Upon failure of three exams, Jesinia Neilwart has been removed from the adept path and stripped of all its responsibilities and sacred privileges as of January 15. Under protest, I transfer her command to Professor Grady at his over-authoritative request.
—Official Records: Scribe Quadrant, Colonel Lewis Markham, Commandant
“What?” Rhiannon shrugs and pushes off the wall. “We didn’t tag along while Violet played inquisitor. We respect boundaries.”
“Do you even have boundaries with one another?” Imogen shoots a look at the three of them. “If you’re all going with her, then I’ll excuse myself from what I’m sure will be a fascinating trip to the Archives. See you at formation.” She gives Rhi a mock salute and heads left, toward the quadrant.
“He basically said we could be surrounded by venin and never know it,” I tell them.
“That’s super comforting,” Sawyer replies.
“You look good,” I add, noting the color in his cheeks as he balances on his crutches. “Fresh haircut? Clean shave?”
“It’s almost like he got up early and prepared for the visit,” Ridoc teases as we head down the tunnel, keeping Sawyer at our center.
“Shut up.” Sawyer shakes his head. “I was up early trying to fit a godsawful hunk of wood to my leg because it’s the only time the wood-carver had available. I’m starting to think I should just make something myself.”
“You should. And I bet the thought of seeing a certain scribe made the hour tolerable.” A smile pulls at Rhi’s mouth to my right.
“Do we give you shit about whatever you have going with Tara? Or the fact that Riorson and Sorrengail fight like an old married couple?” Sawyer glares in our direction, then Ridoc’s, but there’s no hiding his immediate blush, even in the mage lights. “Ridoc bedhops like a fucking frog, but no, let’s give me crap.”
We make it a few steps before none of us can smother our laughs.
“A frog?” Ridoc grins from Sawyer’s left. “That’s the best you can do? A frog?”
“Tara and I are old news.” Rhi shrugs. “Leadership is hard on both our schedules. We’re together when we have time, but it’s not like we’re seeing other people.” She shoots a sideways glance my way. “But he’s right, you and Riorson bicker like you’ve been married fifty years and neither of you wants to do the dishes.”
“That is not true,” I protest as Sawyer nods.
“Agreed,” Ridoc says. “And it’s always the same fight.” He lifts his hand to his chest. “I’ll trust you if you stop keeping secrets!” He drops the hand and scowls. “It’s my secretive nature that attracted you, and why can’t you just stay out of harm’s way for five fucking minutes?”
Rhi laughs so hard she nearly chokes.
I narrow my gaze on Ridoc. “Keep talking, and I’ll plant my dagger somewhere that prevents all frog-like activity.”
“Don’t hate on me for being the only truly single one out of us and enjoying every minute.” We round the corner and the enormous, circular door to the Archives comes into view.
“I bet leadership secretly loves that you’re with Riorson,” Sawyer says to me, shifting his grip on the handrail of his right crutch. “Legacies usually make for stronger riders, and with as much power as you two wield? Melgren will probably escort you both to a temple of your choosing the second you’re commissioned.”
“Doubt Loial would let me in,” I mutter. “Can’t remember the last time I stepped foot in her temple.” I’d stopped praying to her years ago, along with Hedeon out of pure spite. Love and wisdom hadn’t exactly shown up when I’d needed them to.
“If the general even waits that long.” Rhi lifts her brows. “Riorson’s already graduated.”
“Not something we’ve discussed.” I shake my head. “And I’m not against it in the future, but I’m more focused on living until graduation. What about you?”
“Maybe one day,” she muses. “Just saying that you’re lucky Melgren hasn’t yanked you out of Battle Brief and personally seen to the arrangements in hope that your kid will be the next one with battle foresight in twenty-one years.” Rhi bumps my shoulder.
“Shame he’s so short-sighted,” Ridoc says as we pass the first-year scribe sitting guard at the door.
The scent of parchment and ink hits my lungs, welcoming me home. I stare down the stacks that line the right side of the cavernous space like my father might walk out at any second.
“We’re here to see Cadet Neilwart,” Rhi tells the first-year scribe manning the entrance table, which marks the invisible line only those in cream robes are allowed to cross.
The cadet hurries off as Ridoc pulls out a chair for Sawyer, and our friend sits in the same exact place I’d spent years of my life preparing to enter this quadrant.
“You all right?” Rhi asks quietly.
I nod and force a quick smile. “Just caught up in my head.”
“Relax, Violet.” Ridoc takes the seat next to Sawyer. “It’s not like the fate of our world rests on you finding whatever’s left of the irids.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Do you guys think it’s short for iridescent?”
“Yes,” the three of us simultaneously reply.
