My brightest light, I meant to prepare you but only had time for half the lessons you need, half the history, half the truth, and now time runs short. I failed Brennan the day I watched him walk the parapet, failed Mira when I could not stop her from following, but I fear my death will fail you. Your mother and I trust no one, and neither can you.
—Recovered Correspondence of Lieutenant Colonel Asher Sorrengail to Violet Sorrengail
“Thadeus Netien,” Captain Fitzgibbons reads from the dais the next morning, his voice carrying over the formation in the snow-packed courtyard as he holds the death roll in front of him. “Nadia Aksel. Karessa Tomney.”
Hearing the names of every member in active service who has died the previous day takes longer than the typical quadrant death roll, but I appreciate the change. It feels right to honor those losing their lives. It also serves to remind me that though Major Devera has called a moratorium on killing one another within our walls, there’s an enemy just waiting to do so the second we leave.
There’s an enemy who thinks I’m going to come to her.
“Melyna Chalston,” Captain Fitzgibbons continues as the icy wind gusts, tearing at the scroll and stinging the tips of my nose and ears. “And Ruford Sharna.”
I blink.
“From Third Wing?” Ridoc’s head swings left, as do Quinn’s and Imogen’s in front of us.
“Fell from his seat during maneuvers yesterday,” Aaric says from behind us. “According to their Tail Section, Haem couldn’t see to catch him in the snow.”
It was an accident. Somehow that makes it feel even worse.
“We commend their souls to Malek,” Captain Fitzgibbons says, and a few announcements later, formation breaks.
We all head toward the dormitory wing, and Sloane grabs my elbow as we reach the door.
“I need to give you something,” she says, staring at the ground. “Follow me?”
“Sure.” Talking to me is at least a start.
She leads me through the rotunda, up into commons and to our small quadrant library on the right. It’s empty this time of morning, and I wait at the last group of study tables as she quickly ducks behind the first set of tall bookshelves.
“You can look at me, you know.” I unbutton my flight jacket. “My mother made her choice. You didn’t.”
“Not exactly.” Sloane pushes a loaded library cart out of the aisle. “I felt her power. I could have rejected it. Stopped it, even.” She rolls the cart directly in front of me. “But I wanted the wards up, wanted to live, so I let it happen.” She ends on a whisper.
“That’s a pretty valid emotion.” Especially considering that my mother had overseen the execution of hers. “And I’m not angry—”
“Did you know that I have Archives duty?” she interrupts, crouching down to the bottom shelf of the cart. “I thought it was kind of fitting, seeing as Liam always went with you when you had it.”
“Do you like it?” I manage to ask as my throat squeezes in on itself.
“Well, this morning it gave me a chance to see Jesinia.” She stands, pulling a large black canvas bag with her.
“Thank you.” I sling the straps of the bag over my shoulder, noting its exceptional weight.
She nods, then finally drags her gaze to meet mine. “It wasn’t out of revenge, I swear. I’m sorry I didn’t stop her.”
My hands clasp around the thick canvas straps, knowing she isn’t talking about Jesinia. “I’m glad you didn’t. Powering the stone was going to take someone’s life. If I had succeeded, Xaden, Tairn, Sgaeyl, and I would all be dead. The world needs Brennan, Aaric is…irreplaceable, and I wouldn’t trade you for any ward, Sloane. My mother made the choice she had to. You were the tool, but she gave her own life.”
Her next breath shakes. “Anyway, Jesinia said to tell you that two of the tomes were her selection and the other was passed along to her from leadership first thing this morning.”
Dain. A smile spreads across my face. Not only did he come through, but he did it in a way that no one potentially watching either of us would suspect. I hold the bag tighter. This could be my father’s final body of work. “Thank you.”
“Rumor is you’re headed northward.” Sloane folds her arms.
“Unfortunately, that rumor may be true.” I grimace.
Her face puckers. “Seems an odd place to search, given how cold it is. Don’t know about Tairn, but Thoirt hates the cold.”
I nod. “Makes sense, since Thoirt is a red. Many of their line’s ancestral hatching grounds were along the limestone cliffs at the edge of the Dunness River. My gut tells me north is the wrong direction, but Tairn doesn’t mind the cold, and most browns prefer it, so maybe Grady is onto something.” Andarna isn’t a big fan of snow, either, but maybe she isn’t stereotypical of her kind.
“I hope for all our sakes he is,” Sloane says.
“Me too.” But I can’t ignore the little voice of intuition insisting we should head south.
