and shaking me. As if he is trying to shake some sense back into me

 

Tairn growls and a puff of steam blasts us both.

 

“I’d take your hands off the rider,”

 Sgaeyl warns.

 

Xaden releases me, but his gaze tell me he isn’t happy. “Tell me what she said.” It’s not a request, it's an order. 

 

Tairn lowers his head to Xaden’s level and snaps his teeth.

 

“She can pause time,” I force out, stumbling over my words. “Briefly.”

 

Xaden’s features slacken, and for the first time, he doesn’t look like the stalwart, lethal wingleader I met on the parapet. He’s flat-out shocked as his gaze swings to Andarna. “You can stop time?”

 

“And now we can stop it.”

 She blinks slowly.

 

 I can feel exhaustion wafting off her. Channeling that gift to me tonight cost her. She can barely keep her eyes open.

 

“In small increments,” I whisper.

 

“In small increments,” Xaden echoes slowly, like he’s absorbing the information.

 

“And if I use it too much, I can kill you,” I say softly to Andarna.

 

“Kill us.” 

She stands on all four paws. 

“But I know you won’t.”

 

“I’ll do my best to be worthy.” The ramifications of this gift, this exceptional power, hit me like a death blow, and my stomach bottoms out. “Is Professor Carr going to kill me, too?”

 

Every gaze whips toward me, and Xaden’s grip tightens on my shoulders, his thumbs stroking in a soothing motion. “Why would you think that?”

 

“He killed Jeremiah.” I push the panic away and focus on the tiny golden flecks in Xaden’s onyx eyes. “You saw him snap his neck like a twig right in front of the whole quadrant.”

 

“Jeremiah was an inntinnsic.” Xaden’s voice lowers. “A mind reader is a capital offense. You know that.” There is something that niggles in the back of my mind. Tiny things that keep adding up, but I haven’t figured them out yet. 

 

“And what are they going to do if they find out I can stop time?” Terror freezes the blood in my veins.

 

“They’re not going to find out,” Xaden promises. “No one is going to tell them. Not you. Not me. Not them.” He motions with one hand toward our trio of dragons. “Understand?”

 

“He’s right,” 

Tairn says. 

“They can’t find out. And there’s no saying how long you’ll have the ability. 

Most feathertail gifts disappear with maturity when they begin to channel.”

 

Andarna cracks another yawn, looking nearly dead on her feet.

 

“Get some sleep,” I tell her. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

 

“Let’s go, Golden One,” 

Tairn says, 

 

and they all bend slightly, then launch, wind gusting against my face. Andarna struggles, her wings beating twice as hard, and Tairn flies up underneath her, taking her weight and continuing on to the Vale.

 

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about the time-stopping,” Xaden asks as we head back into the tunnel, but it feels an awful lot like a command. “It’s not just for your safety. Rare abilities, when kept secret, are the most valuable form of currency we possess.”

 

My brow furrows as I study the stark lines of the rebellion relic that winds up his neck, marking him as a traitor’s son, warning everyone that he’s not to be trusted. Maybe he’s telling me to keep quiet for his own gain, so he can use me later down the road.

 

At least that means he intends for me to be alive at a later date.

 

“We need to figure out how unbonded cadets got in your room,” he says.

 

“There was a rider there,” I tell him. “Someone who ran away before you arrived. She must have unlocked it from the outside.”

 

“Who?” He halts, taking my elbow gently and turning me toward him.

 

I shake my head. There’s no way he’ll believe me. I barely believe it myself.

 

“At some point, you and I are going to have to start trusting each other, Sorrengail. The rest of our lives depend on it.” Fury swims in Xaden’s eyes. “Now tell me who.”

 

 

AN: Whoops the length got away from me on this one, but no where felt like a good place to end it. 

Chapter 12: Chapter 12

Notes:

Posted 8/22/25

Accusing a wingleader of wrongdoing is the most dangerous of all accusations. If you’re right, then we’ve failed as a quadrant to select the best wingleaders. If you’re wrong, you’re dead.

 

—My Time as a Cadet: A Memoir

by General Augustine Melgren

“Oren Seifert.” Captain Fitzgibbons finishes reading the death roll and closes the scroll as we stand in formation the next morning, our breath creating clouds in the chilled air. “We commend their souls to Malek.”

 

There’s no room for sorrow in my heart for six of the eight names, not when I’m ignoring the way other riders stare at the ring of bruises I wear around my throat. Not even the warm tea with honey I drank this morning helped. My voice is raspy and barely audible, and that’s when I can force myself to speak through the pain. 

 

The two others on today’s list are third-years from Second Wing, killed on a training operation near the Braevick border, according to breakfast gossip, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s where Xaden had been before coming to my rescue last night.

 

“I can’t believe they tried to kill you while you were sleeping.” Rhiannon’s still seething at breakfast after I told our table what happened.

 

Maybe Xaden is fighting to keep last night’s events a secret, to hide what a liability I really am to him, because no one else in leadership knows. He didn’t say a single word after I told him who unlocked the door, so I have no clue if he believes me or not.

 

“Even worse, I think I’m getting used to it.” Either I have kick-ass compartmentalization skills or I really am acclimating to always being a target.

 

Captain Fitzgibbons makes some minor announcements, and I tune him out as someone strides our way, cutting through the space between the Flame and Tail Sections of our wing.

 

Just like it always does, my stupid, hormone-driven heart stutters at the first sight of Xaden. Even the most effective poisons come in pretty packages, and Xaden’s exactly that—as beautiful as he is lethal. He looks deceptively calm as he approaches, but I can feel his tension as if it’s my own, like a panther prowling toward his prey. 

 

Oh shit. This feeling right here—the way my breath catches and my entire body draws tight when he’s near—is why I haven’t taken anyone to bed or celebrated like the rest of my perfectly normal friends. This feeling is why I haven’t wanted anyone…else.

 

Because I want him.

 

There aren’t enough curse words in the world for this. This is bad, very bad. The man is a complete asshole, and has no problem doing what is right for him, screw everyone else and damn the consequences. I have already been in a relationship like that, fuck every doing that again. 

 

His gaze locks with mine just long enough to quicken my pulse before he addresses Dain, ignoring Fitzgibbons’s announcements behind him. “There’s a change to your squad roll.”

 

“Wingleader?” Dain questions, his spine straightening. “We just absorbed four from the dissolution of the third squad.”

 

“Yes.” Xaden looks to the right, where Second Squad, Tail Section stands at attention. “Belden, we’re making a roll change.”

 

“Yes, sir.” The squad leader nods once.

 

“Aetos, Vaughn Penley will be leaving your command, and you’ll be gaining Liam Mairi from Tail Section.”

 

Dain’s mouth snaps shut, and he nods.

 

We all watch as the two first-year riders exchange places. Penley’s only been with us since Threshing, so there’s no heartfelt goodbye from our original squad, but the other three grumble.

 

Liam nods at Xaden, and my stomach twists. I know exactly why he’s being put under Dain’s command. The guy is massive, as tall as Sawyer and as built as Dain, with light-blond hair, prominent nose, blue eyes, and the sprawling rebellion relic that begins at his wrist and disappears under the sleeve of his tunic gives his mission away.

 

“I do not need a bodyguard,” I snap at Xaden. Gods that hurt. Am I out of line speaking to a wingleader that way? Absolutely. Do I care? Not one bit.

 

He ignores me, facing Dain. “Liam is statistically the strongest first-year in the quadrant. He has the fastest time up the Gauntlet, hasn’t lost a single challenge, and is bonded to an exceptionally strong Red Daggertail. Any squad would be lucky to have him, and he’s all yours, Aetos. You can thank me when you win the Squad Battle in the spring.”

 

Liam steps into formation behind me, taking Penley’s place.

 

“I. Do. Not. Need. A. Bodyguard,” I repeat, a little louder this time. Every word feels like I’m gargling with glass shards. I could give two fucks who hears me.

 

One of the first-years behind me gasps, mortified by my audacity, no doubt.

 

Imogen snorts. “Good luck with that approach.”

 

Xaden walks past Dain and stands directly in front of me, leaning into my space. “You do, though, as we both learned last night. And I can’t be everywhere you are. But Liam here”—he points back to the blond Tyr—“he’s a first-year, so he can be in every class, at every challenge, and I even had him assigned to library duty, so I hope you get used to him, Sorrengail.”

 

“You’re overstepping.” My nails bite into my palms.

 

“You haven’t begun to see overstepping,” he warns, his voice dropping low, sending a shiver down my spine. “Any threat against you is a threat against me, and as we’ve already established, I have more important things to do than sleep on your floor.”

 

Heat flushes up my neck and stains my cheeks. “He is not sleeping in my room.”

 

“Of course not.” He freaking smirks, and my traitorous stomach dips. “I had him moved into the one next to yours. Wouldn’t want to overstep.” He turns on his heel and walks away, headed back to his place at the front of our formation.

 

“Fucking mated dragons,” Dain seethes, keeping his eyes forward. I couldn’t help but agree with him. 

 

Fitzgibbons finishes his announcements and steps to the back of the dais, which would usually signal the end of formation, but Commandant Panchek takes the podium. He makes it a habit to avoid morning formation, which means something is up.

 

“What’s going on with Panchek?” Rhiannon asks at my side.

 

“Not sure.” I take a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my ribs.

 

“It has to be something big if he’s fumbling with a Codex up there,” Rhiannon says.

 

“Quiet,” Dain orders, glancing back over his shoulder at us for the first time this morning. He does a double-take, his eyes flaring wide as he catches sight of my neck. “Vi?”

 

He hasn’t spoken to me since our fight yesterday. Gods, how has it been less than twenty-four hours when I feel like a completely different person?

 

“I’m fine,” I assure him, but he’s still staring at my throat, locked in shock. “Squad Leader Aetos, people are staring.” We hold way more than our share of the attention as Commandant Panchek begins to speak at the podium, telling us that there’s another matter to handle this morning, but Dain won’t look away. “Dain!”

 

He blinks, jerking his gaze to mine, and the apology in those soft brown eyes clogs my throat. “Is that what Riorson meant by last night?”

 

I nod.

 

“I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Because you wouldn’t believe me, even if I did.

 

“I’m fine,” I repeat, nodding toward the dais. “Later.”

 

He turns, but the motion is reluctant.

 

“It has been brought to my attention as your commandant that a breach of the Codex has occurred,” Panchek calls out over the courtyard.

 

“As you know, breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated,” Panchek continues. “This matter will be addressed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward.”

 

“Someone’s in trouble,” Rhiannon whispers. “Think Ridoc finally got caught in Tyvon Varen’s bed?”

 

“That’s hardly against the Codex,” Ridoc murmurs from behind us.

 

“He’s the executive officer for Second Wing.” I send a pointed look over my shoulder.

 

“And?” Ridoc shrugs, grinning without a touch of remorse. “Fraternizing with command is frowned upon, not unlawful.”

 

I sigh, facing forward. “I miss sex.” I really do, and it’s not just the physical gratification, either. There’s a sense of connection in those moments that I crave, a momentary banishment of loneliness.

 

The first is something I’m sure Xaden would be more than capable of providing, if he ever thought of me that way, but the second? He’s the last person I would think could make that feeling go away. 

 

“If you’re looking for a little fun, I’m happy to oblige—” Ridoc starts, shoving his floppy brown hair off his forehead with a wink.

 

“I miss good sex,” I counter, smothering a smile as someone walks from the front of formation toward the dais, indistinguishable through the rows of the squads ahead of us. “Besides, apparently you’re spoken for.” Have to admit, it feels good to tease a friend about something so trivial. It’s a tiny slice of normalcy in an otherwise macabre environment.

 

“We’re not exclusive,” Ridoc counters. “It’s like Rhiannon and what’s-her-name…”

 

“Tara,” Rhiannon offers.

 

“Will you all shut the hell up?” Dain barks in his superior-officer voice.

 

Our mouths snap shut.

 

Mine drops open again when I realize it’s Xaden climbing the steps to the dais. My stomach lurches as I suck in a tight breath. “This is about me,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone.

 

But Dain glances back at me, confusion furrowing his brow before whipping his attention toward the dais, where Xaden now stands at the podium, somehow managing to fill the entire stage with his presence.

 

From what I remember reading, his father had that same magnetism, the ability to hold and capture a crowd with nothing but his words…words that led to Brennan’s death.

 

“Early this morning,” he begins, his deep voice carrying over the formation, “a rider in my wing was brutally, illegally attacked in her sleep with the intent of murder by a group primarily composed of unbondeds.”

 

A collection of murmurs and gasps fills the air, and Dain’s shoulders stiffen.

 

“As we all know, this is a violation of Article Three, Section Two of the Dragon Rider’s Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense.”

 

I feel the weight of a dozen glances, but it’s Xaden’s I feel most of all.

 

His hands clench the sides of the podium. “Having been alerted by my dragon, I interrupted the attack along with two other Fourth Wing riders.” He dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind Xaden, their hands at their sides. “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.”

 

“Both Tyrs. How convenient,” Nadine, one of our new additions to the squad, says from the row behind Ridoc and Liam.

 

I look back over my shoulder and pin her with a glare.

 

Liam keeps his eyes forward.

 

“But the attack was orchestrated by a rider who fled before I arrived,” Xaden continues, his voice rising. “A rider who had access to the map of where all first-years are assigned to sleep, and that rider must be brought to swift justice.”

 

Shit. This is about to get ugly.

 

“I call you to answer for your crime against Cadet Sorrengail.” Xaden’s focus shifts to the center of the formation. “Wingleader Amber Mavis.”

 

The quadrant draws a collective breath before an uproar rips through the crowd.

 

“What the hell?” Dain bites out.

 

My chest tightens. Gods, I hate it when Dain proves me right.

 

Rhiannon reaches for my hand, squeezing tight in support as every rider in the courtyard’s attention pivots between Xaden, Amber…and me.

 

“She’s a Tyr, too, Nadine,” Ridoc says over his shoulder. “Or are you only biased against marked ones?”

 

Amber’s family stayed loyal to Navarre, so she wasn’t forced to watch her parents executed and wasn’t marked by a rebellion relic.

 

“Amber would never.” Dain shakes his head. “A wingleader would never.” He turns completely to face me. “Get up there and tell everyone that he’s lying, Vi.”

 

“But he’s not,” I say as gently as I can.

 

“It’s impossible.” His cheeks flush a mottled shade of red.

 

“I was there, Dain.” The reality of his disbelief hurts so much more than I expected, like a blow to my already battered emotions.

 

“Wingleaders are beyond reproach—”

 

“Then why are you so quick to call our own wingleader a liar?” My brows rise in challenge, daring him to say what he’s so careful to keep quiet.

 

Behind him, Amber steps forward, separating herself from the formation. “I have committed no such crime!”

 

“See?” Dain swings his arm, pointing toward the redhead. “Put a stop to this right now, Violet.”

 

“She was with them in my room,” I say simply. Shouting won’t convince him. Nothing will.

 

“That’s impossible.” He lifts his hands, as though ready to cup my face. “Let me see.”

 

The shock of what he intends to do has me stumbling backward. How have I forgotten that his signet allows him to see others’ memories?

 

But if I let him see my memory of Amber’s participation, it will also show him that I stopped time, and I can’t let that happen. I shake my head and take another step back.

 

“Give me the memory,” he orders.

 

Indignation lifts my chin, at the same time my hand pulls a dagger and presses it to his wrist “Touch me without permission, and you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

 

Surprise ripples over his features.

 

“Wingleaders.” Xaden projects his voice over the chaos. “We need a quorum.”

 

Both Nyra and Septon Izar—the wingleaders for First and Second Wing—climb the stairs to the dais, passing by Amber as she stands utterly exposed in the courtyard.

 

A familiar chaos fills the air, and we all look toward the ridgeline as six dragons curve along the mountain, flying straight for us. The biggest among them is Tairn.

 

In a matter of seconds, they reach the citadel and hover over the courtyard walls. Wind from the strong beats of their wings blasts through the courtyard. Then, one by one, they land on their perch, Tairn at the center of the grouping.

 

Every line of his frame exudes menace as his talons crush the masonry under his grip, and his narrowed, angry eyes focus on Amber.

 

Sgaeyl is perched to the right, taking her position behind Xaden. She’s just as terrifying as she was that first day, but back then I’d never imagined I’d bond a dragon even more frightening…to everyone but me. Nyra’s Red Scorpiontail looms behind her as well, and Septon’s Brown Daggertail mirrors the stance to the left. On the ends, puffing blasts of steam, are Commandant Panchek’s Green Clubtail and Amber’s Orange Daggertail.

 

“Shit’s about to get real,” Sawyer says, breaking formation to stand at my side, and I feel Ridoc at my back. 

 

“You can stop this all right now, Violet. You have to,” Dain implores. “I don’t know what you saw last night, but it wasn’t Amber. She cares too much about the rules to break them.” At least he’s lowered his hand. 

 

And she thinks I broke them by using my dagger on the last ascent of the Gauntlet.

 

“You’re using this to get your revenge on my family!” Amber shouts at Xaden. “For not supporting your father’s rebellion!”

 

That’s a low fucking blow.

 

Xaden doesn’t even acknowledge it as he turns to the other wingleaders.

 

He isn’t demanding proof like Dain. He believes me, and he’s ready to execute a wingleader on nothing more than my word. As surely as if they’re a physical structure, I feel my defenses crack on Xaden’s behalf.

 

“Can you see my memories?” I ask Tairn. “Share them?”

 

“Yes.”  

His head snakes left and right ever so slightly.

 “A memory has never been shared outside of a mating bond. It’s considered a violation.”

 

“Xaden’s up there fighting because I told him it was her. Help him.” If they don’t believe him, they will kill him, and our domino effect will begin. 

 

Tairn chuffs and every dragon besides Sgaeyl stiffens on the wall, even Amber’s. The riders are quick to follow, silence filling the courtyard, and I know they know.

 

“That spineless wretch,” Rhiannon seethes, her hand squeezing mine even tighter.

 

Dain pales.

 

“Believe me now?” I hurl it like the accusation it is. “You’re supposed to be my oldest friend, Dain. My best friend. There’s a reason I didn’t tell you.”

 

He staggers backward.

 

“The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement,” Xaden announces, flanked by Nyra and Septon while the commandant hangs back. “We find you guilty, Amber Mavis.”

 

“No!” she shouts. “It is no crime to rid the quadrant of the weakest rider! I did it to protect the integrity of the wings!” She paces in panic, looking to everyone—anyone for help.

 

As a whole, the formation moves backward.

 

“And as is our law, your sentence will be carried out by fire,” Nyra states.

 

“No!” Amber looks to her dragon. “Claidh!”

 

Amber’s Orange Daggertail snarls at the other dragons and lifts a claw.

 

Tairn swivels his massive head toward Claidh, his roar shaking the ground beneath my feet. Then he snaps his teeth at the smaller orange, and she retreats, her head hanging as she grips the wall again.

 

The sight breaks my heart, not for Amber but for Claidh.

 

“Claidh,” Amber whimpers, the courtyard so unbelievably silent that the sound carries.

 

The formation splits at the center.

 

Tairn leans low, extending his head and neck past the dais toward where Amber stands. Then his teeth part, he curls his tongue, and he incinerates her with a blast of fire so hot, I can feel it from here. It’s over in a heartbeat.

 

A gruesome scream rends the air, shattering a window in the academic wing, and every rider slams their hands over their ears as Claidh mourns.

-    -    -

Despite being here as my bodyguard I truly enjoyed Liam’s company. He was smart and quick witted, which made him easy to have conversations with. He was however a shameless flirt. Which he was currently displaying as he used sign language to flirt with Jesninia.

 

It shocked me to my toes that first day that he knew how to sign, but honestly, I’d been a little judgy just because I didn’t want a shadow.

 

“Just these today?” Jesinia asks, inspecting the cart.

 

“And these.” I reach for the list of requests amid their obvious glances and hand it to her.

 

“Perfect.” Her cheeks flush and she studies the list before putting it in her pocket. “Oh, and Professor Markham left before his daily report arrived to teach your briefing. Would you mind taking it over?”

 

“Happy to.” I wait until she’s pushing the cart away from us, then smack Liam’s chest. “Stop it,” I whisper out loud.

 

“Stop what?” He watches her until she turns the corner at the first set of shelves.

 

“Flirting with Jesinia. She’s a long-term-relationship woman, so unless that’s what you’re looking for…just…don’t.”

 

His eyebrows hit his hairline. “How does anyone think long-term around here?”

 

“Not everyone is in a quadrant where death is less of a chance and more of a foregone conclusion.” I breathe in the scent of the Archives and try to absorb a little of the peace it brings.

 

“So you’re saying that some people still try to make cute little things like plans.”

 

“Exactly, and those some people is Jesinia. Trust me, I’ve known her for years.”

 

“Right. Because you wanted to be a scribe when you grew up.” He scans the Archives with an intensity that almost makes me laugh. As if there’s any chance someone is going to lunge out of the shelves and come after me.

 

“How did you know that?” I lower my voice as a group of second-years passes, their expressions somber as they debate the merits of two different historians.

 

“I did my research on you after I was…you know…assigned.” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen you practicing this week with those blades of yours, Sorrengail. Riorson was right. You would have been wasted as a scribe.”

 

My chest swells with more than a little pride. “That remains to be seen.” At least challenges haven’t resumed. Guess enough of us are dying during flight lessons to hold off on killing more through hand-to-hand. “What did you want to be when you grew up?” I ask, just to keep the conversation going.

 

“Alive.” He shrugs.

 

Well, that’s…something.

 

“How do you know Xaden anyway?” I’m not foolish enough to think that everyone in the province of Tyrrendor knows one another.

 

“Riorson and I were fostered at the same estate after the apostasy,” he says, using the Tyrrish term for the rebellion, which I haven’t heard in ages.

 

“You were fostered?” My mouth drops open. Fostering the children of aristocrats was a custom that died out after the unification of Navarre more than six hundred years ago.

 

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs again. “Where did you think the kids of the traitors”—he flinches at the word—“went after they executed our parents?”

 

I look out over the sprawling shelves of texts, wondering if one of them holds the answer. “I didn’t think.” My throat catches on that last word.

 

“Most of our great houses were given to nobles who had remained loyal.” He clears his throat. “As it should be.”

 

I don’t bother agreeing with what’s obviously a conditioned reply. King Tauri’s response after the rebellion was swift, even cruel, but I was a fifteen-year-old girl too lost in her own grief to think mercifully on the people who’d caused my brother’s death. The burning of Aretia, which had been Tyrrendor’s capital, to the ground had never sat well with me, though. Liam was the same age. It wasn’t his fault his mother had broken faith with Navarre. “But you didn’t go with your father to his new home?”

 

His gaze swings toward mine, and his brow furrows. “It’s hard to live with a man who was executed on the same day as my mother.”

 

My stomach sinks. “No. No, that’s not right. Your father was Isaac Mairi, right? I’ve studied all the noble houses in every province, including Tyrrendor.” Had I gotten something wrong?

 

“Yes. Isaac was my father.” He tilts his head, looking toward the area where Jesinia disappeared, and I get the distinct feeling he is over this conversation.

 

“But he wasn’t a part of the rebellion.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of it. “He isn’t on the death roll of the executions from Calldyr.”

 

“You read the death roll from the Calldyr executions?” His eyes flare.

 

It takes all my courage, but I hold his stare. “I needed to see that someone was on it.”

 

He draws back slightly. “Fen Riorson.”

 

I nod. “He killed my brother at the Battle of Aretia.” My mind scrambles, trying to harmonize what I’ve read and what he’s saying. “But your father wasn’t on that roll.” But Liam was—as a witness. Mortification sweeps over me. What the hell am I doing? “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

 

“He was executed at our family’s house.” His features tighten. “Before it was given to another noble, of course. And yes, I watched as they did it that time, too. I already had the rebellion relic by then, but the pain was the same.” He looks away, his throat working. “Then I was sent to Tirvainne to be fostered by Duke Lindell, the same as Riorson. My little sister was sent elsewhere.”

 

“They separated you?” My jaw practically unhinges. Neither fostering nor separating siblings is mentioned in any text I’ve read about the rebellion, and I’ve read a ton.

 

He nods. “She’s only a year younger than me, though, so I’ll get to see her when she enters the quadrant next year. She’s strong, quick, and has good balance. She’ll make it.” The edge of panic in his tone reminds me of Mira.

 

“She could always choose another quadrant,” I say softly, hoping it will soothe him.

 

He blinks at me. “We’re all riders.”

 

“What?”

 

“We’re all riders. It was part of the deal. We’re allowed to live, allowed a chance to prove our loyalty, but only if we make it through the Riders Quadrant.” He stares at me in bewilderment. “You don’t know?”

 

“I mean…” I shake my head. “I know that the children of the leaders, the officers, were all forced into conscription, but that’s all. A lot of those treaty addenda are classified.”

 

“I personally think the quadrant was chosen to give us the best chance of rising in rank, but others…” He grimaces. “Others think it’s because the death rate is so much higher for riders, so they were hoping to kill us all off without having to do it themselves. I’ve heard Imogen say they originally figured the dragons have unimpeachable honor, so they’d never bond a marked one in the first place, and now they don’t quite know what to do with us.”

 

“How many of you are there?” I think of my mother and can’t help but wonder how much of it she knows, how much of it she agreed to when she became the commanding general of Basgiath after Brennan’s death.