“Damn. Let’s go back to picking on Sawyer.” Ridoc leans in his chair as Jesinia walks our way, her arms full of leather-bound tomes.
A third-year steps into her path, and she skirts him. The incident repeats with a second-year a few rows closer to us.
“They’re worse than riders.” Sawyer’s knuckles whiten on the crutches as he arranges them against the table.
“They really are,” I agree, noting with pride that Jesinia keeps her head high as a third-year blatantly glares her way from the first row of study tables.
I narrow my eyes at him, and he flinches when he notices.
“I’m petitioning Grady to be on the quest squad,” Ridoc says, signing as Jesinia reaches us. “Think he’ll say yes?” He raises his brows in her direction.
She sets six books down on the table and lifts her hands. “Is Violet in need of an ice wielder?” she signs.
“She could be,” Ridoc says and signs. “Guess it all depends on your research.”
“No pressure,” she signs and rolls her eyes, but they soften the second her gaze lands on Sawyer. “You didn’t have to walk all the way down here,” she signs, and Ridoc translates. “I would have come to you.”
“I. Wanted. Here,” Sawyer signs slowly.
Rhiannon and I share a grin. He’s learning quickly.
Two lines of worry appear between Jesinia’s brows, right beneath the line of her cream hood, but she nods, then looks at me. “I’ve brought you six tomes I think may be of some use,” she signs, and Ridoc translates for Sawyer quietly.
“Do you need me to bury bodies?” I ask, my hands moving quickly to sign. “Because Andarna will happily roast some scribes if they’re acting like assholes.”
“Gladly,” she chimes in gleefully.
“No,” Tairn rebukes. “Don’t encourage her.”
Jesinia glances back at the cadets who are gathering to start their day. “I have seen enough bloodshed,” she signs. “And I can handle the punishment meted out for my desertion of the quadrant.”
“Punishment?” My stomach sours.
“They kicked—” Sawyer starts but signs the word “push” instead and drops his hands. “Damn it,” he swears at the ceiling. “Ridoc?”
“I’ve got you,” Ridoc says and signs. “And I promise, I won’t make any sexual plans for you later.”
Jesinia’s eyes widen.
“Gods help us,” Rhi mutters, then quickly signs it. “Ridoc!”
“They’re the ones losing out,” Ridoc says and signs.
“And to think,” I sign to Jesinia, keeping my mouth shut, “it was almost just the two of us at this table.”
She presses her lips between her teeth, fighting a smile.
“As I was saying.” Sawyer shoots a glare at Ridoc as he translates. “They kicked her out of the adept program. Made up some bullshit tests they knew she’d fail.”
My stomach sinks. I knew Markham would find a way to punish her for choosing Aretia, but never imagined he’d expel his brightest scribe from the path where she’s so desperately needed.
Jesinia’s attention snaps from Ridoc to Sawyer, and I wouldn’t wish the look she gives him on my worst enemy. “That was not your information to share,” she signs.
Ridoc repeats.
“That one, I understood,” Sawyer mutters. “They needed to know, based on your new orders.”
“I disagree,” she signs back, then blatantly looks away, her gaze finding mine. “Do not worry about me. I’m not out there fighting venin.” She spells out the word.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper and sign.
“Don’t be.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been given the one assignment with which they know I can be trusted—helping you with research. Well, officially under Grady, but it’s really you.”
And they narrowed her scope of knowledge? It takes all the grace in my body to swallow the boulder of anger rising in my throat. “I didn’t want that for you.”
She makes a face at me. “Oh please,” she signs. “I’m left on my own with a treasure trove of royal tomes no one has read in at least the last four hundred years. Look at me suffering.” She rolls her eyes and smiles.
“Did you find mention of the irids?” Ridoc asks.
Jesinia blinks once, giving Ridoc a look I’ve seen enough times to wince on his behalf as she begins to sign. “Yes, in the second tome I pulled.”
“Really?” His face lights up.
“Absolutely,” she signs, her face completely deadpan. “It was recorded that when the last irid hatches and bonds the cadet born of rider and scribe, she’ll be gifted with two signets.”
“You’re kidding!” he signs excitedly. “There’s a prophecy?” He turns toward me. “Violet, you’re a—”
I shake my head quickly, wrinkling my nose.
Ridoc sighs and lifts his hands toward Jesinia. “You really are kidding, aren’t you? There’s no prophecy.”
“Oh, you’re so fucked,” Sawyer whispers.
Jesinia leans over the table slightly in his direction. “Of course there’s no prophecy.” She signs with abrupt motions, her eyes narrowed on him, and this time Rhiannon translates for Sawyer. “Just research. I’ve barely finished translating Lyra’s journal and now have six hundred years of personal accounts to read through. Do you really think I found the answer in the first week of accessing the vault, or that I wouldn’t have gone straight to Violet with that information?”
