Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Keep your head up.” A voice commands from next to me, so quietly that for a second I doubt it even came from him and it wasn’t just one of the voices that have been shouting in my mind for the past few days.

I shake my head, acutely aware that I am behaving every bit like a stubborn brat. It is not the time or place for such childish obstinacy, but I don't want to look ahead - plain and simple. I can almost convince myself that by not seeing it with my own eyes, the reality is not as bleak and hopeless as I feel right now. Stupid, I know, but it is not like I have any other method of comforting myself, so desperate lies will have to do for now.

I have no desire to look at the endless rows of children being herded by stone-faced guards - judging by the navy blue uniforms, mostly infantry soldiers with just a handful of riders among them. Why would they send their elite soldiers on this pitiful parade when we pose no real threat to them? They could send first-year cadets from Basgiath, a few of them would overpower us with no problems whatsoever.

But above all else, I want to avoid looking at the sea of people lining the side of the streets we march through, all of them staring at us like we are a fucking parade, some sick form of entertainment in their fucked up minds - no surprise there. I don’t want to see the grins on the faces of those traitors, the scornful looks on their judgemental mugs... Their unbridled joy at the sight of our misery – as if it soothes their despicable souls... It says a lot about a society if it encourages finding pleasure in the suffering of innocents, especially when more than half of these innocents are kids under the age of twelve. I have seen enough gloating faces these past few days to conclude that they form the majority around here.

“Imogen, if you keep your eyes on the ground, they will think they succeeded. Don't give them the satisfaction,” The same male voice says, a little bit louder this time. I don’t fail to notice the hoarseness in his stern voice, the only telling sign of his internal turmoil masked by his collected exterior.

“And didn't they?” Huh, if my friend’s voice is different, I can honestly say that I barely recognize my own – wobbly is the only word that comes to mind to describe it and I hate myself for allowing such weakness. Why can’t I keep my voice even and emotionless like he does?

Now that I think about it… When was the last time I spoke? I remember shouting at guards when they broke into the house where all of the underage children of the rebels lived for the past few weeks of the secession. I remember arguing with a rider who was threatening a child to feed him to their dragon if he did not stop crying as they were gathering us – in hindsight, my resistance didn’t make any real difference – it only earned me a slap across the face. Despite that, I just couldn’t bring myself to sit by and watch them instill even more fear in the little kids who were already terrified and had no idea what was going on. I don't remember talking to anyone after that – not on the way to the small prison where they kept us for almost two days, crammed into small cells that forced the older ones among us to hold the little ones. The muscles in my arms are still sore from holding a three-year-old girl, but that pain is just a small discomfort compared to everything else. 

I hear the boy next to me snort a humorless laugh and the next time he opens his mouth, his voice is laced with defiance, the first real emotion I have seen in him today. “As long as we can still hold our heads up high, no. They have not.” I have heard his dad say that ever since we were kids, but right now this is like a fragile thread to hang onto – and I will take any guidance and comfort I can. It is not much better than my earlier attempt to avoid facing reality and barricade myself within the protective walls of my mind, but it’s something.

Slowly, I raise my eyes from the pavement, bracing myself to face the scene before me. As expected, people have crowded the side of the streets, looking at our pathetic procession with a range of emotions, going from scorching anger (honestly, I think the guards around us are the only thing keeping some of them from lunging at us) to cruel satisfaction. I can take those. They come as no surprise whatsoever, as I said. It's not the hate that makes me feel like all the air has been punched out of my lungs and my guts got twisted into knots – it’s the pitiful looks that make me feel that. People capable of feeling bad for us, aware that we are only kids, understanding that we did nothing to deserve this humiliating punishment and whatever they have in store for us at the end of our parade... but then again, these people are not exactly saints either, they just have enough compassion to fuel my pain. They couldn't understand that what our parents did was not wrong in the slightest. No, their apparent pity only causes an emotional reaction – you know, that kind of situation where you can kick and scream and be strong in the face of aversion, but crack at the slightest sign of softness.

Buried in my mind until this moment, I did not pay attention to the cacophony of sounds around me either. The joyful cheers, the furious insults and swears, the laments... the cries of the group around me. Muffled cries of small children, hushed comfort words from the older ones to make them stop before the guards notice. It is all like a song – no, a fucking concert at this point – for defeat, and behind every sniffle and gasp you can hear the faint sound of hope wilting and dying.

“Did they have to parade us like this?” I ask, trying to make my voice sound even this time around, willing myself to shake off my numbness and clinging to more productive feelings. Channeling some of my friend’s defiance, letting my anger rise to the surface – anything is better than despair and hopelessness.

I adjust my posture, straightening my back a bit when I realize just how hunched forward and pathetic I must have looked until now, then I turn my head to my right to finally face him. In almost fifteen years of knowing him, I don’t think I have ever seen that stormy look in his onyx eyes, the speckles of gold nowhere to be seen, but then again never before have we found ourselves on the way to the royal prison of Navarre and to almost certain death. 

But anyone who hasn’t known Xaden Riorson for as long as I have wouldn’t be able to pick up on his internal turmoil easily,  especially as he keeps his features schooled into a perfect mask of indifference, deceivingly calm and unbothered. Taken out of context, one might assume he is on a casual stroll through the streets of Calldyr, not on his way to one of the deadliest places in Navarre where our parents and loved ones are kept, awaiting their death, and where we will most likely find our end.

I haven't seen him lose composure at all. Not throughout the whole time our parents planned this rebellion, not for a second while he was tasked with keeping us all in line when we were sent to the safe house – all 105 of us, with no adults around for help and guidance. And not even after the Navarrian soldiers barged into what was supposed to be a secret hiding place and took us into custody. How can he be so calm?! I haven't had even half of that pressure on my shoulders and yet I feel close to my breaking point, wanting to wail in despair and pull at my hair as I let all my frustration, all my disappointment, all my premature grief out.

“They took the scenic route, too,” The person on my left chimes in and I crank my neck back to look at him properly. Unlike Xaden, Garrick is not putting so much effort into hiding his feelings under a mask of indifference or shit like that – his anger and hatred are on full display, mirrored in every line of his face – or at least I think it is evident to everyone. I find myself analyzing every single thing regarding Garrick Tavis lately and I have to remind myself sometimes that normal people don’t put that much effort into committing to memory such pointless details about their friends.

As for our gracious captors deciding to prolong our torment as much as possible – it doesn’t even surprise me at this point... Leave it to Navarre to put on a show of this magnitude. Had they put as much effort into actual strategy and thinking things through as they do into sending a message and patting each other on the back for “a job well done”… maybe they would realize that their strategy of hiding behind wards is not a lasting solution, but rather merely avoiding reality and postponing the inevitable. But in this world, the people who actually think are punished for not being fine with just standing by and watching idly from the sidelines…

“They want to prolong the show,” Xaden clarifies, looking straight ahead. Turns out I was not far off with my assumption that this is just a show.

That is all we are to Navarre. Not children. Not a threat. They don't even recognize us as human beings with feelings and emotions. We are merely a show. Parading us, the children of the rebels, around the streets is a way of showing everyone that the rebellion came to an end and that Navarre, like always, came on top. We mark the end of a bloody conflict, but we are at the same time a warning – to anyone who might still think of opposing the victors, of objecting to the strategy adopted by the king and his generals to be a shield rather than a sword. Blissful ignorance over action against the threat at our border. The message is clear: This is what happens when you stand against us - not even the children will be spared .

“What happens now?” Bodhi asks from beside Garrick, trying his best to mimic his older cousin's confidence – but, ultimately, failing. On any other day, the physical resemblance between the two cousins is striking – know those ‘find the differences’ games for kids where you give them two images that have a few differences you have to find? Xaden and Bodhi could be used for those exercises on a good day. But those minor distinct features are especially obvious today – Bodhi's softer features fail to conceal his fear and uncertainty the same way Xaden does; his onyx eyes are filled with worry rather than the dark defiance his older cousin sports and I notice the way he straightens his posture just before Xaden looks his way.

Any other day I would scoff at Bodhi's attempt to imitate Xaden to the t, but today I find myself unable to do so. Today, we are all looking up to Xaden for guidance – Bodhi, me, and even Garrick, who is usually on equal footing with Xaden and had a track record of bashing heads with his best friend whenever the four of us were planning games and pranks and whatever stupid beautiful things we filled our days with before this nightmare we can't wake up from started.

He has just celebrated his seventeenth birthday in March, just a month older than Garrick and one year older than me and Bodhi, but somehow, since our parents started to prepare and plan for the secession, Xaden gained the immaterial insignia of unofficial leader. The moment his father assigned him to look after all the underage children in the safe house only strengthened his new position in the eyes of every Tyr marching behind us today. Had it been me under so much pressure, as I already said before, I would have cracked at least a hundred times by this point.

Mr. Tavis and my dad were Fen Riorson's second and third in command and they’ve known each other since before they went to Basgiath, into the Infantry Quadrant, together, so it was logical for us as their kids to be close as well. I don't even remember a time before I had these three in my life and there is little we don’t know about each other – we developed a silent way of communicating with each other and our parents like to joke that we must have some kind of telepathic form of communication. But that look in Xaden’s eyes when he turns to look at the three of us? I can't for the life of me decipher it – I can get past the mask of confidence, but what’s beyond it gives me pause. For some reason, it reminds me of free falling.

He quickly hides his uncertainty, the cool, confident, unbothered mask sliding back up. For a moment, I even wonder if I imagined the fearful look, projecting my own feelings on others. “It's gonna be fine,” He reassures us and I want to believe him, really I do, but... We all know that even he doesn't believe himself at this moment. We are all aware we might be on our way to certain death, but we don't dare voice that thought yet, not even to each other.

I swallow the knot forming in my throat and keep my head up, looking straight ahead for the rest of the way. If we are marching to our death, at least I want to not crumble in front of an audience.

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The royal prison of Navarre is everything I expected it to be: a massive building, created not to look pretty, but to command respect and instill fear. I am not sure whether the stones have always been black or if that is just the effect of time – after all, this pit of hell has been around for centuries from what I remember from my history lessons that I wish I had paid more attention to. Although I doubt paying attention to them would have supplied me with information on how to escape from it – Navarre has long mastered the art of hiding information, they wouldn't make such a rookie mistake as to leave that knowledge lying around, right? They are stupid, but pros at hiding that fact.

There are statues of stone dragons, at least ten times as big as me, captured in different positions of attack, as if ready to lunch towards us and shred us to pieces to fulfill their duty of guarding the large entrance –  how is that for a warm welcome, huh? If the stone versions are not scary enough for you, the dozen real dragons perched on the high walls of the prison might do the trick. They are all different colors and my heart stops for a second upon seeing an orange swordtail, but I quickly remind myself that it can’t be Jyst, my sister’s dragon – no, he wouldn’t look at me and the others as if he were at the buffet trying to decide which dish in front of them looks the tastiest. No, it is not Jyst, just like the blue one is not Derik’s dragon, Anderson, and the red one is not Mr. Durran’s morningtail. 

As I scan the dragons in a hopeless attempt to find at least a familiar oversized lizard, one of them, a brown one whose tail I can’t see from here, leaves the wall, disappearing from view somewhere inside the prison. It is quickly followed by the red morningstar I mistook earlier for being Gluasad.

“Aimsir,” Garrick says from beside me, noticing my attention on the flying beast. “General Sorrengail's dragon. All the dragons here are bonded to high-ranking officers.”

For a moment, I am surprised by Garrick’s knowledge and ability to distinguish these dragons from one another so effortlessly, but then I remember that he and Xaden were sometimes allowed to take part in our parent's meetings and probably studied every file and card they could put their hands on regarding the Navarrian army. He must have picked up this information on one of those occasions and I wouldn’t be surprised if Garrick’s brother supplied them with extra pointers and information – Derik had always been more generous when it came to sharing confidential information than my sister. Maybe that is why she was promoted to Captain and not him.

Speaking of dragons… I am pretty confident in my assumption that the ‘rebels’ are imprisoned in this fortress of a prison, but what of the dragons? There haven’t been that many riders on our side, but we had some pretty strong pairs and powerful signets. My sister had been nicknamed ‘The Puppeteer’ for her ability to make people do exactly what she wanted by just telling them and Derik Tavis is one of the few menders on the continent. There is also Colonel Mairi, with her enhanced hearing signet, Colonel Durran who can alter the speed of any moving object or person and Eya’s mom who is downright terrifying sometimes with her ability to create clones of herself. I think our ‘army’ amounted to somewhere around fifty dragon-rider pairs. What would happen to the dragons now? Navarre wouldn’t go as far as to harm and punish the dragons, would they? Surely the laws of the dragons would overrule any human decision and at least they would be spared?

“Where is she going?” I find myself asking Garrick, referring to Aimsir.

“Probably to the prison courtyard to let her rider know that we are here,” Garrick offers, his hazel eyes trailing the movements of the rest of the dragons – perhaps trying to see if he can identify any others, but if he does, he doesn't share their names with me. Maybe it's better this way; what’s the point of learning the names of the dragons of the people herding us to the gallows anyway? It's not lime Malek will host trivia night.

Once inside, the enormity of the place makes me stop in my tracks for a second. There are at least three or four levels above ground from what I could see from outside, but there are also multiple levels underground, where they keep the prisoners... where they are currently holding my family too. I heard the stories – about the way they torture people in that labyrinth underneath, about the way they dispose of the prisoners the moment they do not need them anymore, once they squeezed all the information they could out of them in interrogation... the ruthless executions and the piles of corpses that are then turned into ash by the dragons.

Is that what we are about to be? Corpses tossed in piles about to be incinerated?

Probably sensing my fear, Garrick turns towards me and grabs my hand before the guards realize that I am no longer moving. His eyes soften for a moment – I know he senses my fear and, on any other day, I would chide myself for this show of weakness, but this shitshow has just gotten... real. Even that annoying voice inside of my head that usually rings like an alarm whenever Garrick touches me, reducing me to nothing but a blushing mess, is eerily quiet this time. 

Maintaining eye contact, Garrick inhales deeply and then pushes the air out slowly, squeezing my hand to signal for me to follow his lead and do the same. It is not enough to erase all the tension in my bones, but looking into his eyes and the hand squeezing timed with each inhale, his grip loosening gradually along with each exhale, help me remain somewhat lucid and not lose my mind completely to fear. Even after I give him a small nod to signal that I am better he continues to hold my hand, his fingers intertwined with mine. I am not sure whether he maintains physical contact to keep me anchored in the present or himself.

I finally brace myself to look at my surroundings now that I am somewhat sure I won't plunge into a panic attack. People are lining the walls of the room, standing at attention but very clearly prepared to draw the weapons they keep within reach at the smallest sign – all of them dressed in black leather. Riders. But they are not the stars of the show – that role is reserved for the two people standing on the stairs, commanding the respect of everyone present.

I don’t need anyone telling me exactly who these two are, their reputation precedes them and they look exactly how my sister used to describe them – the picture of ruthlessness and lethality, no trace of warmth or mercy in their emotionless eyes. By the way Commanding General Melgren regards our group, one could mistake him for a king surveying his subjects, who are no more than dirty peasants in his eyes – I am pretty sure he surpasses even King Tauri in the authority department. His icy eyes briefly settle on me for a moment and I hate the fact that my first instinct under his inquiring gaze is to cower, pushing myself a bit closer to Garrick. 

One would be tempted to assume that the woman by his side is inoffensive compared to the sheer power radiating from him, but I know better than to underestimate her. Newly appointed General Lilith Sorrengail, one of the deadliest riders on the continent – and the reason why we are all here in the first place. She has no qualms about adding to the population of Malek's realm, a fact supported by her promotion according to the conversation between the soldiers transporting us from the safe house to here that I eavesdropped on. It was she who saw to the capture of every single person who fought in the battle of Aretia, searching every corner of the city her army burned to the ground for every single rebel, no matter their contribution to the rebellion. 

From the same conversation, I learned that she only spared and bothered to bring to Caldyr the high-ranking officers, the people who had the power of decision in organizing the whole affair – a fact that brought me some hope upon hearing it as my mother held a seat in the Tyrrish council and was part of Fen's inner circle and with my sister being a rider it's guaranteed that they'll bring her here for further interrogation as well. Why hope? At least this way I know they were still alive and that I had a chance of seeing them again, to say goodbye.

When the two generals turn to leave I loosen a shuddering breath, but my relief is short-lived as Xaden picks that exact moment to spring forward from beside me and Garrick, dropping Bodhi's hand in the process. “General Sorrengail!” Xaden calls and, if he is scared or unsure of himself, I couldn't say from the strong, confident voice and the way he holds himself – chin up, back straight, nothing about him makes him look like a scared seventeen-year-old; he weirdly resembles his father more than ever before. “May I have a word in private with you, ma'am?”

If I was shocked when he first moved out of formation, now my eyes are threatening to fall out of their sockets and I dig my nails into my palm in the hopes that this is a hallucination and not actually happening. We are all going to die anyway, is he trying to hurry along the process or what? I look desperately towards Bodhi and Garrick, but they are just as surprised, their eyes so wide it would be almost comical to see in any other context. So this was not planned.

Xaden just stands there, in the middle of the room, not betraying even the slightest sign of discomfort or fear as he stares into the eyes of the cruelest General in Navarre. Fenn would either be proud of his son's bravery or slap himself for instilling so much stupidity into his only son. I am leaning towards the second option.

Melgren looks at the insolent seventeen-year-old in front of him with an arched eyebrow for a moment before turning towards the woman at his side as if he, too, was curious of her response to the demand of the brat of the man who started this whole conflict. I half expected him to have Xaden sent to be cremated by Codagh, his dragon, honestly.

But then General Sorrengail gives a curt nod and starts walking in the opposite direction from where she and Melgren were initially headed, not even stopping to look over her shoulder once to make sure Xaden is following. Which he obviously is. Melgren, on the other hand, spares one more glance towards his subordinate before turning around to go about his business as if nothing happened.

