Your Majesty, unfortunately I can find no law that supersedes the Unification Scrolls. The Provincial Commitment under Queen Alondra the Bold (207.1)—consolidating the provinces’ armies under the queen’s standard for the Poromish conflict—expired with the Second Aretia Accord, and control of all forces should must return to the provinces from which they hail. I recommend demanding asking for a new Provincial Commitment covering our current conflict. The provinces will never agree after the rise in conscription rates. My advice: do not anger Tyrrendor’s duke, who now commands the largest portion of our army. Screw this. I hate my job.

—Unsent, Drafted Correspondence of Colonel Agatha Mayfair, Royal Archivist

---

Leadership separates us completely after we put our things in our rooms, then questions us for twelve hours each with scribes. When Aetos accidentally lets slip his annoyance that King Tauri is so grateful to have Aaric back that he’s forbidden any form of punishment, the emotional relief results in an immediate sense of overwhelming exhaustion, but I don’t ask for a reprieve from the endless debrief. I made the decisions, and if this prolonged interrogation is my only collegiate repercussion, I’ll take it without complaint, especially knowing the other members of the squad are safe, too.

They go over the trip’s details so many times, for so many hours, that I start to worry if they’re looking for holes in our stories or if they suspect we had more than rare texts to guide us. It’s tedious and exhausting, but at least I get to see Markham’s face twist with jealousy from across the room on the few occasions he sits in on my sessions.

I’ve seen things he never will, touched pieces of history he didn’t know existed.

Just like my father.

Mira and Garrick are released back to the front on March twenty-eighth, the last day of our inquisition. Drake departs for Cordyn. Brennan arrives from Aretia to mend my ribs. Xaden is hauled into Senarium meetings while being returned to his position as a professor.

And the rest of us go back to class.

For having missed more than three weeks, I’m only completely lost in physics and mildly confused in history, since all my studying prior to the trip had nothing to do with Braevick absorbing Cygnisen under Porom the First. If not for Rhi’s notes, the three of us would drown academically, and I’m sure Aaric feels the same about Sloane.

But it’s Battle Brief on our first day back that shows just how much damage can be done in three weeks. Suniva is far from the only city to have fallen. In fact, geographically speaking, it’s an outlier.

“That’s not possible,” I whisper, staring at the map from my seat. How many dark wielders would it take to cover that much territory this quickly? Rhi and I spent the early morning hours debriefing, but this hadn’t come up.

“It’s happening fast.” Rhiannon takes out her pen and paper.

“If by fast, you mean that half of Krovla has been painted red while we were away, then yes, I’d say fast is a good term,” Ridoc notes from Rhi’s right.

“You guys didn’t see any of it on your flight in?” Sawyer asks.

“No.” My grip tightens on my pen. “We flew over the ruins of Pavis.” There are so many patches of red that they blend into one. Only the southern tip and west of Krovla have been spared. Cordyn still stands, but for how long? “Civilian casualties?”

Rhi’s mouth tightens. “Unknown, and the borders are a mess. People are fleeing in every direction. Draithus is facing major supply shortages. Too many people too fast.”

My stomach knots. Mira and Garrick were both sent to Draithus.

“Because your king won’t let anyone in.” Cat seethes.

A few heads turn in her direction before quickly looking away. It’s been like that all day, cadets whispering and staring at us.

“What?” I lean forward to look past Maren as the stragglers take their seats. “We’re still not taking civilians?”

“Guessing they skipped that part of your debrief,” she replies.

Or I’d only been interviewed by Navarrians.

“Welcome back to our travelers,” Professor Devera says as she takes her position at the front, alongside Professor Kiandra. “From my understanding, they have secured us an army of forty thousand soldiers from an alliance with Zehyllna.” She gives me a subtle nod, and I force a smile. “Which may help turn the tide of this war.”

But we failed to secure our primary objective. And lost a squadmate. I’m going to need to get back into the gym with Imogen to carry all this fucking guilt.

“I’d settle for a stalemate,” Maren says from my left.