I rock back on my heels.
“I was hoping,” Ridoc says and signs. “And you’re kind of scary when you’re angry.”
“I am not some oracle high off whatever they’re serving in the temple that day. I am an extremely educated scribe. Treat me as such, and I won’t get angry,” she replies, then turns toward me. “Now, I gathered these six for you to read, which mostly cover the southernmost isle of Deverelli, since that’s the last isle we had communication with. Figured that’s where you might start, but I’ll warn you that Grady has requested tomes about Emerald Sea exploration in the north.” She pushes the tomes across the table and lifts her hands again. “Honestly, I’m appalled with what isn’t in the vault. Thank gods Queen Maraya sent her list for you, because we’re missing…” She cocks her head to the side. “I don’t even know what we’re missing. I was reading General Cadao’s journal yesterday, and a whole section of pages is ripped out after he notes that there may have been an outside isle supporting the second Krovlan uprising.” She drops her arms in exasperation. “I can’t research what we don’t have.”
“The second Krovlan uprising was supported by an isle kingdom?” I say and sign slowly just to be sure I have it right. “But that was in the four hundreds, right? And it was assumed that Cordyn sent soldiers. We severed all communication with most isles after they sided with Poromiel around 206, and they in turn killed every emissary we sent in the centuries that followed, so how would General Cadao know that?”
“Exactly,” she signs. “I can only think of one scribe who might have that answer.” She lifts her brows at me.
Oh. I blink, quickly processing the information, then swearing as I reach the inevitable, damning conclusion.
“Is it you?” Rhi asks me, simultaneously signing. “Oh no. Is it Markham?”
I shake my head. “My father. And all his research, the work he had yet to publish, is now really hard to access.” My shoulders dip. I’d been so focused on getting out of Mom’s quarters with her journals after she died that I’d completely forgotten what my father had left hidden.
“Hard to access like we need Aaric and a midnight mission?” Sawyer asks, and Ridoc translates.
“Hard to access like we need Dain to betray his father.” Which is highly unlikely.
“After disowning him in front of the quadrant, that shouldn’t be hard,” Rhiannon says, lifting her brows as she signs.
“And it’s not like Dain hasn’t already betrayed him,” Sawyer adds.
I shake my head. “He left Navarre, not his father, and believe me when I tell you there’s a difference.” I glance at the books, then back up at Jesinia. “Thank you for these and all the work you’re doing. I’ll start here.”
• • •
Three days later, I’m in Battle Brief still pondering the Dain problem as Devera flicks her wrist and the largest map of the Continent I’ve ever seen unfurls over the quadrant’s rendering. And it’s a terrifying sight.
“I’m guessing they delivered that with our things from Aretia yesterday,” Cat notes from my left.
“There is way more red on that map than I’m comfortable with,” Rhi remarks, tapping her pen on her notebook.
The damning color spans from the Barrens, up the Stonewater River, and ends just short of Samara before spreading along the wardline, like the enemy is searching for weaknesses. But Samara still stands. Xaden’s safe, at least for now. He’s been gone more than ten days, and Tairn is at his wits’ end, which makes two of us. Every day he’s out there, he risks his soul and sanity. Either he has to produce that solution he promised, or we have to find a way to get him off the border.
Most of Braevick is saturated with red flags, especially along the Dunness River, but Cygnisen hasn’t been recently attacked…nor have they sent their cadets yet.
Braevick’s capital—Zolya—fell months ago, but the kingdom’s seat of power, Suniva, still stands in the province’s north. I can’t help but wonder where Queen Maraya’s summer house—and her library—are. And hope they’re at least well protected.
“Cordyn’s still safe,” I whisper to Cat.
“For how long at this rate?” Her mouth purses, but I don’t take it personally. My sister is stationed in Aretia. Hers is beyond the wards.
“As you can see,” Devera says, quieting the room, “there is a defined, supported assault happening along the wards, centered at the Samara outpost. We believe it’s simply because it’s the straightest path that leads to here—the hatching grounds.”
I lift my eyebrows. It’s not like her to give us the answers.
“Our knowledge of the venin up until this point has been somewhat…impeded,” Devera admits.
“That is an understatement,” Ridoc mumbles under his breath.
“And I’m sure some of you have been frustrated at the lack of instruction for the last couple of weeks. If you reach beneath your seats, you’ll discover why we’ve been waiting.”
I bend at the waist like every other cadet, finding a thick, canvas-bound book under my chair and retrieving it. I blink through the head rush as I sit up too quickly, then glance at the plain spine before flipping to the table of contents. “Captain Lera Dorrell’s Guide to Vanquishing the Venin,” I read. “Venin, A Compendium, and…more. Look, they made us a little anthology.”