“What in fuck's name is he doing?!” Bodhi asks, still bewildered, but somehow able to snap out of his initial shock before Garrick and I manage to put two words together. “Did you two know anything about…?” But he doesn't need to finish his thought because the looks on our faces, perfectly mirroring his own confusion, are answer enough.

“We should go with him!” I argue, trying to make a step forward, but Garrick holds me in place, his grip on my hand tightening to the point it almost hurts. “We can't possibly let him go with her on his own!”

“I am sure he knows what he is doing. He would never act without a plan,” Garrick assures me, shifting in one swift move so he sneaks an arm around me to grab my other elbow after switching the hand squeezing my own. “We have no way of helping him even if we were to follow him, Im.”

I am about to argue against his logic, invoking all the stupid things Xaden ever did (which are not few, let me assure you), but I don't get the chance to recite the list as another rider comes to the top of the stairs, holding an actual list. The sight of the scroll he is carrying makes me push all concerns for Xaden aside for the moment, my focus set solely on the Navarrian rider and what he is going to say. Lists are usually a bad omen, as Braelyn and Derik used to say in their letters from Basgiath, and this one is sure not to be an exception.

“Colonel Haydn Araceli. Lieutenants Luella and Ivana Arlett. Lieutenant Captain Blaine and Erik Archer. Executive Officer Ranveer Aquila.” He begins to recite and I frown a bit in concentration trying to make associations as he continues to read a ton of other names - from what I can tell, the list is in alphabetical order, containing names from both the Navarrian and the Tyrrish side of the conflict. Luella and Ivana Arlett are twins, both of them riders and friends with my sister and Derik, but I recognize on that list names of infantry soldiers from my father’s old regiment and even one of my mother’s healer apprentices.

When the list nears the end of the names with B, Garrick pulls me even closer to him, until I am basically nestled into his side, and Bodhi grabs my free hand, squeezing it reassuringly. We all know that this is the list of casualties from the battle of Aretia and among the sobs of those who have already heard the names of loved ones on it, you can almost make out the silent prayers of those who are hoping not to join their grief. I have never been the religious type, but I find myself raising prayers of my own towards whatever gods are willing to listen. But it feels like the gods turned deaf today.

“Colonel Theron Cardulo,” The rider reads and I close my eyes in defeat.

I hear my uncle’s name, but I don’t register the implication of it for a few blissful seconds. Or rather, I refuse to acknowledge it in my desire to live, at least for at least a moment longer, in a world where he is still alive. 

After my father’s death three years ago, he stepped up, trying to fill the void left by his brother. He never had a family of his own, but he's always been there for my sister and me. I remember how he used to sit with me and Bri when we were little, long before tragedy struck our family, telling us about the Rider’s Quadrant – he was the reason my sister decided to become a rider in the first place and I always knew I wanted to follow in their footsteps. He applied for an extended permission when he heard of my father's health suddenly taking a turn for the worst and he shouldered all the heavy stuff while my mother and I were grieving. He had a wicked sense of humour and like any younger sibling, he was a bit wild, driving my father up the fucking walls at family gatherings, but I loved him. He was loud and the worst possible singer, he gave the best hugs even though he sucked at verbally comforting people and he encouraged my sister and I in many of our misdemeanours – he was the one who taught both of us how to punch someone and how to properly roll and smoke churram. Theron was the best uncle any kid could hope for and knowing he is no longer here…

It’s a kind of pain and suffering that is fueled by the addition of new familiar names. Only a little after my uncle’s name is read, we hear the name of Bodhi’s grandmother, an elderly woman who had been in the infantry herself back in her youth and who refused to come with us to the safe house, preferring to go and help my mother in the infirmary. It could have been minutes or hours later – time had completely lost its meaning to all of us – when Derik's name was called and it was my turn now to squeeze Garrick’s hand, allowing him to hide his face in my hair as the realization dawned upon him. 

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The next few moments pass in a blur - there were other names I recognized on that list, but the sounds around me are muffled, like my head has been shoved underwater. Huh, that might be a fitting metaphor for how I feel – drowning: drifting further and further away from the shore of reality with every thought and memory that comes crashing over me like a violent wave meaning to make me sink. But at the same time, that metaphorical water that threatens to drown me is not enough to put out the burning feeling in my chest that hasn’t ceased for a second since we learned of our losses.

But our suffering and inner turmoil is not something the Navarrians seem too concerned with. On the contrary – they seem eager to press and press, waiting to see when we would finally break, watching their grim satisfaction. One might argue that by reading the list, they at least offered us something, information about our loved ones, as cruel and painful as it was, but no. Had they wanted to do that or even if their goal were to make us suffer, they would have only given us the names of the rebels who lost their lives – the implicature behind the decision to also mention their own losses was clear: all these names were people, people who lost their lives because of your people's recklessness and stupidity, so you are to blame for all the suffering, not us . Because they certainly draw some comfort or satisfaction from blaming us, making us pay for all this blood that they prefer to smear on our hands rather than admit their part of the blame. Vindictive fuckers. 

So, in another show of their vindictiveness, as soon as they finish reading the death list, turning our worlds upside down in the process, the guards don't give us the time to even properly pick up all the broken pieces of ourselves off the floor before starting to bark orders, to push and nudge us with their weapons as they herd us towards wherever they want us now. We are just pawns for them to move around per their plans – they don't really care that these pawns are cracked, or chipped or that parts of them remain behind as they are herded like cattle to the slaughterhouse.

I can almost imagine that if I were to look back towards that lobby where we have just been, I would see bits and pieces of every kid's heart, parts of them that they will never regain, leaving behind an unhealable and unfillable gap.

The room we are transferred to is what appears to be a waiting room of some kind. Not exactly a cell – those are in the lower levels of the building and they certainly lack the chairs and benches we find in here. A small mercy, I have to admit. There are not nearly enough seats for all 105 of us, but at least the smallest of the kids can rest for a bit and the older ones among us, who understood that the names on that list were the ones who had failed, can process their losses however they might need to. 

The boys and I find a small area to sit near the corner closest to the door, with me and Bodhi sitting on the floor and leaning against each other – the physical contact is the only comfort the two of us can give each other right now, I suppose. Meanwhile, Garrick is pacing around in front of us in a way that reminds me of my mother whenever she lost one of her patients or people she cared for – they occupy themselves with an action, relying on the external movement to distract themselves from facing the internal reality, to keep the true depth of the pain at bay so they wouldn't completely lose it: not when they feel they can't afford to break down. 

For once, I try to avoid looking for too long at Garrick – he has always looked a lot like his older brother and, right now, I try to avoid thinking of Derik Tavis because I know that adding the pain of losing him on top of my grief over my uncle’s death would be too much. I can’t say I was exactly very close to Bodhi’s grandma – I barely even knew my own grandparents, both pairs having died when I was little, so I can’t exactly relate to Bodhi’s pain right now – but I have known Derik Tavis for practically my entire life. He has been Braelyn’s best friend since before I was born and he was a constant in my life – always around, always cracking a stupid joke and getting himself in trouble because he lacked any sense of caution, which usually meant my sister also got in trouble along with him. And the daunting prospect of losing a sibling… this one hits closer to home than losing a grandparent.

So, instead, I look around me at the other kids of rebellion leaders – not that it is a view that inspires more positivity. Sweet Malek, no. Again, my mom is the head healer in Tyrrendor, I grew up spending a lot of my time in the infirmary and in the waiting room, witnessing quite a few scenes of pain and suffering… and grief. The boys and I were dragged to memorials and funerals for soldiers and colleagues of our parents quite often as well, so I am somewhat used to seeing people grieve for their loved ones who didn’t make it and I came to understand that no two people grieve the same way.  But… It's unreal how clearly you can distinguish based on the facial expressions of every person in this room exactly what stage of grief they are stuck in. 

“Do you think they have the rest of our families here?” Bodhi asks, finally breaking the silence that had settled between us as each of us battled our own feelings. “Maybe some of them are still out there… maybe…”

“No one is coming to save us, Bodhi,” Garrick cuts him off, stopping his pacing around to look at us. “Think about it. Who knew about the location of the safe house? Only the high-ranking officers. The only reason we are here is because one of them probably broke under interrogation. And if they supplied that information, they surely gave them the locations of all the possible hiding places. Everyone who could have come to our rescue is already rotting in a cell somewhere in this godforsaken place!” 

I sigh and close my eyes – those thoughts have already crossed my mind as I am sure Bodhi has realized all of that himself, but he has always been the most hopeful among the four of us, capable of clinging to the bright side even when it is just the flickering light of a firefly. That’s the thing I love the most about him, but I also know that the moment his hopes are mercilessly crushed under the boots of the Navarrian soldiers he will be absolutely destroyed.

“None of the officers knew of all the hiding spots!” Bodhi argues, but there is no confidence in his voice – he sounds almost pleading. 

“No, but it is stupid to assume that only one of them broke,” I point out, turning a bit to look at Bodhi with a sad look on my face as I say that. I don’t like breaking the bad news like this and diminishing his hopes, but I can’t leave it all to Garrick anymore. “And General Sorrengail wouldn’t be here if there were any more rebels out there for her to hunt.”

We can only hope they will let us see our remaining family before they execute us all. That is the only mercy I still hope for and also the only thought keeping me somewhat together - I won’t have to live in a world where I am grieving for my loved ones for too long if I am close behind them on the way to Malek’s realm. There is something so comforting in the thought of death and that is so fucking messed up – I am sixteen, I shouldn’t be thinking of death as a great relief, I should have a whole life ahead of me to look forward to, I should… fuck! This is not how this was supposed to be. 

“Do you think Xaden is… you know…” I find myself asking, afraid of the answer but I can’t face these thoughts that plague my mind now on my own anymore. Because in spite of everything else going on and of my conviction that we are headed for the gallows soon, I still worry for that idiot.

“The bastard always liked to be the first. Why would it be different this time?” Garrick answers, closing his eyes and passing a hand over his face. Behind the harsh words and the admission of his similar belief that we are all going to die soon, I know there is pain – it's his best friend. If I am close to Xaden, Garrick is his other half. Rarely see one without the other. “And, besides, I doubt Sorrengail is in a merciful mood after her own son was on that list.”

I purse my lips, leaning my head against Bodhi’s shoulder and looking up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the mold spots so I wouldn’t have to see the looks on the boys’ faces. We are all aware of Lilith Sorrengail’s reputation and if she was ruthless before, I can only assume how cold and vengeful she must be feeling now that her eldest son died in the Battle of Aretia. And what better way to satisfy her thirst for revenge than to personally kill the son of the man responsible for starting the whole shit show? But the thought of Xaden being dead…

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, fuckers. Totally feeling the love.”

For a moment I think that it is another trick of my mind, but it hardly sounds like something a ghost or hallucination would say. I jerk my head in the direction of the door next to us and… for a ghost he is pretty damn solid-looking the way he sits there, slightly less confident and defiant, with his back a bit hunched over. And the devil dares to have his arms crossed over his chest and the corner of his mouth twitches a bit upwards, as if amused at our reactions. I can just imagine how ridiculous the three of us look like this, staring at our best friend we thought dead a few seconds ago.

Garrick is the first to recover from the shock, swiftly crossing the distance between where we were and where Xaden stands, but before he even reaches him, Bodhi and I are already on our feet, running towards them as well. I can’t put into words how messy and uncoordinated the hug is, but all three of us throw our arms around Xaden almost at the same time and I am not ashamed to admit that a sob escapes my lips, echoed by similar sounds of relief and surprise from Bodhi. The physical contact confirms that he is indeed here, still alive – unless Malek took to sending to the land of the living solid, slightly sweaty, and smelly ghosts, he is not dead.

Then we realize that jumping on him like this was a mistake. He doesn’t push away, but his whole body tenses, cringing and hissing in pain – a signal for all of us to take a step back. I look down at my hands, meaning to wipe what I assumed to be sweat on my pants… but sweat is not usually ruby. “Xay -” I look up at him in confusion, but he just shakes his head at us, the serious mask back in place.

“Not now,” he hisses, rubbing his neck and averting his gaze from all of us. “I will tell you about it, I promise. But now is not the time.”

“At least let me take a look at –” I try again, extending my hand towards him. I have never shared my mother’s talent in the infirmary, but I have spent enough time watching her and Derik made sure to teach me to inspect the seriousness of a wound and patch it up decently. 

Xaden grabs my hand before I can touch him and closes both of his palms over it, squeezing once, gently. “It is nothing serious, Im. Trust me,” he promises, but for some reason, I find myself unable to trust him on this. Noticing my hesitation, he adds: “I will let you take a look later, okay? There are more pressing things right now, like… what did I miss?”

Looking as unconvinced as I am, Garrick takes it upon himself to fill Xaden in on the death list and the names of the important people who were on it, leaving our own personal losses at the end. Honestly, I have no idea how the two of them manage to think of the general picture in this context, but I guess it is easier to think of virtually anything other than the thing you feel the need to talk about the most. What do you even say about this kind of thing? How do you tell someone else, for the first time, that your uncle or your brother or your grandmother lost their lives?

Fortunately, Xaden seems to have grasped our silently agreed-upon convention of not actually talking about it all. He just looks at each of us, his mask slipping away entirely as he says: “I am sorry…”

I know he means it and I know he is affected by the news in his own way, even though he didn’t lose a relative of his own – Bodhi’s grandmother has always been kind to Xaden even if they were not technically related; my uncle was around in his life in a similar way to how Fen was in mine… and Derik treated all three of us as extra little siblings, I suppose. I have gone through this before – people expressing their condolences and telling you how sorry they are for your loss. And in spite of the good intentions, it feels like pressing salt to the wound. The silence that settled over us after that tells me that Bodhi and Garrick share my feelings regarding this. 

Xaden doesn’t press. Instead, he pulls Bodhi in a hug and allows him to lean against him as I resume my previous seat on the floor, with Garrick next to me this time around.

“What happens now?” Garrick asks after a while, pulling me out of my thoughts. I notice that he doesn’t look up from where our fingers are intertwined in his lap – weird, I don’t even remember the moment he grabbed my hand in the first place.

Xaden straightens his back a bit – an action that visibly brings him pain and makes me worry about the extent of his injury again -, but doesn’t stop rubbing circles on Bodhi’s back. However, before he can say anything, the door opens and five guards enter – all of them dressed in black leather and I suppose they are some of the riders we saw earlier in the lobby, but I recognize only the one in the middle of the group. The same bearer of bad news as earlier, carrying another scroll in his hands, the sight of which makes me tense instantly. More names?

“Listen, I don't have the time to explain it all, but I need you to trust me. Everything will be alright, I made sure of that. Just… do what they say and it will be fine,” Xaden whispers to us, speaking so quickly that I barely register the words. What the hell does he even mean by that? He made sure of what? How?

But I don’t get a chance to ask him about any of that as the riders call us all to attention and the one with the list ceremoniously unravels it and starts calling names. It quickly becomes clear that this time around these are not the names of those fallen – at least, not fallen yet.

“Once you hear your name, you will have to follow us,” He announces, knowing that he doesn't have to resort to threats or anything else to make us follow his orders – we are a bunch of underage, unarmed and scared kids who have just learned that some of our loved ones are dead or are too young to even understand what is going on. We pose no threat and have no other option but to obey. “Xaden Riorson. Garrick Tavis. Liam and Sloane Mairi.”

Garrick squeezes my hand once more before pushing himself up to follow Xaden and I have to fight back the instinct to follow them. I stand up, exchanging a look with Bodhi instead, finding a perfect reflection of my own confusion and fear in his eyes. For as long as I can remember, Bodhi and I have been the younger ones within our group, always running after Garrick and Xaden and following their lead, complaining rather loudly whenever they kept secrets from us or did things that didn't include us. But never before have I ever felt so utterly lost and desperate to follow them. 

One of the guards arranges them into a line and I catch Xaden’s eyes before they are escorted out of the room as he is placed last in the procession. He shakes his head ever so slightly and mouths “later”. I know he promised it would all be alright, but I honestly doubt we would have the time for chit-chat – unless he is planning on having fucking Malek himself present for our discussion too.

Two of the guards leave with them – one to the front or the group and the other one behind them – and as soon as they leave the room, two other riders take their place. I am starting to see a pattern now.

After this brief break, the guy with the list continues to recite: “Bodhi Durran. Imogen Cardulo. Eya Gable. Soleil Telery.” It doesn't take a genius to figure out that they are calling us according to our parents’ importance in the rebellion: Garrick's dad had been Fen's right hand and strategist, Colonel Mairi has had command over all the riders, with Bodhi's dad being her second in command and my mom was one of the lead strategists and the head of the Tyrrish healers. Eya's mom was a rider and held a seat in the Tyrrish council, while Colonel Telery had a similar position as an infantry soldier. 

As I drag my feet towards the guards, taking my place in the line they arrange us into, I try to convince myself that Xaden wouldn’t have promised us it would be alright if he didn't have a plan. It's not like him to say something just to be supportive and shit, but then again… people do all sorts of things in the face of death. And whatever he thinks he “made sure of”... you can never fully trust the word of a Navarrian so there is no real guarantee. </p>

As if sensing my thoughts, Bodhi, positioned right behind me, brushes his fingers against my right hand – a gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by our stone-faced guards. “Keep your hands at your sides where we can see them and your eyes straight ahead.” One of them barks.

My anger rises to critical levels hearing him and it takes every ounce of self-restraint I have in my body not to glare or punch the idiot who gave the order. By some miracle, I even managed to keep my expression neutral – if only my sister or Garrick were here to witness this! They always chide me for my short temper and like to say that I have absolutely no self-preservation instinct – turns out I actually do, I just choose to ignore it most of the time. This time is an exception because even I know that picking a fight with my hangmen would not be a good idea.