When I get the package back to my room, any hope I’d felt since finding Dad’s research slips into pure frustration as I unwrap it from its parchment to find the locking mechanism that holds the thick, leather-bound book closed. It’s a six-letter lock, and if I get the answer wrong, there are six vials of ink spaced equidistantly around the edges of the paper, ready to destroy whatever my father left inside. Even worse, there’s a rune in the center that looks suspiciously like the one that makes things end badly if magic tampers with a lock.
Definitely need to spend more time studying runes.
I pick up the scrap piece of parchment Dad had stashed in a roll beneath the lock and read his formal handwriting again.
First love is irreplaceable.
Fuck. Nothing Dad wrote was ever this simple. So what the hell is that supposed to mean?
• • •
“Are we wasting time by overthinking this? It’s obviously Lilith, right?” Ridoc asks as we descend the steps into the pit a few days later.
“Dad would have wanted me to overthink. And if I’m wrong, we ruin whatever’s in there.” I tuck my jacket under my arm and scan the bottom of the amphitheater in hopes of seeing Xaden.
“Maybe we’re not thinking fatherly enough,” Rhi muses.
“Good idea. So maybe it’s Bren—” Ridoc counts out on his fingers. “Never mind, that has too many letters. Mira is too short, but what about Violet?”
“Honestly, it’s not like my dad to make it about himself. Both Lilith and Violet are too obvious.” We pass by the infantry already seated in the middle of the terraced rows and spot Calvin, the squad leader of one of the infantry units we’d been paired with during RSC. I nod, and he returns the gesture.
“Fine, then who was Brennan’s first love?” Ridoc asks as we near the bottom of the steps.
“There’s nine years between us. It’s not like he was filling me in on his romantic exploits—” I pause as Ridoc shuffles into his seat beside Maren. “Though I do remember Mira saying he’d been in a relationship with a rider a year or two older than him.”
“Guess that runs in the family.” Ridoc shucks his jacket.
“Are you guys still trying to figure out the password to open that damned book?” Cat asks, leaning forward and earning a backward glance from the first-years seated ahead of us.
“Obviously, or they wouldn’t be talking about it,” Trager says, resting his elbows on the rise behind him and leaning back.
“Space much?” Neve shoves his arm off the rise with her boot. “What book?”
“The one Violet’s father left her that everyone seems to think might have some information about where Andarna’s kind went,” Cat answers. I shoot her a look, and she shrugs. “What? No one on the squad is going to hand you over, and you obviously need some more opinions before you’re comfortable enough to actually try and input a password.”
Fair point, but still.
“Fine, who’s Mira’s first love?” Rhi asks, her gaze darting between Avalynn, Kai, and Baylor, who are seated as far apart as possible.
I think, tilting my head and fastening the conduit’s bracelet over the raw band of skin around my wrist. An hour of wielding a day is definitely helping me pull down more precise strikes, but my body is over it. “I’m not sure she’s ever really been in love. Or if she has, she’s never said anything to me about it.”
“You hadn’t even seen Xaden when your dad met Malek—” Ridoc stares at me and sighs with complete exaggeration. “Hello, who is your first love?”
Oh, that’s not happening.
I set my hands in my lap and notice more infantry pouring in above us. Nothing like being humbled in front of an audience. “My father couldn’t stand the first guy I really dated and never knew about the second.”
Aaric turns his entire torso around to look at me. “How many letters?”
I narrow my eyes. “Six.”
He lifts two sandy-brown eyebrows. “I mean…it fits.”
“Absolutely not.” Heat stings my cheeks.
“Hold on.” Ridoc’s head swings between the two of us. “Is the first-year entitled to information we don’t have—”
“Good afternoon.” Xaden’s voice fills the amphitheater as he strides in from a tunnel on the right, dressed in sparring gear that immediately has all my attention. Surprisingly, Garrick is at his side.
“Ooh, Imogen is going to love having class today— Ow!” Ridoc reaches for the back of his head.
“Riders, if you’ll take your positions as you did last class.” Xaden motions to the rings of cobblestone outside the mat. “Hopefully no one gets performance anxiety, because as you can see”—he gestures to the seats behind us—“we have a full house today.”
“Not sleeping well?” I ask him, noting the circles beneath his eyes. Abandoning our coats, my squad heads for the edge of the mat, mirrored by First Wing.
“A certain hazel-eyed rider kept me up last night talking.” He turns and says something to Garrick, who nods. “Which I didn’t mind, since my bed is too cold without you physically in it and too quiet without you screaming my name.”