“Also, welcome to our new guests.” Devera’s gaze flicks to the two captains in rider black standing watch at the end of Aaric’s row. “Please make yourselves as uncomfortable as possible.”

Aaric glares past Sloane and Baylor, then faces forward.

“On to battle strategy,” Devera announces. “Where should we put our forty thousand troops?” she asks the room, then calls on a first-year from Second Wing.

“They should be stationed here to protect the wardstone,” the curly-haired guy replies.

“Yes, because that is where venin seem to be headed,” Imogen quips from above us.

“Next,” Devera orders.

“They should be sent to the south to hold the line so Cordyn doesn’t fall,” Cat says without being called on.

“That would be one excellent usage of them,” Devera agrees, “though I wonder if your bias comes into play with that kind of decision, seeing as it’s now the seat of power for your uncle.”

King Tecarus.

“What do our other travelers think?” Devera inquires, her gaze skimming over us.

I stare at the western line that’s creeping closer to Tyrrendor and keep my mouth closed so the same point can’t be made to me regarding bias.

“They should be split,” Dain answers from above us. “Half to the south to defend the new king and what’s left of the territory, and half to the western line.”

“You would deploy all the troops within Poromiel?” she questions, sitting back on her favorite spot on the table.

“It’s where they’re needed,” he answers with a certainty I envy. “And before the riders in here get defensive, remember that protecting Krovla’s western line keeps the dark wielders off Tyrrendor and Elsum, and we’re bound by our alliance to defend King Tecarus.”

“And it was a flier who paid the cost of that army,” Cat adds.

“Solid points,” Devera admits. “Personally, I’d divvy the troops into thirds, putting most along the lines Aetos suggested and the rest at our outposts.” My brow furrows. Why would the outposts need more troops within the wards? “If we start losing wards, there will be no safe harbor on the Continent.”

“Safe for who, exactly?” Maren mutters.

“Hard for outposts to fall or lose wards when they’re already protected,” Sawyer muses.

Unless they think the arsenals are at risk. All it takes is a disruption in the power supply and the wards will fail.

“We’ll see what leadership decides.” Devera pauses, and her hands trip on the edge of the desk. “It is not lost on me that today’s subject will be a sensitive one—I know many of you had family there—but it is critical that we discuss Suniva’s fall now that the intel reports are in.”

There’s an immediate hum of tension within the room, as if half its occupants can’t help but channel.

“How many of you know how it happened?” Devera’s gaze sweeps over us.

A second-year flier from Third Wing raises her hand, and Devera nods at her. “I don’t think any of us have all the details, but we know they were taken by surprise. I heard twenty venin—”

“I heard it was more like thirty,” someone counters from the right.

“Which is why we have this briefing.” Devera lifts her brows. “It does us no good to train with misinformation and rumors.” She looks back at the flier.

“They dropped out of the sky, which made Suniva’s fifty-foot walls obsolete,” the flier continues, “then started a…fire. Is it true most everyone burned to death?”

My stomach pitches. I can’t think of a more horrible way to die.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Devera nods. “The fire started in the famous textile district and, with the help of what we think were wind-wielding venin, quickly devoured most of the city, despite the efforts of the four drifts in permanent residence, all of whom perished. We had a riot of four stationed there to protect the queen. One rider and two dragons made it out alive, which is the only reason we have facts instead of rumors to build on. Estimated casualties are somewhere around twenty-five thousand lives.”

Holy shit.

A flier two rows down hangs her head, and her shoulders shake.

“The fire did most of the work for them,” Devera continues, “allowing their horde of approximately twelve wyvern to split into three coordinated units.”

“There’s no way twelve wyvern took out Suniva!” a flier to the right yells.

“Twelve wyvern. Twelve venin,” Devera answers without batting an eye. “Four to hold the perimeter, four to fly directly to the palace, and four to concentrate on the barracks and armory. Twelve of them took out twenty-five thousand people. Putting your feelings aside,” Devera instructs, raising her chin, “ask the questions that will allow you to hypothetically change the outcome of this loss.”

