iders party as hard as we fight.
And we fight pretty damned hard.
The gathering hall is more raucous than I’ve ever seen it by the time the
sun begins to set that evening. Cadets gather around—or in Second Wing’s
case, on top of—tables overflowing with food and pitchers of sweet wine,
frothy ale, and a lavender lemonade that clearly has its fair share of distilled
liquor.
Only the dais table is empty. For this one moment, there are no
wingleaders, no section leaders, not even a squad leader in sight. Other than
the stars on the fronts of our shoulders that denote our years at Basgiath,
we’re all equal tonight. Even the newly anointed lieutenants who wander in
to say their goodbyes aren’t in our chain of command.
There’s a pleasant buzz in my head, courtesy of the lemonade and the
two silver stars on my shoulder.
“Chantara?” Rhiannon asks, leaning forward to look past me and lifting
her brows at Ridoc, who is seated on my other side. “Out of every privilege
that comes with being a second-year, that’s what you’re looking forward to?
It’s only a rumor.”
The village that supplies Basgiath has always been open to second-years
from the Healer Quadrant, Scribe Quadrant, and Infantry Quadrant, but not
ours. We’ve been banned for nearly a decade after a fight led to a local bar
burning down.
“I’m just saying I heard they might lift the ban finally, and we’ve been
stuck with this dating pool for the last year,” Ridoc states, using his cup to
motion around the hall, which is mostly behind us. “So even the possibility
of getting leave to spend a few hours in Chantara every week is definitely
what I’m looking forward to the most.”
Nadine grins, her eyes sparkling as she gathers the hair she dyed purple
this evening in one hand so it doesn’t fall into the pitcher, and leans over the
table to clink her glass against Ridoc’s cup. “Hear, hear. It is getting a
little…” She wrinkles her button nose, glancing past Sawyer at the other
squads in our wing. “Familiar around here. I bet by third year it will feel
downright incestuous.”
We all laugh, none of us stating the obvious. Statistically speaking, a
third of our class won’t survive to see our third years, but we’re this year’s
Iron Squad, having lost the fewest cadets between Parapet and Gauntlet, so
I’m choosing to think positively tonight and every night of the next five
days, during which our only duty will be to prepare for the arrival of the
first-years.
Rhiannon pulls one of her braids under her nose and furrows her brow
like Panchek as she mock-lectures, “You do know that trips to Chantara are
for worship only, cadet.”
“Hey, I never said I wouldn’t stop by the temple of Zihnal to pay the
God of Luck my respects.” Ridoc puts his hand over his heart.
“And not because you’re praying to get a little lucky while the other
cadets are in town,” Sawyer comments, wiping the foam from his ale off his
freckled upper lip.
“I’m changing my answer,” Ridoc says. “Being able to fraternize with
other quadrants anywhere in our downtime is what I’m looking forward to.”
“What is this downtime you speak of?” I joke. We might have a few
more empty hours here and there compared to first-years, but there’s a slew
of harder courses headed for us.
“We have weekends now, and I’ll take whatever time we get.” His grin
turns mischievous.
Rhiannon leans forward on her elbows and winks at me. “Like you’ll be
using every second you can get with a certain Lieutenant Riorson.”
My liquor-flushed cheeks heat even more. “I’m not—”
A resounding boo sounds around the table.
“Pretty much everyone saw you show up to formation in his flight jacket
before War Games,” Nadine says. “And after this morning’s display?
Please.” She rolls her eyes.
Right. The display after he told me that he’d always keep secrets from
me.
“Personally, I’m looking forward to letters,” Rhiannon says, clearly
jumping in to save me as Imogen and Quinn arrive, sliding in next to
Nadine. “It’s been way too long since I’ve been able to talk to my family.”
We share a small smile, neither of us mentioning that we snuck out of
Montserrat to see her family a few months ago.
“No chore duty!” Sawyer adds. “I will never scrub another breakfast
dish again.”
I’ll never push another library cart with Liam.
“I’m going with his answer,” Nadine agrees, sliding the pitchers of
alcohol toward Imogen and Quinn.
A couple of months ago, Nadine wouldn’t even acknowledge Imogen’s
presence because of her rebellion relic. It gives me hope that the new
lieutenants who bear the same mark might not face discrimination at their
new duty stations, but I saw firsthand at Montserrat how the wings look at
marked ones—like they were the officers who perpetuated the rebellion, not
their parents.
Then again, given what I know now, everyone is right not to trust them.
Not to trust me.
“Second year is the best,” Quinn says, pouring ale from the pitcher into
a pewter mug. “All the privileges and only some of the responsibility of the
third-years.”
“But fraternizing between quadrants is definitely the best perk,” Imogen
adds, forcing a smile and wincing before touching her finger to the split in
her lip.
“That’s what I said!” Ridoc fist pumps the air.
“Did your lip get split while you guys…” Nadine asks Imogen, her voice
trailing off as the table goes quiet.
