Xaden yanks Aaric through just as the door slams shut, shadows scattering along the floor like fallen leaves.
I sag, leaning over and bracing my hands above my knees as I gasp for
air.
“You made it!” Rhiannon ducks her head to mine, smiling wide.
“And we have to keep making it,” Xaden reminds us. “Robes off. Keep
to the plan.”
My heart slows somewhat, and I straighten, then shrug out of the scribe’s robes, putting them in Quinn’s outstretched palms.
Bodhi helps Aaric out of his, careful with his blistered hands. “Did you get them?” Jesinia signs, hope lighting her face.
I nod. “Will they suspect you?” Nasya looks more unconscious than asleep against the wall.
“Not if I get us back to the dorms quickly,” she replies.
“I’ll take care of him,” Imogen says, heading over to Nasya.
“He shouldn’t remember much. I hit him from behind,” Sawyer admits, stuffing the robes into a large cream laundry bag.
I translate for Jesinia.
“I’ll just berate him for falling asleep,” she signs back, offering Sawyer a smile, and I translate.
He blinks, pausing for a long second before taking the last robe—Aaric’s
— and putting it into the bag. “Damn, your hands…”
The blisters that have popped are bleeding, and those that haven’t look like they might go at any second.
“That’s a rebound burn,” Bodhi says. “It will clear up overnight if treated.”
“Change to the plan.” I glance at Xaden, but he merely lifts an eyebrow. “Ridoc, take Aaric to your room and keep his hands hidden. Rhi, go to the infirmary and ask for Dyre. A mender will draw too much attention. It might take him some time to report if he’s not on duty, but he should keep quiet if you call in the debt he owes me. You’ll have to sneak him into the quadrant—”
“Good idea. I can do that.” She nods to the guys. “C’mon. Now.” The three of them take off down the hallway.
“I’ll take the laundry,” Jesinia signs.
I translate for Sawyer, and he hands over the bag. “Let’s move,” Xaden orders.
“Go,” Jesinia urges. “We’re clear here.”
“Thank you,” I sign, then head out with Xaden and the others.
“How did it go for you?” Xaden asks Quinn as we pass the stairs on our left and continue toward the Healer Quadrant.
“I projected into commons and made it clear I was looking for lemonade because we’ve all been drinking in Imogen’s room.” She grins, a dimple popping in her cheek. “And then I managed to take a walk as Violet and Rhiannon.”
My mouth drops and I nearly stumble. “You projected looking like someone else?”
She nods. “I can distort my own features a little, but it’s way easier in the astral plane. My signet is stronger because Cruth was my great-aunt’s dragon. But she’s not a direct descendant, so I don’t have to worry about going mad like those whose dragons bond in the direct familial line. Dragons aren’t supposed to even get close to family lines for that exact
reason—like they listen to human rules.” She glances at Imogen. “I still can’t quite get the right shade of pink for your hair.”
We fall quiet as we pass by the infirmary. It’s the last obstacle before we can split up in the quadrant as planned.
“Well, that was blissfully uneventful.” Bodhi pushes open the door to the bridge.
“Speak for yourself,” Imogen replies, smacking him in the chest as she walks by. “You weren’t in charge of keeping Xaden calm while Aaric had Violet trapped behind the wards with him.”
I scoff, because we both know that’s not how that went down. Xaden’s jaw ticks.
We part once we reach the other side of the bridge. Imogen and Quinn take the stairs to their rooms, Bodhi and Sawyer head to commons to make as much of a scene as they can in order to be remembered, and Xaden and I climb to the first floor and escape into the courtyard.
The October air cools my flushed cheeks.
“You feel all right?” Xaden asks as we pass a group of cadets.
“Thirsty from sprinting, but…” I don’t bother fighting the smile that stretches across my face. “But good.”
He glances my way, his gaze flickering to my mouth, then tugs me into one of the shadowy alcoves carved into the thick walls. “That smile,” he murmurs before his mouth takes mine in a hungry kiss.
I arch against him, spearing my hands into his hair as I kiss him back with everything I feel. It’s not slow and sensuous like the one we shared in my room. This is hard and fast and…happy.
We’re both smiling when we break apart.
“We did it,” I say as my hands fall to his shoulders.
“We did it,” he agrees, resting his forehead against mine. “I hate leaving before I really have to.”
“Me too.” I pull back and lift one of the satchels from my shoulder, then remove the journal. “But it’s safer this way. You need to get one to Brennan.”