The room falls quiet, and not a single hand rises.

Twenty-five thousand people. We’ve never studied a modern battle with so many casualties before. How in Amari’s name are we supposed to dissect one that not only killed some of our classmates’ families but took the life of their queen? It hasn’t even been a week.

Devera looks to her right, and Professor Kiandra moves from the edge of the room to the desk in the center of the stage.

“If we do not rip apart this tactic,” Kiandra lectures, “they will use it again, and the next town they come for will be yours. Suniva was our kingdom’s capital but our fourth-largest city. You honor the dead by making sure no others fall in the same manner. We have to learn from this. I know it’s hard, but in a matter of months, you third-years will be on the front lines. That will mean you defending Diasyn.” She points to someone above us. “Or you”—her finger swings left—“defending Cordyn.”

“Start asking,” Devera orders. “Start thinking, or we’re all dead.”

“What was in the armory?” Xaden’s voice carries over the hall.

I look back and find him standing in the doorway next to Bodhi, his arms folded and jaw locked. My heart leaps. It’s been three days since I’ve seen him. The beard he grew on the journey home has been shaved, and the name tag is back on his uniform. Instinctively, I reach for the bond, but his shields are up.

His gaze darts to mine and warms for the millisecond he holds contact before we both turn our attention to the front of the room.

“They have to think for themselves, Professor Riorson.” Devera arches a brow.

“What was in the armory?” he repeats.

Kiandra nods. “Six crates of freshly delivered alloy-hilted daggers, and yes, the venin took them all.”

Everyone’s interest shifts forward, and it takes conscious effort to pick my jaw up. There are maybe two crates kept at each outpost.

“Why didn’t Poromish forces use the damned daggers?” Ridoc asks.

“Because the damned daggers had only arrived a few hours earlier,” Devera answers. “And the armory was the first target hit. Our best guess is that there was simply no time to distribute them.”

“Why would six crates be sent there?” Caroline Ashton asks.

“Suniva was only supposed to be a distribution site. Drifts were set to take the crates to other cities in the morning,” Kiandra answers.

Shit. The venin knew about the shipment. That’s the only logical explanation.

“How many people knew the distribution schedule?” I ask.

“Right there.” Devera points at me. “The answer is too many. We have traitors in our ranks.”

My pulse launches. How many Barlowes are out there, hiding among us? Just waiting for their opportunity? The cadet turning in the Signet Sparring pit proved some of us are willing to turn under the right circumstances. Maybe even in this room.

“How did they get to Suniva without being detected?” Rhiannon asks. “The area surrounding the city was clear for hundreds of miles. Fliers and our riot had to be on patrol.”

“What’s common in Suniva in March?” Kiandra asks in answer.

Fuck if I know. That hasn’t exactly been a part of our education to this point.

“Thunderstorms,” Kai answers from Aaric’s right. “From March until about June, they roll in around five and are gone by midnight.”

Kiandra nods. “They flew in with the storm.”

“You mean above it?” a first-year asks.

“No, dumbass,” another first-year from First Wing counters. “They can’t survive at that altitude.”

“Some storms are low enough to fly over,” Devera corrects, “which is why you should pay more attention in class, Payson. In this case, they flew within the cloud.”

Within the cloud? That would require… No way. It’s impossible.

Not with enough years of training.

“That doesn’t make sense,” a third-year calls out from above us. “It’s an unacceptable risk to fly in those conditions unless absolutely necessary due to the prevalence of lightning. We’re taught that in the first month of flight maneuvers.”

Most of the room mutters in agreement.

“Which is why the patrols were grounded.” Devera stares at me like she knows what I’m thinking.

“Maybe they don’t give a shit how many wyvern die,” Imogen counters.

My heart races, and I shift my weight in my seat.

“What’s wrong?” Rhiannon whispers.

“I know how they did it,” I reply just as quietly, my grip tightening on my pen.

“Then say something,” Rhi prods like it’s first year all over again.

“I don’t want to be right,” I reply just as quietly.

“That’s a first,” Cat mutters.