I lower my eyes to my lemonade. The alcohol doesn’t numb the ache of
guilt that sits heavily on my shoulders. Maybe Xaden’s right. If I can’t lie to
my friends, maybe I should start keeping my distance so I don’t get them
killed.
“Yeah,” Imogen says, glancing my way, but I don’t look up.
“I still can’t believe you guys saw action,” Ridoc says, all playfulness
dying. “Not War Games—which were already scary as shit with Aetos
stepping in for Riorson—but real, actual gryphons.”
I grip my glass tighter. How am I supposed to sit here and act like I’m
the same person when what happened in Resson has changed every single
thing about what I believe?
“What was it like?” Nadine inquires softly. “If you guys don’t mind us
asking?”
Yes, I fucking mind.
“I always knew gryphon talons were sharp, but to take down a
dragon…” Sawyer’s voice drifts off.
My knuckles whiten and power simmers beneath my skin as I remember
the angry red veins beside that dark wielder’s eyes as she came for me on
Tairn’s back, the look in Liam’s when he realized Deigh wasn’t going to
make it.
“It’s natural to wonder,” Tairn reminds me. “Especially when your
experience could prepare them for battle in their eyes.”
“They should mind their own business,” Andarna counters, her voice
gruff as though settling into sleep. “They’re all better off not knowing.”
“Guys, maybe now isn’t—” Rhiannon starts.
“It fucking sucked,” Imogen says before throwing back her drink and
slamming her glass on the table. “You want the truth? If it wasn’t for
Riorson and Sorrengail, we’d all be dead.”
My gaze jerks to hers.
It’s the closest thing to a compliment she’s ever given me.
There’s no pity in her pale green eyes as she stares back, but there’s no
defensive snark, either. Just respect. Her pink hair falls away from her
cheek as she tilts her head at me. “And as much as I wish none of it had
happened, at least those of us who were there truly know the horror of what
we’re up against.”
My throat tightens.
“To Liam,” Imogen says, lifting her glass and defying the unwritten rule
that we don’t speak of the dead cadets after their name is read from the roll.
“To Liam.” I lift mine, and everyone at the table does the same, drinking
to him. It’s not enough, but it has to be.
“Can I offer a word of advice going into your second year?” Quinn says
after a quiet moment. “Don’t get too close to the first-years, especially not
until Threshing tells you how many of them might actually be worth getting
to know.” She grimaces. “Just trust me.”
Well, that’s sobering.
The shimmering shadow of my connection with Xaden strengthens,
curling around my mind like a second shield, and I glance over my shoulder
to see him across the hall, leaning against the wall next to the door, his
hands in the pockets of his flight leathers. Garrick is talking to him, but his
eyes are locked on mine.
“Having fun?” he asks, pushing through my shields with annoying ease.
A shiver of awareness rushes over my skin. Mixing alcohol and Xaden
is definitely not a good idea.
Or is it the best idea?
“Whatever is going through that beautiful mind, I’m here for it.” Even
from this distance, I can see his gaze darken.
Wait. He’s in flight leathers, dressed to leave. My heart slumps, taking a
little of my buzz with it.
He nods toward the door.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, setting my cup on the table and wobbling a
little as I stand. No more lemonade for me.
“I certainly hope not,” Ridoc mutters. “Or you’ll destroy all my fantasies
when it comes to that one.”
I roll my eyes at him, then make my way across the chaotic room to
Xaden.
“Violet.” His gaze rakes over my face, lingering on my cheeks.
I love the way he says my name. Sure, it’s the alcohol overruling my
logic, but I want to hear him say it again.
“Lieutenant Riorson.” There’s a silver line at his collar showing his new
rank, but no other markings that could give away his identity in case he falls
behind enemy lines. No unit designation. No signet patches. He could be
any lieutenant in any wing if not for the relic that marks his neck.
“Hey, Sorrengail,” Garrick says, but I can’t peel my eyes from Xaden
long enough to glance his way. “Good job today.”
“Thanks, Garrick,” I respond, moving closer to Xaden. He’ll change his
mind and let me all the way in. He has to.
“Gods, you two.” Garrick shakes his head. “Do us all a favor and figure
your shit out. I’ll meet you at the flight field.” He smacks Xaden’s shoulder
and walks off.
“You look…” I sigh, because it’s not like I’ve ever been successful lying
to him, and the fuzziness in my head isn’t helping. “Good in officer flight
leathers.”
“They’re almost exactly like cadet ones.” A corner of his mouth lifts, but
it’s not quite a smile.
“Didn’t say you didn’t look good in those, too.”
“You’re…” He tilts his head at me. “Drunk, aren’t you?”
“I’m pleasantly fuddled but not entirely sloshed.” That makes exactly no
sense, but it’s accurate. “Yet. But the night is young, and I’m not sure if
you’ve heard, but we have nothing to do for the next five days except
prepare for the first-years and party.”
“I wish I could stay to see what you do with all that time.” He looks me
over lazily, his gaze heating as though he’s remembering what I look like
naked, and my pulse leaps. “Walk out with me?”