As I have anticipated, outside the door there is a line of guards, mostly riders, waiting their turn to enter and be assigned their own group to take Amari knows where. Guess we are going to find out soon enough… </p>

I try to commit to memory every twist and turn on our way towards this mysterious destination. My father always said that a good soldier has a keen sense of orientation and can come up with an escape plan in any situation, but at this point, I am not really trying to come up with an actual escape plan – no, I know I would be dead the second I stepped out of line. Weirdly enough, occupying my mind with this kind of stuff helps, however – it gives me something to think about other than our rather gloomy predicament.

We reach the lower levels of the prison, passing multiple corridors with cells, but I don't have the time to see if among the occupants of those cells are any familiar faces. There must be at least some, right?

We finally stop on a narrow corridor with four metallic doors, two on each side. There are no signs or numbers on the doors, nothing to give us any sort of hint as to what we would find behind those doors. Four more guards are stationed next to each door and our gracious guides break the line to join their colleagues to talk for a bit, as if they are just taking a break from a tedious task to crack jokes and exchange gossip with their friends.

I catch a few words from their conversation, something about a pregnant woman and something about a deal and selling something, but I just assume they are talking about their own lives and acquaintances. Instead, taking advantage of them being distracted, I turn a bit toward my best friend.

Bodhi gives me one of his cheeky smiles, but his lower lip is trembling a bit too much for it to have the reassuring and comforting effect he was aiming for. His dark curls are messy and sticking to his skin from the thin layer of sweat covering his olive skin that has taken a bit of an ashy undertone. There is a shadow clouding his eyes, almost drowning the speckles of gold in them, but in spite of that, his gaze is the same as always – warm, familiar, kind. 

For as much as I love Garrick and Xaden, Bodhi has always been my best friend. My first friend even. We were two or three when we first met, I think. His mother came to see my mom for some minor health-related issue and she had brought Bodhi along, leaving the two of us to play while they talked. Back then everything was easy and straightforward and it couldn't have taken us more than a few seconds to decide that we would be each other's best friends. Not long after that, I met the other two idiots, but it has always been Bodhi whom I was closest to – we had the same classes with private tutors and shared the same addiction for sweets that led to us ending in the infirmary more times than I care to remember… quite in a similar fashion to how Garrick and Xaden were always together, Bodhi and I were inseparable as well. And our dependence on each other only grew in time, understanding each other without even having to say anything.

“Well, what do people say in these kinds of situations? It's been wonderful while it lasted?” Bodhi says, shrugging.

“Wonderful is not the word I would use to describe it all,” I challenge him, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay okay, not exactly wonderful, I admit. But... it's been fun, at least,” He corrects himself, his lips pulling into a genuine half-smile.

“Oh certainly, I had a blast seeing you three morons every day for the past fifteen years. Nothing beats the absolute joy of having to reign my murderous impulses whenever you acted like complete morons. Which was daily.” I playfully roll my eyes at him, the shadow of a smile lingering on my lips.

“Oh, you gotta admit you loved every stupid thing we did. You would have been bored out of your mind otherwise.” He adds and for a second I see those shining specks of gold in his eyes shining again as we both think back on our childhood together. 

I think of all our games and adventures: the play pretends, with Bodhi usually drawing the short stick and being forced to play the damsel in distress whenever we played riders versus venins because I made it damn clear that I wouldn’t be caught dead in that role; going cliff-jumping and burying each other in the sand at the beach near Aretia; roasting marshmallows by the campfire on summer evenings, with Derik telling us scary stories that usually led to Braelyn biting his head off for scaring us and us ending up asking to sleep with them on those nights; the snowball fights and winter festivities our parents usually spend together; anniversaries and formal balls and parties where we somehow always managed to wreak havoc… that one time we decided we wanted to run away from home and managing to go through with that plan for a few hours – until we ran out of sweets and returned home with our tails between our legs. I also recall the festivals and celebrations in the village square for an event or another (especially for weddings or births) that we attended even when we didn’t know the people celebrating – nobody gave a flying crap about that; we all enjoyed the music and the dancing and especially the food. Oh gods, not to mention all those times we proved to be the worst nightmare of the staff of Riorson House – it is somewhat of a miracle that Aretia and the fortress stood for as long as they did as we almost set the whole place on fire. On multiple occasions.

“This past year aside, there is nothing I would want to change,” Bodhi admits earnestly, his smile a bit melancholic as he looks at me now. “And I am thankful to have had you there for all my happiest memories. Guess now we will have to find ways to cause havoc in Malek’s realm instead, huh?”

“Oh, fuck! And here I was hoping to finally be rid of you in death, Bo,” I tease him, squeezing his hand to compensate for my inability to come up with something as nice and sappy as him. I don’t need to, he knows exactly how I feel without me having to say it in so many words.

“Nah, I am afraid you are stuck with me for eternity, Immy. After all, you know you are my favorite, right?” He adds with a wide grin on his face. 

“I better be.” I grin right back at him, reluctantly releasing my hold on his hand when the guards seemingly remember that they are on the job and not here to gossip and socialize. “You are my favorite too,” I add in a small voice just before he is escorted by the soldiers toward one of the four rooms. 

With one last wink and a confident grin that does nothing to hide the scared and anxious look in his eyes, Bodhi enters the room and the door is closed behind him. I have exactly ten seconds before another one of the guards grabs my arm and pulls me towards another one of the doors, a fact I am thankful for – the rooms are probably warded, but even so, I wouldn’t want to risk it, and be here to hear whatever sounds would escape from there. It would completely destroy me to hear them killing my best friend – I would rather keep this, us laughing and joking around as my last earthly memory of him.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

The first thing I notice when I enter the room is that it is empty. I am not sure what exactly I was expecting to find - instruments of torture? chains and shackles? at the very least some weapons and a person to wield them? But no, the room is completely empty – stone and granite walls and floor and another identical door to the one I have come through on the other side of the room. 

After pushing me inside, the guard accompanying me inside walks right past me towards the other door, completely ignoring my existence. He just… leaves me here. Confusion is an understatement for how I feel right now – isn’t this the moment he was supposed to end me with a twist of his wrist or something? Hello, Mr. Hangman, aren't you forgetting something? Not that I am complaining about still drawing breath, but you know… 

I am not sure how much time passes this time before the door the guard had disappeared through earlier opens again and I brace myself for the worst. I think back to all the fighting tactics I know, although I doubt I would be able to last long in a fight with highly trained riders and Navarrian soldiers. Winning is out of the question, but at the same time, it feels wrong to go down without putting up a bit of a struggle at least. 

However, it is not the guard from earlier who walks inside the room this time around. At the sight of the two women stepping inside, my eyes instantly fill with tears and I dig my nails into the pad of my hand to make sure that it is not another instance of my mind playing tricks on me. The sound that escapes my throat when I realize that they are indeed here, alive, is somewhere between a whimper and a sob.

Fearing that my legs will give out any second now, I run while I still have the strength and collapse in my mother’s outstretched arms, burying my face in the once-white apron of her uniform. “Mami…” I don't even bother trying to bite back my tears when I feel her arms tightening around me in a protective hug.

“You have twenty minutes,” A manly voice announces, followed by the slam of a door, but I don't care about that anymore. My world narrowed down to the familiar warmth of my mother’s embrace, to the way she combs through my hair gently as I cry into her chest.

“Shh, it's alright, sweetheart. I am here. We are here,” my mother whispers soothingly, kissing my forehead and pushing my hair out of my face. Then she slides her hands to my elbows and pushes back a little to inspect me, looking for any signs of injury. “Did they hurt you?”

I shake my head. Physically, I am in peak condition and even if I wasn't, I wouldn't want to worry my mother with it anyway. Not when I see the clear exhaustion on her face – I haven't seen her in almost three weeks, but it looks as if she had aged by a few decades: her blonde hair is pulled out of her usual tight bun, cascading down her shoulders in a mess of matted locks, the lines of her face deepened, giving her a gaudy look and there are well-defined violet bags under her tired honey-colored eyes. She is still dressed in her healer uniform, but it is so dirty and ripped that I barely recognize it – my mother, the ultimate clean freak and the most put-together person I know… “No, mami, I am fine,” I assure her, biting my lower lip at the sight of the cuts and bruises visible through the holes in her uniform and I pray to Amari that the blood decorating her apron is not hers.

“Good. That's good,” my mom whispers, wrapping her arms around me and I melt into her embrace as we both sink to the floor, clinging tightly to each other. That's when I know she has finally cracked and instead of the pulled-together healer who never loses her composure in the eye of the storm, before me stands a mother who is an emotional mess and fearful for her children. “My brave little girl,” she sobs against my head.

I kiss her cheek and then I finally look at the other person in the room, currently crunching down next to us. My sister gives me a sad small smile as she grabs my hand, squeezing it three times – a silent way of saying “I love you” that we have been using since we were little when we started to feel like we were too old for something as cringe as expressing affection. “You look like crap,” I manage to say, my voice cracking badly, but she just shakes her head, letting out a short, humorless laugh. 

It is not exactly a lie – Braelyn does look like a mess, but that is to be expected in the current context. Like our mother, she is still dressed the same way as I last saw her, but in her case, the uniform consists of her black flight leathers, her jacket unzipped to reveal the unsettling sight of a wide hole into her shirt, hastily bandaged with what looks to be the material of what was once a shirt. There is a black bruise right under her eye and an ugly cut extending from her neck to her delicate jaw, but it looks to be superficial. Her shoulder-length auburn hair is still pinned into a braid, but it is considerably looser than how she usually has it when she flies with Jyst, some of the shorter strands at the front getting in her eyes. 

“I wouldn’t want to be seen with you in public like that either, monkey,” Braelyn teases me back, extending her other hand to caress my cheek affectionately. I don't miss the hoarseness of her voice, but I try not to think how much she must have used her powers for it to lose its usual sweetness. Or how much she must have cried and shouted, judging by the haunted look in her pale green eyes.

Just for a little bit, I allow myself to bask in the comfortable warmth of their presence, content to just know that they are here with me. And doing my best to ignore the painful absence, but I utterly fail in this regard, my eyes filling with tears I haven't allowed myself to shed until now. “Uncle Theron…” I whisper between sobs.

Braelyn moves a bit closer, closing her eyes for a moment. I am taken back to all those times when it was just the three of us at home, waiting for news from my father whenever he left for battle or to visit the outposts closest to the border. Back then we were afraid of ever living in a reality where he and uncle Theron would not return – now we are. “Colonel Tavis said he fell in battle, taking down half a squad by himself,” My sister tells me. “He died the way he always said he would want to, in battle.”

“As if there is any comfort in that…” I mutter to myself, but I know they heard me as my mother stiffens and Braelyn averts her gaze.

“There is. It's an honorable way to go and he would have preferred that to…” Braelyn stops mid-sentence and I see the hesitation in her eyes before it is replaced with steely determination. “What have they told you about what is going on?” 

“Nothing. To them, we are little more than a herd of sheep to move from one place to another to their convenience,” I say, frowning as I brace myself for the next bit. “What is there to know anyway? They are going to execute us all, aren't they?”

“No,” My mother contradicts me, lifting my chin so I would look at her tear-stained face. “They are not going to harm you kids. We don't know the details, but what we do know is that they decided you are more useful to them alive, to make an example out of you.”

My throat suddenly feels very dry and my eyes widen. “But that is… no. No no no!” I start shaking and agitating in my mother's embrace as I realize what this meeting actually is – they brought me here to say goodbye. But I don’t want to say goodbye! The only thought keeping me together until now was the conviction that I would not have to live for long in a reality without them! “I don’t want to-”

“Imogen!” My sister cuts me off, sternly, and I instantly freeze. Yes, as sisters we have frequently quarreled and fought, but she very rarely used that tone with me. For a moment I wonder if she used even a sliver of her powers on me, but I realize that there is no need for that anyway – the desperate look in her eyes was enough. “We don't have a lot of time so I want you to listen to me now. I know it's a lot and you must be terrified… for fuck's sake, I would be losing my mind if I were you too, but right now that is not an option. Okay?”

Losing my mind right now seems like a favorable option, but I find myself pursing my lips in a tight line and nodding. I don't want to think about what is going to happen, but I know that these are my last moments with my sister and mother – and if they can stand here in front of me and still form coherent thoughts after everything they went through, I have no excuse. I can do it. I have to.

I shift a bit in my mother’s arms so I can look at my sister. “Do you still have the rune from Colonel Mairi?” Instinctively, I reach into the pocket of my jacket to take out the stone. Every single one of the kids in the safe house had these stones with special protective runes made by Colonel Mairi – and we were ordered to have them on us at all times, so even when the Navarrian soldiers took us out of the safe house, we still had them on us. “Good, keep it within reach. You will need it.” She sighs, relieved at the sight of the rune.

“Why?” I stupidly ask, frowning a bit at the stone in my lap. “Didn't you say they are not going to execute us?” 

“They are not,” my mother says gently, caressing my hair. “But they are going to execute us. And the rune within that stone will give you an advantage, in case things don't go as planned and they change their minds.” 

 “If it's a protective rune, why can't you take it? Maybe then we could…” 

Braelyn shakes her head, cutting me off, “That is not how it works, Immy. The rune is made in such a way that it can only protect you upon our death. It will most likely be death by dragonfire, so the rune will grant you protection from whatever signet the rider of that dragon has,” She explains and I sense her patience running out by the second, so I don’t push it anymore. 

Death by dragonfire. The punishment for those whom Navarre deems traitors. It's gruesome and dishonorable – being put into a tight formation, awaiting the blazing flames to eat away at your flesh, reducing you to a pile of smoking ashes carried off by the wind. I now understand why Braelyn said that Theron's death in battle was better – his name will be tarnished by those scribes writing down the story, but to a man who prided himself on his honor and loyalty, dying like a traitor would have been the biggest disgrace imaginable to him. But the selfish part of me would have rather had him survive the battle, sentenced to this despicable fate… just so I could see him one more time.

“They are not telling us any more than they are telling you about their plans, so we don't know where they will send you or how they are planning to assure your submission. And they will certainly try, Imogen,” My sister goes on, taking over completely as my mother seems to barely be holding on to her emotions right now. “There will be no one else coming to defend you and you should never expect any stranger's pity or mercy. Don’t give your trust to just anyone and even when you think you could trust someone… never do it blindly or completely, not when your survival is at stake.”

Survival… I never imagined there would come a time I would think of something like this, but I find myself wondering if there is any point in surviving at all in this case. Survive in order to… what? I am about to lose the people I loved all my life, I can never go back to Aretia – there isn't even an Aretia to go back to, in the first place! – and, yes, everything in my future is uncertain, but there is one certainty in all this: whatever awaits me will be brutally painful, hard, and lonesome. 

As if sensing my thoughts, Braelyn pushes closer to me and puts both her hands on my shoulders. “You will survive, Imogen. Yes, it will be hard and not at all pleasant, but at least you will be alive. And that matters because you can still make a difference. You still have a chance at a life and I don’t want to see you throw that away! Don't you dare let it all go to waste!” Her tone matches the fierceness that burns behind her pale green eyes. I am not sure what she is asking me not to let go to waste – my life? my potential? all of their efforts that didn't come to fruition? all of the above? As awful as that sounds, the rebellion and the reasons behind it couldn't matter any less to me right now. Not when that honorable and rightful rebellion is the reason why my family is going to die, the reason why my uncle and Derik are already dead.

“You will survive,” Braelyn repeats, but this time it is not a plea or an order, but a statement. As if she is banishing any other option. “And you will not be alone, remember that. You will still have the boys – Garrick, Bodhi, Xaden, they are going through the exact same shit and you can lean on each other through it all.”

“You just said I can't trust anyone,” I point out. </p>

“You can trust them - all three of them are idiots, but somehow their idiocy matches your own. If you can trust someone, it’s them.” Braelyn rolls her eyes, but I don't fail to notice the way her lips twitch slightly upwards. Maybe I should take a page out of Bodhi's book of saying stupid things to lighten the mood more often. 

“Be careful around the other kids,” My mother says, a sharper edge in her voice now. “They might be going through the same hell, but it doesn’t mean that they are walking alongside you. People have different ways of dealing with pain and everyone has selfish reasons and goals.” 

I remember Garrick's words from earlier, about how someone must have cracked during interrogation. How someone betrayed the information about the safe house. That explains the resentment and anger in my mother's voice, I guess. For her, the backstabbing traitor was someone she worked with, someone she probably trusted. 

“Mom is right, Im. Your priority from now on is to protect yourself, no matter how many corpses you have to walk over.” Braelyn agrees and I swear she has never looked more like our father. Physically, she has always shared some of his features: the curly auburn hair, the upturned nose, and the same pale green eyes. But now it is more than that, the determination, the heroic grief, the ability to push aside her inner turmoil and despair… And that unapologetic ruthlessness. “I am not telling you to be unfeeling or to become the perfect obedient puppet Navarre wants you to be, far from it. I am telling you to be clever about how you act around them - play by their rules, but don’t ever let them change what you know to be true and right. Bide your time until you will have the means to stand up to them.”

My earlier hate towards the rebellion and the cause they all dedicated their hopes and efforts to completely washes away. The truth is I know what they fought for was honorable and brave, and it is not the cause that is taking them away from me – no, for that I have Navarre and their illustrious generals to blame.

“I wish I had the time to tell you everything I never got the chance to.” Braelyn sighs and the brave face she had until now crumbles as she pulls me in a tight embrace, a sob escaping from her throat. “There are so many things I wish I could tell you, but it is not the time, nor the place for it. And I am sorry I have to put so much pressure on you – gods only know how much we tried to keep you kids away from all of this so you would have a chance at a normal childhood…”

And indeed they tried. Almost every day for the past year there was someone to tell us “You are children. You are supposed to be children, not soldiers.”. And for Dunne’s sake, we all hated that line, never understanding just how precious that barrier was, just how much we would come to yearn for that protection and to have someone to say that to us. Now our childhoods are going up in flames. 