Oh, he wants to play? A corner of my mouth lifts.
Game on. “I miss Aretia, miss sleeping next to you. Find a way to sneak me in and I’ll keep that bed at precisely the right temperature for you to get some…rest.” I roll my shoulders and stretch out my arms, just like my squadmates are doing.
“If I find you in my bed, there’s no resting, trust me.” Xaden turns toward the front of the mat, bracing his feet apart and folding his beautifully toned arms. “Lieutenant Tavis here is an incredibly powerful wind wielder—”
“Don’t forget that I know exactly how to knock you out for the night—” I drop my arms and Xaden shoots me a warning look, but the edges of his mouth curl up.
“—and has agreed to let you try your best to bring him—” He full-on smirks. “Knock me out? You’re usually the one begging for mercy a few orgasms in—”
“Want to see begging? All I have to do is swirl my tongue around the tip of your—”
Xaden coughs like he swallowed a nonexistent bug, and Garrick glances sideways at him. “Down,” he finally finishes. “Lieutenant Tavis is willing to be your sparring dummy.” He rolls his neck and chances a look in my direction.
I simply smile. “You started it.”
“I’d give anything to be able to finish it.” Xaden’s fingers curl. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“So you keep saying.” I try not to think about the other ways that statement can be interpreted.
The fire wielder steps up first, and Garrick blows her own flame back at her.
“That’s…unnerving,” Ridoc mutters, and Imogen masks a smile to my right.
“We go as a team,” Rhiannon says quietly by my side. “They never said it had to be one-on-one.”
I nod. “Good idea.”
Rhiannon relays orders quietly.
The metallurgist—Loran—learned from his last attempt, and within seconds, Garrick unclips the harness across his chest and the scabbards fall from his back before he blasts Loran to his ass with air.
“You ready to join in, Second Squad?” Garrick asks, crooking his fingers directly at Imogen.
“You don’t want anything to do with these.” She lifts her hands.
“Why don’t you put them on me and we’ll see?” A corner of his mouth tilts and a dimple pops in his cheek.
“Oh gods, just stop flirting and fuck already,” Ridoc says.
Every head slowly turns in his direction.
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” he asks me in a hushed whisper.
“Oh yeah, you did,” I reply, patting him on his back. “Garrick’s going to blow you off the mat.”
“Now that I might enjoy, depending on the method he chooses—” Ridoc winces. “I’m going to stop talking now.”
“You might want to keep the inside voices inside while we’re up there,” I agree, following Rhiannon, Cat, and Quinn onto the mat, hauling Ridoc behind me when he hesitates.
“How exactly is this fair?” Garrick asks.
“We’re never alone on the battlefield, are we?” I tilt my head to the side.
His face tightens, obviously getting my meaning.
“We fight as a squad,” Rhiannon says from the center of our group, and Ridoc moves to my left.
“Solid point.” Xaden retreats to the back of the mat. “Begin.”
Rhiannon lifts her hands beside me, and two of Garrick’s daggers appear in them.
“Nice,” Garrick admits with a slight smirk, then flicks his hands upward.
Ridoc steps forward simultaneously, throwing a wall of ice that’s instantly battered by a gust of wind that rivals the tornado Tairn and I got caught up in.
The edge of the ice chips at the assault, and chunks barrel my way.
I spin toward our squad and tackle Rhi to the ground as the ice flies overhead so near I can hear it whistle.
“Too close!” Xaden bellows, and I look up to see him taking a step in Garrick’s direction, rage etched in the hard lines of his face.
“Don’t! I’m fine!” I stagger to my feet as Quinn squeezes her eyes shut and turns her palms toward the sun.
“He nearly took off your fucking head.” Xaden looks at Garrick in a way I’ve never seen, like his best friend has suddenly morphed into prey, and there’s that cold edge in his eyes that prickles the hair at the back of my neck.
My power rises in response, and I welcome it with open arms, savoring the quick rush of heat and the hum of energy in my veins.
“My head is still firmly attached.” Through translucent ice, I see two Quinns appear on Garrick’s sides. “Give me his blade.” I pivot toward Rhi and hold out my right hand, which she promptly fills with Garrick’s dagger.
To my shock, Garrick stares at one Quinn, then the other, and then his head pivots between the two quickly, repeatedly.
Cat.
“You’re going to have to be fast,” Rhi warns.
“No worries there.” The second the wind dies, I step around Ridoc’s ice, then throw Garrick’s own dagger close enough to scare him but not cause any real damage. Heat flushes my skin as power builds, demanding to be set free.