 

“Xaden’s never?” He pauses. “Sixty-eight of the officers had kids under the age of twenty. There are one hundred and seven of us, all who carry rebellion relics.”

 

“The oldest is Xaden,” I murmur.

 

He nods. “And the youngest is almost six now. Her name is Julianne.”

 

I think I’m going to be sick. “Is she marked?”

 

“She was born with it.”

 

I understand it was done by dragon, but what the fucking hell?

 

“And it’s all right that you ask. Someone should know. Someone should remember.” His shoulders rise and fall as he breathes deeply. “Anyway, is it hard for you to be in here? Or is it more of a comfort thing?”

 

Subject change noted.

 

I take in the rows of tables, slowly filling with scribes readying themselves for work, and imagine my father among them. “It’s like coming home, but not. And it’s not that it’s changed—this place never changes. Hell, I think change is the mortal enemy of a scribe. But I’m starting to realize that I’ve changed. I don’t quite fit here. Not anymore.”

 

“Yeah. I get that.” Something in his voice tells me he really does.

 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what the last five years were like for him, but Jesinia reappears, the cart laden with the requested tomes.

 

“I have everything here for you,” she signs, then gestures to the scroll on top. “And that is for Professor Markham.”

 

“We’ll make sure he gets it,” I promise, leaning forward to take the cart. My high collar shifts, and Jesinia gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth.

 

“Oh gods, Violet. Your neck!” Her hand movements are sharp, and the sympathy in her eyes makes my chest tighten. “Sympathy” isn’t a word found in our quadrant. There’s rage, wrath, and indignation…but no sympathy.

 

“It’s nothing.” I put my collar back in place, covering the ring of yellowing bruises, and Liam reaches across me, taking the cart. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

She bobs her head and wrings her hands as we turn for the door. Pierson closes it after we pass into the hallway. I’m once again thinking of why the Archives, the largest collection of written works, would be missing a book my father had in his possession, when Liam speaks.

 

“Riorson taught me to fight during the years he was at Tirvainne.” Liam’s change of subject is appreciated and no doubt intentional once again. “I’ve never seen anyone move the way he does. He’s the only reason I made it through the first round of challenges. He might not show it, but he takes care of his own.”

 

“Are you trying to sell me on his finer points?” We make the ascent, and I note with some satisfaction that my legs feel strong today. I love the days when my body cooperates.

 

“You are slightly stuck with him for…” He makes a face. “Well, forever.”

 

“Or until one of us dies,” I joke, but it falls flat as we round the corner and take the path past the Healer Quadrant. “How can you do this anyway? Guard someone whose own mother oversaw the wing that captured yours?” I’ve wanted to ask the question all week.

 

“Wondering if you can trust me?” He flashes another easy grin.

 

“Yes.” The answer is simple.

 

He laughs, the sound echoing off the tunnel walls and glass windows of the clinic. “Good answer. All I can say is that your survival is essential to Riorson’s, and I owe him everything. Everything.” He looks me straight in the eye for that last word, and I wonder what exactly he is trying to convey with its emphasis.

Chapter 13: Chapter 13

Notes:

Posted 8/22/25

The first rush of power is unmistakable. The first time it forms to you, surrounds you with a seemingly endless supply of energy, you’ll be addicted to the high, to the possibilities of all you can do with it, to the control you hold in the palm of your hand. But here’s the thing, that power can quickly turn and control you.

 

—Page sixty-four, the Book of Brennan

The cart hits a bump in the masonry and a scroll falls to the ground, unfurling as it tries to make its escape. I can’t help but scan it as I pick it back up. Sumerton was attacked, I show Liam and his eyebrows raise, muttering under his breath. I roll the missive back up and place it back on the cart. We push the cart back to the library where someone else will deliver all the missive and special orders. 

 

The rest of November passes without mention of what happened at Sumerton, and by the time the howling winds bring snow in December, I’ve given up hoping that command will release the information. It’s not like Liam or I can directly ask the professors without incriminating ourselves for reading what was obviously a classified report—even if it wasn’t marked.

 

It makes me wonder what else doesn’t make it to Battle Brief, but I keep that to myself. Between that and my growing frustration over my inability to channel—unlike three-quarters of my year—I’m keeping a lot to myself these days.

 

“Not entirely,” 

Tairn grunts.

 

“No comments from you, not after you almost let me hit the side of a mountain today.” My stomach churns just thinking about how far he let me fall. It had been awhile since he hadn’t caught me before I fully lost my seat, but today he had been particularly aggressive with his flying. 

 

Rhiannon swings her bow staff, and I throw my weight into a backbend, narrowly escaping the strike. To my absolute surprise, I keep my balance on the training mat.

 

“Then stay on next time.”

 

“Start channeling and maybe I’ll be able to,” I counter.

 

“You’re distracted tonight.” Rhiannon backs off as I regain my balance, showing me mercy no opponent would during a challenge. Her gaze flicks across the mat to where Liam sits on a bench, carving yet another dragon, and returns to mine, giving me a look that says she’ll follow up later once I’ve been released from my constant shadow for the night. “But you’re faster than you used to be. Whatever Imogen has you doing is working.”

 

“You’re not ready to channel yet, Silver One.”

 

“As if there was ever any doubt,” Imogen calls from the next mat over, where she casually holds Ridoc in a headlock, waiting for him to tap out.

 

To my left, Sawyer and Quinn circle each other, preparing for yet another round, and behind Rhiannon, Emery and Heaton are doing their best to coach the other first-years we gained after Threshing while Dain looks on, studiously avoiding anything that has to do with me.

 

Per his recent orders, Tuesday nights are for squad hand-to-hand practice, because the full academic load we’re carrying, coupled with flight lessons and now wielding instruction for some of us isn’t leaving much time for the mat. A few of the farther mats are taken up by other riders with the same idea, one of which includes Jack Barlowe.

 

Hence why Liam refused when Ridoc asked to spar with him.

 

“You’re taking it easy on me,” I tell Rhiannon. Sweat drips down my back, dampening the tight-fitted tunic I chose while my dragon-scale vest dries on the bench next to Liam.

 

It’s not like he needs extra practice. He’s already taken everyone but Dain down to the mat, and part of me thinks that’s only because Dain refuses to be bested by a younger rider.

 

“We’ve been at this for an hour.” Rhiannon swishes her staff through the air. “You’re tired, and the last thing I want is to hurt you.”

 

“Challenges resume after solstice,” I remind her. “You’re not doing me any favors by holding back.”

 

“She’s not wrong,” a deep voice says from behind me.

 

In my peripherals, I see Liam stand, and I mutter a curse under my breath.

 

“Well aware,” I say over my shoulder as Xaden passes by our mat, accompanied by Garrick as usual. It’s impossible to rip my eyes away until he passes, though. Gods, I need an orgasm. “Go away unless you have something useful to say.”

 

“Move faster. You’ll be less likely to die. How’s that for useful?” he calls back, taking up a position on a mat closer to the center of the sparring gym.

 

Rhiannon’s eyes flare, and Liam shakes his head.

 

“What?”

 

“The way you talk to him,” Rhiannon murmurs.

 

“What’s he going to do? Kill me?” I charge forward, swinging my staff at her legs.

 

She jumps over the attack and spins, bringing the staff against mine with a crack.

 

“You’re likely to kill each other,” Liam chimes in, taking his seat again. “Can’t wait to see how you two function after graduation.”

 

After graduation.

 

“Haven’t let myself think past this week, let alone all the way to graduation.” Not when there are some very difficult questions I’m not ready to ask.

 

“Look, I know you’re…aggravated by how long it’s taking Tairn to channel,” Rhiannon says, circling me on the mat again. “I’m just saying on this mat with me is a way safer place for you to take out that anger than the giant, shadow-wielding wingleader.”

 

“I don’t want to take any of my anger out on you. You’re my friend.” I gesture loosely toward Xaden. “He’s the one who stuck me with a shadow I can’t shake because he thinks I’m his weakness. But does he help me?” I lash out with the staff, and she counters. “No. Does he train me?” Another lunge, another clash of our staffs. “No. He’s remarkably good at showing up when I’m about to die and eliminating whatever threat there is to our lives. But that’s it. Every other waking moment he’s a complete dick to me. He only cares because the bond makes him care.”

 

“Just a little anger there huh?” Rhiannon smirks. 

 

“You would be pissed too if someone took your freedom away. If you had Liam at your door every morning until every evening he drops you off. No offense to Liam, as seemingly great as he may be.” I dodge another one of her attacks and manage to land one of my own. 

 

Liam butts in from his position on the floor “I appreciate that.” Of course he just had to go and prove my point. 

 

Rhiannon agrees “That would make me mad, and I am pissed on your behalf. Now put some of that anger to use.” She rains down a series of attacks on me, a sequence I don’t recognize, but keep up none the less. 

 

Then I make the mistake of looking over her shoulder to the center of the gym. 

 

Holy. Fucking. Hot

 

Xaden and Garrick have stripped of their shirts and are sparing like their lives depend on the outcome. Kicks, punches and deflections are all a blur of movement and speed. I’ve never seen two people move that fast, it’s beautiful and I’m not just talking about the vast quantity and quality of muscle that’s on display. 

 

I’ve seen countless riders spar without their shirts on since I joined the Quadrant, but not these two. And honestly, I’m not sure which one to look at. Every edge of Xaden’s body is a sharp honed weapon. His rebellion relic, the largest I’ve seen, twists around his upper body and stands out against his bronze skin, accentuating every punch he throws. He has the largest dragon relic in our Quadrant, mine’s sizable and takes up the space between my shoulder blades. But Sgaeyl’s mark takes up his entire back. 

 

My hip stings, knocking me out of my thoughts, and I startle. 

 

“Pay attention Vi!” Rhiannon yells at me “I could have… Oh” Clearly she has just noticed what help my attention. 

 

Garrick’s wider, more densely packed with muscle than Xaden, and his rebellion relic extends only a little farther than I had assumed. But something about the way it twists down his wrist and covers the back of his hand is mesmerizing. He is taller than Xaden, and wider, so the way he moves literally defies the laws of physics. He’s quick, reacting to Xaden’s movement with precision and skill that tells of years worth of sparring. 

 

“That is…” Rhiannon mutters beside me. 

 

“It sure is.” I agree. 

 

“Are we objectifying the Wing Leader or the Section Leader?” Liam teases. 

 

“Is that what we’re doing?” Rhiannon murmurs beside me.

 

My mouth waters at the sight of the two of them, eyes dancing back and forth. Yeah I definitely needed an orgasm, this shouldn’t be as hot as it is. “Yeah, I think it is.”

 

Liam snorts.

 

“We could be watching for technique.”

 

“Yeah. We absolutely could.” Lord knows there's enough between the two of them to spread around to the entire quadrant. But I’m not. I’m shamelessly wondering how each of their skin would feel underneath my fingertips. How much my body would react to have the kind of intensity that is on fire in their eyes turned on me. 

 

A repetitive smacking sound draws my attention to the right, where Ridoc is tapping out with zeal. Imogen drops him, leaving him gasping for breath on the mat. An illogical flash of ugly, twisted jealousy stabs me straight in the chest at the pure yearning she can’t keep off her face as she watches Xaden and Garrick. 

 

“If you guys are this easily distracted, we’re fucked for the Squad Battle,” Dain barks. “You can kiss any thought of visiting the front lines goodbye.”

 

We all snap out of it, and I shake my head like that might clear the dizzying need that demands I do more than look at Garrick or Xaden, which is just…ridiculous. Xaden only tolerates my existence because our dragons are mated, and here I am salivating over his half-naked body. It’s a really nice half-naked body, though.

 

“Get back to work. We have another half hour,” Dain orders, and I feel like he’s talking directly to me, which would be the first thing he’s said since my memory got Amber killed.

 

“She got herself killed by breaking the Codex,”

 Tairn growls.

 

Sure enough, when I glance his way, Dain’s eyes are narrowed on me, but I must be reading his face wrong. Surely that’s not betrayal pursing his lips.

 

“Should we?” Rhiannon asks, lifting her staff.

 

“Yep, we definitely should.” I roll my shoulders, and we start again. I match her move for move, picking up on her patterns. 

 

“Stop defending and go on offense!” 

 

Tairn demands, his anger flooding my system and throwing off my footwork.

 

Rhiannon sweeps low and flips me onto my back, knocking the wind out of me as I collide with the mat.

 

I fight for air that isn’t there.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry, Vi.” Rhiannon drops down to a knee beside me. “Just relax and give it a second.”

 

“And yet that is the rider Tairn chose,” Jack mocks, talking to someone in his squad as he grins maliciously at the edge of the mat. “I’m starting to think he chose wrong, but considering I haven’t seen you wield any powers, I bet you’re thinking the same thing, too, aren’t you, Sorrengail? Shouldn’t you have twice the ability to channel with two dragons?”

 

It doesn’t work like that with Andarna, but none of them know that.

 

Liam stands, putting himself between Jack and me as the first trickle of air dances into my lungs.

 

“Simmer down, Mairi. I’m not going to attack your little charge. Not when I can just challenge her in a couple of weeks and accidentally snap her scrawny neck in front of an audience.” Jack folds his arms across his chest and watches me struggle with pure pleasure. “Tell me, though, you are getting tired of playing the nursemaid, aren’t you?” His friend from First Wing offers him something—a slice of the orange he’s eating—and Jack shoves his hand away at the wrist. “Get that noxious shit away from me. Do you want me to end up in the infirmary?”

 

“Walk the fuck away, Barlowe,” Liam warns, dagger in hand.

 

I manage one breath, then two as Jack’s gaze rises from me to someone standing behind me. That look on his face, half envy, half shitting himself, means it has to be Xaden.

 

“She’s only alive because of you,” Jack spits, but the blood drains from his face.

 

“Maybe so, but I’m not the one who buried a dagger in your shoulder at Threshing.”

 

Finally breathing somewhat normally, I scramble for my feet, clutching the staff with both hands.

 

“We could just settle this now,” Jack says, sidestepping Liam to look me in the eyes. “If you’re done hiding behind the big, strong men.”

 

My stomach hollows out because he’s right. The only reason I don’t accept his challenge is because I’m not sure I’ll win, and the only reason he isn’t attacking me is because of Liam and Xaden. If I attack Jack now, they’ll kill him. Garrick’s hulking frame appears to the left, and I knew he would protect me, but ever since that night in his room, I have wondered if it might be for more than just Xaden. Hell, even Imogen has inched closer, but not on my behalf.

 

It’s only on his.

 

“That’s what I thought,” Jack says, blowing me a kiss.

 

“You ran,” I snarl, wishing I could lunge forward and beat the shit out of him, but forcing my feet to stay planted where they are. “That day in the field, you fucking ran when it was three on one, and we both know when it comes down to it, you’ll run again. That’s what cowards do.”

 

Jack flushes, his eyes nearly bugging out of his face.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Violet,” Dain mutters.

 

“She’s not wrong,” Xaden drawls.

 

Garrick laughs, and Liam muscles Jack off the mat when he leaps at me. Jack’s boots squeak against the hardwood floor as he unsuccessfully fights to hold his ground, and Liam forces him from the gym.

 

With a flick of his hand, Xaden shuts the huge doors with his power, locking Jack out.

 

“What the hell were you thinking, egging him on like that?” Dain marches toward me, disbelief raising his brows.

 

“Oh, now you feel like talking to me?” I lift my chin, but it’s Xaden who fills my vision as he steps between us. The fury in his eyes is palpable, but I don’t retreat.

 

“Give us a second.” His gaze is locked on mine, but we both know he’s not talking to me.

 

My pulse skitters.

 

Rhiannon steps back.

 

“You want to tell me why the fuck you’re not wearing that?” His tone is deadly as he points toward the bench where my armor lies.

 

“I have to wash it at some point.”

 

“And you thought that would be a good idea during sparring?” His chest heaves, like he’s battling to keep control of himself.

 

I’m just trying not to notice his chest or the heat he’s throwing off like a damned furnace. I have to get my fucking hormones under control. “I washed it before sparring, knowing it could dry while your guard dog keeps watch, as opposed to sleeping without it because we both know what happens behind locked doors around here.”

 

“Not behind yours anymore.” His jaw ticks. “I made sure of it.”

 

“Because I’m supposed to trust you?”

 

“Yes.” A vein in his neck bulges.

 

“And you make it so easy.” Sarcasm drips from my voice.

 

“You know I can’t kill you. Fuck, Sorrengail, the entire quadrant knows I can’t kill you.” He yells, throwing his arms in the air. 

 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.”

 

He blinks and shifts backward, composing himself in less than a heartbeat while mine still races. “Stop training with a bow staff. It’s too easy to knock out of your hands. Stick to the daggers.”

 

To my surprise, he doesn’t snatch it away just to prove he can.

 

“I was doing just fine until Tairn barged into my head with all his anger and distracted me,” I argue, my defenses rising like the hackles of a dog.

 

“Then learn how to block him out.” He says it like it’s just that simple.

 

“Oh yeah? With all this power I’m wielding? My brows rise. “Or were you unaware that I’m still not channeling?” I want to throttle him, to shake some ever-loving sense into that self centered brain of his. 

 

His voice drops low and angry. “I am annoyingly aware of everything you do.”

 

Thanks to Liam.

 

Every inch of my body vibrates with anger, with irritation, with…whatever this electric tension is between us as we stand there, our eyes locked in combat.

 

“Wingleader Riorson,” Dain starts. “She’s just not used to the bond yet. She’ll learn how to block it out.”

 

Dain’s words sting like a blow. I inhale sharply and step back from Xaden. Good gods, we’ve been putting on a fucking show. What is it about Xaden that makes me tune out the rest of the world?

 

“You choose the oddest times to defend her, Aetos.” Xaden all but rolls his eyes as he looks at Dain. “And the most convenient times not to.” Dain’s jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists at his sides.

 

He’s talking about Amber. I know it. Dain knows it. Everyone in this whole, awkward room knows it. Our entire squad was there when Dain demanded I call Xaden a liar.

 

Xaden turns those unfathomable eyes back on me. “Do us both a favor and put the fucking armor back on,” he finishes.

 

Before I can counter, he turns and walks off the mat, meeting Garrick at the edge.

 

His back.

 

My quiet gasp is uncontrollable, and Xaden tenses for a second before taking his shirt from Garrick’s outstretched hand and tugging it over his head, covering the navy-blue relic of a dragon that sweeps from his waist to over both shoulders—textured intricately with raised silver lines I couldn’t see from across the gym.

 

Silver lines I instantly recognize as scars.

 

“You held your own and controlled your temper,”  

Tairn says, an immense swell of pride flooding my chest.

 

“She’s ready,” 

Andarna adds with a giddy jolt of joy that makes me instantly light-headed.

 

“She’s ready,” 

he agrees.

-    -    -

 

A couple of hours later, I rip my brush through my hair in the privacy of my room, still fully dressed down to my boots and armor. I still can’t believe I made an ass of myself in front of my entire squad simply because Xaden decided to train shirtless.

 

I really need to get laid.

 

I pause mid-brushstroke when a rush of energy races down my spine, dissipating in a heartbeat.

 

Well, that’s…weird.

 

Maybe it’s… No. It can’t be. It felt completely different when Andarna stopped time through me. That was a full-body flood that expanded through my fingers and toes, then…left afterward.

 

Another wave ripples through me, stronger this time, and I drop the brush, clutching the edge of the dresser so I don’t fall as my knees threaten to buckle. The energy doesn’t dissipate this time; it sticks around, humming under my skin, ringing in my ears, overwhelming every sense.

 

Something within me expands, somehow too big for my own body, too vast to be contained, and pain sears every nerve as I crack open, the sound reverberating through my skull like bones shattering. It’s as though I’ve been split at the very seams of the fabric of my being.

 

My knees hit the floor, and I throw my hands over my temples, trying to shove everything I am back into my skull, forcing myself to shrink.

 

Energy pours in—a deluge of raw, endless power—eroding everything I was and forging something completely new as it fills every pore, every organ, every bone. My head screams, and it feels like Tairn has flown too high too fast and I can’t pop my ears. All I can do is lie there on the floor and pray the pressure equalizes.

 

I stare at my brush, the hardwood floor biting into my cheek, and breathe.

 

In and then out.

 

In…and then out…surrendering to the onslaught.

 

Finally, the pain ebbs, but the energy—the power—doesn’t. It’s simply…there, prowling through my veins, saturating every cell in my body. It is everything I am and everything I can be all at once.

 

I sit up slowly and flip my hands to examine my tingling palms. It feels like they should look different, changed, but they’re not. They’re still my fingers, my slender wrists, and yet they’re so much more now. They’re strong enough to shape the torrent inside me, to mold it into whatever I desire.

 

“This is your power, isn’t it?” I ask Tairn, but he doesn’t answer. “Andarna?”

 

There’s only silence.

 

Go figure, they’re always around, pushing into my head when I could use a little space, then nowhere to be found when it’s the other way around. I’d heard them say I was ready earlier, but I figured it would take a day or two for my mind to fully open that pathway once Tairn started channeling. Guess not.

 

Rhiannon. I have to tell Rhiannon. She’s going to flip that I can finally go to Professor Carr’s class with her. And Liam? He can stop pretending that he can’t channel just so he isn’t forced to leave me for an hour a day.

 

Heat washes over me, prickling my skin and centering low in my stomach.

 

Odd, but whatever. It’s probably just a side effect of the power. I throw open the lock on my door and yank it open.

 

My vision blurs and need slams into me, robbing me of every logical thought besides satiating the overwhelming—

 

“Violet?” The fuzzy shape of a man stands in the hallway, and I blink Liam into focus. “You all right?”

 

“Are you sleeping in the hallway?” I grip the doorframe as an image of falling fills my mind, and I feel the sizzle of flakes as they make contact with my heated skin. It’s gone as quickly as it appeared, but the driving, thundering desire remains.

 

Oh shit. This is…lust.

 

“No.” Liam shakes his head. “Just hanging out here before turning in.”

 

I look at him then. Really, honestly look at him. He’s more than handsome, with strong features and sky-blue eyes that are startlingly beautiful.

 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He sets his knife and semi-carved dragon down.

 

“Like what?” My teeth sink into my bottom lip and I debate rubbing against him like a cat in heat while demanding he appease this unimaginable ache.

 

But he’s not who you really want.

 

He’s not Xaden.  I need Xaden. Something in my mind prickles as a small voice asks ‘what about Garrick?’ But whatever is causing this, powering my need revolts at the thought, no only my mate will do. 

 

“Like…” He cocks his head to the side. “Like something’s going on. You don’t look like you feel—you know—like yourself.”

 

Oh shit.

 

It’s because I’m not myself. All of this, the need, the lust, the craving for the one person who I’m meant to be with…it’s Tairn.

 

Tairn’s emotions aren’t just overwhelming me; they’re controlling me. The need for a mate, must be his, He must be with Sgaeyl. Somehow his bond is sending me to his mates rider. 

 

“I’m good! Go to bed!” I step back into my room and slam the door while I still have the mental capacity to do so.

 

Then I start pacing, but that doesn’t stop the next blast of heat or the compulsion to—

 

I have to get out of here before I make an epic mistake and take Tairn’s feelings out on Liam.

 

Grabbing my fur-lined cloak in one hand and pulling my hair up with the other, I swirl the fabric over my shoulders and fasten the clip beneath my throat. A second later, I peek out the door, and when I’m sure the coast is clear, I fucking flee.

 

I make it to the entrance of the spiral steps—the ones that lead to the river—before I have to lean back against the stone wall and breathe through the fog of Tairn’s emotions.

 

Once the wave passes, I race down the steps, keeping one hand on the wall in case I’m pulled under again.

 

The mage lights flicker on as I approach and fizzle out as I race by, as though this newfound power is already at work, stretching into the world.

 

Away. I have to get away from everyone until Tairn finishes…whatever he and Sgaeyl are doing.

 

I stumble out of the stairwell and emerge at the foundation walls of the citadel. Snow fills the sky, and I tip my head back, savoring the brief kiss of snowflakes on skin that’s heated for all the wrong reasons.

 

The air is crisp and chilled, and—

 

My eyes pop open at the scent in the air and I whirl, my cloak whipping out behind me as I find the source of the sweet, easily identifiable smoke.

 

Xaden is leaning back against the wall, one foot braced on the stone, smoking and watching me like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

 

“Is that…churam?”

 

He blows out a puff of smoke. “Want some? Unless you’re here to continue our earlier argument, in which case, none for you.”

 

My jaw practically unhinges. “No! We’re not allowed to smoke that!”

 

“Yeah, well, the people who made that rule obviously weren’t bonded to Sgaeyl and Tairn, now were they?” A smirk lifts a corner of his mouth.

 

Gods, I could stare at his lips forever. They are perfectly shaped and yet entirely too decadent for the slashing line of his jaw.

 

“It helps with…distancing yourself.” He offers me the rolled churam and cocks an eyebrow at me—the one with the scar. “Beyond what shielding does, of course.”

 

I shake my head and cross through the newly fallen snow to brace my weight on the wall beside him, letting my head fall back against the stone.

 

“Suit yourself.” He inhales deeply on the churam and then puts it out against the wall.

 

“I feel like I’m on fucking fire.” That’s putting it mildly.

 

“Yeah. That happens.” His laugh holds a wicked edge, and I make the utterly unforgivable mistake of turning to see his smile.