I bury my face in my sister’s shoulder, trying to commit to memory every little thing about this moment – it will probably be the last time I ever hug her, after all. And I realize with a sense of guilt that I wish I had hugged her more whenever I had the chance, but I was too proud to admit that I loved the comfort and sense of security hugging her gave me. Somehow, even underneath the smell of blood, dirt and grime, I can almost make out the faint floral scent of her favorite perfume. “I love you,” I sob into her shoulder. “This is not how it was supposed to be. I don’t want to live a life without you in it. I can’t. I need you…”

“I love you too, monkey. And it is just as painful to me as it is for you, but you don’t need me. Not really. You have always been strong and independent…”

“That doesn’t mean that I don’t still need my sister!” I argue, tears flowing down my cheeks freely by this point. I will always need my parents and I love them dearly, but it is Braelyn that I find it harder to imagine a life without – she has been with me since my first moment on this earth and she was supposed to be my lifelong companion. That's the role of siblings, right? She has been the one to teach me how to climb a tree, the one to help me with my homework and show me the first fighting techniques. It was her arms that I ran to far more often than anyone else whenever I had a problem and more than half the things I know I learned from her. My first friend, my role model, the person I knew I could count on no matter what. How am I supposed to say goodbye to her?

“I know, monkey,” She sobs against my hair. “I also know that you don't want to hear all that sappy bullshit about me not actually going anywhere and watching over you or living in your heart. But just so you know, if I am given any choice in the matter, I would do all of that. Fuck Malek. For you, I would become a damn fucking cliché. But you have to promise me that you will keep on living. Not just surviving, actually living.”

I honestly don't believe that it would be possible for me to ever enjoy life again. Not the way I did before. But I still find myself nodding in agreement to her request. “I promise.”

I feel another hand rest on my back and I raise my head a bit to look at our mother, kneeling down next to us on the floor to join our hug. Long gone is our ability to think or talk about anything else – no, we sorted most of our affairs already and we know, in broad lines, what awaits us. This is the time – the only time – we are given to grieve as a family, to let out all of those feelings we have kept bottled up until now. We are grieving the people we lost – dad, Theron, Derik and all those people who have been in our lives and whom we came to care about and love, whether they are already dead or will soon be –, but we are also grieving the future we were robbed of. Coherency and logic have abandoned us too, but they are not needed anyway. They are not necessary for us to say all those words we wasted so much time not saying – “I love you”s and “thank you"s are said over and over again between sobs. This is not how it was supposed to be. Not at all. But within our own little bubble, at least for a little while longer, it is alright. It is not how it was supposed to be, but it is good enough for us.

But that is the thing about bubbles, they burst, shattering and leaving you to face the harsh reality again. The door opens again and three guards come in, unceremoniously separating us and forcing us to our feet. I kick and scream at the man holding me upright – no, not yet, I need a little more time with them. I need more time to look at them, to commit to memory every little thing about them because the possibility of forgetting even the smallest detail kills me. I need more time to listen to the sound of their voices. I need more time to hold and talk to them. I need a thousand more tomorrows and a thousand more “I love you”s. I need more time. But they could give me another twenty minutes or twenty hours and even twenty days and I would still not be ready. It would never be enough and I would never be prepared to say goodbye. 

I see Braelyn open her mouth and for a second I am convinced she is going to use her signet on these guards to buy us more time, but she renounces that idea, pursing her lips in a tight line instead.

“What is it, Cardulo? Has the great Puppeteer finally lost her voice?” One of the guards snickers, taunting her as he ties her hands behind her back with more force than necessary as she doesn't put up a struggle at all. But in spite of that resignation in her movements, her eyes burn with anger and disdain, bearing a similar defiance as I have noticed in Xaden's this morning.  

“Maybe I am just saving my breath, Soluth. After all, for someone to be my puppet, they would have to have a functional brain in the first place. I doubt you even have one, so why bother?” Her voice doesn't waver and she doesn't even flinch when he wrestles her arm at a painful angle. The she-devil even has the nerve to give the rider an arrogant smirk over her shoulder, as condescending as the sing-song sweet voice she uses.

The jab hits its mark, the rider sneering and losing the overly confident demeanor from a few moments ago. He is young, probably my sister's age, and based on her use of his last name, I assume they were probably together in Basgiath. “All that bravado might have been impressive before, traitor. Let's see if you can talk back and smirk when you turn into a bonfire,” Soluth says with a sense of grim satisfaction at the pained gasp his taunting gets out of my mother.  

But Braelyn still remains unfazed by his words, keeping her chin up high and betraying absolutely no fear. “Better a traitor than a liar and a coward. At least I will go out knowing I fought for what is right, can you say the same?” She bites back, narrowing her eyes.

Soluth jerks his head towards the door in a silent command to the other riders restraining me and my mother to follow him, before he pushes my sister forward towards it. “And look what your so-called rightfulness earned you – a spectacular barbecue party.” He turns around to throw a look in my direction and the slyness in his voice is clear as he adds, “Don't worry, Cardulo. For old times’ sake, I saved your sister the best fucking seats in the house – front row for the show!” 

That finally gets a reaction out of my sister – as the guards keep pushing us down the corridor, I can't properly see her face from where I am behind her and my mother, but I see her stopping in her tracks and turning her head to finally look towards the other rider, her eyes wide in disbelief. “What are you talking about?” she whispers, her voice weak. 

“What, no one told you?” he feigns surprise, the smile on his face so wide it makes me feel sick to my stomach as the meaning of his words finally hits me. “We can't let your little sister and her friends miss out on the event of the year, can we? After the shit you put us through, we can't possibly allow these brats to think they can just pick up from where you left. We are showing them exactly what such foolishness would get them.”

My mind goes blank for a moment, refusing to acknowledge it. No, this is too vile and cruel, even for Navarre. They can't possibly have us watch as they… as they execute our families. It's pure evil! But the gleeful look on Soluth's face and his dark satisfaction at our horrified looks tells me that this is not a joke. 

“They are just children! They did nothing wrong!” My mother cries, trying to wrangle herself out of her guard's hold – to no avail. The rider restraining her might be a woman, but she is much sturdier and has much more training than my healer mom. “Please! They don't deserve this… they are innocent!” she pleads, her desperation clear in her voice. 

My mother is a proud woman and I know that under no circumstances would she beg and plead for her own life - not in front of these people, not even in front of King Tauri himself. But she does it now, for the almost nonexistent chance that I wouldn’t have to watch it. I don’t know which is more hurtful to watch – my mother’s desperate attempt to shield me from this pain or my sister’s painful resignation because she knows nothing she could say would change anything, not even her powers. Deep down, my mother knows that too. 

“Innocents!” The female rider snorts, pure disgust and venom dripping from her voice. In my shock-induced numbness, I turn to look at her - rider leathers, but instead of the lines that lieutenants receive upon graduating, she has three stars on her collar, so she is still a cadet. I knew Navarre called third-years in service early when Fen announced the secession, and I am aware that she knows absolutely nothing about what is actually going on beyond the border - all the information she gets is filtered by Command and the scribes to fit their narrative and she’s probably never even seen a gryphon, let alone a venin. Yet I still wish I had a knife to bury in her ignorant skull. “Every single person who went into battle to stop your foolishness was innocent too - they had no fault, only a desire to protect our country. Yet they still paid the ultimate price for your foolishness, backstabbing traitors!” 

“That is quite enough!” The third rider, the one holding me, finally snaps at his colleagues. I think he is a little older than them, maybe a couple of years older than Braelyn and judging by his uniform, higher in rank. “We are here to escort them, not to argue and threaten them. Just do your fucking job and do it quietly!” he adds sternly and, even though I know he didn't do it for our sake – most likely, he was just sick of all the shouting –, I appreciate his intervention and I might be imagining it but I feel his hold on me loosening just a tiny bit. Not enough to give me an opening to free myself, but it is not as hurtful as before. 

 ⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ 

The next few moments pass in a blur. I am only vaguely aware that I am moving, but I don’t register anything I pass by and all that effort from earlier to make a mental map in case I get the opportunity to escape goes out the window. Frankly, whoever expects me to be able to concentrate on the maze of narrow hallways and stairs in my current situation is a fucking idiot. I can’t make sense of my own thoughts, let alone of my surroundings. 

I couldn’t tell how much time passed until we reached an area almost as wide as the foyer of the prison where the death list was read earlier. There are six other paths that open into this wider area, with a big wooden door with dragons and gryphons engaged in combat carved into it – unbelievable how far this Navarrian propaganda goes! And from each of the six other paths other groups of people emerge, most of whom I recognize: there is Eya with her mother and her two older cousins; Colonel Mairi followed by her son, Liam, with the girl, Sloane, clinging to her brother; Soleil along with her parents and one of her twin older brothers… I let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Bodhi, walking behind his father and paternal grandfather – there is a small comfort in knowing that at least he is alright, that he is here with me and I see my relief mirrored on his face.

I anxiously look towards the remaining path, chanting under my breath over and over again the same word – “please”. I am not even sure to whom I am addressing this plea to or why I still bother – force of habit, I guess. The gods clearly turned their backs on us a long time ago, deaf and blind to everything happening or otherwise plainly uncaring to it all – that is if they exist at all. 

Then I see Colonel Tavis, as stoic and collected as ever, but turning ever so often to look over his shoulder at a ghoul-like looking Mrs. Tavis who is mostly dragged by the soldier restraining her and, right behind them… I swear my heart almost jumps out of my chest when I see Garrick emerge from that dark hallway a few seconds later. His hazel eyes scrutinize the crowd around us, the same inspection I did myself, before they settle on Bodhi and then on me. Uncertainty, fear and confusion are clearly painted in every line of his face and in his tense stance – those seem to be the emotions of everyone here and I wonder to myself if they had been informed of where we are being taken and what we are about to see. Truth be told, I would prefer the blissful uncertainty to this cursed knowledge of what awaits us. 

These are all people I know well, people whom I grew up with or whom I saw on a daily basis around Riorson House whenever the boys and I played there or even around my own family estate, visiting my parents. Within every group, there is a gap, an absence that hangs heavily on all of us: Eya’s aunt, Soleil’s other brother, Bodhi’s grandmother… my uncle and Derik Tavis. Maybe, after all, my sister is right. Maybe they are the lucky ones, having been spared such a horrible end with their loved ones watching. 

And there is one other unexplainable absence, or rather two. But I am not left wandering about this one for long as the great wooden door is pushed open to reveal a wide field. I figure this must be the inner courtyard of the prison as it is encircled by different wings of the fortress on all sides, but it is ridiculously big. This whole prison is probably bigger than an entire village and I certainly don’t want to know what they need so much space for in the other wings of it. 

But the size of the courtyard is justified – had it been any smaller it wouldn’t fit all these dragons. There are at least fifty dragons, some of them aligned in formation on the ground, while the rest sit perched on the walls of the prison, but they barely spare a glance our way, their focus being on the other dragons on the field. The dragons of the riders who had been on our team, I realize when my eyes land on Jyst, then on Lystra and Gluasad. 

I shouldn’t be surprised at this point that they are making the dragons watch the execution of their chosen riders – after all, they showed us no mercy in this regard. However, I find it strange that the dragons, who are so set on not bowing to the rules of humans, agreed to subject their own to this torture. I know that maybe in their eyes they are traitors as well, but it is still beyond cruel for a punishment. 

On one side of the field there is a high tribune, the kind you would expect to see at the theater or something like that, every seat occupied by people who are dressed to the nines – most are dressed in fancy uniforms with shiny medals put on display, advertising their importance in the military ranks of Navarre, but there are also some dressed in aristocratic suits, with jewels and riches to advertise their wealth and power outside the battlefield. After all, maybe I was not wrong in comparing this crowd to that attending a spectacle – for them what is about to happen is indeed a show, like everything that we have been subjected to today. But it is also a celebration of their victory, so I would not be surprised if after all is said and done, they would throw an actual party to pat each other on the back for their cowardice. 

And, of course, at the top of the tribune, in a freaking lodge, there is the royal family – King Tauri, his wife and their two oldest sons, Crown Prince Halden and Prince Alic. The twin princes are not much older than I am, but from where I am standing, I don’t see any emotion on their faces – it's as if they are not going to see actual human beings about to be burnt alive right in front of them. 

Next to the tribune, there is some sort of scene, directly overlooking the center of the field where everyone's attention is directed. The black dragon in the middle of the field would be hard to miss even if he hadn’t been standing in such a strategic position – Codagh, General Melgren's dragon. The brown dragon I saw earlier, Aimsir, and a red clubtail flank both sides of the black dragon, but even they seem to try to keep some distance between themselves and the dragon who is at least twice their size. 

When we reach the stage, our group is divided into two, to my horror. The guards escorting me and the rest of the underage kids, force us onto the stage, while the rest are herded toward the center of the field. 

No, no, no! Not yet! I need to hug my mother and sister one more time! I haven't properly said goodbye to them yet! It's too soon, I am not ready! None of us are, if the sobs and wails around me are any indication. 

Once we are on the stage, the guards restraining us take a step back, leaving us free. They no longer need to hold us now, not when we can't move our feet. One of them must be a rider with an immobilizing signet or something of that kind because I feel my feet glued to the wooden floor of the stage where I stand between Bodhi and Garrick. 

Gradually, more and more groups of high-ranking rebel officers and their families show up, being divided the same way – the children, regardless of their age, are put on the scene with us, while the adults are placed in formation in front of Codagh. With one exception – the pregnant wife of Colonel Croia is placed on the stage with us. Nice to see that Navarre is at least capable of mercy in the case of unborn kids. 

By now everyone probably figured out why we are here and what is going to happen, but we are all too overwhelmed and scared to talk. Or maybe they silenced us as well, who knows? 

My eyes don't leave the place where my mother and sister stand at the front of the formation and they turn to look my way every once in a while as well, sketching what are supposed to be reassuring smiles. I close my fist around the smooth surface of the rune stone, raising prayers to whatever god might be listening. 

The last group to come consists of four people: General Sorrengail and another man in black rider leathers, his chest decorated with multiple medals attesting his rank, and, walking in front of them, there are Xaden and his father. At the sight of them, there is a murmur in the audience – of course, there he is! The man responsible for this whole rebellion is finally brought to ‘justice’. 

Xaden is forced to sit three steps in front of us on the wide platform, his position mirrored by his father. He turns around to look towards the three of us, his eyes shadowed by sadness and anger. But I also notice the unshed tears – he can't cry, not here where everyone is looking at him. 

Probably to acknowledge her contribution in putting an end to the rebellion, it is General Sorrengail who begins reciting the official sentence and the execution order, but I can’t concentrate on what she is saying. Isn't this supposed to be the moment when I woke up from the nightmare? This can't be real… it can't be fucking happening! But the bone-crushing hold Bodhi has on my right hand tells me that I am not dreaming, that we are indeed here and this is truly happening. 

For a moment, remembering Bodhi's words from earlier, I try to fool myself that there is still hope for someone to come and save us all, putting a stop to this fucked up show. But there is no one left and even if there was, no one would have the power to go against King Tauri and Melgren. Then I think that surely the dragons wouldn't just sit idly while their riders are killed – but they are just as helpless as we are. The dragons perched on the high walls are ready to kill all of us at the slightest sign of disturbance. 

No one is coming to our rescue. 

The names of each of the rebels are read afterward, starting with the lower ranks this time around and ending with the ones within Fen Riorson's inner circle. By the time I hear my mother's and my sister's names, tears are flowing freely down my cheeks, my sobs joining the chorus of cries and wails of all the kids, some of whom are too young to even understand what is happening. 

“... that being said, for your involvement in actions against Navarre, we hereby sentence you to death by dragonfire. May Malek have mercy on your souls,” General Sorrengail concludes, folding back the scroll she had been reading from and taking a step back as Codagh cranes his neck forward, opening his wide jaws and readying to incinerate everyone in one go.

Everything happens so fast. My vision is blurred by tears, but I still see that last look they give me – my mother's teary eyes and my sister's stoic resignation. For a fraction of a second, I even get the impression that she is smiling – a genuine, soft smile before it all ends in literal flames.

The cries of the other children are almost as deafening as the grieving roars of pain of the dragons. And had it not been enough, the psychical suffering is only fueled by the searing pain – my right arm, with which I’ve been holding the protective rune stone, felt like it was burning – like some of Codagh's flames somehow reached me as well, engulfing the skin of my arm in fire. </p>

In that same second right after it all happens, Xaden turns around and wraps his arms around Bodhi, protectively, just as Garrick pulls me to him. He allows me to hide my face into his chest as I bawl, clinging to him so tightly I might have bruised him. But he doesn't seem to care about that – he presses his cheek against my head, one of his hands tightly coiled around my waist as the other one holds the nape of my head, his fingers tangled into my hair. His body shakes as he cries, but neither one of us utters a single word and we don’t move until the screams of agonizing pain from the field completely die out and all that is left of our families is a pile of smoking dust carried away by the wind and the dragons’ lament quieted down. 

That day, something broke inside of me – broke so violently that I felt it ripple like an earthquake through me. The person I was before today burned alongside my sister and mother and only dust remains of her, a pale shadow of whom she used to be – even my name knelt down inside of me, pleading to be spared. And the same happened for every child on that platform, now bearing a swirling set of lines on their arms from that last protection their loved ones gave them upon their sacrifice. 