“You’ve already read them all, haven’t you?” Rhi asks, thumbing through her copy.
“All but the last. Dark Wielders and Dark Times. Tecarus sent them to me in Aretia.”
“My cousin Drake wrote the compendium.” Cat preens.
“Yes, we get it, Cat. You’re better.” Ridoc glances at Rhi. “We need a copy for Sawyer.”
Rhi nods. “We can’t let him fall too behind or he’ll struggle to get caught up when he decides to return.”
“Haven’t seen too many one-legged riders around here.” Cat slips her anthology under her notebook. “Or…any. Maybe you should ask him what he wants before making assumptions.”
She has a point, so I don’t snap at her for the first comment.
“The cadets in the Scribe Quadrant have worked tirelessly over the last couple of weeks, printing enough copies for you each to have one.” Devera sits back against the table. “Nothing in this book is new to the fliers, of course, so I expect you all to pass the first test of your new history class with flying colors.” She gestures to Kiandra. “This particular course will be taught by Professor Kiandra and, for the sake of speed and convenience, will take place in this room on Tuesdays and Thursdays. As our runes expert has declined to come to us, you will also be rotating in two-week cycles to Aretia for rune intensives. Check with your section leaders for the new schedule regarding sharing the flight field and your rune dates.”
A class-wide grumble fills the room, even from the third-years behind us. I glance over my shoulder and note Dain in the top row. He’s been gone so often I haven’t had a chance to ask him about helping me get to Dad’s research.
“Don’t complain,” Devera warns, lifting her finger. “We’re only adding three classes to the schedule, all of which will save your lives.”
“Three more classes?” Ridoc moans, and the sentiment is echoed around the room. “On top of quest squad research?” He glances my way. “I’m only halfway through the first Deverelli text as it is.”
A smile pulls at my mouth that he’s jumped in with both feet, regardless of knowing there’s absolutely no chance of him going.
“I mean it. Whiners don’t wear black,” Professor Devera snaps. “Read the book and live. Don’t and die.” She sighs, then squares her shoulders and looks around the room. “I do, however, regret to inform you that a crucial piece of information surfaced during printing and therefore is not included. It has now been confirmed by three different sources that high-level venin—we believe Sage and Maven—can and do wield signets.”
Silence falls thicker than the snow outside, every cadet besides those of us who already knew freezing completely. It took them ten days to confirm?
“I know,” Devera says with uncharacteristic gentleness. “It’s a shock. I’ll give you a second to sit with it.”
I spot more than one head dropping in the rows ahead of us, like we’ve just been handed our defeat. I can’t blame them; most of us have only been taught to battle fliers with lesser magics.
“And that’s all the time you get.” Devera stands. “Welcome to the new face of battle, where we are not only outnumbered in the sky but now equally matched on the field in terms of the skill of our opponents. You can and should expect to face a dark wielder with the same abilities as your friends, your squadmates”—she glances my way—“and yourselves.”
Another murmur rises, and Professor Devera silences it by raising her hand.
“With that in mind, the nature of challenges will change under the supervision of Professor Emetterio to include wielding in order to better prepare you for actual combat.” Her voice rises above the growing number of worried conversations. “But death is no longer an acceptable outcome when you face your classmates. The days of settling your scores on the mat are over. We need each and every one of you to survive to graduation.”
“Easy to say when you’re not facing Sorrengail,” Caroline Ashton calls out.
Fair point. I have no business wielding on a challenge mat.
“We aren’t going to throw you to the wolves,” Devera tells her. “The third class you’ll be adding will be a hands-on approach to prepare you for signet-against-signet combat. You’ll have a rotating roster of professors to benefit from all signet types, and the Eastern Wing has temporarily loaned us their most powerful rider to start your instruction.”
My throat tightens, and my heart starts to pound.
“And on that note.” Devera gestures to the door at the back of the room, and I turn so fast my vision swims. “Look who just arrived.”
Xaden stands next to Professor Kaori in the doorway, casually leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, with a tiny, yet undeniable tilt to his mouth as our eyes lock.
I smile instantly. Thank you, gods, he found a way to stay within the wards by teaching—
Teaching.
Oh shit. Article Eight, Section One of the Basgiath Code of Conduct.
My face falls, and Xaden tilts his head as shadows brush against my shields.
“What’s wrong?” he asks when I let him in.
“Everyone, welcome our newest member of your leadership team. Professor Riorson,” Devera announces.
My ribs strain, as if they can hold my heart together if they just squeeze tight enough. “I think our relationship just ended.”