 

Xaden, while brooding and bossy, dangerous and lethal, is a toe-curling sight that makes my pulse quicken. But Xaden laughing, his head thrown back with a smile curving his mouth, is drop-dead beautiful. My stupid, foolish heart feels like there’s a fist around it, squeezing tight.

 

There is nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice, nothing I wouldn’t give to have one unguarded moment with this man I’m going to be tethered to for the rest of our lives. This has to be Tairn. It just…has to.

 

This tether we share because of the mated status of our dragons means I am completely, utterly obsessed with Xaden.

 

His eyes meet mine in the moonlight. “Oh, Violence, you’re going to have to learn to shield against Tairn or his escapades with Sgaeyl will drive you mad—or into someone’s bed.”

 

I squeeze my eyes shut just so I can escape his gorgeous face as a jolt of heat flashes through me, making every inch of my skin tingle and burn. I reach a hand out to steady myself against the wall again. “Oh, I know. I am horrified to see Liam again.”

 

“Liam? Why?” He pivots to face me, leaning against his shoulder. “Where the hell is your bodyguard?”

 

“I’m my own bodyguard,” I counter, resting my cheek on the icy stone. “And he’s in bed.”

 

“Your bed?” His voice is like a crack of lightning.

 

I pry my eyes open to meet his gaze. The snow makes everything so much brighter, highlighting the furrowed line of his brow, the firm set of his mouth. “No. Not that it should matter to you.”

 

Is he jealous? I doubt it, it’s most likely just the bond forcing it. Same as mine was when I thought of Garrick. 

 

Another wave of fire races through me and undeniable, unquenchable need nearly takes me out at the knees.

 

Xaden’s arm wraps around my waist, steadying me. “Why the hell aren’t you shielding?”

 

“Not all of us have been given lessons! He just started channeling before all…this, and in case you forgot, you’re only allowed to attend Professor Carr’s class if you can wield.”

 

“Always thought that was a ridiculous rule.” He sighs. “All right. Crash course. Only because I’ve been where you are and woken up with more than a few regrets.”

 

“You’re actually going to help me?”

 

“I’ve been helping you for months.” His hand flexes at my waist, and I swear I can feel the warmth of his touch through my cloak and leathers.

 

“No, you sent Liam to help. He’s been helping me for months.” My forehead puckers. “Weeks. Almost months. Whatever.”

 

He has the nerve to look offended. “I’m the one who burst through your door and killed everyone who attacked you, and then I removed the other threat to your life with a very public, very polarizing display of vengeance. Liam didn’t do that. I did.”

 

“The crowd wasn’t polarized. They were all for it. I was there.”

 

He stares at me with disbelief. “You know what? We’re not fighting tonight. Not if you want to learn how to shield.”

 

“Fine. We’re not fighting. Teach me.” I tilt my chin. Gods, I barely reach his collarbone. The fire raging through my veins settles low in my stomach. 

 

“Ask me nicely.” He leans closer.

 

“Have you always been this tall?” I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.

 

“No. I was a child at some point.”

 

I roll my eyes.

 

“Ask me nicely, Violence,” he whispers. “Or I’m gone.”

 

I can feel Tairn at the edge of my mind, his emotions ebbing and flowing, and know the next wave is going to hit hard. How freaking long can those two possibly take? “How often is it like this with them?”

 

“Often enough that you’re going to need proper shields. You won’t ever be able to block them out completely, and sometimes they forget to block us, like tonight. That’s why the churam helps, but at least it’s like walking by a brothel instead of actively participating in one.”

 

Well…shit. “Right then. All right. Will you teach me to shield?”

 

A smile curves his mouth, and my gaze drops to his lips. “Say please.”

 

“Are you always this difficult?”

 

“Only when I know I have something you need. What can I say, I like making you squirm. It’s like a sweet little slice of payback for what you’ve put me through these last couple of months.” He brushes the snow off my hair.

 

“What I’ve put you through?” Unbelievable.

 

“You’ve scared me nearly to death once or twice, so I think saying please is a fair request.”

 

Like he’s ever played fair a day in his life. I take a deep breath and swat at a snowflake that lands on my nose. “As you prefer. Xaden?” I smile sweetly up at him and inch a little closer. “Would you pretty, pretty please teach me how to shield before I accidentally climb you like a tree and we both wake up with regrets?”

 

“Oh, I’m firmly in control of my faculties.” He smiles again, and I feel it like a caress.

 

Dangerous. This is so damned dangerous. Heat flushes my skin, so hot that I debate tossing my cloak to the ground just to get a little relief. Notably, Xaden isn’t wearing one.

 

“And since you asked so nicely.” He adjusts his stance and brings both his hands up to my cheeks, cradling my face before sliding them back to hold my head. “Close your eyes.”

 

“It requires touching me?” My eyes flutter shut at the sensation of his skin against mine.

 

“Not at all. Just one of the perks of not thinking too clearly. You have incredibly touchable skin.”

 

The compliment makes me suck in a breath. So much for controlling his faculties.

 

“You need to envision somewhere. Anywhere. I prefer the top of my favorite hillside near what’s left of Aretia. Wherever it is, it needs to feel like home.”

 

Immediately I am deposited back in my fathers office. 

 

“Feel your feet hit the ground and dig in some.”

 

I imagine my boots on the polished wooden floor of the office and wiggle them a little. “Got it.”

 

“That’s called grounding, keeping your mental self somewhere so you aren’t swept away by the power. Now call to your power. Open your senses.”

 

My palms begin to tingle, and a flood of energy surrounds me, just as saturating as it was in my bedroom but without the pain. It’s everywhere, filling the office and pushing at the walls, making them bow and bend, threatening to break them. “Too much.”

 

“Focus on your feet. Stay grounded. Can you see where the power flows from? If not, just pick a place.”

 

I turn in my mind. The barrage of molten power is flowing through the door. “I see it.”

 

“Perfect. You’re a natural. It takes most people a week just to learn how to ground. Now, do whatever you need to mentally do to wall yourself off from that current. Tairn is the source. You block that power, and you’ll have some control back.”

 

The door. I just need to close the door and twist the lock.

 

Desire makes my heart pound, and I grab on to Xaden’s arms, anchoring myself in reality.

 

“You’ve got this.” His voice sounds strained. “Whatever you create in your mind is real to you. Shut off the valve. Build a wall. Whatever makes sense.”

 

“It’s a door.” My fingers dig into the soft material of his tunic, and I mentally heave myself against the door, forcing it shut one inch at a time.

 

“There you go. Keep going.”

 

My physical body trembles at the effort it takes to mentally shove the door closed, but I get it there. “I’ve got the door shut.”

 

“Great. Lock it.”

 

I imagine turning the handle and hearing the locks click into place. The relief is immediate, a cool blast of snow against my feverish skin. Power pulses, turning the door clear. “It changed. I can see through the door.”

 

“Yeah. You’ll never be able to fully block him. Got it locked?”

 

I nod.

 

“Open your eyes, but do your best to keep that door locked. It means keeping one foot grounded. Don’t be surprised if it slips. We’ll just start again.”

 

I open my eyes, keeping that mental picture of the shut office door. While my body is still heated and flushed with warmth, that inescapable, driving need is blessedly…somewhat muted. “He’s…” I can’t find the right words.

 

Xaden studies me with an intensity that makes me sway toward him. “You are astonishing.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do that for weeks.”

 

“Guess I have a superior teacher.” The emotion swelling through me is more than joy. It’s euphoria that has me grinning like a fool. I’m finally not only good at something, but astonishing.

 

His thumbs stroke over the soft skin under my ears, and his gaze drops to my mouth and heats. Hands flexing, he draws me forward a few inches before he suddenly lets go and retreats a full step. “Damn it. Touching you was a bad idea.”

 

“The worst,” I agree, but my tongue skims my lower lip.

 

He groans and my core melts at the sound. “Kissing you would be a cataclysmic mistake.”

 

“Calamitous.” What would it take to hear that groan again?

 

The inches between us feel like kindling, ready to burn at the first suggestion of heat, and I’m a living, breathing flame. This is everything I should run from, and yet denying the primal attraction I feel is completely, utterly impossible.

 

“We’ll both regret it.” He shakes his head, but there’s more than hunger in his eyes as he stares at my lips.

 

“Naturally,” I whisper. But knowing I’ll regret it doesn’t stop me from wanting it—wanting him. Regretting is a problem for future Violet.

 

“Fuck it.”

 

One second he’s out of reach and the next his mouth is on mine, hot and insistent.

 

Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need.

 

I’m trapped between the immovable stone of the wall and the hard lines of Xaden’s body, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. The thought should sober me, but all I do is lean in for more.

 

He tunnels a hand through my hair, cradling the back of my head, angling me for a deeper kiss, and my lips part eagerly. He takes the invitation, sliding his tongue along mine with expert, teasing strokes that have me clutching at his chest, fisting the material of his shirt to pull him closer as desire dances up and down my spine.

 

He tastes like churam and mint, like everything I’m not supposed to want and yet can’t help needing, and I kiss him back with everything I have, sucking on his lower lip and scraping my teeth over him.

 

“Violence,” he moans, and the sound of the nickname on his lips makes me ravenous.

 

Closer. I need him closer.

 

As though he can hear my thoughts, he kisses me harder, claiming every line and curve of my mouth with a reckless edge that makes my body sing. He’s just as needy as I am, and when he shifts his grip to my ass and picks me up, I wrap my legs around his waist and hold on like my life depends on this kiss never ending.

 

The wall digs into my back, but I don’t care. My hands are finally in his hair and it’s just as soft as I imagined. He kisses me until I feel thoroughly devoured and explored, and then he sucks my tongue into his mouth so I can do the same.

 

This is complete and utter madness, and yet I can’t stop. Can’t get enough. I could live forever in this tiny slice of insanity if it means keeping his mouth on mine, leaving my world narrowed to the heat of his body and the skilled stroke of his tongue.

 

His hips rock into mine, and I gasp at the delicious friction. He breaks the kiss, sliding his mouth across my jaw, my neck, and I know I’ll do anything to keep him here with me. I want to feel his mouth everywhere.

 

We’re a tangle of tongues and teeth, questing lips and hands as the snow falls around us, and the kiss consumes me the same way the power had before, so thoroughly I can feel it in every cell in my body. Need pulses between my thighs, and I jolt at the simple knowledge that there’s nothing he could do that I wouldn’t welcome. I want him.

 

Only him. Here. Now. Anywhere. Whenever.

 

I’ve never been this out of control over a single kiss. Never wanted someone the way I do him. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time because I know that in this moment, he has the power to break me.

 

And I’d let him.

 

I surrender completely, melting into him, Xaden pushes closer, pressing me harder against the wall as he changes the angle his mouth is slanted against mine. His hips are pressed directly where I would want them, if it wasn’t for all this blasted leather between us. He rocks against me, and I moan into his mouth, nipping at his bottom lip and pulling him closer with the grip I have on his inky black curls. 

 

I can still feel my mental feet on the floor of the office and see the still closed door. But deep in the recess of my mind I can feel the abnormal thoughts pushing me forward. Not quite my own, but feeding off the lust I have for him, the need I feel for him, and morphing it into something else entirely. 

 

The feeling is fleeting as Xaden’s mouth moves to my neck, his lips strumming the point that my neck meets my shoulder. His teeth scraping away the thought as easily as his hand finds the ties for my leathers. Loosening the ties, he thrusts his hand inside, fingers deftly finding my clit and strumming it with an ease that speaks of experience. Experience that I am certainly reaping the benefits of right now. My back arches into his as he intuitively drives me higher and higher. 

 

With a cry I come undone in his arms. My entire body rigid as I ride the waves of my orgasm in time with his ministrations. He’s nuzzling my neck and giving it small nips and kisses as I come back to earth. Once I can focus on his face, he looks directly into my eyes, his Gold flecked onyx searching, probing. 

 

“Was that ok?”

 

“That was… yeah.” I don’t have words.

 

“Do you need more?” 

 

More, he’s willing to give me more. Does he want more? Or was this just a pity orgasm to help me get over the rising tide of want. 

 

My scalp prickles, and Xaden tugs on my hair with the hand that is still tangled in it. “Don’t overthink it, do you need more?”

 

I nod without thinking. My brian still too high on the one orgasm he already gave me. He pulls my cloak hood up over my head and tugs me along, in a move reminiscent of the night the unbonded broke into my room. 

 

He hurriedly tugs us this way and that until we reach a floor that only has 4 doors on it. The WingLeader floor. He took me back to his room. He opens his door with a flick of a wrist, and then pulls me through the doorway. I can feel the same snap of magic that happened at Garrick's door. Right. Wards. 

 

I see his shadows push the door shut before he is on me again. His hand tangled in my hair and grasping at me through my leathers. I’m struggling to take my clothes off and get out of my boots. Xaden pulls away and puts his hands over mine, taking over the duty of divesting me of my clothes. He starts by dropping to his knees to remove my boots. Something about seeing this man, strong in control, always in charge Xaden Riorson, on his knees in front of me does something to me. Snaps whatever modicum of control I thought I had. 

 

My feet lift off the office floor in my mind and I’m lost to the fire. To the need for my mate. To the unquenchable thirst to have him inside me.

Chapter 14: Chapter 14

Summary:

Some Xaden POV to add some different depth to his character than we're used to having.

Xaden POV 

 

Standing on this side of the parapet for the second year in a row is as boring as it was last year. But it’s something I volunteer for, so I can be there for any marked ones crossing, a symbol, an acknowledgment that we’re here for them. Garrick is here keeping the roll, never willing to be very far from me, and Bodhi waits for them on the other side. 

 

I lean against the corner wall until a small commotion at the top of the stairs catches my attention. A very small female candidate is getting up off the ground where she must have tripped on the last step. She isn’t the first and won’t be the last, but that doesn’t bode well for her crossing the parapet. 

 

Garrick asks if I’m ready to funnel another candidate to where Byron is spacing them out on the parapet. The little candidate's eyes snap to mine, and I can barely stop mine from widening in recognition, just as her friend asks “Ready Sorrengail?”

 

Son of a bitch, the General's favor is going to be a bitch to keep. This tiny fucking sprite, not only tripped up the last step, but has switched fucking boots with her friend. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK!

 

“Oh shit,” she whispers, and my eyes narrow.

 

“Sorrengail?” I step toward her and her neck arches as she is forced to look up at me. I’m hoping against hope that I heard wrong, that the similarity in features is just a coincidence. Even as I know I won’t get that lucky. My third year just went to shit, I don’t have time for this. 

 

She nods once, “You’re General Sorrengail’s youngest.” I know my voice is accusatory, I can’t help it. I am tasked with keeping her alive. 

 

“You’re Fen Riorson’s son,” she counters, the certainty of this revelation lifts my chin and she does her best to lock every muscle in her body.

 

I can almost feel the fear rolling off her. My signet lashes out, she’s so sure that I am going to chuck her off this turret, that I won’t even give her the chance to prove herself in this death trap. I pull it back, her mind is not the place to be right now. 

 

I breathe deep, schooling my features into the mask of indifference “Your mother captured my father and oversaw his execution.”

 

“Your father killed my older brother. Seems like we’re even.” Fucking Aisereigh, despite what she thinks, her brother is a pain in my ass. We’re not even, not remotely close. 

 

“Hardly.” I notice she’s outfitted properly for this place. “Your sister is a rider. Guess that explains the leathers.” It must be nice to have someone looking out for you, someone to get you things that no one else has, to give you an advantage in this place. 

 

“Guess so.” she glares right back, and if this was anyone else I wouldn’t tolerate it. But this little bitch, not only do I have to tolerate it, I have to ignore it, and somehow manage to keep her alive. My hands clench into fists, and I tense.

 

She looks at me like I am going to hit her, and to be fair, if I didn’t have a favor from the General carved into my back, I might. 

 

“You all right?” her friend asks, her gaze jumping between us.

 

I glance her way. “You’re friends?”

 

“We met on the stairs,” she says, squaring her shoulders.

 

I look down, noting our mismatched shoes, and arch a brow. “Interesting.”

 

“Are you going to kill me?” She lifts her chin another inch.

 

My gaze clashes with hers as the sky opens and rain falls in a deluge, soaking my hair, my leathers, and the stones around us in seconds. Interesting, considering her mother is controlling this. Though I am betting it is a test of my loyalty, she knows I could catch her if she fell. 

 

A scream rends the air, and we all jerk our attention to the parapet just in time to see someone slip.

 

I never take my eyes from her, watching silently as tears come to her eyes for someone she couldn’t have met 2 hours ago. Fuck me. A bleeding heart that trusts too quickly. This is going to be harder than I thought. 

 

“Why would I waste my energy killing you when the parapet is going to do it for me?” A wicked smile curves my lips. “Your turn.”

 

I watch as she goes, the storm not helping. I send a shadow after her, under the parapet, out of duty. If I don't save her, all the marked ones are dead. The wind presses on her, but she’s fairly steady, until the lightning crashes and her left foot falls off the parapet. I use my shadow to secure her right foot to the stone, allowing her the chance to gain her balance. Just as Jack Barlowe throws the candidate between them off the parapet, and charges after her yelling. 

 

Short of tripping him I can’t do much. She is up and moving quickly to the other side, jumping down into the opposite turret just as Jack reaches the end. I can’t hear what happens, but I can see Bodhi's face and whatever it was he is definitely going to tell me about it later. 

-    -    -

The last candidate begins to cross followed by Byron and I turn to Garrick. “We’re fucked.” His eyebrows shoot up into his floppy curls. The only word he needs to hear from me is “Sorrengail.” 

 

He knows about the 107 scars carved into my back by her mother the night of the burning. Knows of the ‘favor to be named later’ I traded for their chance to earn their life in the death college. Before we took up the mantle of the Apostasy, before we bonded our dragons and started smuggling weapons out of Basgiath. Before our life just got a whole lot harder by having the future scribe turned rider candidate in our midst. 

 

We hop up on the parapet and make our way back to the quadrant. It is my year to make the intimidation speech in front of the newly organized cadets. 

 

Sgaeyl takes the opportunity to drop into my mind. 

 

Well how are you going to manage to keep that alive? 

 

The ‘that’ said like a curse. She’s seen Sorrengail in my thoughts, she knows about the favor, about what keeping Sorrengail alive means. 

 

“I don’t fucking know. Have any bright ideas?”

 

I can hear the growling and muttering, but nothing forthcoming from her end. 

 

I’m standing on the dais while squads are getting called. While Violet Sorrengail gets put under Dain Aetos in Second Squad, Flame Section, Second Wing. Fuck me. 

 

I offer Second Wing Wingleader, Coby Fairbairn, my best squad. Because I have to have them. On the upside, at least I get Imogen in the deal. Down side, now I have to deal with Dain codex-fucking Aetos. This favor gets heavier by the moment. 

-    -    -

Fuck. ME. I’m storming out of the hand to hand evaluations with Garrick close behind me. She is absolutely useless! My shadows whip and writhe in response to my distress. My life, my friends lives, every life of every person in Aretia. Every single one hangs in the balance, and Violet Sorrengail is on the other side of the scale. 

 

How could her mother let her be so woefully underprepared. How did she let Violet cross the parapet knowing she would most likely die in this quadrant. Unless the entire point of putting her here was not to let her survive, and in turn the death of me and every marked one. How? How am I supposed to ensure her survival? Let alone get her a dragon. 

 

The days pass, and tonight is the first meeting of the year. I arrive first with Imogen and immediately my shadows alert me to someone hiding in the tree. Fucking Sorrengail, how the fuck is she here right now? Why is she here right now? I reach out with my signet, ascertaining that she just wants to remain hidden. I cloak her in my shadows, wrapping them tight so she doesn’t move or speak. I can’t have her found. 

 

I can’t believe one of the first years has the audacity to ask when they can kill Sorrengail, and of course Imogen just had to chime in. I could feel her struggling harder at that. Until Garrick speaks up, making sense and sounding remarkably logical. She stops struggling against my shadows to listen to Garrick. 

 

Once we are done and I excuse everyone but Garrick, I wait for them to make their way back up the path away from the Iakobos. I have my shadows bring her down. 

 

“Scream and you die,” I spit out, “Fucking Sorrengail” at the same time pulling back the hood of her cloak. 

 

She stares defiantly into my eyes “Is this how you plan to handle me?”

 

“Eavesdropping, were we?” my brow arches as I lean back against the tree like she couldn’t possibly pose a threat to me, which only serves to piss her off even more. “Now I might actually have to kill you.” There’s an undertone of truth in my words. If she was anyone but, she would have already been dead. 

 

This is just…bullshit.

 

“Then go ahead and get it over with.” 

 

I pull a dagger from a sheath on my thigh, but Garrick puts his hand on his arm to stop him. “Let’s hear her out first.” 

 

Garrick just ruined all my fun. “Do you plan on telling anyone about my little club?” My eyes meet hers, and I know there’s nothing but cold, calculating death in them.

 

“No,” she answer truthfully, suppressing a shiver. The shadows have gotten so tight she can barely expand her lungs to take a breath.

 

“Why not?” I tilted my head to the side, examining her face, her truth surprised me. “It’s illegal for the children of separatist officers to assemble in—”

 

“Groups larger than three. I’m well aware. I’ve lived at Basgiath longer than you.” She lifts her chin gasping for breath.

 

“And you’re not going to run off to Mommy, or your precious little Dain, and tell them we’ve been assembling?” My gaze narrows on hers.

 

“You were helping them. I don’t see why that should be punished.” It wouldn’t be fair to him or the others. Was their little meeting illegal? Absolutely. Should they die for it? Absolutely not. And that’s exactly what will happen if I tell. Those first-years will be executed for nothing more than asking for tutoring, and the senior cadets will join them just because they helped. “I’m not going to tell.”

 

My signet learns more than I've ever gleaned from anyone, like her brain is speaking directly into mine.  

 

“Interesting. We’ll see if you keep your word, and if you do, then unfortunately, it looks like I owe you a favor.” Then I step away, turn, and wals off with Garrick, heading back toward the staircase in the cliff that leads up to the citadel.

 

“You’re not going to handle me?” she calls after me, shock in her voice.

 

“Not tonight!” I toss over my shoulder.

 

I barely hear her scoff. “What are you waiting for?”

 

“It’s no fun if you expect it,” I answers, striding into the darkness. “Now, get back to bed before your wingleader realizes you’re out after curfew.”

 

“What?” she squawks “You’re my wingleader!”

 

But I’ve already disappeared into the shadows, leaving her talking to myself like a fool. I won’t mention the poisonous fonilee berries she had in her pack. She needs any advantage in this death college that she can get. 

-    -    -

Violet launches 2 blades at Jack Barlowe, one slicing into his ear and the other landing dangerously close to what would usually be his balls, but since she already castrated him, it must just be a reminder. 

 

She gets called to the mat with Oren Seifert, who looks green. Ahh little poison master made use of her foraging. Smart girl. 

 

She takes him to the mat, taking advantage of his heaving. Emeterrio calls a yield once Seifert pukes up his guts all over the mat. Sorrengail makes her way around the puke pile and claims her victory dagger. 

 

This pattern repeats itself week after week, her opponent is weakened, though her dosing seems to be getting lower as her fights are getting tougher. Almost like she is dosing them this way on purpose to get better. Good for her. 

 

Unfortunately it seems Rayma had a severe reaction to whatever she poisoned her with, since she ended up in the healers this morning after breakfast. 

 

Watching her face as I step forward onto the mat is hilarious. She wasn’t expecting it, and I can read it all over her face, no signet required. 

 

“You are all in for a treat,” Professor Emetterio says, clapping his hands. “Xaden’s one of the best fighters we have. Watch and learn.”

 

“Of course you are,” she mutters.

 

“A little out of her league, don’t you think?” Dain argues from the side of the mat, tension radiating from every word.

 

“Relax, Aetos.” I look over my shoulder, gaze hardening toward where Dain is standing, where he always stands when she is on the mat. “She’ll be in one piece when I’m finished teaching her.”

 

“I hardly think it’s fair—” Dain’s voice rises.

 

“No one asked you to think, squad leader,” I fire back as I move to the side, discarding every weapon on my body—and there’s a lot of them—and handing them to Imogen.

 

“You don’t think you’ll need those?” she asks, palming her own blades. 

 

“Nope. Not when you brought enough for the both of us.” A smile curves my mouth as I stretch out my hand and curls my fingers in a come-hither motion. “Let’s go.”

 

She flings a dagger straight at my chest.

 

I catch it and clucks my tongue. “Already seen that move.”

 

She moves forward in the same swipe-and-kick combo she used over the past six weeks. I dodge the blade and then capture her leg. I slam her down onto her back, the sudden impact driving the air from her lungs.

 

But instead of the blow I can see her preparing for, I simply wait. I hear her take a full breath and she uses the timing to lunge up at me with another blade in hand, aimed at my thigh. I simply block it with my forearm, twisting my palm over her ridiculously fragile wrist as I force her to drop the dagger to the ground, kicking it off the mat. “You are quite a Violent little thing aren’t you?” 

 

“My name is Violet,” she seethes. Anger is powerful, but I can tell she isn’t going to use it right. 

 

I release her wrist and stand, offering me a hand. “We’re not done yet.”

 

Stupid little bitch takes the offering. So I tug her to her feet, then twist her arm behind her back and yank her against my chest, pinning our joined hands before she even gains her balance.

 

“Damn it!” she snaps.

 

I pull another dagger from her thigh sheaths and hold it to her throat as I pin her to my chest with a forearm locked across her ribs. She’s short and has almost no leverage against me like this. But she doesn’t use her flexibility to her advantage either. 