Do the gods love us now? After all, everyone knows that the thing the gods love above all else is a tragedy – and we might be the biggest one yet.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ 

Four years ago

The infirmary is mostly empty when we get there, which is not unusual for a Sunday afternoon. There are two or three healers on duty, mostly busying around to check on the medical supplies and clean around – the kind of administrative work that my mother, the renowned tyrant of order, usually leaves to the novices. I see some of these young healers straighten their backs as Derik and I enter, nervously chuckling as they greet us and hurry back to their duties with renewed fervor – it shows that they are new, otherwise they would know that in spite of me being the daughter of the head of the infirmary and Derik being my mother’s star pupil, we are not in the habit of giving a fuck if we see them lazying around, let alone bothering to snitch them to my mother. 

“You know I enjoy making people nervous, Tavis, but you better have a better reason than that to drag me here. I was kind of in the middle of something, you know?” I groan in annoyance as Derik holds the door to one of the private examination rooms open for me to enter.

“You should thank me for interrupting, Midge. Your sister was close by and I know Malek would have more mercy on those three idiots than Lyn will when she sees that project of yours.” He snorts a laugh, closing the door behind him before going to rummage through the supply cabinet next to the examination table. “What was that abomination anyway? You desecrated that poor training dummy!” 

“We improved it! Now it moves faster and swings weapons too!” I correct him, but even I have to admit that he is right about my sister’s reaction. I wouldn’t particularly want to be there when she sees our invention spit fire towards us - it sounded like a brilliant idea at the time; after all, in real combat, we should be able to dodge dragon fire and explosions, right? And fire signets are very common too! 

“Yes, you sure did. You transformed it into a death trap,” Derik chuckles, returning to my side with a sewing kit, gauze, disinfectant and some other bottles with tinctures I don’t recognize. “Dunne help us if the four of you are ever in charge and calling the shots. No one would be safe anymore.”

He puts the supplies on the table next to me and I raise an eyebrow seeing them, not understanding their necessity right now. “Come on, I don’t even need all that! I had worse burns from grabbing hot cups, Tavis,” I argue, referring to the minor burn on the back of my arm from the fire-spitting dummy.

“I should hope you don’t!” He says, pushing me away from the examination table so he can jump on it. Then he takes off the leather jacket he had on, carelessly throwing it on the chair behind him. “You need a steady hand for sewing. I am not that fond of scars, you know?”

I frown at the sight of the fresh cut across his abdomen and I mentally slap myself for not noticing that he was injured before. “What the fuck, Derik!” I say, making to turn towards the door, meaning to call one of the healers, but he grabs my arm to stop me. “You need someone to look at that thing!”

Derik fucking Tavis has the audacity to give me a grin, as if he finds my concern at his not-so-minor-looking injury amusing. “That’s why you are here, Midge,” He simply says, nodding towards the sewing kit next to us. “Now, the first thing you need to-” </p> 

“This is not funny! I have no medical training! There are actual healers right outside this room and that looks serious!” I begin to panic a little, but Derik just gives me a patient look, waiting for me to be done. I am starting to understand why Braelyn always says she wants to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face.

I have never had any interest in healer stuff. Yes, my mother is the head healer in Aretia. Yes, I have basically spent half my life in this infirmary, both as a visitor and as a patient (more times than I can count). But in spite of all that, I never cared to learn this craft – yes, it is useful and my mother would kill me if I ever uttered a disrespectful word against the importance of healers, but I have always been more inclined towards inflicting wounds than patching them up. In that regard, I resemble my father and sister. And Derik Tavis fucking knows that!

“Are you done? No hurry, I am just bleeding over here, take your time freaking out,” He jokes and then, at my irritated glare, he finally sighs and puts on a more serious face. “Look, Midge, I know you don’t like healer stuff, but you need to learn the basics at least. And what better time than the present!” 

“You are not making Garrick, Bodhi or Xaden learn this stuff!” I frown, taking a good look at the wound. 

Derik lets out another laugh at that. “Gods, no! Those three have the finesse of a dancing dragon. I wouldn’t trust them with a simple bandage!” He chuckles, his hazel eyes – the reverse of his brother’s, with the green surrounded by the warm brown – sparkling with amusement. “But they will need someone to take care of them after Lyn and I leave for Basgiath in a few months. I am not expecting you to be the greatest healer this continent has ever seen, but it might come in handy to know the basics. You understand?” 

I hesitate, still looking warily towards the wound. We are always running around doing stupid stuff and ever since Derik became my mother’s apprentice, we went to him whenever he got injured. Better to have him chastise us for our foolishness than risk our parents’ punishments – and sometimes he even kept our adventures a secret from Braelyn too, although that didn’t happen frequently and certainly not when I am the one sporting a new injury. In less than a year he and Braelyn will be at Basgiath and he knows we won’t stop doing stupid stuff or trying to avoid our parents finding out, so what Derik is proposing does make sense. I just nod. </p> 

“Good. Now, as I was saying, the first thing you need to do is to assess the injury. And to do that you need to get a clear view of it,” He starts explaining, giving me a pair of scissors. “This is not a critical wound, but it is always better to remove the layers without making the patient exert themselves too much. The last thing you need is their guts spilling out of them when you move them.”

I always thought Braelyn was the better teacher out of the two of them, considering Derik’s impatience and temperament, but his instructions are easy to follow – assess the wound, clean it with whatever you have at your disposal to avoid infection, apply ointments if you have them after you have already stitched up the wound (only after disinfecting the needle) and then dress the wound tightly. And, funny enough, sewing skin is way more satisfying than the needlework my mother once tried to teach me. 

“I take it this is one of those things we are not going to tell Bri about?” I ask as I finish the stitches.

“A little tighter there,” He instructs, barely flinching although I am sure it is painful to have a needle prodding through your skin like that. “About my injury or about these secret lessons?”

“Something tells me the answer is one and the same for both.” I snort a laugh.

Derik gives me that signature crooked smile of his that apparently managed to charm half of the female population of Aretia and got him out of trouble more than a few times. It never worked on my sister, though. Or on my mother. Or on me, for that matter, so I guess Cardulo women are immune. “And that, Midge, is why you are my favorite.”

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

Those lessons Derik gave me on how to tend to wounds seem to be a lifetime ago, but my mind works on autopilot as I tend to Xaden’s injuries this time. I have none of the medical supplies I had back then – no gauze, bandages, nothing to disinfect the countless cuts on my friend’s back with and the floor of our prison cell is far from a sterile environment. One of the guards took pity on us and brought us a bucket of water and I sacrificed my thin jacket so we could cut it into pieces to wash the cuts with. We established that Garrick's jacket, being of another kind of material and bigger, will be good enough to use as bandages later on.

I am not sure how much time has passed since the guards brought us and the Mairi kids down to this cell – it could be hours or even days at this point. It all ceased to matter in <i> that </i> moment. For a long time, we sat on the floor of the cell where we were thrown, clinging to each other as we mourned – we didn’t talk to each other, but the physical touch was enough of a reassurance to know that we were not alone in this suffering. What was even there to say, to discuss? 

Eventually, I noticed Bodhi pulling away in concern when Xaden’s breathing became more and more labored, the whines escaping him not so much from his crying as from the pain. That was when we all remembered about his injuries and it gave us something else to focus on. And the first look at the bloody mass on his back was enough to made us nauseous (I was sure Sloane Mairi was going to vomit at the sight, but she managed to hold it down) – I honestly have no idea how Xaden managed not to howl in pain all this time. Or how even as Garrick and I clean the cuts he only lets out little hisses or whimpers. 

“What does the deal entail?” Garrick asks, his knuckles white on the blood-imbued cloth. We knew the moment we saw the cuts what they meant – after all, we are all Tyrs, we know about this bloody tradition. He took responsibility for all of us, all the underage kids, and he somehow managed to keep us alive.

Xaden flinches when I press my cloth to a particularly deeper cut, squeezing Bodhi’s hand tighter in turn. In the corner of my eye, I catch Sloane Mairi cringing in sympathetic pain, clinging to her brother’s arm tighter. “We will all be conscripted into the Rider’s Quadrant when we turn twenty. No exceptions,” He explains, leaving us to fill in the gaps. The four of us have always wanted to become dragon riders, we have been training for it for years already, but not all the kids in these cells do – the horrified looks on Liam and Sloane’s faces are proof of that. It will sure be fun to break the news that we are headed to the deadliest Quadrant to the other kids who now bore the same dark lines on their arms. Not to mention that those very marks, coming from our parents’ desire to protect us, are now like a target on our backs, signaling us out in a crowd.

“Why the Rider Quadrant? Aren’t they afraid we will bond a dragon and pick up from where our parents left?” Liam asks, his brilliant blue eyes moving between the four of us, clearly puzzled. 

“Because of the death rate,” Garrick snorts, his eyes trailing my movements as I drop the bloody cloth and reach for a new, somewhat cleaner one before he decides to follow my lead. “Why dirty their hands when the people in the Quadrant will take care of that for them? This way, they are hitting two birds with one stone – they get rid of us and still maintain the merciful image because they technically allowed us to live and gave us a chance. Fucking propaganda.”

“Still, there is still a very big chance the dragons would choose to bond with some of us. Maybe they are actually giving us a chance…” Liam presses on and I am not sure whether he is clinging to this foolish hope Command is capable of mercy for his sake or for his sister’s. The poor little thing is literally trembling where she sits nestled in her brother’s side. 

But I have had enough of foolish hope and my patience is slowly running out. How can someone even hold on to something as fickle as blind hope after everything that happened? “Can you honestly believe something like that? Look what happened to the dragons who chose our side! They know that if the people in the Quadrant don’t end us, the dragons will,” I sneer, closing my eyes and clenching my fist around the wet cloth as I remember the deafening roars and shrieks of the dragons, how the earth itself seemed to shake under the weight of their pain. Some of those dragons didn’t rise again, falling victim to the cruelty of Navarre when the bonds with their riders were severed – Gluasad, the red morningstar bonded to Bodhi’s dad, was one of them. So was Jyst.

I meet Garrick's eyes for a moment – silently agreeing with me, while Bodhi averts his gaze, looking down at the dirty cement. A strangled sob leaves Sloane’s throat and Liam glares at me, opening his mouth to probably argue with me or to complain about my bluntness, but Xaden cuts him off: “That’s enough! It doesn’t matter what Navarre wants or what their plans are. We are alive and, for now, that is enough. Conscription is still years from now and a lot can change. What happens once we get to Basgiath and the dragons’ decision is not something we can control, but we will do everything that is within our power – we will train, we will keep our heads down and play by the rules. We will see from there.”

That sounds a lot like my sister’s words. Survive, that was the last thing she and my mother asked of me and the last thing I want to do right now. As if sensing my thoughts, Xaden turns to look between me and Garrick, his onyx eyes burning with anger and defiance as he wordlessly makes a promise: we will bide our time, we will play by the rules, until we can finally have our revenge.

“What is going to happen now?” Bodhi breaks the silence, leaning back against the wall but still holding his cousin’s hand as Garrick and I resume our job of tending to the 107 fresh cuts.

“They are going to send us to different foster homes. Most likely with families that proved their loyalty to Navarre,” Xaden says, anger still radiating through every pore of his body. “They think that by keeping us separated we will be divided. That won’t happen.” The last part comes as a promise to me, Garrick and Bodhi, but Xaden also turns towards the Mairi siblings. “We will all see each other at Basgiath.”

Garrick and Xaden will be the first to be conscripted, being one year older than me and Bodhi. A whole damn year is a long time and a lot can happen, especially in a place like Basgiath, but I don’t want to think how these might be the last moments I will ever have with them. If there is someone who can survive in there, it’s them, right?

“Come to think of it, it’s not that bad. A nice little vacation away from you three? Pure bliss,” Bodhi tries to joke, but his voice shakes a little too much for it to have the desired effect. He seems to be aware of that because his shoulders drop and now instead of the forced grin, he gives us a weak, yet hopeful little smile. “It’s just four years, right? Five until Liam joins us and then Sloane. We can do this; we will write to each other all the time and we will barely feel it. Before we know it we will all be together again!”

I wish I could share his hopefulness, I really do, but my mind is racing with all the things that could possibly go wrong in four years. Four full years away from the only family I have left! I don’t even want to think how hard it would be for Sloane and Liam who will be separated for six years!

But we all swear right then and there, in that filthy prison cell, to make it through the next four years and meet again. I don’t know what is going to happen, I don’t have high hopes, but I will make sure to do everything within my power to make it to that day four years from now.

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇ 

At some point in the next few days, some guards came to take Sloane and Liam, saying that they will be taken to see their father, Isaac Mairi. We all know without being explicitly told that they are going to watch another execution, even though their father had been separated from their mother and had no involvement in the rebellion whatsoever – to Navarre he is a possible threat: what if he decides to talk about all the things he knows from his ex-wife, in an attempt to support his children? I wonder how many others will be forced to relive the nightmare of watching their remaining family members die – and just because they are related to them and there is a slim chance of knowing the truth! 

That same day, another guard comes for Garrick and Bodhi, announcing that they have been assigned to a foster home. Together. That was the best possible scenario – they would not be alone; they would not have to face everything on their own. For the next three years, we can all rest assured that at least the two of them will be alright.

Those three minutes we are given to say goodbye are confusing. We are crying, laughing and hugging each other and I try to hold on to them for as long as I possibly can. At least I know they are not going to die right away, that this goodbye is not forever, but that doesn’t mean that my emotions aren’t all over the place – I am happy for them, I truly am, and I would never hold this lucky coincidence they got against them.

But, at the same time, I am only human. As soon as the cell door closes behind them, my eyes fill with tears and I dig my fingers into my palm to keep me from actually crying. It is not even sadness – or, more like, not only sadness. I feel awful for it, but I am jealous. I am envious of how they will get to spend the next three years together, helping each other through it all, while I will be all on my own. And that last thought, the knowledge that I am going to be alone with all my fears and feelings, alone with all my pain, terrifies me more than anything. 

I look up when I feel a hand on my shoulder, finding the same conflicting feelings in Xaden’s onyx eyes, an almost perfect mirror of my own inner turmoil. “I know,” he whispers, pulling me to him in a tight hug. “It’s going to be okay, Im. I promise, it will be alright. I will make sure of it. In four years from now, we will all be okay.” </p>

In all the years I have known Xaden Riorson, he never broke any of his promises – I sure hope he won’t start now. Because that promise might just be the only thing keeping me together. 

Chapter Text

The clip-clop of horse hooves trots against the dusty road, raising a cloud of dust in their wake and I try to focus on the thump of the wheels or the way the carriage jolts whenever it hits the uneven terrain. Looking out the window doesn't help – plain fields that maybe a scribe with poetic aspirations would admire for the way the crops seem to shine in the brightness of a summer day or some boring and meaningless shit like that (stuff that would get my old tutor excited, but that feels like a lifetime ago). Honestly, I don't even acknowledge the sunlight because it feels like a personal affront that it is still shining – how dare it? 

We pass through a few villages, but they are somehow even more insipid than the crop fields. They are more of a distraction than the fields, but not the kind I am looking for – seeing the faces of the Navarrians who go about their day without a care only fuels my rage, empowering the thoughts I am trying my best to ignore. 

I've been left alone in the carriage because my new guardian chose to ride on his dragon and, ever since he showed up at the door of the cell in Calldyr to pick me up, I have seen him only during the two stops we made to allow the horses to rest. He didn't even acknowledge my presence on those occasions, preferring to talk to the hired driver (not that I am yearning for his company, or for any company). 

I am trying to convince myself that it's because of his dragon flying overhead that I didn't try to run away, but deep down I know that's a lie – there are no guards or handcuffs, or anything at all to stop me from jumping, and we passed through a couple of forests where I could have made myself almost invisible, yet I didn’t attempt to break free. 

Because it's pointless. Where would I go? Aretia was burned to the ground and even if it wasn't, there is no one waiting for me there. I have no living relatives to seek refuge with and my friends are scattered across the continent in gods only know what conditions. I am not making any illusions about my foster situation – King Tauri made a statement on “how he hopes that the mercy he's shown us would be rewarded with our loyalty and how he entrusts the merciful aristocrats willing to take us in with guiding us towards the right path and away from the misleading teachings of our families.” He tasked them with reforming us into proper Navarrians, so the most I can hope from my new guardian is for him to continue to ignore my existence until he can wash his hands of me in about four years. 

The problem with this entire scenario is that it leaves me in a state of complete inertia – there is nothing to do and the idleness heightens my thoughts, making them even louder, unavoidable and torturous. 

Better a traitor than a liar and a coward. At least I will go out knowing I fought for what is right, can you say the same ? 

Her voice rings in my head and, as stupid as it sounds, it feels as if her mere memory fills the deafening silence of the carriage. Whenever I close my eyes her face flashes before my eyes – the defiant look in her green eyes, the rage and powerlessness… the ghost of a smile she gave me just before her screams joined the chorus of agony that filled the field. And when it's not my sister, it's my mother's tear-stained face and her worried brown eyes that flash before my eyes. Mrs. Tavis' limp body being dragged across the field haunts me all the same, along with Mr. Tavis and Mr. Riorson – they have been a constant presence in my life, my father’s best friends, but that was the first time ever I saw them look so broken and utterly defeated. 

It's somewhat better when I think of my uncle or Derik because my last memories of them are not tainted by their last moments – which doesn't mean it stops my mind from conjuring possible scenarios for how they might have found their end on the battlefield, but I can at least cling to the memories of the last time I saw both of them. Derik winking at Garrick and me before he took off with Aynde or my uncle joking about asking for a promotion after the battle, before he left Riorson House to join his squad – those memories are far easier to stomach compared to the piercing screams of all the adults in my life as they were reduced to a pile of dust to be carried away by the wind. 

The whole ordeal lasted less than five seconds, but it didn't feel like that – it felt like it went on and on, every single detail engraved in my memory forever. Worst thing is that I know these details won’t fade over time like it happens with most memories.

I have faced death and loss before. I’ve watched as Malek chipped away at my father’s health day after day, taking pieces of him as the illness progressed – his strength, his vibrant laugh and playful demeanour – until there was only a shell of the man he used to be. 