I flip to the center of Warrick’s journal and grin at the sprawling strokes of Old Lucerish, keeping my ungloved fingers to the very edge. What I read has me grinning, victory swelling in my chest. “‘After we placed the last rune, we placed the wardstone where the dragons felt the deepest currents of magic run,’” I translate slowly to Xaden, then glance up. “I might be off a word or two, but it’s here!” I flip another few pages. “‘That last step complete, the protections fell into place at…’” My face scrunches as I work out the rest. “‘…at the birth of an iron rain.’”
I spot at least three more mentions of that term before quickly putting the journal back in the satchel. “This is it.” I hand it to Xaden. “Take this to Brennan. He should be able to translate it. They won’t expect you to leave until morning, so you can get out of here without being searched if you head out now, and splitting up the journals means we can read them twice as fast.” And ensures that one of them makes it out of this place.
He folds the cream canvas around the journal inside, then unbuttons his flight jacket and stores the bundle against his chest before rebuttoning. “I wish I could spend the night,” he says in that gravelly tone that instantly turns me on.
“That makes two of us.”
He stares at me with something like longing, then reaches into the shadows and grabs the pack he’d stored there earlier. Keeping his eyes locked with mine, he swings the pack onto his back, then reaches for my face and kisses me again.
The simple pleasure of it is perfect.
“You are astonishing,” he says against my lips. “I’ll see you in seven days.”
“Seven days,” I agree, fighting the urge to pull him into another kiss.
And another. “Now go. We have to keep to the plan, remember?”
He kisses me hard and quick, then walks away, striding across the courtyard like he owns it. I rub my hand over my heart, hoping to ease the ache of watching him walk away, but the hurt is nothing compared to the triumph I feel.
I step into the courtyard, then look up, waiting to catch one last glimpse of him in the overcast sky as he flies southeast.
For the first time in months, it’s hope coursing through my veins instead of dread.
We can do this—we’re doing this. We have the firsthand account of how the First Six activated their wardstone, and I know I can talk Xaden into flying for Cordyn to secure the luminary with me. He won’t like it, but he’ll do it. I just have to figure out how to get the leave approved. And until then, we’ll keep doing what we’re doing, smuggling out weaponry and building from within Navarre until we can stand on our own. Aretia will have wards in a matter of days; I’m certain of it.
“Violet?”
I look over my shoulder and smile at Nolon as he approaches, carrying a wineskin in one hand and a pewter mug in the other. He looks so damned tired, like he’s just come from a major session or twelve. “Hi, Nolon.” I wave.
“I thought that was you. I was getting some lemonade when Jack told me he saw you out here, and I remembered that you’re on my mending list.” He hands me the mug, then stands at my side, looking up at the sky. “It’s your favorite, if I remember.”
“That’s too kind of you.” I lift the mug and drink deeply, slaking the thirst that’s burned my throat since our little sprint through the Archives. “And don’t worry about my shoulder. It’s already healed. You know, I never got the chance to thank you for helping us during interrogation.”
“I never like to see you hurt, and Varrish has it out for you.” He drinks from his own skin, then scratches his stubbled cheek. “Where is Riorson, anyway? I don’t often see you apart on Saturdays.”
My stomach dips as Jack Barlowe walks across the courtyard, Caroline Ashton at his side with some other second-years from First Wing. It completely flips when he gives me a nod, which I awkwardly return.
“Violet?” Nolon prompts, following my line of sight to Jack. “Everything all right?”
“Everything is fine. And Xaden left earlier. We don’t always get along.” I take another sip of the lemonade, then glance down at the contents. The kitchen must have changed up the recipe, because it has a funny yet familiar aftertaste.
“I meant what I said,” Nolon says quietly, glancing at the cream satchel I carry.
Cream. Not black.
My head blurs, my vision swimming momentarily as I swing my head to look at him.
“Tairn—” But Tairn isn’t there. Every connection I have is fuzzy. No. Oh gods, no.
But…but I’ve trusted Nolon with my life for years.
“I never like to see you hurt,” Nolon whispers, apology crinkling his brow as the mug rolls from my hand, crashing to the gravel a heartbeat later. “But I can’t protect you from the consequences of your own actions when you risk the safety of every civilian in this kingdom.”
Bootsteps sound all around me and the world spins, but it’s Varrish’s face I see hovering above mine. “Why, Cadet Sorrengail, what have you gotten yourself into?”