 

I drop the third dagger I’ve taken from her and kick it forward—to where Dain stands, the other two already in his hand. There’s murder in his eyes as he glares at me. I can’t say I’m not enjoying getting that reaction out of him. 

 

I continue to disarm her at every turn, the pile of daggers in Dains hands getting bigger. I haven’t harmed her, but I won't go easy on her either. She punches forward, but I dip and her knife sails over my shoulder, missing me by six inches. I grab her arm, yanking her forward and flipping her around the side of my body. She is airborne for a heartbeat before she smacks into the mat, her ribs taking the impact.

 

I crank Violet’s arm into a submission hold and she cries out, dropping the dagger, but I’m not done with her. My knee is in her ribs and, though I hold the arm captive with one hand, the other plucks a dagger from its sheath and flings it toward Dain’s feet before taking another and holding it to the tender area where her jaw meets her neck. It’s a beautiful dagger and the razor sharp edge nicks the skin of her throat. 

 

Then I leaned closer. “Taking out your enemy before the battle is really smart; I’ll give that to you,” I whisper too low for anyone to hear. She realizes that I know she had been poisoning her opponents. 

 

“I fucking hate you.” She spits at me.

 

“That doesn’t make you special.”

 

I get to my feet, kicking both daggers toward Dain.

 

Two more. She only has two more.

 

She ignores my outstretched hand this time, gaining her feet and for once she doesn’t think before she moves. She just acts, going low and kicking out the backs of my knees. I could have stopped it, but not many could so I go down and she pounces, trying for a headlock. She isn’t big or strong enough for that yet. Not without the knowledge of leverage and placement, which she doesn’t have. 

 

Instead of going for her arms, I twist, grabbing ahold of the backs of her thighs claiming back the leverage and we go careening to the mat. I come out on top, my forearm pressing against her throat, cutting off air and my hips have hers pinned, her legs useless in between mine as I sit heavily on her thighs. She can’t escape from this. 

 

She slips one of her last two daggers free and goes for my shoulder. I seize her wrist and pin it above her head.

 

Heat rushes up her neck and flames lick her cheeks as I lower my face so my lips are only inches away from hers.

 

Stupid little girl. She’s attracted to me, I can see it, I can feel it. Even without using my signet on her. It’s clear in the little sounds she's making and the way she’s writhing beneath me. 

 

I push my fingers into her fist, forcing it open, then sends the blade skittering across the mat to Dain before letting go of her wrist.

 

“Get your dagger,” I order.

 

“What?” her eyes fly wide. 

 

“Get. Your. Dagger,” I repeat, taking her hand in mine and retrieving the last blade she’s got. My fingers curl over Violets, clasping the hilt.

 

Her pulse skitters like a horny teenager.

 

“You’re tiny.” I insult. I can’t have her getting a crush on me. I can’t get over her being a Sorrengail, and while she’s pretty, having her life under my supervision just fosters hate. 

 

“Well aware.” Her eyes narrow.

 

“I think she’s been taught enough for the day,” Dain barks, reminding me that we’re far from alone. 

 

I guide our hands back to her ribs and slide the ruby-hilted blade back into its sheath.

 

“You’re not going to disarm me?” she challenges me as I release my grip and push up more, removing my weight from her body. I can still feel her ribs expand as she takes her first full breath.

 

“Nope. Defenseless women have never been my type. We’re done for today.” I stands, then walk away without another word, taking my weapons from Imogen. 

 

Hopefully she learned something today. Something other than what it felt like to have my body cover hers. 

 

You didn’t seem to enjoy that as much as some would. 

 

Sgaeyls voice sounds from the back of my mind. ‘No I didn’t. I don’t find her attractive. She’s like a helpless little girl, and her life is the only thing keeping us alive.’

 

She hums,

Your EXO doesn’t seem to have the same hold ups as you.

 

What? I whip to Garrick to find a concerned look on his face as he stares at Sorrengail. Oh for the love of the gods. Just what I don’t need. 

-    -    -

We passed under a mage light, headed back to the dorms after a drop. 

 

“There has to be something more we can do,” Bodhi argues, looking at me, his voice low as we walk. 

 

“We’re doing everything we can,” Garrick hisses.

 

My shadows alert me to a presence, of course it’s hers and I stop mid-step, the set of my shoulders rigid.

 

“What’s wrong?” Garrick asks, immediately looking over his shoulder in the opposite direction, toward the couple who definitely decided making out is more important than getting into the dorms by curfew.

 

“Go on. I’ll meet you inside,” I say..

 

“You sure?” Bodhi’s forehead puckers, and his gaze sweeps over the courtyard.

 

“Go,” it’s an order this time, and I stand completely still until the other two walk into the barracks, turning left toward the stairwell that will take them to the second- and third-year floors. Only when they’re gone do I turn and face the exact spot where Sorrengail is sitting.

 

“I know you know I’m here.” She stands and moves toward me “And please don’t prattle on about commanding the dark. I’m not in the mood tonight.”

 

“No questions about where I’ve been?” I fold my arms across my chest and study her in the moonlight.

 

“I honestly don’t care.” She shrugs and I study her face.

 

“You really don’t, do you?” 

 

“Nope. It’s not like I’m not out after curfew myself.” A heavy sigh blows through her lips.

 

“What are you doing out after curfew, first-year?”

 

“Debating running away,” she retorts. “How about you? Feel like sharing?” she asks mockingly, knowing I’m not about to answer her.

 

“The same.”

 

“Look, are you going to kill me or not? The anticipation is starting to annoy the fuck out of me.” She lifts a hand to my shoulder and rolls it, pressing in on what must sore muscles, today was their first gauntlet run.

 

“Haven’t decided yet,” I answer, like she just inquired about his dinner preferences, but my gaze narrows on her cheek. It’s scraped, like she slammed it against stone. Wonder if she had to use a rope. 

 

“Well, could you?” she mutters. “It would definitely help me make my plans for the week.” 

 

“Am I affecting your schedule, Violence?” There’s a definite smirk in my tone.

 

“I just need to know what my chances are here.” Her hands curl into fists.

 

I just smile. “That’s the oddest way I’ve ever been hit on—”

 

“Not my chances with you, you conceited prick!” Good. She goes to move past me, but I catch her wrist, my grip firm. My fingertips track her pulse, which is only slightly elevated.

 

“Chances at what?” I ask, giving her a little shake.

 

“Nothing” her eyes go a little glazed over. 

 

“Chances at what?” I repeat. “Do not make me ask three times.” My tone is ominous as I pull her closer, and… Did she just fucking sniff me?! Oh hell no, I step away from her.

 

Words start tumbling out of Sorrengails mouth “At living through all of this! I can’t make it up the damned Gauntlet.” she half-heartedly tugs at her wrist, but I don’t let go.

 

“I see.” I’m trying to radiate calm because her emotions are fucking everywhere.

 

“No, you don’t. You’re probably celebrating because I’ll fall to my death and you won’t have to go to the trouble of killing me.”

 

“Killing you wouldn’t be any trouble, Violence. It’s leaving you alive that seems to cause the majority of my trouble.” Keeping her alive is definitely a majority of my trouble. But I won’t tell her that.

 

Her gaze swings up to clash with mine, but I know my face is unreadable, cloaked in shadow.

 

“Sorry to be a hassle.” Sarcasm drips from her voice. “You know the problem with this place?” She tugs her arm back again, but I hold fast. “Besides you touching things that don’t belong to you?” Her eyes narrow on me.

 

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” I say and she answers “Hope.”

 

“Hope?” god fucking damnit, of all the things for her to get, hopeful is the worst.

 

“Hope.” she nods. “Someone like you would never get it, but I knew coming here was a death sentence. It didn’t matter that I’ve been trained my entire life to enter the Scribe Quadrant; when General Sorrengail gives an order, you can’t exactly ignore it.” 

 

“Sure you can.” I shrug. “You just might not like the consequences.”

 

Dropping her wrist and expecting her to step away, she takes me by surprise when she leans in. What the fuck. How in the hell does this woman think that leaning in to me is the right thing to do. Apparently I’ve been too good at hiding my hate and dislike of her. 

“I knew what the odds were, and I came anyway, concentrating on that tiny percentage of a chance that I would live. And then I make it almost two months and I get…” she shakes her head, clenching her jaw. “Hopeful.” The word looks like it tastes sour.

 

“Ah. And then you lose a squadmate, and you can’t quite get up the chimney, and you give up. I’m starting to see. It’s not a flattering picture, but if you want to run off to the Scribe Quadrant—”

 

She gasps, fear punching a hole in my signet. “How do you know about that?” If he knows…if he tells, Dain is in danger.

 

A wicked smile curves my lips. “I know everything that goes on here.” Darkness swirls around us. “Shadows, remember? They hear everything, see everything, conceal everything.” She doesn’t need to know my deepest secret. Let her believe that my shadows are omnipotent.

 

“My mother would definitely reward you if you told her about Dain’s plan,” she says softly.

 

“She’d definitely reward you for telling her about my little…what did you call it? Club.”

 

“I’m not going to tell her.” The words sound defensive.

 

“I know. It’s why you’re still alive.” I hold her gaze. “Here’s the thing, Sorrengail. Hope is a fickle, dangerous thing. It steals your focus and aims it toward the possibilities instead of keeping it where it belongs—on the probabilities.”

 

“So I’m supposed to what? Not hope that I live? Just plan for death?” She sounds as frustrated as she looks. 

 

“You’re supposed to focus on the things that can kill you so you find ways to not die.” I shake my head. “I can barely count the number of people in this quadrant who want you dead, either as revenge against your mother or because you’re just really good at pissing people off, but you’re still here, defying the odds.” Shadows wrap around us, and I rub a shadow over her wounded cheek. “It’s been rather surprising to watch, actually.”

 

“Happy to be your entertainment. I’m going to bed.” Spinning on her heel, she heads toward the entrance to the barracks, but I’m right behind her, close enough that the door would slam in my face if I wasn’t fast.

 

“Maybe if you stopped sulking in your self-pity, you’d see that you have everything you need to scale the Gauntlet,” I call after her, my voice echoing down the hallway.

 

“My self-what?” she whips around, jaw dropping.

 

“People die,” I say slowly, jaw ticking before I drag in a deep breath. “It’s going to happen over and over again. It’s the nature of what happens here. What makes you a rider is what you do after people die. You want to know why you’re still alive? Because you’re the scale I currently judge myself against every night. Every day I let you live, I get to convince myself that there’s still a part of me that’s a decent person. So if you want to quit, then please, spare me the temptation and fucking quit. But if you want to do something, then do it.”

 

“I’m too short to span the distance!” she hisses, uncaring that anyone could hear us.

 

“The right way isn’t the only way. Figure it out.” leaving her with that I turn and walk away towards the stairs leading to the upper level dorms. Son of a bitch. How am I going to get her up the fucking gauntlet.

 

AN: Hopefully you guys are catching the vibe. I think there will be one more Xaden chapter, maybe two to catch us up. 

Chapter 15: Chapter 15

 

Xaden POV

 

Gauntlet Duty. Stand at the top and record the times for each candidate in your wing. And somehow get Violet Sorrengail up the gauntlet. I overheard she made it up the chimney but not the ramp. So how in the fuck was I going to get her up the ramp. 

 

I take times until I hear Emeterrio call Sorrengails name from the base of the Gauntlet. I move enough so that I can multitask, watching her ascent and maintaining the times. She uses her body differently, which is to be expected of someone drastically shorter than your average cadet. But she’s smart. I can tell she had thought through every aspect of this course and how she could make her size and speed work for her. 

 

Thank god, she was making my job easier. She uses a springboard technique to scale the bottom of the chimney, gaining enough height that she can span the distance. I’m still wondering what she's done for the ramp when she pulls out a dagger. Son of a bitch. 

 

I can feel my demise as she sprints for the ramp, jumping and sinking the knife as deep into the face of the ramp as she can. She’s using the exposed hilt of the blade to swing her lower leg high enough to get it onto the top of the ramp. She shoves up on the blade getting a hold of the top of the ramp and hauls herself over the edge, before reaching back down and pulling the dagger from the ramp. 

 

I know my face is stormy, I have no way to defend her use of foreign materials to scale the gauntlet. It’s a death sentence. At least her mother would know there was nothing I could do about it, hopefully she’ll understand. 

 

Here comes Amber Mavis. Her and Dain Aetos probably fucked with the codex between them. She caterwalling about not allowing lawlessness in my own wing as Garrick cuts her off. He’s using codex against her, leaving the handling of rule breaking to me. For a muscle bound jock, he’s smart and capable, there’s a reason he is my EXO. 

 

“Sorrengail” I question, looking her in the eyes as I silently wait for her explanation.I hope to the Gods she fucking has one or we’re both dead.

 

“A rider may only bring to the quadrant the items they can carry—” she starts. Oh you clever little thing. 

 

“Are you quoting the Codex to me?” Amber shouts.

 

“—and they shall not be separated from those items no matter what they may be,” she continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. “For once carried across the parapet, they are considered part of their person. Article Three, Section Six, Addendum B.”

 

Amber’s blue eyes flare wide as I glance at her. “That addendum was written to make thievery an executional offense.”

 

“Correct.” Sorrengail nods, looking between Amber and me. “But in doing so, it gave any item carried across the parapet the status of being a part of the rider.” She unsheathes the chipped and battered blade. “This isn’t a challenge blade. It’s one I carried across and therefore considered part of myself.” 

 

As she shows us the blade I notice the shredded status of that palm, and that poor quality wood handle that ruined her palm. I can only hope that the dragons don’t see it as a weakness. 

 

They won’t. 

 

I shoot a burst of thankfulness down the bond at Sgaeyl’s remark. 

 

“The right way isn’t the only way.” she repeats my words from the other night.

 

I hold her gaze. “She has you, Amber.”

 

“On a technicality!”

 

“She still has you.” I turn slightly and deliver Amber a look that tells her to shut up and get lost. She has no leg to stand on after that. 

 

She goes to turn away, pinning Sorrengail with a sneer “You think like a Scribe.” Indeed she does. 

 

Sorrengail knows that she intended it as an insult but she just looks proud and retorts “I know.” 

 

Before she returns to her squad I speak “Sorrengail, you’re leaking.” My gaze dropping pointedly to the hand she wrecked on the ramp, where blood is now dripping from her fingertips. “Do something about it.” 

 

I notice Garrick head her way, as Rhiannon helps her rip off her sleeve to use as a wrap. Turning away I go back to taking the times for cadets scaling the ramp to end their gauntlet run. 

 

I’m not involved in the Presentation part of this, so I head back to the citadel to take care of the paperwork that follows gauntlet. I know Sgaeyl planned to keep an eye on Sorrengail through her walk. 

 

Indeed, and she’s starting now. 

 

Keep me appraised of anything. Sgaeyl just huffs in my mind. 

-    -    -

I knock at Garrick's door that evening after checking in with Liam and Bodhi. I don't hear anything through his sound shield, his ward and rune skills have always been better than mine, but it does take him a minute to answer the door. When he opens the door I understand why, a smile spreading across my face at the future teasing I could deliver. 

 

Sorrengail is sitting on his desk, and Garrick looks a little flushed. I wonder what they had been doing here prior to my arrival. She hops quickly off the desk and goes to make her escape, I let her pass me before throwing at her retreating figure. “Looking a little flushed there Violence.” But I’m looking directly at Garrick, who can’t keep the blush off his face either. Interesting, considering Garrick was a bigger manwhore than I was. Taking women to bed whenever he felt the need or want, but never anything more. 

-    -    -

October first is always Threshing.

 

Monday, Wednesday, or Sunday, it doesn’t matter where it falls on any given year. On the first of October, the first-year cadets of the Riders Quadrant enter the bowl-shaped forested valley to the southwest of the citadel and pray they come out alive.

 

The second and third years are stationed around the bowl to observe. We’ve never been told why, considering we aren’t allowed to interfere. Sgaeyl and I didn’t enter the bowl last year, content to watch from the skies and keep an eye on all the marked ones. That was the plan for this year as well. 

 

Until we tracked Sorrengail bolting for a clearing with the golden dragon, trailed by Jack Barlowe and his cronies. So we landed quietly and without notice, moving closer to hear what Sorrengail was shouting at the 3 idiots. 

 

After listening to them go back and forth, and watching Sorrengail bring a dagger into prime throwing position, I finally speak. “I would strongly recommend you rethink your actions.” I’m standing with my arms crossed over my chest and I know Sgaeyl is in an attack position behind me. 

 

Despite not being able to actually interfere, I’m hoping my presence will incentivize Barlowe and his friends to move along. 

 

“And if we don’t want to rethink our actions?” Jack shouts.

Gods damn it. For a mook, he’s obviously aware of the rules. 

 

“There’s nothing you can do, right? Wingleader?” Jack bellows.

 

“It’s not me you should worry about today,” I respond and Sgaeyl tilts her head, nothing but menace in her eyes when I glance over. Any rational cadet would move it along just by her look alone. But Jack and his followers, Tynan and Oren, are a special kind of jumped-up stupid. 

 

They all start towards Sorrengail, who flips the dagger towards Barlowe, her biggest threat. Smart, and accurate, she lands it deep in the gap in his shoulder. That’s going to require surgery if Nolon isn’t around to mend it. He clutches the shoulder, squealing like the little bitch he is, demanding that his friends kill her, as he backs away before turning tail and running. 

 

Now it’s two to one, not great odds, but significantly better with Barlowe out of the picture. Tynan jabs with his sword, making a slight connection before Sorrengail guts him, turning her focus away from where he is screaming and trying to hold his guts in his body. 

 

She moves into Oren’s space while he is staring in horror at Tynan, she slices his hip, but he recovers enough to slash at her with his sword, bringing it down where she deflects it only enough to make it lodge in her arm instead of her neck. Damn, that’s to the bone, and of course she drops her dagger. 

 

Pick it up, pick it up, pick it up! 

 

I think she would if she could. 

 

I know, but fuck! Logically I know she has plenty more sheathed on her body, but the immediate loss is problematic. I’m about to say fuck the rules, and keep this little shit alive, hell I even take a step.

 

Don’t you dare fuck up everything we have worked for?

He is almost here. 

 

He who? My unasked question is answered as Tairn, my dragons mate, appears over the treeline. Is he here for Andarna or Sorrengail? 

 

I called him to assist the golden one, 

but beyond that I do not know. 

 

If he bonds with Sorrengail, I am so fucked. 

 

He knows of her from my stories. 

But I know not what he will do with that information. 

 

Tairn lands, and blasts a stream of dragon fire after the now retreating Oren, ending his existence. Then he turns his golden gaze to Sorrengail. But he doesn’t burn her, and she starts arguing with him. Son of a fucking bitch. 

 

I have an immediate headache for what this has just done to me, to the rebellion. I mount Sgaeyl and she carries me away from the clearing. 

 

I was unaware he would even think of bonding.

And I know what a sore spot she has been for you. 

 

She’s not apologetic, just stating this matter of factly. My mind reels at the consequences of what just happened. When I had first learned of my dragon's bonded mate, she had told me of his last rider. How losing Naolin had almost killed him, and that the next rider he chose would certainly be his last. The death of that rider, would be the death of him, and consequently her death, and mine as her bonded rider.

 

My life was as tied to Sorrengails, and hers to mine. 

 

High in the sky with no one around I screamed my frustrations to the sky. I flop backwards on Sgaeyls back, staring at the sky above us. My life was over, forfeit, same as all the lives of every kid from the apostasy. Tairn had just committed us to Malek. 

 

I pull myself together as Sgaeyl starts descending towards the flight field. Tairn and the little golden dragon-

 

Andarna

 

My brain stutters. Why would I need to know her name now? Sgaeyl had clearly kept her from me until now. 

 

She has used her Right of Benefaction to bond the Silver One. 

 

I thought Tairn-

 

In addition to Tairn. 

 

Command isn’t going to like that. 

 

You’re correct, they still appear to be arguing over it.

There will be a meeting of The Empyrean to discuss it. 

 

The Empyrean being the dragon council. I’m betting their choice will stand, after all, since when do dragons answer to anyone. Sgaeyl settles next to Chradh, Garrick’s Brown Clubtail allowing me to dismount and speak with my EXO. 

 

I watch as Violet returns from the healers tent and is swarmed by her squad, her friends. Only to be pulled away by Dain Aetos. I roll my eyes, I hope I'm not stuck with his insufferable ass just because I got saddled with Sorrengail for the rest of my life. I move stealthily between the shadows to just within hearing range, still cloaked in shadows. Just listening, as Sorrengail recounts what happened in the clearing, I can see his mind spinning, and the conclusion he’s come to. 

 

“Don’t you see what happened? What Xaden’s done?” His grip tightens. She’s going to have bruises tomorrow.

 

“Please, do tell me what it is you think I’ve done.” I emerge from the shadows, and let my shadows fall away. 

 

“You manipulated Threshing.” Dain’s hands drop from Sorrengail's shoulders, and he turns to face me, the set of his shoulders rigid as he puts himself in front of her.

 

Oh shit, that’s a huge allegation to hurl. I’d give him some credit if he wasn’t such a pompous dick head. Plus he’s wrong, I would have if needed, and I definitely would have if I’d have managed to save us from being connected. 

 

“Dain, that’s…” she sidesteps Dain’s back. 

 

“Is that an official accusation?” I look at Dain like exactly what he is, a hindrance, an annoyance.

 

“Did you step in?” Dain demands.

 

“Did I what?”  I arched a dark brow and leveled a look on Dain that would make a lesser person wither. “Did I see her outnumbered and already wounded? Did I think her bravery was as admirable as it was fucking reckless?” I turned my gaze to Violet, hoping to drill through her head exactly what I was saying. 

 

“And I would do it again.” She raises her chin.

 

“Well-the-fuck-aware,” I roars, losing what careful grasp I have on my temper.

 

I pull in a quick breath, trying to reign it back in. “Did I see her fight off three bigger cadets?” My glare pivots back to Dain. “Because the answer to all of those is yes. But you’re asking the wrong question, Aetos. What you should be asking is if Sgaeyl saw it, too.”

 

Dain swallows and looks away, obviously rethinking his position.

 

“His mate told him,” Sorrengail whispers. 

 

“She’s never been a fan of bullies,” I respond. “But don’t mistake it as an act of kindness toward you. She’s fond of the little dragon. Unfortunately, Tairn chose you all on his own.”

 

“Fuck,” Dain mutters.

 

“My thoughts exactly.” Shaking my head at Dain I speak honestly. “Sorrengail is the last person on the Continent I’d ever want to be chained to me. I didn’t do this.” 

 

I can see that my words have hurt her, but I can’t bring myself to care. She doesn’t truly understand what bonding Tairn means for me. What it means for her. 

 

“And even if I had,” moving towards Dain, towering over him. “Would you really level that accusation knowing it would have been what saved the woman you call your best friend?”

 

Sorrengail's gaze flies to Dain, and a silent, damning moment passes. It’s a simple question, and yet she is holding her breath for his answer. I already know it.

 

“There are…rules.” Dain tilts his chin to look me in the eyes. Like he’s trying to implore me to see reason.

 

“And out of curiosity, would you have, let’s say, bent those rules to save your precious little Violet in that field?” my voice ices over as I study Dain’s expression with rapt fascination.

 

Dain’s jaw flexes, and I see the war in his eyes.

 

Sorrengail moves to Dain’s side but not in support, it’s because she wants to see his face when he answers. The sound of whipping wings interrupts the night. The dragons are flying back. They’ve made their decision.

 

“I’m ordering you to answer, squad leader.” I didn't even spare her a glance.

 

Dain swallows, his eyes slamming shut. “No. I wouldn’t have.”

 

I scoff, despite knowing this would be his answer. .

 

Dain immediately jerks his head toward Sorrengail. “It would have killed me to watch something happen to you, Vi, but the rules—”

 

“It’s all right,” she forces out, touching his shoulder, but it isn’t. I knew their friendship was already strained with how he had been acting. 

 

“The dragons are returning,” I comment as the first of them lands on the illuminated field. “Get back to formation, squad leader.”

 

Dain rips his gaze from hers and walks away, blending into the crowd of hurried riders and their dragons.

 

“Why would you do that to him?” she spits the words at me, then shakes her head. “Forget it,” she muttered, then marched off, heading back toward the spot where Tairn now waited.

 

“Because you put too much faith in him,” I answer anyway, catching up to her without even lengthening my stride, fuck she’s short. “And knowing who to trust is the only thing that will keep you alive—keep us alive—not only in the quadrant but after graduation.”

 

“There is no us,” Sorrengail says, dodging a rider as she races past. Dragons land left and right, the ground trembling with the force of the riot’s movement. 

 

“Oh, I think you’ll find that’s no longer the case,” I murmured next to her, gripping her elbow and yanking me out of the path of another rider running from the other direction. How can she be so careless and oblivious. 

 

“Tairn’s bonds are so powerful, both to mate and rider, because he’s so powerful. Losing his last rider nearly killed him, which, in turn, nearly killed Sgaeyl. Mated pairs’ lives are—”

 

Sorrengail interrupts “Interdependent, I know that.” We move forward until we’re dead center in the line of riders. 

 

“Each time a dragon chooses a rider, that bond is stronger than the last, which means that if you die, Violence, it sets off a chain of events that potentially ends with me dying, too.” I’ve carefully donned my mask of immovable marble, “So yeah, unfortunately for everyone involved, there’s now an us if the Empyrean lets Tairn’s choice stand.”