That pain never went away and I still remember every detail about that last day – the metallic stench that filled the room as he kept vomiting blood, the bluish hue of his skin as he struggled to breathe, his once flaming red hair looking ashen and thin as it stuck to his sweaty skin… Mr. Riorson had pulled some strings to get Braelyn permission to come home from Basgiath once we knew the end was near. I remember sitting with her on the edge of my parents’ bed, both of our hands wrapped around his damp palms, fighting the tears in my eyes because I didn’t want to miss a second of those precious last moments. He had been too weak to speak, but there were no words to be shared in that moment anyway. His green eyes were probably the only speck of color on his ghostly face, and even though they were heavily burdened by exhaustion and pain, he still looked at each of us with pure love one last time before he closed his eyes, never to open them again.

In his eulogy, Gerald Tavis said he never thought he would live to see the day my father, one of the strongest fighters he ever knew and his oldest friend, would ever lose a battle and Fen Riorson admired my father’s strong will and determination as he fought to the end, even as the enemy this time was his own failing body. 

They talked about death and dying as a battle, as any soldier would, and that analogy has stayed with me – in the year and a half my father struggled, I’ve heard this metaphor so many times I grew to resent it because everyone was using it around us. I found it stupid, because a battle means you have even a tiny chance to win – how can you win when the enemy is your own body? 

But I guess they were right in one respect – just like any battle, this one had violent casualties, aside from the obvious one. For as long as I have watched my father's health decline, I also watched my mother losing the love of her life and despairing — the greatest healer in Aretia, the woman who healed thousands of people but couldn't heal her own husband. I was also the one to write to my sister as all that happened, trying to keep as much as possible from her because she was in Basgiath and she couldn’t afford distractions. 

After it was all said and done, the aftermath bore the same hopelessness of a bloody battlefield – my mother barely got out of bed for a few months; my sister, who had learned of our father's condition at the last moment, was visibly shaken and constantly crying and my uncle was left to try and keep everyone together, crying whenever he thought no one saw him.

And as for me… once the initial devastation wore off and I had no more tears to cry, I was filled with another emotion, one I was very familiar with, but never quite learned how to manage – anger. I was angry at anything and everything, as irrational as possible. I was mad at my mother for not being able to fix him, and I was angry with my sister for leaving and not being there with us. I would go off at people who only tried to comfort me and… I was especially furious at my father for dying and leaving us all in shambles. 

So I had danced with Malek before, I’d tasted the bitterness of his powers, but I was wrong to assume back then that there was nothing worse than the pain I tried to bury underneath my anger. Back then, I had time to prepare for the loss – that didn't help alleviate the pain, but it spared me from dealing with the shock. 

And, more importantly, back then I had the luxury of not being alone. I was surrounded by people and, as irritated and angry as I was with them, deep down I appreciated it. 

Now, I am left alone with my anger and I realise that on top of the fear, the despair, the shock and the sorrow… I am also very lonely. 

I can’t sneak into my mother's bed because the house feels empty, and I don't have Braelyn’s letters to look forward to for comfort. I desperately want to run to Bodhi’s house and just talk to him about anything, to dance around the subject until he eventually gets me to talk about what’s really bothering me and I could surely do with a sparring match against Garrick, who always let me take out my feelings and frustrations on the mat, against him. I could even do with emotionally unavailable Xaden – we could avoid the problems together; at least then I wouldn't be alone. 

So I try to focus on the flame of anger inside me because it is easier to face than the depressing reality of my predicament for the next three years. And damn it, I am angrier than I've ever been! There are dozens of things I am angry about: Navarre being led by a bunch of cowards, normal citizens for being prejudiced dumbasses who follow their idiot leaders, Lilith Sorrengail and General Melgren for orchestrating this entire ordeal… I am proud of my family for standing up for what's right, but I am mad at them for dying on me. I am jealous of Garrick and Bodhi for being paired together and I envy Sloane Mairi because, even though she can't see Liam for a few years, she still has an older brother who loves her and who will do anything in his power to shoulder the weight of the world in hopes of making it more bearable for her. 

And I know I should be grateful to Xaden for saving our lives – and I am, truly. But a small part of me resents him for depriving me of the chance of joining my family on that field. 

The carriage halts to a stop, (fortunately) jolsting me out of my thoughts before I can spiral further into my self-pity and hatred. I push aside a corner of the curtain to peek outside only to be met by the golden eye of the red club tail who landed just next to the carriage – the surviving sliver of survival instinct inside of me kicks in and I quickly avert my gaze, dropping the curtain. Another stop? 

The door opens to reveal the reddish face of the carriage driver and I clench my fists to stop myself from launching at his neck when his eyes drop to my uncovered arm, to the dark twisting lines there, with undisguised repulsion and hatred. My family's sacrifice and their love is perceived as a mark of dishonor and that is yet another thing to add to the list of things that anger me. 

“Move, girl,” he sneers, lunging to grab my arm and pull me out of the carriage. I stumble and after hours of sitting on that damned bench, my joints protest at the sudden movement and my body feels stiff and heavy. His grip on my arm is too tight and I am pretty sure it will bruise, but I can’t bring myself to care. I shoot him a glare when he shakes me, which only prompts him to repeat the action, “You insolent brat, who do you think you –”

Before he can even finish, his angry outburst is cut short as a firm hand peels him away from me. “I’ll take it from here, Mr. Kaine. Thank you for your service.” 

I stubbornly keep my gaze fixed on the pavement, refusing to look up at my guardian. I hear rather than see the carriage driver walk away, muttering something about checking on the horses. From the corner of my eye, I can just make out that we are no longer on the road – looks like we’ve reached our destination. 

“Come on, you must be tired from the road,” he addresses me again, wisely keeping his hands to himself – not that I would dare put up a fight, not with the huge dragon watching our every move. 

I almost scoff at the idea of being tired – I am exhausted, but the road is far from the reason for that. I can’t even remember the last time I slept and my mind feels heavy after having worked overtime for the past few days since the Apostasy, recounting and reliving every second on repeat. Maybe if I just do as I am told, he will go back to ignoring my existence and I can just crash somewhere. 

Our destination proves to be a huge mansion with intricate architecture and recently reinforced walls that point to it not always having been in the administration of a rider. The Durran Mansion was similar – Mr. and Mrs. Durran were the first generation of riders in their family and I remember Bodhi lived in Riorson House an entire year because their family’s house almost crumbled under the weight of two dragons when they would sit perched on the high walls. 

The interior of the mansion is surprisingly bright, with high stained-glass windows and the walls painted a pleasant shade of cream and half-covered with dark, polished wood. It’s… warm. The furniture is tasteful and matches the warm atmosphere and I wouldn’t think this is the home of one of Navarre’s top riders. 

However, I don’t get to appreciate the surroundings for long before a blur of movement on the grand staircase catches my attention. “You are finally here!” Comes an excited squeal that makes me tense and instinctively reach for the dagger that I don’t have anymore. I feel naked without the small blade that I always held strapped to my hip. 

“Quinn,” my guardian huffs affectionately, but I don’t miss the hint of warning in his tone as the girl – Quinn – comes closer. She looks around my age, with blonde curls that bounce around her shoulders, giving her a childish and innocent look, and her green eyes shine with excitement, as if she is a child on Solstice morning – I instantly hate her guts. 

“Hi! I’m Quinn Hollis! I’ve decided we should be friends!” She announces, extending her hand for me to shake, a sweet smile spreading over half her face. She has that kind of smile that you can just see in every line of her face, her dark green eyes crinkling at the corners and she holds herself with the self-assurance of a person aware of their charm and the fact that everyone likes them. 

I look down at her hand, but I don’t say anything, assessing her. Sensing the tension, Colonel Cal Hollis draws his voice, “Imogen, meet my daughter, Quinn. Quinn, this is Imogen Cardulo,” he makes the introductions and even my own name feels foreign and weird on this man’s lips. I feel so uprooted from my home and it seems like my own identity was left behind along with it, lost in the ashes that my home and my family have been reduced to. “She will be staying with us for the next four years, so we will treat her like a member of our family.”

“We will have so much fun together! I already prepared some of my clothes for you, but we can get you new clothes – oh, that will be so fun! We can go riding and we can do each other’s hair and we can train together and…” she goes on and on about all the ‘exciting and fun things’ she expects us to do together, but I stop paying attention, feeling like I am watching this entire scene unfold from far away, as if it’s not right in front of my eyes. “I’ve always wanted a sister and –” 

Sister. That word gets my attention, cutting through the numbness that settled over me, letting the anger shimmering underneath bleed out. That manages to snap me back into my own body and out of the indifferent stupor.

I level one of my nastiest glares on her and she finally shuts up, pressing her lips in a tight line, her cheeks slightly puffed out in what would be a comical way if I weren’t entertaining my current homicidal thoughts. I don’t know what she expected exactly, but she couldn’t be further from the truth – I am not her friend and she will never be my sister . I already have one and this clown doesn’t even come close to her. No one ever will.

“May I retire to a room?” I ask, forcing my voice to remain flat, reigning in my anger the best I can. 

Quinn’s cheeks turn red and she opens her mouth, undoubtedly about to say another dumb thing – like an apology even though she probably has no idea what she did wrong in the first place, but her father steps in again. He nods, gesturing towards the stairs, “Of course, I will show you to your room.” 

I don't look back at Quinn as I follow her father up the stairs. 

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

The next few weeks pass in a blur and time loses its meaning as the days blend together. The simplest tasks, like getting out of bed in the morning and eating, seem insurmountable and, in the end... What reason do I have to get out of bed in the morning anyway? Even when I do get out of bed, I don't leave my room anyway. 

Not because I am not allowed to. Colonel Hollis made it clear on the first day that I am free to go anywhere in the mansion and to do as I please, but leaving the room means facing the world and that's not something I feel up to. If I am being honest, even being awake is a struggle – when I am awake, I am plagued by thoughts, by memories and regrets and they all weight down on me, making me search the comforting oblivion of sleep, but I am deprived of it because the same things that plague me during the day, haunt me at night as well. 

Besides, whenever I leave this bedroom, I bump into Quinn, and I am sick of hearing her endless apologising and irritating attempts to strike a conversation with me.

It's easier to just stay here, where I don't have to exhaust myself by interacting with anyone. Well, almost no one – twice a day, Quinn knocks on my door to bring me something to eat (not that I can bring myself to, most days) and even if I ignore her, she is undeterred from her attempts to talk to me, telling me what a beautiful day it is and how much a nice stroll can help and other such bullshit. 

Speaking of the devil… 

“Imogen?” The knock is followed by the creak of the door opening. I mentally prepare myself for the next ten to fifteen minutes of her yapping about some thing and another and debate the merits of pretending to sleep – maybe that will get her to leave me alone. 

I wait for the clank of the tray on the nightstand, but it doesn't come, and Quinn is uncharacteristically quiet – which irritates me because I just want to get this over with and return to my business (or lack thereof, whatever). I roll on my side with a groan that I would normally be ashamed of (gods, I've never felt so stiff and heavy) and try for an intimidating glare – which doesn't have the intended effect. “What?” I snap, tensing a little myself at the rough brokenness in my voice. 

Quinn hums in contemplation as her dark eyes inspect me. I grit my teeth, annoyed, and repeat my question a little louder this time, feeling the shimmering embers of anger reignite as she concludes her assessment with a shake of her head and a long pained sigh – who does she think she is?! 

“I won't pretend to have known your family or understand your loss, but I am certain they wouldn't like to see you like this, wallowing in self-pity.” 

“How dare you–” My angry snarl is cut short by my weakened joints loudly protesting as I try to push myself to a standing position. 

The look in her eyes infuriates me even more – a mix between pity and an “I told you so.” Guess this was bound to happen. Her kindness was unusual given the circumstances, she is the daughter of a Navarrian rider and she undoubtedly believes every piece of propaganda her beloved nation feeds her on a silver spoon – I should be grateful that it's just mocking and making fun of me. 

“Are you done?” I croak out, managing to put enough venom in the words so that I don’t feel as weak and helpless – an appearance, but the illusion is better than the lack of it. I manage to push myself in a seated position so I can properly glare at her. “Have you gotten your fill?” 

Her brows furrow for a second before her shoulders drop and her voice goes back to that fake sweetness of hers. “I am not here to mock you, Imogen,” Quinn says before pursing her lips, as if she is weighing her words. “I am here to help, if only you would let me. I don’t like seeing you like this…” 

I scoff at that, even though I am aware that I am not at my best, not even close. “What's it to you? Go back to your perfect world with –,” I ponder for a second, “ – rainbows and unicorns. Or whatever.” 

“I care because I don't like seeing people hurting.” Gods, she doesn't give up, does she? “Because I know what it's like to suffer in silence and I would rather you don't waste away and give them the satisfaction of seeing you wither.” 

Xaden’s words from just a couple of days ago ring in my mind as if they were ages ago. I narrow my eyes on her at that last part, really looking at the young aristocrat since I got here. “What do you know about pain?” I sneer, my tone bitter with accusation. 

“You’d be surprised. More than I would like to,” Quinn says evenly, but there is something in her dark green eyes that gives me pause, something that I find familiar. So I don’t snap at her again, allowing her to continue as she steps closer to sit on the edge of my bed. “I won't compare our situations because I can't even imagine how it feels to just lose everything and everyone like that. But I know what losing your mother feels like and I know how painful and bleak the world can look in her absence.” 

She takes my silence as a sign to continue and I don't stop her – I am not sure whether that's because I have a morbid curiosity to learn of other people's pain as a distraction from my own or something else. I never thought I would become the sort of person who can find comfort in other people’s pain, but I do just that — it doesn’t lessen my own, but it helps with the sense of loneliness. 

“My mother… She'd been sick ever since I was little and no doctor could figure out the cause. When I was seven we came very close to actually losing her. None of the healers gave her any chance, but this healer lady from Tyrrendor saved her – it wasn't a cure, but she gave my mother this tincture and kept sending it every month afterwards… My mom would call it her fairy dust potion to make me laugh…” The smile on her face is sad as she looks down at her hands. “It gave her six more years, but not even the fairies can fool Malek for long.” 

She doesn't have to tell me who the healer was – the pointed look she gives me is the only confirmation I need. So that's why the Hollis’ took me in and why they’re so kind to me – they have a debt to pay to my mother. That explains the polite distance the Colonel maintains from me and the apparent freedom I’ve been granted. 

“Look, you can drop this shit. If you think you owe me something just because of my mom, consider your debt paid,” I say, waving my hand dismissively in her direction. As far as I am concerned, they actually did more than was expected of them — willingly taking in a child of separatist rebels must have chipped their family’s reputation. “I won’t give you any problems and we can each just go about our business for the next four years until I am officially out of your hair.” 

 Quinn crosses her arms over her chest, humming contemplatively. “You mean until you fall to your death off the Parapet?” I slowly turn to level another glare on the blonde aristocrat. How dare she- “Oh, don’t give me that look. At this rate, it will be a miracle if you don’t pass out on the turret stairs.” 

I see red at that. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Hollis!” I growl, enraged enough by the accusation that I get out of the bed only to glare at her from the same height. 

She tilts her head to the side, her golden curls falling in a soft cascade to frame her face in a way that gives her a false innocent look — she is by no means that, she is a little viper and I am just now starting to see that. “Don’t I?” 

I am about to snap, to point out all the years of training — I grew up in a military family, I’ve held weapons in my chubby fingers practically since I could walk and even though my parents were not riders, there have always been dragons around me. I’ve wanted this life long before Navarre turned it from a dream to a death sentence.

However, I don’t get to say any of that because Quinn raises her eyebrow at me, “Prove me wrong, then. Fight with me.” The challenge is clear in her dark eyes and I don’t look away. “Good. I’ll give you ten minutes to sort…” She gestures to my unwashed hair and dirty sleeping clothes, “all this, to spare you of an even bigger humiliation.” 

And with that, she turns on her heels and leaves. The nerve of this arrogant girl has me all riled up, so I miss the tilt of her lips. 

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

The first sparring match, I lose spectacularly. 

Somehow, this little golden princess manages to put me on my ass in under ten minutes, but the wave of shame and embarrassment quickly turns into stubborn determination. There is absolutely no way she can best me with bo staffs — I was trained alongside Xaden, the fucking heir of Tyrrendor, and I could best Bodhi and Garrick on the sparring mat even when I was sore and tired! Heck, I once got Braelyn to tap out in a sparring match and there is no way Miss Rainbows and Sunshine here is better than any of them. 

So I ask for a rematch. 

“Don’t feel bad,” Quinn taunts me, a sugar sweet smile on her face as we circle each other on the mat. “I will take you easy this time, maybe you will make it longer than ten minutes. That would be less embarrassing.”

“Maybe I was the one taking you easy the first time,” I retort, side-stepping to avoid her kick to my side. At the last fucking moment, fuck . 

In spite of my arrogant retort, I was certainly not taking it easy on her, I came in here prepared to kick her ass, boiling with barely contained rage. My snarky tongue might be the only muscle in my body that doesn’t feel stiff and sore — it’s only been a few damned days, but my body feels foreign and my movements are unacceptably awkward, so much so that I internally cringe when I miss the easiest openings and barely avoid the lamest excuses of an attack from her. And, worst of all, I am panting with exhaustion already — after ten fucking minutes?! 

As if sensing my thoughts, Quinn’s next taunt hits even closer to home, “You have the basics, I’ll give you that, but damn! Tired already? Maybe you will make it halfway up the stairs after all, Cardulo. A valiant effort.”

I scrunch my nose in a sneer at her words. At this point, I am mostly running on anger and spite, but it pays off when I manage to strike a quick hit to her legs, sweeping them from under her. “Get off the high horse, princess. I am just warming up.” I blow a longer strand of hair out of my face as she jumps back to her feet. It’s a blatant lie, but my ego is already too bruised from all the hits she’s managed to get in. “What excuse do you have?”