Devera cocks her head to the side, calling me out without saying a word.

My stomach hollows. Gods, I’m really going to have to say it.

“They’d give a shit about wyverns if they’re riding them,” the other third-year retorts at Imogen. “They might not have souls, but they value their lives, and no reasonable rider flies within a thunderstorm.”

“I do.” Fuck, I actually said it.

Every head turns my way, and Devera nods.

“I can direct my strikes within a cloud just like I did during the battle here in December,” I continue. “Which means I could theoretically control the natural strikes and move a riot within a thunderstorm with relative safety…after about twenty years of practice.” I abandon my pen on my notebook. Theophanie. “She was with them—their lightning wielder. I’d guess that’s how the textile fire started, and probably what took out the other dragons.”

“That’s what the report suggests,” Devera answers.

Shit. Shit. Shit. “To do all that after moving a horde through a storm…” I shake my head. “She has to be a Maven.” And I’m a fucking second-year who just spent three weeks chasing a mirage of hope on isles without magic when I should have been training.

“Most likely,” Devera agrees, giving me the same look Mira had on Zehyllna: expectation. Then she glances away. “So now let’s discuss how we defeat this particular assault. What signets could have made the difference? Nothing’s off the table. Who do you send to guard your most valuable targets with this kind of threat?”

“Water wielders could have helped the fire,” someone suggests.

“You send Riorson,” Caroline Ashton says. “He’s the most powerful rider we have, and he’s held back more than just a dozen wyvern. If Riorson’s there, this doesn’t happen.”

True, but at what cost? Would he have channeled from the earth to keep it from happening? I glance over my shoulder, but Xaden is already gone.

“Don’t we have a fire wielder powerful enough to have controlled the flames?” Baylor asks. “He’s a major stationed with the Southern Wing.”

“Major Edorta is stationed at Athebyne,” Devera confirms.

Rhiannon glances sideways at me, then looks away.

“Your turn to say something,” I whisper. “Don’t hesitate.”

“No way. Not even in hypotheticals.” Sawyer shakes his head at Rhi as people call out different signets around us. “You don’t send a cadet against—”

“You send Sorrengail,” Rhiannon announces.

“—a Maven,” Sawyer finishes in a whisper. “And yet you just did. Godsdamn.”

Cat and Maren both gawk at Rhi, and Sawyer sinks lower in his seat.

“You said nothing was off the table,” Rhi adds, keeping her eyes forward. “Sorrengail could have taken out a chunk of the wyvern on approach by striking into that same cloud, including their lightning wielder, as long as they don’t know Violet’s there.”

“And if they do?” Devera questions. “Remember that someone told them about the daggers being moved.”

Rhi swallows, and her breaths speed up.

“Do your job.” I whisper the reminder. “It’s just a hypothetical.”

She straightens her spine. “Then Sorrengail needs to be the better of the two.”

And I’m not. I’m distracted the rest of the hour, thinking of different tactics I could use to even the playing field between Theophanie and me and coming up empty-handed, with the exception of one fact. She wants me alive.

Battle Brief ends, and we have two precious hours before our next class, which Ridoc uses to cajole Sawyer, Rhi, and me into going down to the Archives.

Not that Sawyer needs much of a push.

“We really couldn’t have waited another couple of days?” I whisper at Ridoc as we walk through the tunnel, passing the stairwell to the interrogation chamber.

Rhi and Sawyer are far too into arguing about her decision to send me off to the front to pay attention.

“No,” Ridoc says. “We couldn’t. One day, Battle Brief is going to cover how a shadow wielder took out Cordyn, but you won’t be sitting in your seat because they will have already killed you to stop him.”

“Not much of a Battle Brief if you already have the answer.” I flash a fake smile.

“Basgiath was a unique case,” Sawyer argues with Rhi at my left. “We were defending the school, and we kept the first-years out of it for the very reason you can’t just order Violet into battle. They weren’t prepared.”

“Stop,” I tell him. “It’s her job as a squad leader to see me as an asset and not just her friend.”