 

We’re fucking tethered. Our fates interlaced. Lashed together till death do us part. 

 

“And now that Tairn is in play, that other cadets know he’s willing to bond…” I sigh, annoyance clear in my voice, as I clench my jaw to keep from yelling at her again.

 

“That’s why Tairn told me to stay with you,” she whispers as the consequences of today seem to hit her. “Because of the unbonded.” There are at least three dozen of them standing on the opposite side of the field, watching us with avarice in their eyes.

 

“The unbonded are going to try to kill you in hopes they’ll get Tairn to bond them.” Garrick approaches but I put him off with a shake of my head, still he glances between us, his mouth sets into a firm line before retreating across the field. It’s too bad that it wasn’t Chradh’s mate that had bonded her. It would have been better for all involved. She was one of the greens that had sniffed at the corset Sorrengail wears. But ultimately she hadn’t found anyone worth bonding and wasn’t even present on the threshing field. 

 

“Tairn is one of the strongest dragons on the Continent, and the vast power he channels is about to be yours. The next few months, the unbonded will try to kill a newly paired rider while the bond is weak, while they still have a chance of that dragon changing its mind and picking them so they’re not set back a full year. And for Tairn? They’ll do just about anything.”I can’t stop the sigh that leaves my chest. “There are forty unbonded riders for which you are now target number one.” I hold up a single finger to drive the point home.

 

“And Tairn thinks you’ll play bodyguard.” Sorrengail snorts. “Little does he know just how much you dislike me.”

 

“He knows exactly how much I value my own life,” I quickly retort, glancing at her face. “You’re freakishly calm for someone who just heard she’s about to be hunted.”

 

“It’s a typical Wednesday for me.” She shrugs. “And honestly, being hunted by forty people is a lot less intimidating than constantly watching dark corners for you.”

 

Without another word, I rip my gaze from hers and walk away, cutting a slightly diagonal path across the field to where Sgaeyl overshadows the other wingleaders’ dragons. I hope she is only trying to bring some levity to the situation. That she isn’t taking this change in her life so casually as another Tuesday.

 

General Melgran steps to the front of the raised platform “Codagh has relayed that the dragons have spoken regarding the Sorrengail girl.” Lesser magic allows his voice to magically amplify over the field for all to hear. “While tradition has shown us that there is one rider for every dragon, there has never been a case of two dragons selecting the same rider, and therefore there is no dragon law against it,” he declares. “While we riders may not feel as though this is…equitable”—his tone implies that he’s one of them—“dragons make their own laws. Both Tairn and…” He looks over his shoulder and his aide rushes forward to whisper in his ear. “Andarna have chosen Violet Sorrengail, and so their choice stands.”

 

Of course it fucking stands, dragons do not answer to humans.

 

General Sorrengail steps forward and makes the same gesture with her hands to project her voice, but I can’t concentrate on what she’s saying as she closes out the formal portion of the Threshing ceremony, promising the unbonded riders another chance next year. 

 

I send my signet Sorrengail’s way, she is thinking about the unbonded and being bound to her dragons and me. She looks my way and I hold up a single finger again, enemy number one. 

 

“Welcome to a family that knows no boundaries, no limits, and no end,” General Sorrengail finishes, and a cheer resounds around the field. “Riders, step forward.”

 

I watch as Violet looks confused before stepping forward like everyone else. The fire from Tairn and Andarna blends together and coalesces around her. I feel my heart speed up in my chest, no matter how many times I see this, I think I will always be reminded of our parents burning. 

 

As suddenly as it starts, it’s over and the newly minted Riders begin to cheer and celebrate. I watch as Ridoc loosens her corset and pulls her collar away from her back to look at her new relic. As I turn away I catch him lacing it back up. I move to go talk to Garrick. Who is watching Ridoc looking a little like he got bit by the green monster. 

 

I can’t help but rib him a little as I pass “Looks like you better move quick if you don’t want Ridoc to beat you there.” I laugh out loud as I walk away from Garrick, who is sputtering and trying to come up with a retort but failing. 

 

I have to go talk to Imogen. I need someone to train Sorrengail and I know Garrick is still teaching 2 other marked ones. Plus I need his head to be in the right place, and I’m not sure that it is when Sorrengail is involved. 

-    -    -

Classes are out for the afternoon, and Garrick and I are leaned up against the wall of the academic building like gods surveying our domain.

 

I arch a dark eyebrow as Sorrengail passes by.

 

She flips me the middle finger.

 

“Everything all right?” Rhiannon asks as Sorrengail catches up to her and the guys.

 

“Dain is an ass—”

 

“Make it stop!” someone screams, rushing down the steps of the rotunda and holding his head. It’s a first-year in Third Wing who sits two rows beneath me in Battle Brief and perpetually drops his quill. “For gods’ sake, make it stop!” he shrieks, stumbling into the courtyard.

 

My hands hover over my blades as I push off the wall and move to Sorrengail’s left.

 

The crowd hollows, forming a circle around the first-year as he screams, clutching his head.

 

“Jeremiah!” someone shouts, coming forward.

 

“You!” Jeremiah spins, pointing his finger at the third-year. “You think I’ve lost it!” His head tilts, and his eyes flare. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!” His tone shifts, like the words aren’t his own.

 

Chills race down my spine, dragging my stomach to the ground. I know what’s happening, and I can’t do anything to stop it. 

 

“And you!” He spins again, pointing at a second-year in First Wing. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?” He turns again, focused on Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!” The impression is uncanny, embarrassing, and terrifying.

 

“Oh gods,” Sorrengail whispers, her heart thundering so loud, I swear I can hear it. Fair response. Jeremiah’s signet power is manifesting. He can read minds—an inntinnsic. His power is a death sentence.

 

Ridoc stumbles backward on my left—shoved aside—and I don’t need to look to know that Garrick has stepped up behind her.

 

Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword. “Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” His panic is palpable, clogging my own throat.

 

I stare at the cadet unwavering, lethal focus on Jeremiah, but my body tenses, ready to strike. “Start mentally reciting whatever bookish shit you’ve learned.”

 

“I’m sorry?” she hisses up at me.

 

“If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now,” I ordered.

 

Sorrengail starts humming what sounds like a lullaby, I reach out with my signet and to my surprise, she’s shielding. It’s not strong, I could get inside them if I wanted, but it’s enough to keep a first time wielder out. 

 

I’m jolted out of my thoughts as Jeremiah whips towards us and starts screaming again.

 

“And you!” Jeremiah turns, his gaze locking on Garrick. “Damn it all to hell. Vi will know about…”

The shadows around Jeremiah’s feet snake up his legs in a heartbeat, winding around his chest until they cover his mouth in bands of black. 

 

What the fuck Garrick! My head whips to where he stands behind me, Vi will know what? He shakes his head looking ashamed. Fucking right you should be ashamed, you know better than that. 

 

“He’s an inntinnsic!” someone shouts, and that seems to be all that’s necessary.

 

Professor Carr appears through the cadets and grips Jeremiah’s head with both hands, and a crack echoes off the walls of the silent courtyard. My shadows melt away and Jeremiah falls to the ground, his head at an unnatural, macabre angle. His neck is broken.

 

The professor bends down and lifts Jeremiah’s body with surprising strength, carrying him into the rotunda.

 

I inhale sharply and walk away with Garrick, headed toward the academic wing. Rounding on him as soon as we are out of sight. “What the fuck Garrick? Your shields can keep me out, you, of all people, should know better. Get your fucking head it in, we can’t have you not on top of it. Especially with tomorrow's drop coming. Get your shit together.” I shouldn’t be yelling at him, but fuck I can’t help it. 

 

Garrick only nods tightly, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, instead of looking me in the eyes like he usually does. I make a sound of disgust in my throat and march away from him before I say something I’ll really regret. 

-    -    -

We’re flying back from our weapons drop in Athebyne silently. I know I don;t have control over my features and they clearly show that I am pissed. It’s not often Syrena has to drag along her little sister and my ex-fiance, but tonight was one of those nights. Her mind work is fucking impeccable and she takes every opportunity to use it on me. If she wasn’t such a bitter harpy I might have been able to respect her and forge an alliance. 

 

Unfortunately she uses her skills for stupid things like manipulating my emotions, and after one too many times of waking up in her bed after telling myself I never would. I told the council and Tecarus exactly what I thought about being sexually assaulted by the woman I was supposed to marry for an alliance. 

 

I was in a foul mood, molars grinding when Sgaeyl kicked it into hyper speed, leaving Chradh and Cuir behind. I was about to ask what the fuck was going on when Tairn roared in my head. 

 

The Silver One is under attack! They are in her room. Hurry!

 

I could only assume they were the unbonded, but how did they get in her room. 

 

It does not matter how they got there, only that they are. 

You have to get there quickly or she will be dead. 

 

I launched off Sgaeyl as she passed over the dorms flying low. I used my shadows to cushion my landing and subsequent jump off the roof of the dorm building. I blasted through the doors, sprinting for the stairs to the Fourth Wing dorms. 

 

Shadowed One, she’s going to die!

 

Fuck, I wasn’t going to make it. I was running as fast as I could, boosting my speed with basic magic. I slid to a stop in her open doorway. My eyes taking in the chaos in her room. There was a guy by her window, spurting blood from a cut in his thigh, another guy dead by her bed with a dagger in his heart. A third cadet was holding her hand over a gash in her arm and a fourth clutching her eye, her hand and face a bloody mess. I could just barely see yet another unbonded dead by the foot of the bed with a dagger in her throat. Sorrengail is staring down at a cadet crumpled on the ground with his throat slit. There were 2 other armed cadets in her room and Sorrengail wasn’t even looking at the one getting ready to throw a dagger at her. 

 

The blade was in the air before I could even move. Then Sorrengail was in front of the cadet that threw the dagger, and was now clutching uselessly at her throat, blood pouring between her fingers. 

 

What the fuck just happened. I didn’t have time to think about it, my shadows flared as one of the remaining cadets shouted “Riorson” and dropped their weapon. 

 

“You think surrendering will save you?” My tone is lethal. “It is against our code to attack another rider in their sleep.”

 

“But you know he never should have bonded her!” Jacks buddy puts his hands up, his palms facing me. “You of all people have reason enough to want the weakling dead. We’re just correcting a mistake.”

 

“Dragons don’t make mistakes.” My shadows grab every remaining assailant by the throat, then constrict. They struggle, but it doesn’t matter. Their faces turn purple, the shadows holding tight as they sag to their knees, falling in an arc in front of me like lifeless puppets.

 

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick walks in, sheathing his sword as his gaze rakes over the room. “No time for questioning?” His glance sweeps to Sorrengail as if cataloging injuries, catching on her throat. The rage that consumes his face as seeing the offending mark surprises me. 

 

“No need for it, and she was more lethal than I was.” I counter as Bodhi enters, doing the same quick assessment Garrick had. An illogical laugh bubbles up through her lips, and all of us look at her like she’s lost it. Which she may have.

 

“Let me guess,” Bodhi says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re on cleanup?”

 

“Call in help if you need it,” I answer with a nod.

 

I reach out with my signet, lightly, just to assess her mental state.

 

I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.

 

 I wipe the blood from her dagger on the back of one of the cadets' tunic.

 

“Yes. You’re alive.” I say as I step over Oren’s body and two others, retrieving her dagger from the fallen woman’s shoulder before reaching my armoire. 

 

Garrick and Bodhi haul out the first bodies.

 

“I didn’t realize I’d said that out loud.” The trembling starts in her knees, and then she looks like she’s going to be sick. Fuck, it’s a reaction to the adrenaline, she’s shaking like a leaf as I sort through her armoire.

 

“It’s the shock,” I say, whipping her cloak from its hook and retrieving a pair of boots. I hope she bought the excuse because I had definitely pulled it straight from her brain. “Are you hurt?” My words are clipped and seem to break whatever temporary block she had on the pain. Because she gasps and clutches her throat. 

 

“Come on, Violence.” My tone is tense as I fold her cloak over my arm and bring her boots through the remaining bodies left on my floor. “Pull your shit together and tell me where you’re hurt.” I drop her boots at the ground next to my feet and my cloak lands on the little armchair in the corner.

 

“You’re breathing like crap, so I’m guessing it has to do with—”

 

“My throat,” she finished before I could guess. “The one by the armoire choked me.” 

 

“I can see the holes in your nightdress where they tried to stab you. I’m guessing since there’s no blood, it has something to do with that corset you always wear.”

 

“It’s dragon-scale.” She lifts her right arm and pivots slightly so I can see the gaping hole in her nightdress, it reveals a dull flash that definitely isn’t rider issue. “Mira made it for me. It’s why I’ve lived this long.”

 

I nod once before saying “Ingenious, though I’d say there are multiple reasons for why you’ve made it this far.” My gaze shifts to her throat and narrows at the purple imprint of a hand. 

 

“I’m fine.” She says, but I don’t need my signet to see that she isn’t. 

 

My focus snaps back to her eyes. “Never lie to me” I bite out through gritted teeth. She  nods her head and I continue  “my life depends on my ability to keep you alive. Now let me see.”

 

Sorrengail opens and shuts her mouth twice. “I’m fine.” she pushes past me, starting to pick up the clothes that the intruders have scattered all over the ground in the scuffle. If you could even call it that.

 

I thank Garrick as he and the others carry out the last of the bodies. “May I take a closer look” motioning to where the corset covers her from hip to sternum. 

 

She swallows, then nods in ascent. She turns her body away from me, but she watches my face in the full-length mirror as she shrugs out of the billowing sleeves of my nightdress, holding the material above her breasts as it dips in the back to her waist. “You’ll have to—”

 

“I know how to handle a corset.” I snap my jaw flexes once, and something that reminds me of raw hunger flits across my brain before I can lock it down, drawing her hair over her shoulder. My fingers barely skim her shoulder, and she’s shuddering. I jerk my hand away and focus on the corset, making sure that the biggest factor in her survival is intact and doesn’t need mending. 

 

“How the hell do you get yourself into this thing every morning?” I ask, my fingers deftly removing the laces. 

 

“I’m freakishly flexible. It’s part of the whole bones-snapping, joints-tearing thing,” she answers over her shoulder. Garrick and Imogen had talked to me about her condition, which she had broken down and told Garrick and Imogen about.  

 

Our eyes meet, and I watch her pupils blow wide with arousal. Moving past that as quickly as I can I pull her armor apart, inspecting the corset with an intensity. 

 

“Mira is brilliant, we should be making these.” I can’t stop myself from saying, every marked one and any allies we have on the front lines should be wearing one of these. My brain was already spinning through how to accomplish that. 

 

Sorrengail just says “Teine helped Mira collect her shed scales, and then Mira had a friend size them down using their signet.”

 

I think for a moment, remembering signets of cadets that graduated the past 2 years, and then nod. I knew which cadet Mira had been referring to, he was a friend. But not someone I could get easy access to. I was still trying to work out how to get the scales sized down as I watch her quick lace her boots. I snap the button for her cloak at her throat and grab her hand. 

 

I had questions for Tairn and she was coming with me.

 

 

AN: Well this turned into 3 chapters of Xaden's POV to get us caught up before we find out what happens when they wake up from that night. 

Do you guys like/want more of Xaden's POV? 

Chapter 16: Chapter 16

Summary:

Fair warning, this is a long one. But I couldn't find a good place to stop it.

Xaden POV

 

“Let’s go.” My tone leaves no room for argument. Then I grasp Sorrengails hand and tug her behind me into the hallway. 

 

Every other door is shut. The attack wasn’t even loud enough to rouse her neighbors. She’d be dead by now if I hadn’t shown up. I think, questioning my statement even as it passes through my mind. She had killed or maimed 5 unbonded cadets before I even got there. And what the fuck had happened when she was there, dagger at her throat, and then gone. That is what I aimed to find out. 

 

“Where are we going?” Her voice is loud even in the dimly lit hallways. Blue mage lights line the walls, the kind that signal it’s still night for those without windows.

 

“Keep talking loud enough for others to hear, and someone will stop us before we get anywhere.”

 

“Can’t you just hide us in shadows or something?”

 

“Sure, because a giant black cloud moving down the hallway isn’t going to look more suspicious than a couple sneaking around.” I shoot her an exasperated look that keeps her from countering.

 

I drag her behind me, hurrying through the dark corridors, I need answers and we don’t have much time to get this done unseen. Our boots against the marble floor are the only sounds as we pass into the academic wing. I take us down a set of stairs that leads to storage.

 

Halfway down the steps, I pause, and Sorrengail nearly runs into the sword strapped to my back. I gesture with his right hand, holding hers in my left.

 

Click. I push on the lever disguised as a cluster of stones and a hidden door swings open.

 

“Holy shit,” she whispers at the expansive tunnel revealed before us.

 

“Hope you’re not afraid of the dark.” I pull her inside, and suffocating darkness envelops us as the door closes.

 

Then I snap and a mage light hovers above our head, illuminating our surroundings.

 

“Thanks.” 

 

I drop her hand and start walking. “Keep up.” I’ve been dragging her along with me, easier than telling her where to go or directing her. Especially if we were to come across someone out on night patrol. 

 

“You could—” she winces, like it hurts to talk. “Be a little more considerate.” But she trudges after me, her hood dropping off her head.

 

“I’m not going to baby you like Aetos has. That’s only going to get you killed once we get out of Basgiath.”

 

“He doesn’t baby me.”

 

“He does and you know it. You hate it, too, if the vibe I’m picking up on is any indication.” I slow my pace and fall back to walk at her side. “Or did I read that wrong?”

 

“He thinks this place is too dangerous for someone…like me, and after what just happened, I’m not sure I can really argue with him.” Her voice is quiet, ragged as she continues “I don’t think I’ll bother sleeping again.” She shoots a look sideways at me. I know I don’t have a good grasp on my mask because she blanches a bit at my expression, which gives away that I am clearly irritated. “And don’t you even think about suggesting that you sleep with me for safety from now on—” 

 

I scoff at her. “Hardly. I don’t fuck first-years—even when I was one—let alone…you.” The disgust in my voice is easily distinguishable. I do, I have, but fucking her is a terrible idea, our lives are so intertwined it’s laughable. I am in no place to give her anything emotional, it would only strain what is already going to be a tenuous relationship.  

 

“Who said anything about fucking?” she fires back “I’d have to be a masochist to sleep with you, and I can assure you, I’m not.” 

 

“Masochist, huh?” A corner of my mouth quirks into a smirk, at least she’s quick witted and not afraid to call me on my bullshit. She’s gonna need that. 

 

“You hardly give off snuggly morning-after vibes.” A smile curves her lips. “Unless you’re worried about me killing you while we sleep.” We round a corner, and the tunnel continues.

 

“As violent as you are, and skilled with those daggers, I’m not worried about you committing murder-suicide” But I still shoot a disapproving look her way. 

 

“Where are we going?” She questions me, clearly not knowing her way around the underground service tunnels, let alone the forgotten or hidden ones. She lived here for years, I’m a little disappointed she hadn’t gone looking for some. But I had heard back then she was attached to Aetos at the hip, so it makes sense that the two of them would have been goody two shoes together.

 

“We’re going to ask Tairn what the hell just happened.” My jaw flexes in irritation. “and I’m not talking about the attack. How the hell did they get past your locks?”

 

She shrugs, and I know she’s holding back. I reach out and hardly have to scrape the surface to figure out that she doesn't trust me, and doesn't think I will believe her. 

 

“We’d better figure it out so it doesn’t happen again. I refuse to sleep on your fucking floor like some kind of guard dog.”

 

“Wait. This is another way to the flight field?” 

 

I don’t answer her, instead throwing back a question of my own “Are you going to tell me what that was in there?”

 

“I would if I knew.” She seems honest, and unsure. Like even she has no clue what happened in her room. 

 

So I answer her question honestly “Yes,” and the path curves again. “It’s not exactly common knowledge. And I’m going to ask you to tuck this little tunnel into the file of secrets you keep on my behalf.”

 

“Let me guess, and you’ll know if I tell?”

 

“Yes.” Smart indeed. 

 

“Are you going to promise me another favor?” The path begins to climb, and the ascent is anything but gentle. Every breath she takes sounds harsh and uneven. 

 

“Having one of my favors is more than enough, and we’ve already reached mutually assured destruction status, Sorrengail. Now, can you push through it, or do you need me to carry you?”

 

“That sounds like an insult, not an offer.”

 

“You’re catching on.” But my pace slows to match hers.

 

She’s quiet for a few paces and then she begins to sway and her steps wobble.

 

My arm wraps around her waist, steadying her. I pushed too hard, she’s had a rough night for anyone, let alone someone with her ailments.

 

 “What were you doing tonight anyway?”

 

“What makes you ask?” My tone clearly insinuates that she shouldn’t have. With our new attachment I was going to have to figure out what side she was on, otherwise this whole mated dragons thing was going to get us all killed. 

 

“You made it to my room within minutes, and you’re not exactly dressed for sleeping.” She isn’t just going to let this go. 

 

“Maybe I sleep in my armor, too.” Hopefully a misdirection will suffice. 

 

“Then you should pick more trustworthy bedmates.”

 

I snort, a flash of a smile appearing for a heartbeat. A real one. Not the fake, forced sneer I’m used to showing everyone or the cocky smirk. An honest smile that feels good. But I shut it down as fast as it appears, though.

 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” she presses. I’d be frustrated too if I was in her situation. 

 

“Nope. Third-year business.” I release her when we reach the stonewalled end of the tunnel. A few hand gestures and another click sounds before pushing open the door. We step out into crisp, freezingly cold November air.

 

“What the hell,” she whispers. The door is built into a stack of boulders on the eastern side of the field.

 

“It’s camouflaged.” I wave my hand and the door closes, blending into the rock as if it’s a part of it.

 

There’s a sound I now recognize as the steady beat of wings, and we look up to see the three dragons block out the stars as they descend. The earth shudders as they land in front of us. Tairn steps forward and Sgaeyl follows, her wings tucked in tight, her golden eyes narrowing on me. She regards Sorrengail with the same look I do, trying to discern what side she is on, and will she get us killed. 

 

Andarna scurries between Sgaeyl’s claws, galloping toward us. She skids the last dozen feet, paws digging into the ground to stop just in front of Sorrengail, bringing her golden nose to her chest. Almost as if she is checking in with her bonded. 

 

“I’m ok,” Sorrengail promises, stroking a hand over the bumpy ridges of Andarna's head. 

 

Andarna’s eyes widen, almost as if she’s making sure.

 

“As sure as I can be.” Sorrengail forces a smile. They must be talking, but I can’t hear it. I can hear Tairn, when he wants me to anyway. Just like Sgaeyl can block out Sorrengail. I know she has yet to speak to her telepathically. 

 

Speaking of the big black beast whips his head to face me. 

 

I assume since you requested our presence, you wish to have a word with me?

 

His voice is deep and feels ancient, powerful in my head. 

 

“Yes, I want a word. What the hell kind of powers are you channeling to her?” I demand, staring up at Tairn like he isn’t…Tairn. Probably not my finest moment, but I almost died tonight, thought we were going to. And then all of a sudden we weren’t. 

 

“None of your business what I choose or do not choose to channel toward my rider,” 

 

Tairn answers with a growl. I can feel that he has the pathway to Sorrengial open as well. 

 

“He says—” she starts to tell me.

 

“I heard him,” I cut her off, not even glancing her way.

 

“You what?”  Her eyebrows hit her hairline, and Andarna retreats to stand with the others. 

 

I ignore her and focus back on Tairn “It’s absolutely my business when you expect me to protect her,” my voice rising with my still humming emotions. I was running on not just my anxiety over almost dying, but theirs as well and I was losing the battle for control. 

 

“I got the message to you just fine, human.” 

 

Tairn’s head swivels in that snakelike motion that puts me on alert. He’s more than agitated.

 

“And I barely made it.” The words come out clipped through clenched teeth. “She would have been dead if I’d been thirty seconds later.”

 

“Seems like you had thirty seconds gifted to you.”  

Tairn’s chest rumbles with a growl. 

 

What. The. FUCK! “And I’d like to know what the fuck happened in there!” I’m yelling now, my shields absolutely useless to stop the torrent of crashing emotions from Sgaeyl. She wants to defend me and her mate. 

 

“Don’t hurt him,” Sorrengail begs Tairn. “He saved me.” 

 

He grumbles in response.

 

“We need to know what happened in that room.” My dark gaze whips to her before I glare back at Tairn.

 

“Do not dare to try and read me, human, or you’ll regret it.” 

 

This old bastard! Sgaeyl has clearly told him about my second signet, but for him to so openly speak about it while he holds Sorrengail connection open is dangerous. If she was able to discern his meaning, and decide to tell someone, or hell even Aetos touching her. My life would be forfeit, starting the chain reaction that kills all of us. 

 

Tairn’s mouth opens, his tongue curling in a motion I know all too well. He wouldn’t dare.

 

Sorrengail moves between us and tilts her chin at Tairn. “He’s just a little freaked out. Don’t scorch him.”

 

“At least we agree on something.” 

 

A feminine voice sounds through my head. Sgaeyl. Who also has the connection to both of us open. 

 

In awe, Sorrengail blinks up at the navy-blue daggertail as I move to her side. “She talked to me.”

 

“I know. I heard.” Folding my arms across my chest. “It’s because they’re mates. It’s the same reason I’m chained to you.”

 

“You make it sound so pleasant.”