“What do you mean?” Her pace falters as we circle each other and I quickly hit her side with my staff, the ghost of a smirk dancing on my lips at the indignant look she gives me. 

“Your knees are straight and you favor your right side, so your center of gravity is off. And you grip that staff too tightly, so you can’t maneuver it as easily,” I point out. 

“Still, I got you on your ass,” She says, defensively. I pretend not to notice as she adjusts her stance, bending her knees ever so slightly and loosening her grip on the staff. 

I shrug, twisting my own staff between my fingers. “Do you really think it will be as easy to do that in Basgiath?” I laugh, shaking my head. “They will eat you alive, princess.” 

She considers me for a moment and I expect another acidic retort, but the corners of her mouth lift upwards in a smile. “What else am I doing wrong?” With the back of her hand, she pushes her damp bangs away from her forehead. 

“Telling you would give you an unfair advantage, don’t you think?” I scoff, narrowing my eyes on her. 

“Fine, then how about this — we keep training together and I learn as we go.” 

“What do I get out of that?” 

“You get less rusty. Who knows, maybe you will survive to see the Parapet.” The offer is presented with just enough of a challenge and taunt for me to begrudgingly respect it. Maybe she is not as much of a prissy as I initially thought. 

If things were different, I could actually see myself  liking her. Maybe even being friends with her, although I have a terrible track record with being friends with other girls. But now… I am not ready to surrender my rage. 

At least for now. 

“Deal.”

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

I hear her footsteps on the ladder behind me and I debate the merits of jumping just to avoid her, but I decide that the cons heavily outweigh the pros. It would mean getting up from this semi-comfortable position I seem to have grown roots in over the last… gods know how many hours. And even if I were to try something like that, she would just use her signet to command me to stand down before I took even two steps. 

“I had a feeling I’d find you here,” My sister says with an uncharacteristic softness that makes me grit my teeth. I almost wish for the arguments and fights we used to kick up in this very same tree house when we were younger and each wanted to use the space to hang out with our friends. 

I rest my head against the rough bark of the old oak. “And why is that?” 

Braelyn chooses to ignore the snarky sarcasm in my question and answers as if it were genuine and not me being intentionally nasty. “You always come up here when you are upset and don't want to face the world.” Her response is followed by an eyeroll that's meant to highlight how obvious it was. 

“Yeah, whatever.” As she herself said, I come here because I don't want to be around people and she is not an exception to the rule. “Shouldn't you be on your way back to Basgiath already?” 

She is already in her flight leathers, the dark material clinging to her body like a second skin, and all six of her daggers are properly tucked in their sheaths at her thighs and along her sides. And these are only the weapons she allows to be visible, mostly for accessibility — I know for a fact that there must be other blades hidden in her armour and at least a safety blade in her right boot. She hasn't put on her leathers in the four days she's been home, so her leave from Basgiath must be nearing its end. 

However, my sister doesn't seem to be in any hurry. She looks so at odds with our old childhood treehouse in her dragon rider gear, but there is no sign of being uncomfortable in the way she strides to where I am sitting on a dirty rug, mirroring my position. 

“Want to get rid of me already, monkey?” She jokes, but the teasing smile on her lips is forced. “I just wanted to make sure you're alright, you barely said anything since the funeral.” 

I sink my fingers in the pockets of the tattered jacket, burrowing my face in the material. It does nothing against the biting December cold, but it still holds the scent of my father’s favorite soap and that smell that is – was – just him. Woody, with a hint of ground coffee and a faint note of tobacco from the many nights he wore it to smoke outside because my mom hated his bad habit — a much more preferable smell than the stench of smoke and burning flesh that I haven’t been able to shake off since the funeral two days ago. The entire house seems to still hold that rotten smell, along with the pungent stench of illness and decay. 

Whenever I walk inside, I hear the ghostly echoes of the funeral songs we sang in the living room. It’s the Tyrrish tradition to honor the dead by celebrating their lives with song and dance, but now that room feels cold and lifeless, with the withering flowers that fill the room with the sickly smell of decay. After everyone had left, though, an eerie quiet befell the entire house and I didn’t dare disturb it. I started longing for the music and chatter, even though I hated it in the moment — at least it gave me something to occupy my mind with, distracting me from the grief.

Once the funeral was over, my mom locked herself up in one of the empty rooms because she couldn’t bring herself to stay in the room he died in. Mrs. Tavis stayed behind to help Braelyn and I clean up, but even then we moved quietly, as if afraid to disrupt the dense silence that made the house feel more grief-appropriate, turning it into a mausoleum.

“If you are here to impart your invaluable experience with loss and grief, save it,” I mutter, my face still pressed into dad’s jacket. 

She scoffs, “Gods, no. I'm as lost as you are in this.” 

“Who said I was lost?” I retort, just to be difficult. I raise my head enough to glare at her, but a flash of silver in her hand catches my eye. 

She is playing with one of her daggers, one from the set that dad commissioned from Morag Tavis, Garrick’s aunt on his father’s side and the master of weapons in Aretia. It was a gift for her twentieth and Morag truly outdid herself with them — six daggers of lethal beauty with their long, narrow and deadly sharp edges; the hilts, cast in warm, burnished silver, curved outward in elegant, almost playful hooks, more ornamental than practical — until one realizes how easily they could catch an enemy's blade. The grip is wrapped in dark leather, worn smooth in places by years of use, fitting the hand as naturally as a memory. These are not daggers made for show, despite their beauty— they were forged for battle, for drawing the last blow with lethal accuracy. 

Above the crossguard, on either side, there are two golden medallions, no bigger than the nail of my little finger — one is a subtle mark of the blade’s maker, the sigil of the Tavis family with its roaring bear and the initials of Morag Tavis. On the other side is our own family’s crest, two wolf heads, back to back, separated by a sword. 

“If that's so, then by all means.” Braelyn catches the dagger by the tip, raising her eyebrow with a skeptical look. “I am all ears, wise one. Enlighten me on how to deal with grief because, frankly, I’ve never felt more lost.”

I purse my lips and look away — I don't have an answer to that and we both know it. It helps however to know that she is feeling as lost as I am. 

Silence stretches between us, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable. It's actually weirdly… soothing. 

“Is it normal to be so angry?” I finally ask, resting my chin on top of my bent knees.

“Why wouldn't it be normal?” My sister asks, her brows furrowing as she picks at an old wooden board with the tip of her blade. 

I shrug. “Aren’t people supposed to cry and be sad after losing someone?” Like our mom, but I don't have to point that out. We both saw the state she's in. “All I feel is anger and when it's not anger… I don't feel anything at all.”

Braelyn hums in thought, her green eyes getting that far away look that signals she is also talking to her dragon. Must be nice, having such a bond and never being alone. Whatever her dragon's input was, my sister doesn't share it with me. 

“I'm angry too,” she finally admits. “Among other things. Every time someone would come to me with those stupid lines about how he is in a better place and how it will all get better with time… gods, I have no idea how I didn’t lose my shit during the service.” 

“I did.” I let out a deep breath, watching as the warm air is instantly engulfed by the biting cold. “Garrick said something like that and I bit his head off.”

“Guilt.” She leans her head back against the tree, closing her eyes. “I wasn’t here for him when he needed me. Fuck, I didn’t even know how serious it was and there were days when I was so caught up with stuff at Basgiath that I didn’t even think about…” 

“He didn’t want you to know,” I interrupt, looking up at her. “You are fighting to survive there every day, it’s normal not to think about us every waking moment. He knew it. And you were there for him when it mattered.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t resent her for her absence during those days when it was only me and mom, I did — so I keep quiet.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wish I could have made it here sooner,” she sighs, passing a hand over her face. 

Then she fishes a little tin box out of one of her pockets and opens it to reveal a dozen neatly rolled cigarettes and a few matches. The silence envelops us again, but it is not uncomfortable — I watch as my sister brings the roll of churram to her lips, lights it up and takes a deep breath, pushing the smoke out slowly. I’ve never seen her smoke before — our mom being the head healer of Aretia, it’s always been one of those things we were absolutely forbidden to do (even though dad would smoke on occasions, a vice he retained from his Basgiath years). 

But watching the way Braelyn’s shoulders relax as she lets the smoke out… “Can I try?” I venture to ask, bracing myself for a rebuttal. 

She looks at me for a moment, as if she is actually considering it. “Have you ever smoked before?” I shake my head. She hesitates, looking between me and the burning cigarette as she weighs her options. “Fine, but you have to promise not to tell mom about this. She’d have my fucking head on a spike if she knew I was smoking, let alone teaching her precious baby to do it too.” 

I roll my eyes, but refrain from commenting on the precious baby part because I don't want her to change her mind. “Not a word, I solemnly swear.” 

She holds the cigarette between her fingers with a practiced ease, the ember glowing faintly. “Not too fast or too hard,” she warned, watching me fumble with the roll. “Just a slow draw. Like you’re sipping from a straw.” 

I cough on the first inhale, feeling my throat closing up and my lungs burning — gods, this is terrible. 

Braelyn laughs softly, not unkindly. “Everyone chokes the first time.” She leans closer, adjusting the angle of my hand. Smoke curls around us, sharp and acrid, but not entirely unpleasant. The smell reminds me of dad. “Want to try again?” 

It goes somewhat better the second time. The smoke fills my lungs with a strange warmth, a tightness that is almost soothing and the sharp burn at the back of my throat that made me choke earlier is more manageable this time, allowing a tingling, hazy kind of calm stretch through my chest. 

“This is disgusting,” I say, letting out the smoke. 

Braelyn laughs, shaking her head with amusement. “Yeah, it kind of is, but it does the trick.” 

She allows me to have the half-smoked roll and lights another one for herself. I settle closer to her, leaning my head against her shoulder, right next to her Squad Leader patch. “When do you have to leave?” 

“Soon. I have to be there by morning formation,” Bri says with a long sigh. “I hate having to leave you and mom alone like this…” 

I don't jump in to say it's fine, because it's not. I would much rather have her here with us than in that death college. But worrying her would just make things worse and she truly can’t afford such distractions. “We are not alone. Uncle Theo will be around and Mrs. Tavis always visits mom.” 

She nods, even though we both know it's not enough. Her green eyes are filled with so many emotions as she twirls a strand of my hair around her finger, just like she used to do when we were little. 

It comes without warning, like a cracked dam finally breaking — it might be because of the churram or because of the steady comfort of my sister's presence. I just break down, my eyes filling with tears as the reality I've so desperately tried to avoid finally hits me. 

Braelyn’s arms wrap around me tightly and I gratefully let myself sink into her embrace, letting my tears fall freely as my body is wrecked by violent sobs. Memories and thoughts flow through my mind quickly, like sand slipping through my fingers, not allowing me to cling to one in particular. 

I grieve every single one of those memories and the happy time during which they were made, a time that came to an abrupt, violent end the moment my father closed his eyes for that last time. I cry because I know that hole where he used to be will never be filled again. I cry because the thing I want most of all right now is to run into my dad’s arms, but I can never do it again. 

Braelyn’s composure cracks moments after mine did. There is nothing we can say to each other to help in this situation, so we just cling to each other as we grieve together. 

⋇⊶⊰❣⊱⊷⋇

“Take a small breath in, like you’re sipping from a straw,” I walk her through her first drag, echoing my sister’s words. Just another thing to remind me of her… but I shake off the thought when Quinn suddenly starts coughing and swearing creatively as she chokes on the smoke. 

“Amari’s tits, that’s vile!” She proclaims between coughs, her sugar sweet voice rough as her face tightens into a disgusted grimace. She quickly takes a sip of brandy from the bottle between us, a decision she comes to regret when the burn of the churram is replaced by the strong alcohol. “Are you fucking trying to kill me, Cardulo?” 

“Oh my,” I laugh out loud, so loud that my stomach aches and I feel breathless. “You look as if you bit from a lemon.” 

“Who the fuck would bite into a lemon?” She asks, her grimace relaxing as she giggles as well. Then she gives me that wild smile of hers that covers her entire face, her eyes shining with excitement. 

I raise an eyebrow as my laugh somewhat settles down, “What is it? You have that crazy look in your eyes again.” 

 “That’s the first time I managed to get you to laugh since you arrived,” She announces proudly, her blonde curls bouncing as she shakes her upper body in a little happy dance. “Like really laugh, not one of your smirks or sarcastic grimaces.”

I bite down on my lower lip, looking at the liquor in the crystal glass Quinn snuck out from the kitchen, swirling it around. This is not only the first time I laughed since I moved in with the Hollises, but also the first time I laughed since the Apostasy failed, since my family was given a flaming hot send-off to Malek’s realm. 

My chest tightens and I realize it’s guilt — here I am, sitting and laughing with the daughter of a Navarrian officer when my family has been literally pried out of my arms and executed right before my eyes by these people. Fuck! Somewhere in the past few weeks I let my defences down and let Quinn sneak up on me, allowing her to get closer — first, it was the training and I convinced myself that it was just because I could use the exercise, but then… she started telling me about herself, she opened up about her loss, about the pressure she feels to join the Rider’s Quadrant because everyone in her family was a rider and… I guess I started to think of her as less of a prissy princess and as an actual decent person. 

Bodhi likes to point out that I lost my friend making abilities in first grade (and even then, if I am being honest, he was the one making friends for both of us), but now I am actually starting to see that — even though I find Quinn’s company enjoyable, I am not exactly sure how to act around her. There are obviously a lot of things I can’t talk to her about and I get defensive over certain topics — I refuse to even mention the Apostasy and the real reasons behind it are out of discussion — but to her credit she doesn’t push and she accepts it when she senses me closing up. 

In spite of all my reserve, however, I did open up about some things around her. It was mostly after practice, when she would ask me how I learned a move or another and, before I knew it, I found myself talking about how Bodhi and I would brainstorm strategies and counter-attacks after training with Garrick and Xaden, determined to find ways to beat their asses. Or I would mention my sister showing me how to properly put someone on their ass (usually she demonstrated that on Derik). Sometimes it’s a Tyrrish swearing or phrase that is totally normal to me, but makes Quinn roar with laughter once I translate it — like Garrick’s favorite swearing is something that roughly translated to “fuck your mother’s deads”. I still have no idea how to explain to her why we use the plural, but I have to admit that when you think about the image that specific cuss we use so often paints… it’s kind of wild. 

It’s little things, nothing like the deep, open confessions she makes to me — honestly, I couldn’t fathom actually talking about my parents or my sister, not the real stuff —, but Quinn still treats these stupid little details like they are meaningful and important. I guess that’s why they spill out of me so easily around her, she actually listens. 

“Earth to Imogen!” Quinn waves her hand before my face, smiling wildly — although I’ve grown so used to her smiles in the past two months that I’ve come to know the difference, noticing the hint of concern she tries to mask. “You zoned out on me, everything alright?” What she is actually asking is whether she crossed a line and should back off — that’s what makes Quinn so incredibly easy to be around. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I nod, trying to ignore the persistent pit in my stomach. “I was just thinking that they are going to eat you alive in the Quadrant, prissy princess, if you can’t handle this excuse of a cigarette.” 

She scrunches her nose at my taunt and brings the roll back to her lips, taking another hit that sends her into a fit of coughs again. We both burst into laughter after that – the empty feeling in my gut is still present, but the pressure is more manageable this time around. 

“Gods, Hollis.” I shake my head, giving her a playful look of pity. 

“Oh, I don’t worry so much!” She proclaims with a huge grin on her face. 

“And why is that?” I raise an eyebrow. 

“Because I will have you there with me and we will have each other’s backs.” Quinn says it as if it’s a sure thing, but I catch the glint in her eyes, the silent question and the hope. 

She has a target on her back as an aristocrat and a legacy, but it’s nothing compared to how big my name will be on everyone’s hit list once I step off the Parapet ( if I step off it) — I am a legacy, sort of, because of my uncle and sister, but no one will care about that. They will care about the fucking black lines on my arm that mark me as a traitor. The truth of my family’s sacrifice won’t matter, to them they were rebels, monsters responsible for the deaths of their own dear ones — traitors to their beloved nation who prefers to be sitting ducks and rely on their precious wards, while others are fighting the real enemy, the one coming for us next the moment Poromiel falls.

But the hopeful gleam in Quinn’s eyes, her unprejudiced demeanor towards me… 

“Yeah, if we are planning on making this friendship a good one, guess we better stick to the buddy system,” I finally say, the corner of my mouth tilting upwards in a half smile. 

She squeals in delight as she throws her arms around my neck, almost knocking the stash of churram and the bottle of liquor. I laugh, playfully pushing her away before I relent and return the hug. I’ve never been a hugger — I grew up with a bunch of boys, after all (although Bodhi would hug me on special occasions, a privilege reserved only to him), and we were all military brats. Well, Quinn is one too, but this girl is something else entirely — starry-eyed and full of hope and dreams that shine so bright and fuel her every single action, while my own… they were crushed in that damned courtyard in Cordyn and I was not given the time to gather them off that scene. Not that it would have mattered, I doubt the shards would have fitted together again. 

Sometime during Quinn’s excited outburst, the door to her room opened — a fact we become aware of only when the newcomer speaks out, drawing both of our attention and making us jump apart, staring at him like a pair of sheep before a dragon. Oh we are so damn busted…

“I was not aware there was a party tonight,” Colonel Hollis says, his voice deep and low as he takes in the crystal glasses, the expensive alcohol and the stash of churram. 

“Dad,” Quinn breathes out, her already big eyes impossibly wider as she looks at her father. I doubt she has ever broken the rules like this — drinking and smoking — so I am bracing for the worst, for her to blame it on me, to paint me as the bad influence. “We were just –” 

Colonel Hollis holds his hand up, stopping her, but this time his lips twitch into the smallest smile, as if he can’t quite hide his amusement. “Acting your age? You could have at least picked a good drink, not that swill.” He leans against the doorframe, with such a casualness. His green eyes fall on the stash of churram, inspecting the dried leaves disapprovingly. “We will talk later about that.” 