His hand whips upward and a wind gust knocks the blade off course, causing it to land about twenty feet to the right behind him.
Fine, that works, too.
He starts to redirect, bringing his hand toward the front of his body again, but mine is already skyward. The conduit siphons off just enough power to give me the control I need, and I release the rest, pulling the power downward in a precise flick of my wrist.
Lightning scorches the air, rending it with a flash of brilliance that strikes true, flaring bright as it spears from the sky, then disappearing as quickly as it came. The thunder swallows a few of the gasps and screams from the seats to my right, but I keep my eyes on Garrick and my hand held skyward.
His eyes widen at me. “You really did it.”
“I did.” The conduit hums in my left hand.
“Hate to tell you, Sorrengail, but not only did you leave yourself exposed, you also missed.” He grins.
“Did I?” I look pointedly to the smoking hilt of his melted blade behind him, and he follows my line of sight, visibly tensing when he spots the ruined dagger. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
“By Malek, I fucking love you,” Xaden says.
“And if I’m exposed, fine. The rest of my squad is alive.” I shrug.
Xaden’s gaze cuts to mine.
Garrick turns back toward me, his mouth hanging slightly agape, and someone begins to slowly clap from the top of the steps.
I look up—along with just about everyone else—and my balance wobbles.
No. No. No.
Sandy-brown hair falls recklessly over his left eye as he starts down the steps, and I know it’s illogical, but I swear I can see just how green those eyes are from all the way down here.
“Help Aaric hide,” I tell Xaden. “Now.”
“Done.”
A royal herald puffs out his chest from the edge of the back row. “His Royal Highness, Prince Halden.”
Every cadet rises to their feet.
“Sit,” he says loud enough for his voice to carry over the amphitheater and motions downward with his hands. I know that look on his face all too well. He’s perfected an expression of relatable annoyance at the fanfare, when really, he lives for this shit. “Impressive,” he tells me, passing the first row and the rock wall that separates it from the arena and stepping onto cobblestone.
Breathe. Just breathe.
“Your Highness, you’d be safer in the seats—” Garrick starts.
“And yet, I think the view is much better from right here.” He slides his hands into the pockets of his professionally tailored dark-blue infantry uniform and smiles. “Please, don’t let me stop you.”
Garrick looks back, I’m guessing at Xaden, but I’m too busy keeping my gaze locked on Halden so I don’t draw any accidental attention to Aaric by checking. Garrick nods and looks to the line of riders. “Next.”
Our squad walks off the mat, and instead of filing in with the second-years, I take the empty place next to Halden, noting that one of the two guards stationed close behind him is Captain Anna Winshire.
She isn’t just the infantry liaison for the quest squad; she’s Halden’s. I’d been naive to assume he’d removed himself from the task force, and if Halden ever realizes that Xaden is the reason his twin isn’t breathing… Well, he won’t be as understanding as Aaric. This is bad.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, glancing over at him.
He doesn’t seem as tall as I remember—definitely a couple of inches shorter than Aaric—but he’s just as strikingly beautiful as the last time I saw him. His high cheekbones, the mouth tilted in a permanent smirk, and the perfect proportion to his features are enough to turn heads, but his eyes are the real showstopper. They’re as green as summer leaves. But man, do they wander.
“Learning, of course, like everyone else in this arena.” He flashes a smile, and the edges of his eyes actually crinkle. “Never figured you for rider black, but power looks good on you.”
“Don’t.” I shake my head and face the match.
Garrick blasts the remnants of Ridoc’s wall away with a gust of wind, and Caroline Ashton takes the mat, bringing the fire wielder with her.
Xaden’s gaze narrows as it jumps between Halden and me, and then he turns his attention to the sparring match.
“I don’t mean in the arena.” I hook the conduit to the strap at my hip. “What are you doing at Basgiath? It’s not exactly alumni weekend.” Please don’t say going northward with us.
“Straight to business?” I feel the weight of his stare as he studies my profile. “You aren’t going to ask how I’ve been? My brother’s missing, you know.” He sounds exactly zero percent worried.
“Is he?” I fold my arms. “Or did Cam just need some space from your ego?”
Both Caroline and the fire wielder fly backward, landing on their asses before sliding to the edge of the mat.
“What made Second Squad’s assault effective was the use of mindwork,” Garrick reminds the First Wing squad. “Quinn and Cat worked together to fuck with my head, giving Sorrengail enough time to strike.”
“Not that she needed it,” Trager calls out, and he’s right. I could have struck at any moment. I simply waited until I could be certain of my accuracy.