“I still think it’s bullshit,” Sawyer mutters as we walk past the scribe on duty at the Archives door.

“It’s war,” Rhiannon reminds him as we reach the table at the front. “And I think it’s bullshit you haven’t even thought about flying yet.”

Ridoc and I exchange a look of oh shit.

“I can’t,” he fires back in a whisper, tapping his cane against his prosthesis. “Not with this thing. It’s not ready yet.”

There’s no need to ask for Jesinia. The class of scribes sitting at their perfectly lined-up desks sends someone running to the back the second they see us.

“You could ask Sliseag to—” Rhiannon starts.

“Sliseag isn’t Tairn,” Sawyer hisses. “I’m not about to ask him to make exceptions for me—not when he risked bonding a repeat in the first place.”

A few scribes pick their heads up, then quickly look away.

“You’d rather spend your time consulting with the retirees?” Rhi counters. “You’re still a rider, Sawyer.”

“Maybe we should ease up,” Ridoc suggests.

Sawyer’s face flushes. “All respect, but you have no idea what this is like, Rhi.”

I lean into Rhi just enough to get her attention, then shake my head subtly. “Subject change,” I suggest in a whisper.

Her mouth purses, and she sighs. “What’s going on with you and Riorson?” she asks, keeping her voice just as low as mine. “You didn’t so much as smile when you saw him during Battle Brief.”

“He’s brooding.” I shrug.

“That’s a word for it,” Ridoc says, pressing down a corner of his ice-wielding patch that’s come unsewn.

Jesinia emerges from the back of the Archives, holding a small paper bundle tied with twine. She quickly makes her way toward us, immediately gifting Sawyer with a smile as she sets the book-size package on the table and pushes it toward me.

“Hi,” he signs, and damn if his grin doesn’t tug at the corners of my mouth.

“Hi,” she signs, then turns toward us. “Your reports have been fun to read, but it’s good to have you back so you can tell me about the trip in person.” Her gaze meets mine. “That was delivered for you by courier this morning—I intercepted it before Aetos could open it like he does all of your mail.”

“Thank you,” I sign, then pick up the package. It’s far too soft, too malleable to be a book, and the tag labeled with my name and quadrant is from a seamstress in Chantara.

Weird.

“We need somewhere private,” Ridoc signs.

Rhi’s brow furrows. “What’s going on?” she signs.

“Please,” Ridoc signs to Jesinia.

She nods, then leads us to one of the private, windowless study rooms that line the front wall of the Archives and motions us inside.

I head in first with Sawyer, and the others follow. “I know Sliseag isn’t Tairn,” I whisper as we make our way around to the back of the table. “And I also know it can be hard to do things differently, especially in an environment that demands perfection and uniformity.”

“An environment that produces perfection and uniformity.” Sawyer stiffens, glancing across the table at Rhi and Ridoc as she quizzes him again as to why we’re here.

Oh. I get it now. “For me, flying…differently is worth it,” I say under my breath as we sit. “But whether you feel the same about asking Sliseag for help is a question only you can answer.”

“I think I could keep my seat,” he admits quietly. “Most of that is thigh work. It’s mounting that intimidates me.”

“Anything I can do to help?” I ask him.

Jesinia peeks through the doorway as if checking to see that we weren’t followed, then closes the door.

Sawyer shakes his head. “I’ve been working toward the run and making adjustments to the prosthesis for the climb. I just need to get it right, make sure it works before I let myself hope.” His gaze flickers to Rhi.

“You could never disappoint her,” I rush as Jesinia turns toward us.

“Our friend? Never. Our squad leader?” He grimaces.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Jesinia signs, “so make it quick before they come kick you out.”

Ridoc leans all the way back in his chair and stares at me.

“What is happening?” Rhi signs, looking between the two of us.

“Tell them,” Ridoc signs. “Or I will.”

I sigh. There’s no point being nervous. Either I trust my friends, or I don’t.

“Xaden is slowly turning venin,” I say and sign.

Rhi’s eyes widen, and she leans forward. “Talk.”