 

“It’s not.” I turn to face her. “But you and I are exactly that, Violence. We’re chained. Tethered. You die, I die, so I damn well deserve to know how the hell you were about to take a knife to the throat one second and across the room in another. Is that the signet power you’ve manifested with Tairn? Come clean. Now.” My gaze bores into hers.

 

“I don’t know what happened,” She answers honestly.

 

Then pivots to face the little golden dragon, and starts talking. 

 

“Nature likes all things in balance. That’s the first thing they are taught.” It sounds like she’s repeating something. Andarna must have spoken to her, since I didn’t hear it. 

 

“What is that supposed to mean?” I ask Sorrengail.

 

Andarna sits, flicking her feathertail along the frost-laden grass.

 

This is why feathertails don’t bond.” 

Tairn sighs with a hefty dose of exasperation.

 

“Let her explain,” 

Sgaeyl urges, clicking her talons like nails on the ground.

 

“Feathertails shouldn’t bond because they can accidentally gift their powers to humans,” Violet relays. “Dragons can’t channel—not really—until we’re big, but we’re all born with something special.” She pauses and then asks “Like a signet?” out loud in what must be for my benefit. 

 

“No,” Sgaeyl answers.

  “A signet is a combination of our power with your own ability to channel. 

It reflects who you are at the core of your being.”

 

“She gave her gift directly to me. Because she is still a feathertail.” Sorrengail repeats again, staring at the smaller dragon. 

 

Holy shit. Almost nothing is known about feathertails because they’re never seen outside the Vale. They’re guarded. Violet focuses on Andarna again before she whispers “You’re…you’re a hatchling.”

 

Andarna puffs steam into the air, like she is offended by that statement. “She’s a what?” My gaze swings between Andarna and Sorrengail.

 

Now Sorrengail is the one glaring up at Tairn. “You let a juvenile bond? A juvenile train for war?”

 

“We mature at a much faster rate than humans,”  

he argues, having the nerve to look affronted. 

“And I’m not sure anyone lets Andarna do anything.”

 

“How much faster?” she gasps. “She’s two years old!”

 

“She’ll be full-grown in a year or two, but some are slower than others, ” 

Sgaeyl answers. 

“And if I thought she’d actually bond,

 I would have objected harder to her Right of Benefaction.” 

She chuffs at Andarna in obvious disapproval.

 

“Hold on. Is Andarna yours?” I take a step toward Sgaeyl, and the tone in my voice is hurt. “Have you hidden a hatchling away from me these last two years?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

Sgaeyl blows out a blast of air that ruffles my hair. 

“Do you think I’d let my offspring bond while still feathered?”

 

My brain is scrambling to catch up, still lost in a web of facts that I can’t put together. 

 

“Her parents passed before hatching,”  

Tairn answers.

 

Violet speaks before I do “Oh, I’m sorry, Andarna.” Andarna must respond because Tairn's next words don’t exactly connect to the last thing he said. 

 

“Not enough to keep you off the Threshing field,” 

Tairn grumbles.

  “Feathertails don’t bond because their power is too unpredictable. Unstable.”

 

“Unpredictable?” I question.

 

“The same way you wouldn’t hand a toddler your signet, would you, wingleader?”

 Tairn grunts when Andarna sags against his foreleg.

 

“Gods, no. I could barely control it as a first-year.” I shake my head, remembering how many days I spent locked in my room with a ‘cold’ because I couldn’t keep from reading people and responding. It was safer in my room, practicing on Garrick until I could get a hold of it enough to go back to classes. My shadows had been similar, with almost a mind of their own until I had learned to work with them instead of trying to control them. 

 

“Exactly. Bonding too young allows them to give their gift directly, 

and a rider could easily drain them and burn out.”

Tairn explains.

 

“I would never!” Sorrengail shakes her head vehemently.

 

Andarna’s head flops against Tairn’s leg, looking every bit then adolescent dragon she actually is. 

 

“Of course, you wouldn’t know. Feathertails aren’t supposed to be seen,”

 Tairn says, glancing sideways at his mate.

 

Sgaeyl doesn’t even roll her eyes.

 

“If leadership knew riders could take her gifts for themselves, rather than depending on their own signets…” I start, staring at Andarna as she blinks slower and slower.

 

“She’d be hunted,” Sorrengail finishes quietly.

 

“Which is why you can’t tell anyone what she is,”  

Sgaeyl says. 

“Hopefully she’ll mature once you’re out of the quadrant, and the elders are already placing more…stringent protections on the feathertails.”

 

“I won’t,” Sorrengail promises her little golden dragon. “Andarna, thank you. Whatever you did saved my life.” Andarna yawns, and suddenly Sorrengail looks shocked.

 

“What did she say?” I ask, gripping her shoulders and shaking. I need answers, I can’t hear and no one is telling me anything. 

 

Tairn growls and a puff of steam blasts us both.

 

“I’d take your hands off his rider,”

 Sgaeyl warns.

 

I release her reluctantly, taking a deep breath. “Tell me what she said.” It’s not a request, it's an order. 

 

Tairn lowers his head to my level and snaps his teeth. He can’t kill me, but maiming me, definitely open for interpretation to him. 

 

“She can pause time,” she finally forces out, stumbling over the words. “Briefly.”

 

I can feel my features slacken, flat-out shocked as my gaze swings to Andarna. “You can stop time?”

 

 She blinks slowly. She looks exhausted, she can barely keep her eyes open. However she stopped time, or allowed Sorrengail to do so, it cost her. 

 

“In small increments,” Sorrengail whispers.

 

“In small increments,” I echo slowly, absorbing the information.

 

“And if I use it too much, I can kill you,” She says softly to Andarna, who gets slowly to her feet. “I’ll do my best to be worthy.” 

 

The ramifications of this gift, this exceptional power, could be life changing. 

 

Suddenly Sorrengail bursts out “Is Professor Carr going to kill me?”

 

Every gaze whips toward her, and I question “Why would you think that?”

 

“He killed Jeremiah,” she’s panicking, I can see it in her features. “You saw him snap his neck like a twig right in front of the whole quadrant.”

 

“Jeremiah was an inntinnsic.” My voice lowers. “A mind reader is a capital offense. You know that.” I can see her brain working at something I just said, like she’s compiling facts but doesn’t know what they all mean. Fuck. 

 

“We’re going to need to trust her with this at some point.

You won’t be able to hide it forever.”

 

Sgaeyls voice rings out, in my head only for the first time that night. I know she’s right, but it isn’t something I’m ready to entrust Sorrengial with yet. 

 

“And what are they going to do if they find out I can stop time?” she look terrified as the words leave her mouth. 

 

“They’re not going to find out,” I promise. “No one is going to tell them. Not you. Not me. Not them.” Motioning with one hand toward our trio of dragons. “Understand?”

 

“He’s right,”  

Tairn says. 

“They can’t find out. And there’s no saying how long you’ll have the ability. 

Most feathertail gifts disappear with maturity when they begin to channel.”

 

Andarna cracks another yawn, looking nearly dead on her feet.

 

“Get some sleep,” Sorrengail tells her. “Thank you for helping me tonight.”

 

“Let’s go, Golden One,” 

Tairn says. 

 

They all bend slightly, then launch, wind gusting against my face. Andarna struggles, her wings beating twice as hard, and Tairn flies up underneath her, taking her weight and continuing on to the Vale.

 

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone about the time-stopping,” I implore as we head back into the tunnel, but it comes out more like a command. “It’s not just for your safety. Rare abilities, when kept secret, are the most valuable form of currency we possess.” I hope she can understand this. 

 

Her brow furrows as she studies me. As though she is debating why I am telling her this. Like maybe it’s for my own gain, so I can use her later down the road.

 

“We need to figure out how unbonded cadets got in your room,” I state. Hoping she will trust me enough with the answer. That she thinks I will believe what ever come sout of her mouth next. 

 

“There was a rider there,” she finally mumbles. “Someone who ran away before you arrived. She must have unlocked it from the outside.”

 

“Who?” I halt, taking her elbow gently and turning her to face me.

 

She shakes her head. Like she still doesn’t think I will believe her response. 

 

“At some point, you and I are going to have to start trusting each other, Sorrengail. The rest of our lives depend on it.” Fury races through me, she is so smart how has she not figured this out. “Now tell me who.”

 

Sorrengail takes a deep breath, and her expression tells me she still doesn’t think I will accept her answer as truth. But she tells me anyway.

 

“Amber Mavis.” 

-    -    -

I don’t even sleep, there’s no point with only an hour left before I need to be awake to speak to Panchek about the dead unbonded cadets, and Amber Mavis. Then I need to speak with Garrick and Bodhi about being witnesses to it. 

 

Panchek isn’t happy about having to deal with this. He likes to be hands off, so when he actually has to do something, it usually takes some convincing. Which is why I had brought Garrick and Bodhi. As Sorrengails Section Leader and my EXO he was a clear choice to have been with me that night. Bodhi is also a Section Leader in Fourth Wing and luckily was supposed to have been on night patrols that evening. With both their statements, he reluctantly agrees to call a quorum at this morning's formation. 

 

Captain Fitzgibbons makes some minor announcements, and I tune him out as I cut through the space between the Flame and Tail Sections of my wing. Glancing at Sorrengail, who seems lost in thought, before coming to a stop before Dain ‘Codex-Kissing” Aetos. 

 

“There’s a change to your squad roll.”

 

“Wingleader?” Dain questions, his spine straightening. “We just absorbed four from the dissolution of the third squad.”

 

This fucking moron, I’m his gods damned WingLeader and he dares question me. “Yes.” I look to the right, where Second Squad, Tail Section stands at attention. “Belden, we’re making a roll change.”

 

“Yes, sir.” The squad leader nods once. That’s the response I expect from my squad leaders. 

 

“Aetos, Vaughn Penley will be leaving your command, and you’ll be gaining Liam Mairi from Tail Section.” I leave no room for argument or questioning.

 

Dain’s mouth snaps shut, and he nods. Good boy. We all watch as the two first-year riders exchange places. Liam nods at me on his way by. The tightness in my chest eases a little bit as he moves to stand behind Sorrengail. 

 

“I do not need a bodyguard,” she snaps at me. But I ignore her, glaring slightly at Dain, begging him to challenge me. “Liam is statistically the strongest first-year in the quadrant. He has the fastest time up the Gauntlet, hasn’t lost a single challenge, and is bonded to an exceptionally strong Red Daggertail. Any squad would be lucky to have him, and he’s all yours, Aetos. You can thank me when you win the Squad Battle in the spring.”

 

“I. Do. Not. Need. A. Bodyguard,” she repeats, a little louder this time. Like maybe I just hadn’t heard her the first time. 

 

One of the first-years behind me gasps, mortified by her audacity, no doubt. No one else would dare speak to me like this. 

 

Imogen snorts. “Good luck with that approach.”

 

I walk past Dain to stand directly in front of her, leaning into her space. “You do, though, as we both learned last night. And I can’t be everywhere you are. But Liam here”—pointing back to my brother in all but blood—“he’s a first-year, so he can be in every class, at every challenge, and I even had him assigned to library duty, so I hope you get used to him, Sorrengail.”

 

“You’re overstepping.” She is clenching her hands so hard her nails are biting into her palms.

 

“You haven’t begun to see overstepping,” my voice drops low in warning. “Any threat against you is a threat against me, and as we’ve already established, I have more important things to do than sleep on your floor.”

 

Heat flushes up her neck and stains her cheeks red. “He is not sleeping in my room.”

 

“Of course not.” I smirk. “I had him moved into the one next to yours. Wouldn’t want to overstep.” Turning on my heel and walking away, headed back to my place at the front of our formation.

 

“Fucking mated dragons,” Dain seethes from behind me. This little punk needs a reminder of who is in charge here. 

 

Commandant Panchek begins to speak at the podium, telling us that there’s another matter to handle this morning. Here we fucking go. I can hear the chatter coming from Dain and his squad. 

 

“It has been brought to my attention as your commandant that a breach of the Codex has occurred,” Panchek calls out over the courtyard. “As you know, breaches of our most sacred laws are not to be tolerated,” Panchek continues. “This matter will be addressed here and now. Will the accuser please step forward.”

 

I move from my place at the head of Fourth Wing and climb the steps to the dais. I take the spot next to Panchek at the podium. 

 

“Early this morning,” I begin, my voice carrying over the formation, “a rider in my wing was brutally, illegally attacked in her sleep with the intent of murder by a group primarily composed of unbondeds.”

 

A collection of murmurs and gasps fills the air, and I watch as Dain’s shoulders stiffen.

 

“As we all know, this is a violation of Article Three, Section Two of the Dragon Rider’s Codex and, in addition to being dishonorable, is a capital offense.”

 

My hands clench the sides of the podium. “Having been alerted by my dragon, I interrupted the attack along with two other Fourth Wing riders.” He dips his chin toward our wing, and two riders—Garrick and Bodhi—break formation, then climb the steps to stand behind me. “As it was a matter of life and death, I personally executed six of the would-be murderers, as witnessed by Flame Section Leader Garrick Tavis and Tail Section Executive Officer Bodhi Durran.”

 

There is some murmuring in the formation, but I forge on “But the attack was orchestrated by a rider who fled before I arrived.” My voice rising in anticipation of the explosion I am about to set off. “A rider who had access to the map of where all first-years are assigned to sleep, and that rider must be brought to swift justice.”

 

Shit. This is about to get ugly.

 

“I call you to answer for your crime against Cadet Sorrengail.” My focus shifts to the center of the formation, where I know she stands. “Wingleader Amber Mavis.”

 

The quadrant draws a collective breath before an uproar rips through the crowd. But my focus whips back to Aetos’s squad. 

 

“What the hell?” Dain bites out. “Amber would never.” Dain shakes his head. “A wingleader would never.” He turns completely to face Sorrengail. “Get up there and tell everyone that he’s lying, Vi.” I send the shadows sweeping towards them discreetly in case Aetos does something stupid. 

 

“But he’s not,” Sorrengail says gently. Like he is a friend and not an enemy.

 

“It’s impossible.” His cheeks flush a mottled shade of red.

 

“I was there, Dain.” Her tone is hurt, and I instantly know this is why she thought I wouldn’t believe her last night. 

 

“Wingleaders are beyond reproach—”

 

“Then why are you so quick to call our own wingleader a liar?” My brows rise as she challenges him, daring him to say what he’s so careful to keep quiet.

 

Amber steps forward, separating herself from the formation. “I have committed no such crime!”

 

“See?” Aetos swings his arm, pointing toward the redhead. “Put a stop to this right now, Violet.”

 

“She was with them in my room,” she states simply. Like she knows shouting won’t make a difference. 

 

“That’s impossible.” He lifts his hands, as though ready to cup my face. “Let me see.”

 

My shadows are now writhing under their feet. The shock of what Aetos intends to do has her stumbling backward. I ready my shadows. If he finds the memory of Amber’s participation, it will also show him that she stopped time, and I can’t let that happen. Sorrengail shakes her head and takes another step back.

 

“Give me the memory,” he orders.

 

Oh hell no! I almost loose my control on the shadows at their feet when indignation lifts her chin. At the same time her hand pulls a dagger and presses it to his wrist “Touch me without permission, and you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

 

I take a perverse pride at the surprise that ripples over his features. 

 

“Wingleaders.” I have to project my voice over the chaos. “We need a quorum.”

 

Both Nyra and Septon Izar—the wingleaders for First and Second Wing—climb the stairs to the dais, passing by Amber as she stands utterly exposed in the courtyard.

 

A familiar chaos fills the air, and everyone looks toward the ridgeline as six dragons curve along the mountain, flying straight for us. The biggest among them is Tairn.

 

In a matter of seconds, they reach the citadel and hover over the courtyard walls. Wind from the strong beats of their wings blasts through the courtyard. Then, one by one, they land on their perch, Tairn at the center of the grouping.

 

Every line of his frame exudes menace as his talons crush the masonry under his grip, and his narrowed, angry eyes focus on Amber.

 

Sgaeyl is perched to the right, taking her position behind me. She’s just as terrifying asshe always is. Nyra’s Red Scorpiontail looms behind her as well, and Septon’s Brown Daggertail mirrors the stance to the left. On the ends, puffing blasts of steam, are Commandant Panchek’s Green Clubtail and Amber’s Orange Daggertail.

 

“You can stop this all right now, Violet. You have to,” Aetos implores. “I don’t know what you saw last night, but it wasn’t Amber. She cares too much about the rules to break them.” At least he’s lowered his hand. I pull the shadows back slightly.

 

“You’re using this to get your revenge on my family!” Amber shouts at me from her place at the foot of the dais. “For not supporting your father’s rebellion!”

 

That’s a low fucking blow. One I don't even acknowledge as I turn to the other wingleaders. About to explain when Tairn’s voice presses into my mind. 

 

My rider has requested I share this.

To help ensure your victory.

Tairn chuffs and every dragon besides Sgaeyl stiffens on the wall, even Amber’s. The riders are quick to follow, silence filling the courtyard, and I know they know. Tairn has just shared a memory outside of the mating bond. Something considered a violation among dragons. And he’s done it because Sorrengail asked him to, because she knew that if the other Wing Leaders didn’t believe me, that I would be the one facing death by fire. 

 

The tide has changed in my favor, I can feel it. One by one the other two Wing Leaders cast their vote silently, both nodding in my direction. 

 

I turn back to the formation, my voice ringing out “The wingleaders have formed a quorum and are in unanimous agreement.” I am flanked by Nyra and Septon while the commandant hangs back. “We find you guilty, Amber Mavis.”

 

“No!” she shouts. “It is no crime to rid the quadrant of the weakest rider! I did it to protect the integrity of the wings!” She paces in panic, looking to everyone—anyone for help.

 

As a whole, the formation moves backward. Away from the blast radius. 

 

“And as is our law, your sentence will be carried out by fire,” Nyra states.

 

“No!” Amber looks to her dragon. “Claidh!”

 

Amber’s Orange Daggertail snarls at the other dragons and lifts a claw.

 

Tairn swivels his massive head toward Claidh, his roar shaking the ground beneath my feet. Then he snaps his teeth at the smaller orange, and she retreats, her head hanging as she grips the wall again.

 

“Claidh,” Amber whimpers, the courtyard so unbelievably silent that the sound carries.

 

The formation splits at the center.

 

Tairn leans low, extending his head and neck past the dais toward where Amber stands. Then his teeth part, he curls his tongue, and he incinerates her with a blast of fire so hot that it’s over in a heartbeat.

 

A gruesome scream rends the air, shattering a window in the academic wing, and every rider slams their hands over their ears as Claidh mourns.

-    -    -

In preparation for Squad Battle, per Aetos’s recent orders, Tuesday nights are for squad hand-to-hand practice. He’s not the only one who has their squad putting in extra time on the known squad battle elements. Garrick is trailing behind me as I walk into the gym, attempting to keep an eye on Aetos, and also burn off some excess energy. 

 

I watch as Rhiannon takes it easy on Sorrengail, telling her she doesn’t want to hurt her. 

 

Sorrengail reminds her that challenges are starting again and she’s not doing her any favors by holding back. 

 

I can’t help but interject “She’s not wrong,” as I reach their mat. 

 

In my peripherals, I see Liam stand, and Sorrengail mutters a curse under her breath.

 

“Well aware,” Sorrengail sasses over her shoulder as I continue past her. “Go away unless you have something useful to say.”

 

“Move faster. You’ll be less likely to die. How’s that for useful?” I call back to her, moving to an empty mat closer to the center of the sparring gym. 

 

Garrick and I both pull off our weapons and our shirts, preparing to spar. He is one of the few people I trust to be able to not only keep up with me but challenge me. He isn’t as quick as I am, but his reactions are fast and he uses his extra height and weight to make up for it. We nod to each other and suddenly kicks, punches and deflections are all a blur of movement and speed.

 

We move through attacking and defending with a speed that requires all my attention. Otherwise Garrick will literally pound me into this mat. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

 

We’re both panting and dripping with sweat when both of our attention is diverted to where Liam is now standing between Sorrengail, who is flat on her back on the mat, and Jack Barlowe whose arms are crossed over his chest looking smug. We both move to flank the situation, Barlowe’s eyes raising to us with a mix of envy and fear. 

 

“She’s only alive because of you,” Jack spits, but the blood drains from his face.

 

“Maybe so, but I’m not the one who buried a dagger in your shoulder at Threshing.”

 

Sorrengail finally scrambles to her feet after catching her breath, clutching her staff. 

 

“We could just settle this now,” Jack says, sidestepping Liam to look her in the eyes. “If you’re done hiding behind the big, strong men.”

 

The claim hangs in the air, even as Garrick and Imogen close ranks. 

 

“That’s what I thought,” Jack says, blowing Sorrengail a kiss.

 

“You ran,” she snarls, looking like she would love nothing more than to lunge forward and beat the shit out of him, but forcing her feet to stay planted where they are. “That day in the field, you fucking ran when it was three on one, and we both know when it comes down to it, you’ll run again. That’s what cowards do.”

 

Jack flushes, his eyes nearly bugging out of his face.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Violet,” Dain mutters.

 

“She’s not wrong,” I drawl.

 

Garrick laughs, and it causes Jack to lunge at Sorrengail. Liam grabs Jack easily and muscles him off the mat. Jack’s boots squeak against the hardwood floor as he unsuccessfully fights to hold his ground, and Liam forces him from the gym.

 

With a flick of my hand, I shut the huge doors with my power, locking Jack out.

 

“What the hell were you thinking, egging him on like that?” Dain marches toward Sorrengail, disbelief raising his brows.

 

“Oh, now you feel like talking to me?” She lifts her chin at his tone, but I move to step between them, facing her. 

 

“Give us a second.” My gaze is locked on hers, but we both know I’m not talking to her. Aetos luckily chooses not to push me right now and steps away. 

 

Rhiannon steps back as well, causing the rest of the squad to give us space. 

 

“You want to tell me why the fuck you’re not wearing that?” trying to keep my control as I point toward the bench where her armor lies.

 

“I have to wash it at some point.”

 

“And you thought that would be a good idea during sparring?” My chest heaves, as I battle to keep control of myself.

 

She’s flushed as she stutters out “I washed it before sparring, knowing it could dry while your guard dog keeps watch, as opposed to sleeping without it because we both know what happens behind locked doors around here.”

 

“Not behind yours anymore.” My jaw clenches. “I made sure of it.”

 

“Because I’m supposed to trust you?”

 

“Yes.” She is raising my damn blood pressure. At this rate I’m going to lose my temper. Again. No one pushes my buttons quite like she does.  

 

“And you make it so easy.” Sarcasm drips from her voice.

 

“You know I can’t kill you. Fuck, Sorrengail, the entire quadrant knows I can’t kill you.” I yell, throwing my arms in the air. 

 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t hurt me.”

 

That brings me to a standstill, I blink and shift backwards, trying to compose myself. “Stop training with a bow staff. It’s too easy to knock out of your hands. Stick to the daggers.”

 

I don’t snatch it out of her grasp just to prove my point. It won’t do me any good. 

 

“I was doing just fine until Tairn barged into my head with all his anger and distracted me,” she argues, her defenses rising like the hackles of a dog.

 

I reply simply “Then learn how to block him out.” 

 

“Oh yeah? With all this power I’m wielding?” My brows rise at her sass. “Or were you unaware that I’m still not channeling?” I can tell she wants to throttle me, to shake some ever-loving sense into me. 

 

I drop my voice low and angry. “I am annoyingly aware of everything you do.”

 

Thanks to our mated dragons, thanks to our linked fates. 

 

“Wingleader Riorson,” Aetos starts. “She’s just not used to the bond yet. She’ll learn how to block it out.”

 

I can see that his words sting like a blow to her. She inhales sharply and takes a step back. As if she is just realizing that the entire gym was watching the exchange. 

 

“You choose the oddest times to defend her, Aetos.” I comment wanting to roll my eyes as I look at Dain. “And the most convenient times not to.” Dain’s jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists at his sides.

 

He knows I’m talking about Amber. She knows it. Dain knows it. Everyone in this whole, awkward room knows it. Our entire squad was there when Dain demanded she call me a liar. And she fucking refused. 

 

I turn my gaze back to Sorrengail. “Do us both a favor and put the fucking armor back on,” I finish.

 

Before she can counter, I turn and walk off the mat, meeting Garrick at the edge.

 

Her quiet gasp is is still audible, and it makes me tense for a second when I realize what she is reacting to. My back. I take my shirt from Garrick’s outstretched hand and tug it over my head, covering the navy-blue relic of a dragon that I know sweeps from my waist, up over both shoulders—textured intricately with raised silver lines. 107 of them to be exact. One for every rebellion marked child. One for every life I took responsibility for. Every life I said would become a dragon rider, or die trying. 

-    -    -

The burning need hit me so fast my room spun. If I wasn’t sitting down, it most likely would have knocked me on my ass. 

 

Sgaeyl. And Tairn. 

 

They must have forgotten to shield. The desire to mate, it was eating me alive. I’d been through this before, trying different things to varying success. 

 

I brought my own shields up, reinforcing them. I could immediately breathe easier, but my pants weren’t any looser. Son of a bitch, I palmed my throbbing cock. Just that brief touch almost had me creaming in my leathers like a fucking noob. 

 

I snagged not just one but two pre rolls of churram and threw myself out of my window. I didn’t need to come across anyone in the hallways. My shields were strong as hell, but whatever was happening tonight, they just weren’t taking the edge off the way it usually did. 