I nod, then follow him into commons, where he grabs his rucksack from
beside the wall and slings it over his shoulders casually, as if there aren’t
two swords hanging from the back of it.
A group of cadets hovers around the announcements board like the new
leadership list is going to appear at any second and they might be erased
from it if someone discovers they’re not watching.
Yep, there’s Dain in the center of them.
“You aren’t waiting for tomorrow morning to leave?” I ask Xaden,
keeping my voice low as we cross the stone floor of the expansive space.
“They prefer wingleaders to vacate their rooms first, since the new guys
like to move in quickly.” He glances at the crowd around the announcement
board. “And since I’m guessing you’re not offering a place in your bed—”
“I’m not nearly drunk enough to make that lapse in judgment,” I assure
him as he opens a door to the rotunda. “I told you, I don’t sleep with men I
don’t trust, and if you’re not offering full disclosure…” I shake my head
and immediately regret it, nearly losing my balance.
“I’ll earn your trust as soon as you realize you don’t need full disclosure.
You only have to have the guts to start asking the questions you actually
want answers to. Don’t worry about the bed. We’ll get back there. The
anticipation is good for us.” He smiles—really fucking smiles—and it
almost makes me rethink my decision.
“I tell you we’re not together because you won’t give me the one thing I
need—honesty—and you counter with ‘it’s good for us’?” I scoff and walk
down the stairs and past two of the marble pillars in the rotunda. “The
arrogance.”
“Confidence is not arrogance. I don’t lose the fights I pick. And we’re
both allowed to have boundaries. You’re not the only one who gets to set
the rules in this relationship.”
I bristle at the implication that I’m the problem here. “And you’re
picking a fight with me?” The world tips slightly when I look up at him.
“Picking a fight for you. There’s a difference.” His expression hardens
as his gaze jerks left, toward the approach of Colonel Aetos and a rider
wearing the rank of major.
“Riorson. Sorrengail.” The colonel’s mouth quirks into a sarcastic smile.
“So lovely to see you both tonight. Leaving for the Southern Wing so soon?
The front will be lucky to have such a capable rider.”
My chest tightens. Xaden isn’t going to a mid-guard wing like most
lieutenants. He’s being sent to the front?
“I’d say I’ll be back before you can miss me,” Xaden replies, his hands
loose at his sides, “but word has it you pissed off General Sorrengail
enough to be reassigned to a coastal outpost.”
The colonel’s face blotches. “I might not be here, but you won’t be as
often, either. Only once every fortnight, according to your new orders.”
What? My stomach pitches, and it takes every ounce of control I have
not to reach out and steady myself.
The major slides his hand into the breast pocket of his perfectly pressed
dress uniform and pulls out two folded missives. His black hair is perfectly
combed, his boots perfectly shined, his smile perfectly cruel.
Power rises within me, responding to the threat.
“Where are my manners?” Colonel Aetos says. “Violet, this is your new
vice commandant, Major Varrish. He’s here to tighten the ship, as they say.
We seem to have gotten a little lax with what we allow around here.
Naturally the quadrant’s current executive commandant will still see to
operations, but Varrish’s new position only answers to Panchek.”
“Cadet Sorrengail,” I correct the Colonel. Vice commandant? Fucking
great. “The general’s daughter,” Varrish responds, looking me over in clear
appraisal, his attention snagging on every dagger I have within reach.
“Fascinating. I’d heard you were too fragile to survive a year in the
quadrant.”
“My presence would suggest otherwise.” What a dick.
Xaden takes both missives, careful not to touch Varrish’s hands, then
gives me the one that has my name scrawled across the front. We crack
Melgren’s personal wax seals at the same moment, then unfold the official
orders.
Cadet Violet Sorrengail is hereby given two days of leave once
every fourteen days to be used only to fly with Tairn directly to and
from Sgaeyl ’s current duty station or location. Any other absence
from classes will be considered a punishable offense.
I grit my teeth to keep from giving the colonel the reaction he so
obviously wants and carefully fold the orders, slipping them into the pocket
at my hip. My guess is Xaden’s say the same, and rotating our leaves puts
us at every seven days. Tairn and Sgaeyl are never apart for more than three
days. A week? They’ll be in a near-constant state of pain. It’s unfathomable.
“Tairn?” I reach out for him.
He roars so loudly it rattles my brain.
“Dragons give their own orders,” Xaden says calmly, pocketing his
papers.
“Guess we’ll see.” Colonel Aetos nods, then turns his gaze to mine.
“You know, I was worried about our earlier conversation until I
remembered something.”
“And what is that?” Xaden asks, clearly losing patience.
“Secrets make for poor leverage. They die with the people who keep
them.”
What no one openly says is that while all four quadrants obey the Code
of Conduct, a rider’s first responsibility is to the Codex, which often
overrules the regulations other quadrants live by.
By definition: the riders make their own rules.
—MAJOR AFENDRA’S GUIDE TO THE RIDERS QUADRANT (UNAUTHORIZED
EDITION)
T