A smile quirks at the corners of Xaden’s mouth.
“Seriously, though.” Halden tsks. “No hello? Not even a compliment on the tailoring of my uniform? Or the fresh haircut? I’m heartbroken, Vi.”
“You’d have to own a heart to break it,” I immediately counter. “And the only hair I remember is your professor’s covering your face when I walked in on her riding you. It was auburn, right?”
The next batch heads up, this time armed with fliers as Xaden changes position, moving slightly to the left.
“Ouch. You wound me.” Halden rubs his chest. “Yes, I cheated, but you have to remember, I was still suffering from the loss of my twin. I was…”
“Stupid? Thoughtless? Cruel?” I suggest. “Grief doesn’t excuse any of that. Never did.”
He sighs. “And here I thought you’d thank me for offering to step in and agree with you in regard to your upcoming mission.”
“How so?” My brow scrunches.
He reaches into his uniform pocket and retrieves a missive bearing the broken wax seal of Viscount Tecarus. “Here. Grady is taking too long and has yet to present a clear path that satisfies my father. I like this option.”
I take the parchment, and my eyes widen. “It’s addressed to me.”
“Don’t get caught up in the details.” He shrugs unapologetically.
My mouth tightens as I open the folded parchment.
Cadet Sorrengail,
As per our agreement, here are your requested tomes. I’ve also handpicked a selection from my personal library I hope you’ll find educational. In regard to your search, King Courtlyn of Deverelli has agreed to a single meeting—noble blood only—for the reasonable price of the Amelian Citrine. Queen Maraya has agreed to gift the gem to him but will not be responsible for its retrieval from its display in Anca.
Please let me know when you have the citrine in hand so I can schedule our visit.
In service,
Viscount Tecarus
“You’re doing a library exchange with the man first in line to the Poromish throne? Guess you didn’t leave the scribes entirely behind,” Halden muses as I finish reading.
“You shouldn’t be reading my messages.” I fold the parchment and tuck it into an empty dagger sheath along my ribs.
“Lucky for you I am.”
“Lucky? You’re kidding.” I scoff as Garrick sends another rider flying.
“I wouldn’t kid about your upcoming mission. Or you.” He looks my way. “I did some research—”
“You mean had someone do your research?” I counter.
“Same thing.” He smirks. “The Amelian Citrine is a lesser-magic amplifier worn by one of the members of the first drift. If you’re willing to retrieve it, I’m willing to order Grady to change courses.”
“It’s not that simple. Anca is in occupied territory.” I’m just not sure if it’s still occupied, or one of the cities they drained and moved on from. Either way, it’s beyond the wards, and even going there is a risk to Xaden.
“Like I said, if you want to go, I’ll step in on your behalf. I owe you at least that, and title overpowers rank every day.” He clears his throat. “Tell me, is it true what they say? You and…Riorson?” He says Xaden’s name with cringe-worthy disgust.
“If you’re asking if I’m in love with him, then the answer is wholeheartedly yes.” I glance Xaden’s way and find his eyes already on me. “If you’re prodding to see if we’re still together, then let me assure you, we’re adhering to the Code of Conduct in the way you never bothered to do. You can report that to your father.”
“I wasn’t asking for my father, Vi. I was asking for me.”
“You what?” I forget all pretense of watching the sparring match, giving Halden my full attention.
“I never told you I was sorry.” His face softens, and his gaze skims over my face like he’s noticing every detail that’s changed. “And I should have. If you’re not with Riorson—”
“I am in love with him.” I bristle. “I haven’t so much as thought about you in years. Don’t chase just because you like a challenge. You’ll lose.”
Halden scoffs. “Anyone who’s ever been with a rider knows their first love—their first loyalty—is always to their dragon. Once you come to terms with that, another man doesn’t even feel like competition.”
My mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. He’s not wrong. Our dragons are our first priorities, our irreplaceable bond.
“Still,” he continues, his tone softening, “with all the time we’ll have together on this mission, I thought maybe you’d consider having a quiet dinner with me. Let me make it up to you properly—the way I should have three years ago.” His smirk falters, replaced by something almost sincere. “And don’t tell me you let your non-boyfriend dictate your choices.”
He reaches toward the stray strands of my loosened braid—but his hand never makes it.
Shadows rip through the wards like a storm unleashed, slamming into Halden’s chest with the force of a battering ram. The crown prince of Navarre is sent hurtling backward, crashing into the rock wall with a thunderous crack.
Shit.