 

With snow falling around me, I left the walls of the citadel and found a decent spot with a breeze to hopefully help cool the raging heat emanating from my body. 

 

Mate, bond mate. Need my mate. Must have my mate. Find. Fuck. Make her ours.

 

What in the ever loving fuck was that. That has never happened. I knew better than to reach out to Sgaeyl right now. As it was her feeling and emotions powering this right now. If I was to reach out to her, I may be swept away in the face of it. 

 

I light the first roll and try to settle. Focusing on my breathing and some Tyrrish meditation cycles, I begin to cool. I brace a foot against the wall I’m leaning on, pulling the sweet smoke into my lungs. 

 

And then Violet Sorrengail walks around the edge of the citadel walls. 

 

Mate!

 

No. No. NO. This is fucked beyond epic proportions. Fucking mated dragons. Knowing Sgaeyl had a mate I had done some searching about the ramifications, but I had never come across anything like this. 

 

I slam my mask of indifference into place as she whirls to find the source of the smoke that no doubt clued her into the presence of someone else. 

 

“Is that…churam?”

 

I blow out a puff of smoke, arm extending to offer her the churram. “Want some? Unless you’re here to continue our earlier argument, in which case, none for you.”

 

Her jaw practically unhinges, from shock at my cordial almost friendly tone or from offering her illegal drugs, I didn’t know.

 

 “No! We’re not allowed to smoke that!” 

 

Ah, the illegal drugs then. “Yeah, well, the people who made that rule obviously weren’t bonded to Sgaeyl and Tairn, now were they?” A smirk lifts a corner of my mouth. She purses her lips and my eyes are instantly drawn to them. I can see the flush that covers her face and neck. She’s feeling the same effects I am. 

 

“It helps with…distancing yourself.”  I cock an eyebrow at her—the one with the scar. “Beyond what shielding does, of course.”

 

She shakes her head and crosses through the newly fallen snow to brace her weight on the wall beside me, letting her head fall back against the stone.

 

“Suit yourself.” I inhale deeply on the churram, only now it’s laced with her scent. So I put it out against the wall and go back to breathing and meditating. But with her standing next to me, my entire being is sucked into her orbit. 

 

Mate.

 

She speaks, cutting off the impulse “I feel like I’m on fucking fire.” 

 

That’s putting it mildly. I laugh as I tell her “Yeah. That happens.” 

 

She’s staring at her as my eyes meet hers in the moonlight. “Oh, Violence, you’re going to have to learn to shield against Tairn or his escapades with Sgaeyl will drive you mad—or into someone’s bed.”

 

She squeezes her eyes shut as she presses her thighs together and reaches a hand out to steady myself against the wall again. “Oh, I know. I am horrified to see Liam again.”

 

Curiosity gets the better of me as I question “Liam? Why?” I pivot to face her, now leaning my shoulder against the rough stone of the wall. “Where the hell is your bodyguard?”

 

“I’m my own bodyguard,” she counters, almost making me laugh “And he’s in bed.”

 

A vision swarms my head of my brother, naked, in her bed. My teeth grind so harshly I can hear it. “Your bed?” My voice is like a crack of lightning, harsh and loud.

 

She opens her eyes to meet his gaze. “No. Not that it should matter to you.”

 

Was I jealous? I doubt it, I never had been before. And until this episode, I was repulsed by the mere thought of a relationship of any kind with her. Hell I was actively teasing Garrick about him needing to make a move. 

 

NO! That is our mate, we must have her. Need her! 

 

Another wave of fire races through me and an undeniable, unquenchable need nearly takes me out at the knees. Holy shit. The same thing is happening to Violet.

 

I wrap an arm around her waist, steadying her as she sways. “Why the hell aren’t you shielding?”

 

“Not all of us have been given lessons! He just started channeling before all…this, and in case you forgot, you’re only allowed to attend Professor Carr’s class if you can wield.”

 

“Always thought that was a ridiculous rule.” I sigh. “All right. Crash course. Only because I’ve been where you are and woken up with more than a few regrets.” Only this is different. Even with my advanced shielding I am still feeling the effects. Not to mention the voice from deep in my psyche. 

 

“You’re actually going to help me?” she sounds surprised. 

 

“I’ve been helping you for months.” I respond indignantly.

 

“No, you sent Liam to help. He’s been helping me for months.” Her forehead puckers. “Weeks. Almost months. Whatever.”

 

Her words hurt, I’m offended. “I’m the one who burst through your door and killed everyone who attacked you, and then I removed the other threat to your life with a very public, very polarizing display of vengeance. Liam didn’t do that. I did.”

 

“The crowd wasn’t polarized. They were all for it. I was there.”

 

I just stare at her with disbelief. “You know what? We’re not fighting tonight. Not if you want to learn how to shield.”

 

“Fine. We’re not fighting. Teach me.” She tilts her chin. Gods, she barely reaches my collarbone. She’s so tiny. The fire raging through my veins settles low in my stomach, my leathers tightening as my cock surges

 

“Ask me nicely.” I lean closer.

 

“Have you always been this tall?” She blurts, it’s clearly the first thing that comes to mind.

 

“No. I was a child at some point.” I mock, teasingly. 

 

She rolls her eyes at me.

 

“Ask me nicely, Violence,” I whisper in her ear. “Or I’m gone.”

 

I can feel Sgaeyl at the edge of my mind, her emotions ebbing and flowing, and I know the next wave is going to hit hard. 

 

“How often is it like this with them?” she says breathlessly.

 

“Often enough that you’re going to need proper shields. You won’t ever be able to block them out completely, and sometimes they forget to block us, like tonight. That’s why the churam helps, but at least it’s like walking by a brothel instead of actively participating in one.”

 

“Right then. All right. Will you teach me to shield?” she focuses on me, and the ache begins to throb.

 

A smile curves my mouth, and my gaze drops to her lips. “Say please.” I was going to fucking hell. 

 

“Are you always this difficult?”

 

“Only when I know I have something you need. What can I say, I like making you squirm. It’s like a sweet little slice of payback for what you’ve put me through these last couple of months.” I brush the snow off her hair.

 

“What I’ve put you through?” 

 

“You’ve scared me nearly to death once or twice, so I think saying please is a fair request.”

 

She takes a deep breath and swats at a snowflake that lands on her nose. “As you prefer. Xaden?” She smiles sweetly up at me and inches a little closer.  She smells divine. “Would you pretty, pretty please teach me how to shield before I accidentally climb you like a tree and we both wake up with regrets?”

 

Oh fuck. My brain conjures that image, her climbing me like a tree. I gulp “Oh, I’m firmly in control of my faculties.” I lie and smile again. 

 

Dangerous. This is so damned dangerous. Heat flushes my skin, and my dick presses harder against the laces of my leathers. 

 

“But since you asked so nicely.” I adjust my stance and bring both hands up to her cheeks, cradling my face before sliding them back to hold my head. “Close your eyes.” This is a terrible fucking idea. But it’s like I have no control over my body. 

 

“It requires touching me?” Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation of my skin against hers.

 

“Not at all. Just one of the perks of not thinking too clearly. You have incredibly touchable skin.” So much for controlling my faculties. Definitely lost control of my filter. 

 

The compliment makes her suck in a breath.

 

“You need to envision somewhere. Anywhere. I prefer the top of my favorite hillside near what’s left of Aretia. Wherever it is, it needs to feel like home. Feel your feet hit the ground and dig in some.”

 

After a moment she says “Got it.”

 

“That’s called grounding, keeping your mental self somewhere so you aren’t swept away by the power. Now call to your power. Open your senses.”

 

She sways in my hold, and I can almost feel the lust rolling off her in waves. “Too much.” she gasps.

 

“Focus on your feet. Stay grounded. Can you see where the power flows from? If not, just pick a place.”

 

“I see it.”

 

“Perfect. You’re a natural. It takes most people a week just to learn how to ground. Now, do whatever you need to mentally do to wall yourself off from that current. Tairn is the source. You block that power, and you’ll have some control back.”

 

She grabs on to my arms, anchoring herself in reality.

 

“You’ve got this.” My voice sounds strained, even to my ears, in focusing on helping her, my own shield have weakened. “Whatever you create in your mind is real to you. Shut off the valve. Build a wall. Whatever makes sense.”

 

“It’s a door.” Her fingers dig into the soft material of my tunic, and I mentally heave myself against my shields, trying desperately to reinforce them once again.

 

“There you go. Keep going.”

 

Her body trembles at the effort it takes to mentally close the barrier, but I can tell when she gets it there.

 

She confirms it when she says “I’ve got the door shut.”

 

“Great. Lock it.”

 

“It changed. I can see through the door.”

 

“Yeah. You’ll never be able to fully block him. Got it locked?”

 

She nods, eyes shut.

 

“Open your eyes, but do your best to keep that door locked. It means keeping one foot grounded. Don’t be surprised if it slips. We’ll just start again.”

 

She opens one eye and then the other,focused, determined. “He’s…” It seems like she can’t find the right words. 

 

I can’t stop looking at her. “You are astonishing.” I shake my head. “I couldn’t do that for weeks.”

 

“Guess I have a superior teacher.” She is grinning like a fool. 

 

My thumbs stroke over the soft skin under her ears, and my gaze drops to her mouth and heats. Hands flexing, I draw her forward a few inches before suddenly letting go and retreating a full step. “Damn it. Touching you was a bad idea.”

 

“The worst,” she agrees, but her tongue skims her lower lip. 

 

Fuuuuuck. I groan and she goes liquid at the sound. “Kissing you would be a cataclysmic mistake.”

 

“Calamitous.” Her voice is pure sin, wrapped in silk. 

 

There’s only inches between us, and it isn’t enough. So I try again, “We’ll both regret it.” Shaking my head, but feeling pure hunger as I stare at her lips.

 

“Naturally,” she whispers. 

 

The look on her face tells me everything I need to know. She wants this, she’s burning for this. 

 

She needs us, just like we need her. 

 

I can’t stop this. “Fuck it.” 

 

One second she’s out of reach and the next my mouth is on hers, hot and insistent.

 

Gods, yes. This is exactly what I need.

 

I’ve trapped her between the immovable stone of the wall and my body, and she whimpers and writhes like there’s nowhere else she’d rather be. The thought should sober me, but all I do is lean in for more.

 

I tunnel a hand through Violet’s hair, cradling the back of her head, grasping a handful of hair and angling her for a deeper kiss, and her lips part eagerly for me. I jump on the invitation, sliding my tongue along hers with teasing strokes that have her clutching at my chest, fisting the material of my shirt and pulling me closer as desire dances up and down my spine.

 

She is everything I’m not supposed to want and yet can’t help needing, and she kisses me back with everything she has, sucking on my lower lip and scraping her teeth over me.

 

“Violence,” I moan, and that sets her off. She’s scrambling to get closer. Like she needs me closer.

 

I kiss her harder, claiming every line and curve of her mouth with a reckless edge that wraps my mind in lust. She’s just as needy as I am, and when I shift my grip to her ass and pick her up, she wraps her legs around my waist and holds on like her life depends on this kiss never ending.

 

I press her more firmly against the wall, grinding my throbbing cock against her core. I can feel the heat through her uniform. Her hands are finally in my hair tugging, and pulling me closer. She kisses me until I feel thoroughly devoured and explored, and then she sucks my tongue into her mouth so I can do the same.

 

This is complete and utter madness, and yet I can’t stop. Can’t get enough. I could live forever in this tiny slice of insanity if it means keeping her mouth on mine, leaving my world narrowed to the heat of her body and the stroke of her tongue against my teeth.

 

My hips rock into hers, and she gasps at the friction. I break the kiss, sliding my mouth across her jaw, down her neck, she pulls me closer like she wants to feel my mouth everywhere.

 

We’re a tangle of tongues and teeth, questing lips and hands as the snow falls around us, and the kiss consumes me the same way the power had before, so thoroughly I can feel it in every cell in my body. Need pulses between my legs, and I jolt as she grinds against me. 

 

Only her. Here. Now. Anywhere. Whenever.

 

I’ve never been this out of control over a single kiss. Never wanted someone the way I do her. It’s exhilarating and terrifying at the same time because I know that in this moment, she has the power to break me.

 

And I’d let her.

 

I surrender completely, melting into her, pushing closer, pressing her harder against the wall as I change the angle my mouth is slanted against hers. My hips are pressed directly where I want to be buried, if it wasn’t for all this blasted leather between us. She rocks against me, and I moan into her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip and she is pulling me closer with the grip she has on my curls. 

 

I can still feel my mental feet on the hill in Aretia, Sgaeyls sleeping form at the bottom. But deep in the recess of my mind I can feel the abnormal thoughts pushing me forward. Not quite my own, but feeding off the lust I have for her, the need I feel, and morphing it into something else entirely. 

 

My mouth moves to her neck again, lips strumming the point that her neck meets her shoulder. My teeth scraping as my hand finds the ties for her leathers. Loosening the ties, I thrust my hand inside, fingers deftly finding her clit and strumming it until she is keening in my grasp. Her back arches pushing her into me as I drive her higher and higher. 

 

With a cry she comes undone in my arms. Her entire body rigid as she rides the waves of pleasure in time with my ministrations. I’m nuzzling her neck and giving it small nips and kisses as she comes back to earth. Once she can focus on me, I look directly into her eyes, searching, probing. 

 

“Was that ok?” I sound breathless. 

 

“That was… yeah.” she whispers between breaths. 

 

“Do you need more?” I can give her more. 

 

She’s looking a little crazed so I reach out feather light, and it’s chaos. I snap it back quickly and

tug on her hair with the hand still tangled in it. “Don’t overthink it, do you need more?”

 

She nods seemingly without thinking. I’m taking her back to my room. I don’t want anyone finding us like this. So I pull the cloak hood up over her head and tug her along, in a move reminiscent of the night the unbonded broke into her room. 

 

I rush us like that until we reach the WingLeader floor.  I open the door with a flick of a wrist, and then pull her through the doorway.

 

My shadows push the door shut and I am on her again. My hand tangled in her hair and grasping at her through the leathers. She starts to struggle to take her own clothes off and get out of her boots. I pull away and put my hands over hers, taking over the duty of divesting her of her clothes. I start by dropping to my knees to remove her boots. 

 

Something snaps in that moment as I look up at her. Her eyes are on fire and my feet lift off the hill in Aretia and I’m lost to it. To the need for my mate. To the unquenchable thirst to be inside her.

 

AN: Whew! Well now we're in the same spot. I'm gonna go hide behind a rock or something.

Chapter 17: Chapter 17

Notes:

Sorry guys! Life got real busy real fast.

Had some down time this morning, so I pumped this out for you guys.

I hope you like it.

The most worrisome sight for any instructor is most definitely when powers backfire. We lost nine cadets my first year to signets that could not be controlled from their first manifestation. Pity.

 

—Major Afendra’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant

(Unauthorized Edition)

Violet’s POV

 

Silence, wonderful, blissful silence. And… warmth? I was never warm in this place in the winter. 

 

I didn’t want to open my eyes but I took quiet stock of my body, there was the obvious warmth, and then there was a solid heavy mass across my ribcage. Oh shit.

 

Popping a single eye open I looked down. In the early morning light I could see that I was naked, sheet pooling around my waist, exposing a bronze arm with a swirling relic that coiled down and stopped at the wrist. 

 

Xaden. I physically winced, and the memories from last night began to materialize in my brain. But it wasn’t clear, everything was overlaid by an almost misty haze and I couldn’t see everything clearly. Also when I remembered them the weird ‘mate’ chant started in my head again. The same one that had taken up residence in my head when Tairn and Sgaeyl had been doing… whatever it was mated dragons did. 

 

Despite my shields, despite Xaden’s we still ended up in bed together. 

 

Something about this was weird. Since Threshing I had been scouring the Archives for information about mated dragons and their riders so I knew it was pretty typical for riders of mated dragons to end up together. But none of their personal accounts had mentioned anything like this. 

 

I was still wracking my brain as I tried to extricate myself from underneath Xaden’s arm and out of his bed. I was hoping he wouldn’t wake up and I could sneak out of the room unnoticed, but Xaden’s eyes popped open and he shot up in bed. He searched the room and when his gaze landed on me trying to sneak out of bed, his eyes widened and his brows shot into the hair falling over his forehead. 

 

All pretense of sneaking lost I shot out of bed and started rifling through the discarded clothes across the room. Luckily Xaden was a neat freak, just as I expected, so the only clothes on the floor were from last night. 

 

Xaden snapped his fingers and mage light burst into existence aiding my search. I quickly dressed, thankful I had been wearing leathers last night, so in case anyone saw me it wouldn’t look like I was making a walk of shame. Before lacing my boots I turned back towards Xaden, who was still sitting in bed, head in his hands. 

 

He turned to look at me, his face stoically set in that unreadable mask. His voice was deep and raspy from sleep. “This was a mistake. It can never happen again” 

 

Despite thinking the same thing, his words cut through me as surely as if he had stuck a dagger in my back. But I nodded quickly, putting my boots on and slipping quickly out the door. I tried to keep my head down in case I passed someone in the hallway. But that just meant I didn’t see the person coming down the hall directly at me. 

 

I smacked straight into them, so unprepared that I bounced off and fell on my ass. My head shot up and my eyes collided with the gaze of Garrick Tavis, questions written across his face, but before he could voice them I stood and bolted down the hallway towards the stairs. 

 

My mortification complete, I burst into my room, surprised by how clean it was considering there were 6 cadets killed in my room last night. And most of them were not killed by Xaden’s shadows. 

 

I changed into fresh leathers and brushed my hair out before putting it back up in a braid. I was 0just finishing the braid off with a tie around the bottom when I pushed out my door and was met by Liam leaning against the wall across from my room. In his hands was the ever wood project and small whittling knife. He had just done a rendering of Sgaeyl and had captured her ferocity with a precision I wasn’t aware you could accomplish with wood. When he saw me he put his latest project away before I could discern who it was. He had been keeping this one hidden from me for weeks.

-    -    -

“I don’t even know what I was thinking, in fact I am sure I wasn’t thinking” I say to Rhiannon as I sit cross-legged on her bed, watching her pack her satchel with books for the afternoon. The relic on my back burns today, as if it needs to remind me that I can channel now, and I roll my shoulders to try and relieve the sensation, but it’s impossible. My ticking time bomb has started.

 

“I can’t believe you managed to wait this long to tell me.” She lifts the canvas strap over her head and turns, leaning back against her desk. “And that’s not judgment. Far from it. I’m all for you exploring…whatever it is you want to explore.”

 

“I’ve been with Liam from the literal second I walked out the door this morning.” The knot between my shoulders has me rolling my neck, looking for some relief. With flight lessons and Imogen using weight training to strengthen the muscles around my joints in hopes they won’t subluxate as often—which thanks to my stash of water hemlock isn’t near as often as before Conscription—I’m a mass of aches and tightness. “Between Tairn finally channeling and then everything else, it was just a…lot.”

 

“Good point.” A grin shapes her mouth and her brown eyes sparkle. “Was it good? Tell me it was good. That man looks like he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

 

“It was...” Heat sings in my cheeks, how do I even begin to explain. Between the whole mates thing and the way my brain would only shut up if I was touching him. I am not sure anyone else would understand that. I finally settled with, “Yeah. He knows exactly what he’s doing.” My brow furrows, my imagination running through the thousand different consequences of what I did last night just like it has been all morning.

 

“Second thoughts?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You look like maybe there are third thoughts, even.”

 

“Maybe.” I shake my head. “Well, definitely? But only because it will make stuff between us weird. Or weirder than it already is. He told me it was a mistake, one that could never happen again.”

 

“Right. Because you’re stuck with him for the rest of your careers. Lives, too. But what the fuck Vi? Who says that the morning after.” She looks a little enraged on my behalf. Then goes back into thinking mode. “Have you guys talked about what happens after he graduates?” Her eyebrows rise. “Oh, I bet you get the choice of duty stations. Wingleaders always get to pick.”

 

“He’ll get to pick,” I grumble, toying with an errant string on my satchel. “I will have to follow. Tairn and Sgaeyl haven’t been separated for years. Her last rider died almost fifty years ago, and as far as I know, she flew wherever and whenever she wanted to be near Tairn before Naolin—his last rider—died in Tyrrendor. It’s a two-day flight to that part of our border, depending on where he’s stationed, so what are we going to do next year and the year after?”

 

Her lips purse. “Not sure. Feirge said we won’t be able to be apart more than a couple of days, so does that mean one of you has to always follow the other?”

 

“No clue. I think that’s why most mated pairs bond within the same year, so they don’t have these issues. I’ve been doing some research on it with what we have in the archives. And I think it’s time to talk to Professor Kaori.” I finally get the loose string off my satchel and voice the internal thought I’ve had since learning that bonded pairs couldn’t go very long without seeing one another. “How am I supposed to remain competitive next year if I’m constantly flying off to the front line with Tairn? How is Xaden supposed to be effective if he has to fly back here all the time?” My face scrunches. “He’s the most powerful rider of our generation. He’s going to be needed on the front, not here.”

 

“For now.” Rhiannon stares at me with intention, lifting her brows. “He’s the most powerful rider in our generation for now.”

 

My heart warms at the conviction in her voice, that’s my best friend. “What—”

 

Three knocks have both of us looking toward her door.

 

“Rhi?” Liam asks, panic evident in his voice. “Is Sorrengail in there with you? Because—”

 

Rhiannon opens the door, and Liam stumbles inside, catching his balance before his gaze sweeps the room, finding mine.

 

“There you are! I went to the bathroom, and you disappeared!”

 

“No one’s trying to assassinate her in my room, Mairi.” Rhiannon rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to be with her every second of every fucking day. Now give us five minutes and then we’ll start walking to class.” She pushes at his chest and he retreats, his mouth opening and shutting like he’s trying to think of an argument but can’t as she forces him out the door and shuts it in his face.

 

“He’s…” I sigh. “Dedicated.”

 

“That’s one word for it,” she mutters. “You’d think that guy owes Riorson his life or something, the way he sticks to you like glue.”

 

He’s pretty much told me that he does, but I keep that confidence to myself. Between Xaden’s meetings, stopping time, and Andarna’s age, I’m starting to keep too many secrets.

 

“Oh!” Her eyes light up, and she sits on the edge of the bed next to me. “Something happened with me last night, too.”

 

“Yeah?” I pivot to face her. “Do go on.”

 

“All right.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve only done it three times. Twice last night and once this morning, so be patient for a second.”

 

“Of course.” I nod.

 

“Watch the book on my desk.”

 

“Got it.” My gaze locks on the history textbook on the left-hand side of the desk. A minute passes, but I don’t look away.

 

Then the thing vanishes.

 

“What the hell, Rhi?” I fly to my feet and whip my head toward her. “What just—” My mouth drops.

 

She’s holding the book, looking up at me with a wide grin.

 

“Is that the same book?” I lean in just to see. Yep, it’s the same.

 

“I guess I can summon.” Her grin grows even wider.

 

“Holy shit!” I grasp her shoulders in excitement. “That’s amazing! That’s…incredible! I don’t even have words for what that is!” Moving objects and locking doors are the small magics, the baseline of wielding that comes from our constant connection to our dragons through our relics once they begin channeling. But making something disappear and bringing it to you? I haven’t read about a signet power like that in a century. It’s a hell of a signet.

 

“Right?” She clutches the book to her chest. “I can only do it from a few feet away, and I can’t go through walls or anything.”

 

“Yet,” I correct her, joy bubbling through me. “You can’t go through walls yet. Rhi. That’s the kind of rare signet that’s going to make your entire career!”

 

“I hope so.” She stands, putting the book back on her desk. “I just have to develop it.”

 

“You will.” I say it with the same assurance I feel. “We’ll help you!” I feel it in my bones, that this group, our ‘Iron Squad’ was meant for each other. Between Sawyer not getting chosen at Threshing last year to the way we have all meshed together since the beginning, even when we added Liam, he seemed to fit right in. Something about this felt bigger than us as individuals. 

 

I was still lost in the thought as the three of us walked toward the academic wing minutes later, joined by Sawyer and Ridoc as they came out of commons, fresh from the library.

 

“I finished this for you,” Liam says, handing me a figurine as we climb the wide spiral staircase to the third floor.

 

It’s Tairn. He’s even mastered his snarl. “This is…incredible. Thank you.”

 

“Thanks.” Liam gives me a grin, flashing his dimple. “I wanted to carve Andarna first, but I’m not around her as much, you know?”

 

“She’s pretty private.” We break off from the crowd headed to the fourth floor, and I stash the dragon in my bag, then reach out and give him a hug. “Really, I love it. Thank you.” The hallway is crowded but clears as we walk farther down, nearing Professor Carr’s room.

 

“You’re welcome.” He turns to Rhiannon. “I’m starting Feirge next.”

 

Rhiannon jokes with Liam that she hopes he captures her full badassery, but I lose the rest of the conversation as I glance toward the floor-to-ceiling window before the entrance to the Battle Brief tower and my breath catches.

 

Xaden is standing with the other wingleaders, locked in what looks to be a tense discussion, his arms folded across his chest. But what made my breath catch was the split lip and black eye. They look fresh. The black is really more of a burgundy and the split in his lip looks open and raw.  

 

My mouth opens before I can stop it. “Who in the hell gave Xaden Riorson a split lip and a black eye? Whoever it is, I think I want to kiss them.”

 

Liam snorts, but just shakes his head when I look at him.  

 

Xaden’s brow is slightly furrowed as he listens intently to something Lamani says, then nods. Hard to believe I had that mouth on mine last night, those arms wrapped around me. I shake the thought out of my head, hard. We are NOT going there again. I will not be his mistake again. 

 

As if he feels me staring, Xaden lifts his head, his gaze colliding with mine across the space. Before a dark look falls over his expression, and he shakes his head looking behind me, and his mouth tenses.

 

“Vi, can we talk?” Dain asks, a little out of breath, like he’s run to catch up to me.

 

“Now?” I rip my gaze from Xaden’s and turn to face the person that used to be my best friend.

 

Dain grimaces, rubbing a hand behind his neck, and nods. “I tried to catch you after formation, but you disappeared pretty quickly, and after what happened last night, I figure now is better than later.”

 

“It might be convenient for you to want to talk after weeks of ignoring me, but I have class right now.” I grip the strap of my satchel.

 

“We have a couple of minutes.” The plea in his eyes is so heavy that I feel the weight of it on my chest. “Please.”

 

I glance at Rhiannon, who is glaring at Dain with her true feelings for once, instead of the deference owed him as our squad leader. “I’ll be right in.”

 

She glances at me and then nods, heading into Carr’s room with the rest of our squad. Each of them gives Dain the stink eye as they pass, and once again I’m struck with how amazing this squad is. I even manage to shoo Liam through the door. 

 

I follow Dain out of the doorway, to a place along the wall where we won’t obstruct traffic.

 

“You let Tairn share your memory with everyone instead of just showing me yourself,” he blurts, his hands falling to his sides.

 

“I’m sorry?” What the hell is he talking about?

 

“When all that shit went down with Amber, I asked you to show me what happened, and you refused.” He shifts his weight, just one of his nervous tells, and I lock in on it. 

 

“I didn’t believe you, and that part is on me.” He raises his hand over his heart. “I should have believed you, but I couldn’t reconcile the woman I knew with what you were saying, and you didn’t come find me after the attack, either.” Hurt laces his tone. “I had to hear about it in formation, Vi. Regardless of the fight we had on the flight field, you’re still…you to me. And my best friend had been viciously attacked, nearly killed, and you didn’t say a single word about it.”

 

“You didn’t ask,” I say harshly. “You reached for my head like you were entitled to my memory after blatantly telling me you didn’t believe me, and you demanded I show you.” It’s everything I can do to keep my voice even, and even then I am loosing. My fists are clenched at my side and I kind of feel like punching him in the throat to shut him up. 

 

Two lines appear between his eyebrows. “I didn’t ask?”

 

“You didn’t ask.” I shake my head. “And after being told countless times that I’m not tough enough for this place, not strong enough…well, what happened on the flight field was a long time coming between you and me. The worst part is that I knew you wouldn’t believe me. It’s why I almost didn’t tell Xaden who it was, because I was sure he wouldn’t believe me, either.”

 

“But he did.” Dain’s voice drops, and his jaw ticks. “And he was the one who killed them in your bedroom.”

 

“Because Tairn told Sgaeyl.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Not because he was already there or anything. And I know you hate him—”

 

“You have every reason to hate him, too,” he reminds me, reaching for me before thinking better of it and drawing his hand back.

 

“I know that,” I counter. “His father put an arrow in Brennan’s chest, according to battlefield reports. I live with that knowledge every day. But don’t you think he sees me and remembers that my mother put his father to death? It’s…” The right words are hard to find. “It’s complicated between us.” Images of last night flood my mind, from Xaden’s first smile to the last brush of his lips, and I shove them away before I can get to his rejection. 

 

Dain flinches. “You trust him more than you trust me.” He’s right of course, but years of friendship means it still hurts to hear him say it. 

“I just…I have to trust him, Dain. Neither of us can do anything about Sgaeyl and Tairn being mated, and trust me, neither of us likes the situation, but we have to figure out a way through it. We don’t have a choice.”

 

Dain mutters a curse, but he doesn’t disagree.

 

“I know you just want to keep me safe, Dain,” I whisper. “But keeping me safe is keeping me from growing, too.” He blinks at me, and something shifts between us. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally ready to hear me. “When you told me that this place strips everything away from you to reveal what’s underneath, I was afraid. What if underneath the brittle bones and frail ligaments, there was just more weakness? Only this time, I wouldn’t be able to blame my body.”

 

“You’ve never been weak to me, Vi—” Dain starts, but I shake my head.

 

“Don’t you get it?” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what you think—it only matters what I think. And you were right. But the Riders Quadrant stripped away the fear and even the anger about being thrown into this quadrant, and it revealed who I really am. At my core, Dain, I’m a rider. Tairn knew it. Andarna knew it. It’s why they chose me. And until you can stop looking for ways to keep me in a glass cage, we aren’t going to get past this, no matter how many years of friendship we have between us.”

 

He stares over my shoulder, like he can’t stand to look at my face. “And what? Riorson gets a free pass for his control issues? Because last time I checked, Liam was moved into our squad specifically to shadow you.”

 

It’s an excellent point, I don’t want to give him a pass for that shit, but unfortunately I have to allow it. “Liam is around because even the strongest rider can’t watch their back from more than thirty unbonded cadets gunning for them. And if I die, Xaden dies. What’s your excuse?”

 

Dain tenses like a statue, only the muscle in his jaw ticking before he eventually leans forward and whispers, “Look, you don’t know everything there is to know about Xaden, Vi. I have a higher security clearance due to my signet, and you need to be careful. Xaden has secrets, reasons to never forgive your mother, and I don’t want him to use you to get his revenge.”

 

My hackles rise. There’s a sliver of truth in what he’s saying, but I don’t have time to focus on the confusion that is Xaden right now. One screwed-up relationship at a time.

 

I narrow my gaze as Dain shuffles his feet again, a kernel of a suspicion growing in my chest. “Wait, did you keep begging me to leave Basgiath because you didn’t think I could survive here—or because you were trying to get me away from Xaden?”

 

I shake my head before he can answer. “You know what? It’s irrelevant.” And I mean it. “You only want to keep me safe. I appreciate that. But it stops now, Dain. Xaden is tied to me because of Sgaeyl. Nothing more. I do not need protection, and if I do—I’ve got two badass dragons who have my back. Can you respect that?”

 

He reaches up to cup my cheek, and I hold his gaze, determined for him to understand he either starts valuing my choices or we are never going to fix our friendship. “All right, Vi.” His eyes crinkle at the sides as his mouth turns up into a half smile. “How can I argue with someone who has two badass dragons?”

 

A weight shifts in my chest, and suddenly I can breathe again. I toss him a cheeky grin. “Exactly.”

 

“I’m sorry for not asking for the memory.” He drops his hand to my shoulder. “You’d better get to class.” And then he squeezes my shoulder gently before walking away.

 

I let out a shaky breath and turn back to the door for Carr’s class. The hallway is empty.

 

I head into Carr’s room, a massively long chamber with padded walls and no windows. The entire length is lit by chandeliers of mage lights bright enough to emulate daylight over three dozen students from Third and Fourth Wing, who are seated in rows on the floor, evenly spaced to give one another the most room.

 

Rhiannon and Liam meet me at the door and Professor Carr raises his bushy white brows at me when we approach where he’s positioned at the front of the room, dominating the space by doing nothing more than standing there. The man isn’t just imposing, he’s intimidating as fuck. I swallow, remembering how he snapped Jeremiah’s neck.

 

“Finally ready to join us, Cadet Sorrengail?” There’s no kindness in his eyes, merely shrewd, clinical observation.

 

“Yes, sir.” I nod.

 

He studies me like I’m a bug pinned to the wall in the biology room. “Signet power?”

 

“Not yet.” I shake my head, keeping the whole time-stopping thing to myself like Xaden suggested. You trust him more than you trust me. In this regard, Dain is right, and guilt drops my stomach, but I swipe it away. I have to trust Xaden Riorson with my life, the same way he needs to trust me with his. 

 

“I see.” He clucks his tongue, glancing over at me. “You know your siblings were both gifted by extraordinary signet powers. Mira’s ability to manifest a ward around her and her squad has been an absolute asset to her wing, and she’s been highly decorated for her valor behind enemy lines.”

 

“Yes. Mira is an inspiration.” I force a smile, more than aware of my sister’s prowess on the battlefield. Still hating every minute that I get compared to her, because I come up woefully short.

 

“And Brennan…” He looks away. “Menders are so very rare, and to lose one so young was tragic.”

 

“I think losing Brennan is the tragedy.” I heft my satchel up higher on my shoulder. “But the loss of his signet was a definite blow to the wings.”

 

“Hmm.” He blinks twice and turns his chilling gaze back on me. “Well, it seems the Sorrengail line is blessed, even in a rider as…well, delicate as you are. With Tairn having chosen you, we’ll expect nothing but an earth-shattering signet from you. Take a seat. You can at least start with the lesser magics through your relic.” He waves me off.

 

“No pressure,” I mutter as we walk to obviously empty places in the line with the rest of our squad.

 

“Don’t stress,” Rhiannon says as we take our seats on the padded floor. “That’s what I was trying to remind you of earlier. You are Tairn’s rider.”

 

“What do you mean?” I set my satchel down next to me.

 

“You’re all worried about the integrity of the wing because Riorson might have to visit to keep his dragon happy but, Violet, he’s not the most powerful rider of our generation. You are.” She holds my gaze just long enough to let me know she means it. My heart lurches into my throat.

 

“Now let’s begin!” Carr calls out.

 

I leave Carr’s class exhausted mentally. A whole hour of nothing but building my fathers office in my mind. I have turned it into my own space. 

 

My favorite thick fuzzy blanket, the one Mira brought back from one of her posts in the Northern Provinces, rests over Dad’s leather chair. The book shelf from Brennan's old room, covered in our favorite tomes sits on the once empty wall. It’s covered in knick knacks and other things I collected once. Ones that I’m sure are boxed in storage from my old room, from before I walked the parapet. 

 

There are now two doors where there used to be only one. But I have two dragons, and need two doors for each of their powers. I can still feel their individual thrums that run through my body, soul deep. The ancient dark depths of Tairn’s, and the light sparkly bubbles of Andarna. 

 

We’ve reached the dining hall and I’m halfway through the line before I snap out of my brain and back into reality. I finish filling my plate and head towards our usual table. I’m starving and begging to stuff my face. 

 

It’s Rhiannon's intake of breath and elbow in my ribs that snaps me out of it. I look in the direction she is looking and gasp. Garrick Tavis is sporting the matching black eye and split lip to Xaden Riorson's. That, in addition to the hard look on his face as he sits across from Xaden in his usual spot, is enough to conclude that Garrick Tavis is the one that fought with Xaden. 

 

Liam leans in close and whispers “Still want to kiss whoever gave Xaden the black eye?” His shoulders are shaking as he tries to hold in his laugh, but it bubbles over into a cackle that makes me roll my eyes. 

 

I definitely want to kiss Garrick Tavis, but Liam doesn’t need that information. 

-    -    -

December turns to January.

 

Ground. Shield. Imagine closing your door. Build your wall. Sense who and what has access around you. Trace the bond to your dragon. Dragons in my case. Build a second entrance into the office of my power for Andarna’s golden energy. Block those bonds as far as you can.

 

Visualize.

 

Imagine a knot of power—not too intricate; no one’s ready for that yet—in front of you, then untangle it. Unlock the door.

 

Visualize.

 

Keep one foot firmly grounded at all times. You’re useless unless you’re connected to your power, and you’re dangerous if you can’t contain it. There is only the in-between that makes you a great rider.

 

Envision your power like a hand, gripping that pencil and bringing it toward you. Pick it up. No. Not like that. Try again. No, again.

 

VISUALIZE.

 

I study for tests. I prep for flights. I lift weights with Imogen. I research mated dragons. I wonder how long Xaden is going to make me put in hours on the mat with Rhiannon. I win my first challenge, earning a dagger from a girl in Second Wing. But the most exhausting assignment is spending endless hours in the office of my mind, learning which door is Tairn’s and which belongs to Andarna, then working diligently to separate the two.

 

It turns out that while my power might flow from my dragons, the ability to control it comes from my own exertion, and there are nights I fall into bed, plunging into sleep before I even remove my boots.

 

By the end of the second week in January, I’m not only pissed that Xaden has been completely ignoring me, but I’m exhausted, and that’s without a signet power manifesting, draining my energy to control it.

 

Ridoc can wield ice, which might be a more common signet, but he’s been exploring the different things he can do with it and it’s impressive to see.

 

Sawyer’s metallurgy powers grow every day.

 

Liam can see a single tree miles away.

 

I guess I can stop time, but I’m not willing to drain Andarna just for the sake of trying again, not when it took her more than a week of straight sleeping to recover. Without a signet, all I can wield are the lesser magics. But I am great with them. I easily use the ink pen, almost without thought, lock a door, and open it. I’m a party trick.

 

In my boredom, I’ve started using it for evil. Tying shoelaces together, moving things mere inches without people noticing and causing them to knock it over, trip over it, etc. I’ve figured out how to boost my speed and power using it, and that has been coming in handy, especially in challenges.

 

By the third week in January, I earn yet another dagger in a challenge against a guy in Third Wing, my second without weakening my opponent with poisons. It leaves me with a sore wrist. I may have put too much magic behind it, but I am alive and my joints are intact.

 

And in the fourth week, during the coldest weather I’ve ever experienced at Basgiath, I sneak out in the middle of the night to see the challenge board.

 

Jack has finally been given the chance to end me on the mat tomorrow.

 

“He’s going to kill me.” That’s all I can think as I dress for the morning, sheathing all of my daggers in the most advantageous places. 

 

“He’s going to try.” 

Tairn is up early.

 

“Any advice?” I know Liam is waiting for us to make the library run before breakfast.

 

“Don’t let him.”

 

I scoff. He makes it sound so damned simple. But he’s right. Hell maybe I should kill him instead.

 

“Yesss! Kill him!”

Andarna’s cruel words are in stark contrast to her bubbly voice. 

 

We’re already on our way back from the library when I finally work up the nerve to talk to Liam about it. “If I tell you something, will you report it to Xaden?”

 

His head whips in my direction as he pushes the cart over the bridge between the quadrants. “Why would you think—”

 

“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes. “We both know you report just about everything I do. I’m not ignorant.” Snow pelts the windows, making a dull, chiming sound.

 

“He worries. I alleviate worries.” He glances at me again before looking forward. “I know it’s not fair. I know it’s a breach of your privacy. But it’s nothing compared to what I owe him.”

 

“Yeah. I got that part.” I hurry ahead and open the thick, heavy door into the citadel so he can pass through. “Maybe I should rephrase my question. If I were to tell you something and ask you specifically to keep this one thing between the two of us, would you agree? Are we friends, or am I just your assignment?”

 

He pauses while I shut the door, and I can tell he’s thinking by the way he drums his fingers on the handle of the cart. “Would me keeping it to myself alter your safety in any way?”

 

“No.” I catch up to him, it’s not technically a lie. “There’s nothing you can do, and that’s the point.”

 

“We’re friends. Tell me.” He grimaces. “I’ll keep it to myself.” I know that it’s killing him to do it. 

 

“Jack Barlowe is going to be allowed to challenge me today.”

 

He stops walking, and so I do. “How do you know that?”

 

“And that is why I’m asking you to keep it to yourself.” I cringe. “Just…try to trust that I know.”

 

“The instructors can’t let that happen.” He shakes his head, panic creeping into his eyes.

 

“They’re going to.” I shrug, forcing a tight smile. “He’s been asking since the first day, so it’s not like we didn’t see this coming. Point is, Jack is going to challenge me today, and when he does, you can’t step in, no matter what.”

 

His blue eyes widen. “Vi, if we tell Riorson, he can put a stop to it.”

 

“No.” I reach for his hand and lay mine on top of it. “He can’t. There’s only so much Xaden can do to protect me both here and once we’re on the front lines. You and I both know that if he stops this, there will be an uproar in the quadrant after what happened to Amber.”

 

“And you expect me to stand there and watch while whatever happens…happens?” he asks, incredulous.

 

“Just like you have the last two challenges.” I force another smile. “Don’t worry. I’m going to use everything I have to my advantage.” And everything I have is currently in a vial tucked into the tiny pocket at my waist. But it’s a backup plan.

 

“I don’t like this.” He shakes his head.

 

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

 

There’s no flight field today—the dragons have deemed it too cold to fly over the last week, which means we’re all headed to the sparring gym after formation. I don’t bother with breakfast, knowing I will be lighter on my feet without it. I do drink my tea and nibble on some sausage to keep the hunger and nausea away. 

 

My heart pounds a chaotic, nauseating rhythm by the time all eighty-one of the surviving first-years gather in the gym. Professor Emetterio calls out the challenges one by one, assigning them to a mat. At least we’ll all fight at once, which means not every rider will be watching.

 

At least Xaden isn’t here, which means Liam kept his word. But Garrick Tavis is, and he looks absolutely sick, which means Liam told him. I give him a hard stare, shaking my head at him. Trying to tell him off as Emeterrio calls. 

 

“Mat seventeen, Jack Barlowe from First Wing versus…” His eyebrows rise, and he takes a deep breath. “Violet Sorrengail.”

 

Thank gods Rhiannon’s already across the floor, ready to challenge a woman from Third Wing, so she doesn’t have to see how the blood drains from Liam’s face. She shouldn’t have to see any of this. Sawyer’s gone, too, over at mat nine.

 

“No fucking way,” Ridoc mutters, shaking his head.

 

“Finally!” Jack throws his hands in the air like he’s already won.

 

“Let’s do this.” I roll my shoulders and head for the mat. Neither Liam nor Ridoc is called to the mat today, so they walk at my sides.

 

“Tell me I can break the promise,” Liam begs, and the pleading look in his eyes tells me exactly what a shitty position I’ve put him in.

 

“The third-years are off doing third-year things,” I tell him as my toes touch the mat. “You can’t get him here in time, but I know what it means to you to keep your word. Especially with him. Go ahead.”

 

He looks from me to Ridoc. “Guard her like you’re me.”

 

“You mean like I’m six inches taller and built like a bull?” Ridoc gives him a thumbs-up. “Sure. I’ll do my best. In the meantime, you’d better run.”

 

Liam’s gaze finds mine. “Stay alive.”

 

“Working on it, and not just for my sake.” I give him a smile. “Thanks for being a great shadow.”

 

His eyes widen a split second before he sprints out of the gym.

 

“Barlowe and Sorrengail,” Emetterio calls from the opposite side of the mat. “Weapons?”

 

Jack bounces like a kid who’s just been given a gift. “Anything she can hold in those puny hands of hers.” The look in his eyes sends a shiver of apprehension down my spine. Perfect, he is still underestimating me.

 

I step onto the mat, and Jack does the same, walking forward until we’re at the center, facing each other.

 

“No signets,” Emetterio reminds us. “Tap out or knockout earns you a victory.”

 

Pretty sure everyone gathered around this mat knows that Jack isn’t going for either of those options. If he gets his hands around my neck, I’m dead.

 

“That whole I-die-Xaden-dies thing is really just a hypothesis, right?” I ask in my mind, unsheathing the daggers that are hardest to reach during a fight, the ones in my boots.

 

“One I’d rather not put to the test,” 

Tairn growls.

 

I stand, gripping the handles of my daggers, as Jack faces me with a single knife. “ Only one?” Thankfully he is an idiot. 

 

“I only need one.” He grins with sickening excitement.

 

“Go for the gullet,” 

Tairn suggests.

 

"Slice him open and let his guts spill out!"

Andarna crows.

 

“I don’t have the energy to block you out right now, so I’m going to need you guys to be quiet for a few minutes here.”

 

An answering growl is the only response I get.

 

“Keep it clean,” Emetterio warns. “Go.”

 

My heart drums so loudly, I can hear it in my ears as we begin to circle each other.

 

“Offense. Now. Strike first,” 

Tairn snaps.

 

“Not helping!”

 

Jack lunges, striking out with his knife, and I slice my dagger across the back of his hand, drawing first blood.

 

“Shit!” He jumps back, his cheeks blotching. He hadn’t even considered that I would be a challenge. Now he’s angry. That’s what I want, what I need to win this match, for him to get so angry that he acts without thinking and makes a mistake.

 

He dances forward and then kicks out, aiming for my midsection, and I step back, narrowly avoiding the blow. “Bet you wish you could throw that blade, don’t you?” he taunts, knowing I won’t break a rule when it can hurt someone in the matches going on around us.

 

“Bet you wish you didn’t know what it feels like to dig out one of my knives, don’t you?” I retort.

 

His lips press into a thin line before he comes at me in a series of punches and swipes with his dagger. I deflect but he’s too strong for me, and I can’t keep my grip on the dagger he kicks out of my hand. So I use my speed, ducking and diving while getting in another cut, this one along his forearm.

 

“Damn it!” he rages, twisting to follow as I come around his back. He catches me mid swing, locking onto my arm and flipping me over his back to the mat.

 

I take the blow on my shoulder and wince, but there’s no sound of tearing or snapping. Thank the gods for water hemlock and hard work, oh thank Imogen and Garrick too.

 

Keeping my arm locked, Jack thrusts his knife straight at my chest, but it’s deflected by my vest, skimming along my ribs to lodge in the mat.

 

“He’s using death blows!” Ridoc shouts. “That’s not allowed!” 

 

Out of the corner of my eye I notice Garrick move closer to the mat.

 

“Pull it back, Barlowe!” Emetterio bellows.

 

“What do you think, Sorrengail?” Jack whispers in my ear, holding me immobile with my arm behind my back. “Admit it. You and I both knew it would be like this between us. Quick. Embarrassingly easy. Fatal. Your precious wingleader isn’t here to save you.”

 

No, but Xaden will suffer…if not worse if Jack achieves his goal. The thought spurs me to action. Ignoring the pain, I throw my weight into a roll, subluxating my shoulder but freeing myself from his grip when he gets tangled in my legs.

 

Then I kick him straight in the balls.

 

He hits his knees as I gain my feet, clutching himself as his mouth opens in a silent scream.

 

“Tap out,” I order, picking up the dagger I dropped. “I can cut you open at any second. Both you and I know if this were real life, you’d be done.”

 

“If this were real life, I would have killed you the second you stepped onto the mat,” he seethes through gritted teeth.

 

“Tap. Out.”

 

“Fuck off!” He throws his dagger.

 

I throw up my hands to block, but it lodges in my left fucking forearm. Blood streams and pain sears the nerves along my arm, erupting with alarming poignancy, but I know better than to remove it. Right now, it’s holding that wound as shut as it can.

 

“No throwing!” Emetterio shouts from the sidelines, but Jack is already moving, barreling toward me with a series of kicks and punches that I’m not ready for. His fist slams into my cheek, and I feel the skin split.

 

His knee forces the air from my body when he rams it into my stomach.

 

But I stay on my feet until his hands clasp my face. Agony fills every cell in my body as violent, vibrating energy rips through me with an intensity that makes it feel like he’s cleaving ligament from bone, muscle from tendon.

 

I scream as I’m shaken by an internal force I don’t understand, as though he’s forcing his own power into my body, shocking me with a thousand stings of vibrating energy.

 

Now. If I don’t do it now, he’ll kill me. My vision is already darkening at the edges.

 

I reach a trembling hand into the pocket of my leathers and thumb open the stopper on the vial.

 

His sadistic grin and a red rim around his eyes are all I can see as he forces more and more power into my body, but his hands are occupied and he’s too obsessed with his victory to hear that I’ve stopped screaming, to see that I’m moving.

 

“He’s using his powers!” Ridoc roars, and from the corner of my decreasing vision, I see movement on both sides. What I can’t see is Garrick forcing his way onto the mat, trying to pull Barlowe off of me. I don’t see him taking a part of whatever the hell powers Barlowe is wielding against me. 

 

But I can feel the power wane and I shove the vial against Jack’s smile so hard, I feel one of his teeth break.

 

Hands reach for us, and I hear Ridoc and Emetterio cry out, jerking their hands away after contact. Whatever Jack is doing is transferring from me to them by touch.

 

My teeth rattle as the pain consumes me, my body fighting to pass out, to escape the unbearable torture, but I refuse to succumb to the darkness until Jack wheezes.

 

His eyes fly impossibly wide, and he drops his hands, clutching his own neck as his airway closes.

 

My knees give way, my body still shuddering despite the lack of Jack’s power as I hit the mat, but so does Jack, heaving and clawing at his neck as his face turns purple.

 

Ridoc’s face is in mine within seconds. “Breathe, Sorrengail. Just breathe.”

 

“What the hell is wrong with him?” someone asks as Jack writhes.

 

But I just smile, keeping that little secret to myself. 

 

When I wake, I’m not on the mat, and I can tell by the windows of the Healer Quadrant infirmary that night has fallen. I’ve been out for hours.

 

And that’s not Ridoc lounged against the wall, glaring at me like he’d like to kill me himself.

 

It’s Xaden. 

 

But movement catches my attention and I turn my head to find Garrick sitting at my side. His hair is tousled, like he’s been tugging at it, and he’s flipping a dagger end over end, catching it by the tip without so much as looking at it before sheathing it at his side. “Vi, are you really awake this time?”

Notes:

This is a work of fiction in The Empyrean universe. All characters and plots you recognize are the sole intellectual property of one Rebecca Yarros. I just like to take them and twist them up for my own entertainment. I hope it may be yours as well.