With a whip of his wrist, the churram flies out of the open window — so that’s his signet, then. Air wielder. 

Then his gaze settles on me and I gulp, straightening my back. Whenever my mom had this deceivingly calm demeanour, it usually preceded the worst of punishments. “Imogen, could I talk to you for a moment outside?” Cal Hollis asks, tilting his head towards the hallway. 

Okay, this is it. He’s going to punish me for distracting his daughter and teaching her bad habits like these. Forget the debt to my mother, he’s a parent at the end of the day and I know for a fact that my own parents wouldn’t have taken lightly to someone teaching me to misbehave. Well, more than I already did, that is. 

“Dad,” Quinn calls, standing up. “Imogen didn’t do anything, it was all my –”

Colonel Hollis shakes his head, “Quinn, don’t, I said we will talk about it afterwards.”

As I follow him out of the room, I don’t turn to look at Quinn. At least I know I was wrong about her — she didn’t throw me to the wolves to save herself, she actually tried to take the blame onto herself. That’s nice, I guess. 

A gust of wind closes the door to Quinn’s room behind me as soon as I am out and I swallow, anxiously. I think back to those times I used to go with my dad to inspect the Tyrrish outposts, to those air wielders I saw training that one time — lethal, this signet can be lethal. You can choke the air out of someone’s lungs with a flick of your wrist, make them asphyxiate — a painful way to go, for sure and far less messier than feeding me to that brute of a dragon he is bonded to. 

But he swore to house me till my twentieth birthday, when I would get conscripted, so… maybe he is not at liberty to kill me? It’s a fragile hope and the last time I held on to such stupid feelings I was sorely disappointed, rewarded with a front row seat to Navarre’s cruel idea of entertainment. And surely with that signet and his training he could find many creative ways to punish me anyway, if outright killing is off the table.

We stop a few feet away from the door to my bedroom and I hate myself for how tense I am once Colonel Hollis turns to face me. He regards me for a moment and I force myself to meet his eyes — my family held their chins up high when they faced Codagh, I have no excuse to cower, so I brace myself for whatever is to come. 

“So, Imogen,” He stops, scratching the back of his neck. “Is it alright if I call you Imogen?” 

That surprises me. “Yes, sir,” I rasp out. Why the fuck would he bother with the pleasantries? 

“Good. I realized just now that I have never asked you how you preferred to be addressed and… anyway, that sort of brings me to my next point.” He looks… uncertain? Awkward even? “I thought you would appreciate some space and so I didn’t want to be overbearing, let you get your footing you know?” 

I frown. This doesn’t sound anything like how I expected this conversation to go. “I… thank you, sir?” 

“Oh, Cal is just fine. No need for formalities,” He hurries to say. “I meant what I said that first day, you know?” 

I scratch my brain, but honestly, that first day is pretty much in a blur for me. I remember the carriage driver and the watchful dragon and how insufferable I found Quinn on that first introduction, but… “Not really? Which part, si– Cal?” I quickly catch myself, being rewarded with a smile that is so much like Quinn’s. 

“When I said you are now part of our family,” He says it so casually and confidently, as if it’s obvious. 

“I–” What do you even say to something like that? 

“I realized only later, after you and Quinn started to spend time together, that maybe I exaggerated with the distance I kept. As in… I might have come off as distant and uninterested? Never my intention. I thought I learned my lesson listening to my dragon’s advice when he proposed I feed Quinn raw meat because it was good for the teeth…” Colonel Hollis shakes his head, passing a hand over his face. “Sorry, I am rambling and I am probably not making a lot of sense right now.” 

“Not exactly,” I admit, the corners of my mouth twitching involuntarily. Okay, now I see the family resemblance. 

“What I meant to say is… I realize we started off the wrong foot and I would like to start again. And in this sense…” He extends towards me the hand he had been holding behind his back and I initially tense at the sight of the blades, my mind jumping to the worst case scenario again, thinking that it has all been a masterfully crafted diversion, but then I actually look at the blades themselves. 

Four daggers, carefully wrapped in a velvet cloth. Four daggers with their leather hilts worn from years of use, all of them turned on the side with the wolf crest on display. 

A gasp escapes me at the sight. “Where did you —” I instinctively reach out for them and Cal allows me to take them, to run my finger along the medallion in the hilt — it was years after Braelyn got them that I learnt that the medallions are alloy, infused with carefully crafted runes on the inside. Does he know what power these blades hold, what they were made for?

“One of my former squad mates is stationed at the Royal Prison in Calldyr. I saved his life during War Games in our last year, so he owed me a favor and… well, it never sat right with me that they didn’t even allow you to get your things. I figured you needed a little piece of home.” 

My eyes well with tears and I hug the daggers to my chest. This man might have taken me in because he was indebted to my mother, but… going out of his way to get me my sister’s daggers? He did that because he genuinely cared. 

I look up at him, smiling through my tears. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

I have always loved races because I always win. And today is no different.

As we are sprinting up the hill behind the Riorson mansion, I am way ahead of the boys. Guess it comes as an advantage to be a girl and be a lot smaller and swifter than them. I turn my head to look at them as I near the top of the hill and smirk, already tasting the victory.

“I`ve seen snails moving faster than you!” I throw at them in amusement.

Xaden raises a hand and makes the universally acknowledged sign of a sour loser. Garrick shakes his head and mutters something about strangling me for the arrogance once he gets to me – he has been saying that ever since we were ten and I am still waiting. Poor Bodhi is concentrating too hard on not falling behind to reply to my teasing .

“You know, I doubt they let would let people who run slower than grannies with walking sticks in the Riders Quadrant.” I mock them when they finally join me at the top of the hill.

“Imogen, I am truly sorry for you, but with this kind of arrogance and attitude, you would be killed on the first week. They would throw you off the Parapet before you say two full sentences.” Garrick says, shaking his head in a very father-disappointed kind of way. Got to love his consistency. The day Garrick Tavis agrees with anything I say or do, Melgren will invite me to ride on Codagh with him.

“We are your friends and we are this close to pushing you off this hill right now.” Xaden points out, looking amused.

I roll my eyes at them. There might be a crumble of truth in what they are saying – annoying people is my second superpower according to Braelyn, but I would die before I admit that they are right, let alone change that about myself.

“You are just pissed that I beat you.” But by the time I finish the sentence, my attention has already shifted to the view in front of me. This is not right.

I expected to see the wide wooden gazebo Xaden`s dad had built for us to play in when we were little and which we later on reassigned as a training place. But, instead of finding the gazebo and the surrounding oak trees with singing birds in them, I am greeted by a nightmarish sight. It is like we have stepped through a portal and have been taken back to this hellish place again.

It is exactly like I first saw it – the high stone walls of the prison, the area specially designated for the audience with the wooden platform in front of it, overlooking the wide scene where three people, always the same three people, stood, flanked by their three monstrously huge fire-breathing reptiles. In the last three years, I tried my best to forget this, to erase from my mind the image of the prison courtyard and the memory of what happened there, but everything, down to the last detail, is etched in my mind. I am going to be haunted by this for the rest of my life, no doubt. Forever sentenced to relive this.

But here is the twist of this reenactment – it is not my sister and my mother awaiting to be cremated this time around. Pity, considering the fact that it is only during these nightmares now that I get to see their faces again.

There, kneeling in front of the dragons and their equally ruthless dragons, stand Xaden and Garrick. They are looking straight ahead, at me, with a heartbreaking resignation on their faces, the same kind of sad smile that I saw on Braelyn`s lips after she uttered her last words.

But I can`t lose them too. I can not stand by and watch them be reduced to ashes right in front of me. I have watched my mother and sister go down like that; I cannot repeat the experience with my remaining family. No, anything but this.

Aimsir opens its mouth and I can see the fire forming, ready to be released –

“NO!” I wake up screaming, jolting to a seated position in bed.

I am panting, trying to catch my breath as I look around the room – I don`t know what I expect to find, I know there is nothing unusual to be found. However, some irrational part of me still expects to wake up with Aimsir hovering above my bed and General Sorrengail leaning against my desk, eager to give the execution order, even after having this nightmare over and over again. Ironically, I rarely have nightmares with the black dragon, who is ten times more terrifying – and this comes from someone who had to stand right in front of him, close enough to see every scale on his nose as he made sure I have a reminder of that nightmarish day even when I am awake.

I push aside the blankets and get out of bed, needing to move to fully shake off the image of my best friends dying, convincing myself that it was just another nightmare – albeit a new one. For the last three years, I have relieved that awful day more times than I can count, with slight alterations from time to time, but this one… I have never dreamt of them being the ones to be killed.

Deciding some fresh air would help me clear my mind, I put on a cloak and a pair of boots and leave the room. It is still too early for anyone to be up – even the servants are still asleep, so I don`t worry about bumping into anyone as I make my way towards the balcony on the roof. Besides, it is only me and Quinn home as Duke Artan, her father, has been away for almost two weeks on a mission – the life of a dragon rider, what can you do?

Whoever designed the castle-sized mansion of Duke Artan must have had as a life motto `go big or go home`. The building is huge, with intricate architecture and fancy stairs and tapestries on every wall. When I first got here three years ago, I used to get lost quite often, but now I can find my way through the long stone hallways with my eyes closed. I guess, in a small way, this place reminds me of my own home – the one that is not even mine anymore. It doesn`t matter that I am the last living Cardulo; after the apostasy, all the estates and belongings of the rebels were confiscated and redistributed to the `loyal subjects of Navarre`.

Yeah, no. I am bumped out already, I don`t need to think about the fact that I basically have nothing to my name anymore. Garrick would scold me for such complaints, pointing out that other people have it worse – at least I was taken in by the Artans and treated kindly.

As I reach the terrace, I start to regret that I did not stop by Quinn`s room to ask her to accompany me. The cold air helps, as expected, but I did not take into account the fact that going out here alone would leave me alone with my thoughts.

Lighting up a rolled churam, I sit on the edge of the terrace wall hugging my legs to my chest. It helps take the edge off, I guess.
Okay, now… what would Quinn say if she were here with me?

Firstly, she would take one of my cigarettes and call it my therapy fee. Then she would ask me to describe the dream and tell me that there is a perfectly logical explanation for it. And, I guess, there is. Conscription Day is approaching and even though I still have a year until I am expected to cross the parapet, this year is equally terrifying – Xaden and Garrick are going to enrol.

I haven`t seen them in three years, but we are writing to each other regularly. I know that they have been training since before the rebellion for the Rider Quadrant and out of us all, Xaden and Garrick are the most likely to succeed – they are strong, fast and whatnot. Garrick can wield almost anything as a weapon and Xaden is a weapon himself, but that doesn`t mean they won`t have a target on their backs.

Even when I just go in the village with Quinn, I can not avoid being stared at. The black rebellion relic on my arm draws everyone`s attention and had I not been placed under the protection of Duke Artan, some of the villagers would have tried to kill me already. If mere civilians hate us so much, I can only image the prejudice we would face in Basgiath, where people are trained to kill, not to cultivate crops.

And that is if they pass the parapet, without someone pushing them off it.

My line of thought is interrupted by the sound of wings flapping followed by a loud bam, which makes the whole terrace vibrate for a moment. I hurry to extinguish the churam and toss it away, before turning towards the source of the sound. Just in time to see Duke Artan jump off Mavrei, his brown club tail. For a moment I can swear Mavrei is smirking at me, as if saying “I saw that”, before taking off.

“A little bit late for an evening stroll, Imogen.” Cale Artan says, amusement evident in his eyes. Something tells me Mavrei snitched on me too. Evil reptile…

“A little bit late to get home at this hour, Cale.” I tease back, moving a bit to the side to make room for him to sit next to me.

Not many would dare address Cale Artan like this. He is over six foot five and built like a bear. But that did not stop me from acting like a brat when I first met him and it certainly will not now that I actually like him.

“At least I have an excuse. You?” He asks in his fatherly voice – soft, calm and concerned.

“Nightmare.” I answer honestly.

Sometimes I think Braelyn would be very disappointed of me for growing attached to Quinn and her father. In the beginning, I kept them at a distance, but they grew on me – Quinn is my age and just too stubborn and sassy to not like and her father, despite being a rider and having fought in the rebellion against us, is not a bad guy. He didn`t show me anything but kindness and didn`t treat me any different than he treated Quinn. I can`t hold him responsible for doing his duty and following the orders he was given – that would mean I should hate more than half the population of Navarre. Besides, it is not like he knows any better… I am fairly certain he is not aware that the Venins are more than childish horror stories.

That is not to say I opened up completely to them – there are still many things I keep secret from them, things only the boys know, but the nightmares… those are pretty hard to hide. I tried in the beginning, but night after night of waking up screaming… it did not go unnoticed.

Cale does not push. He knows that it is better to wait for me to share the details I am comfortable sharing than to press me for details. So, taking a deep breath, I tell him about how I have seen my friends die in the most horrible way possible.

“Are you afraid they would not make it across the parapet?” He asks me after I am done describing the dream.

“The parapet is not a problem for them. I know Duke Lindell allows Xaden to train and I am sure Garrick is more than prepared too, but…” I try to explain, but I don’t know how to tell one of the people who condemn the rebellion that the guys on his team will try to kill us.

“You are afraid they will be killed afterwards.” Cale concludes, smiling weakly. I nod and bite my lower lip – well, at least I did not have to say it myself. “You know that cadets try to kill each other whether they are marked or not. Sure, your friends will have an extra target on their backs, but I doubt they would be stupid enough to forget where they are and the dangers around them.”

I look at the garden below us, knowing we are both trying to ignore the elephant in the room – I am going to be in the same situation pretty soon. And at Basgiath, I cannot count on anyone’s protection anymore.

“I just wish I could see them before they leave…” I mutter. Even if they survive, they will not be allowed to communicate with anyone from the exterior for a year. A stupid rule if you ask me.

“You will still be able to correspond with Bodhi and Liam.” Duke Artan points out, trying to find a bright side.

“Yes, but Xaden and Garrick are…” I trail off.

What are they to me? Sure, I owe Xaden my life after he made the deal with Melgren to spare our lives and I know I will never be able to repay him for everything he does for us, but it is more than this. We grew up together, we lived next to each other and he was probably one of my first true friends besides Braelyn. To call him a friend seems like an understatement. Whereas Garrick…

I don’t remember exactly the moment I met Xaden, but I remember exactly when I met Garrick. Xaden brought him along one day when we were going ice skating on the frozen lake behind Bodhi’s house. He was so cautious and careful; it drove me crazy. Ever since then I made it my life mission to annoy him and be as reckless as I can possibly be just to mess with him. Bodhi and I even made a bet that I would one day make Garrick Tavis do something reckless. Aside from that, he was my rock during the rebellion – sneaking me sweets, staying with me and listening to my rant after an exhausting day taking care of the smaller kids…

“They are special to me.” I finish.

“That pause makes me think whether we should have a boy talk anytime soon.” He teases me.

“Because the one with Quinn was so effective?” I point out with a smirk, remembering how Cale practically looked like a mumbling idiot when Quinn came home and introduced her new girlfriend to him the day after their talk.

“Anyway… Your friends, they’ll be fine. I have no doubt. Now, speaking of training…” I can sense the subject change even before he says it and I am more than relieved for it. “How is your own training going?”

It goes without saying that after that question he dragged me to the training area in the garden for me to prove to him that I was not falling behind in his absence. In moments like this Cale reminds me so much of Braelyn and my own father – he has spent all night flying and Malek knows when he last slept, but that doesn’t stop him from sweeping the floor with me.

Hours later, when Quinn wakes up, we are still training. She tries to turn around when she spots us, hoping her father didn’t see her yet.

“And where do you think you are going?” Cale calls after his daughter. “Get your ass on this mat right now! You two have been laying around enough these last two weeks.”

“Can I at least eat breakfast first?” The blonde asks, using all her charm and even puppy eyes.

“What part of now was unclear to you, Quinn?”

The defeated look on my friend’s face as she drags her feet towards us is enough to make me grin despite my own exhaustion. It brightens my morning, at least a little bit, to share my suffering.

“Come on, Quinn! Just tell me where we are going already!” I groan in exasperation for the hundredth time today. My back hurts from sitting in this carriage for almost twenty-four hours straight and the smug expression on my friend’s face makes me want to punch something. Or someone.

“What fun would it be if you knew?” She teases, crossing her arms across her chest.

I hate surprises. Or, more accurately, I grew to hate them; I used to love being surprised when I was little. Now, I guess I associate them with that day at the prison – not knowing what is going to happen, the uncertainty, not having any sort of control over the situation are my triggers now.

It is stupid, I know. Whatever Quinn and her father had planned is nothing like that day. They might still believe in all the lies the Government wants people to believe, but Quinn would not take me to my death with such an open smile on her lips and acting is not one of her talents either.

“We are almost there anyway.” She informs me when she sees me fidgeting with a dagger. In three years of being friends, Quinn knows that I only do that when I am tense. “You took the daggers with you?”

The daggers she is referring to are a mismatched set of four blades that are my most prized possession. Three of them used to be Braelyn’s, whereas the fourth was a gift from Xaden for my first birthday after the apostasy. Braelyn had earned the blades during her time at Basgiath, so they have different designs – Quinn’s father pulled some strings to get them for me from my family home; it was one of his attempts to give me some sort of comfort when I first moved in with them. The one from Xaden is a Tyrrish blade, encrusted with runes – I have no idea how he managed to get it, but I appreciate it. From what Bodhi told me in one of his letters, Garrick and him also got one.

“Didn’t feel right to leave without them.” I admit, throwing the lightest of them and catching it by the sharp tip. “Besides, they make very good toys.”

Quinn shakes her head amused and remains silent for a while, playing with a strand of her curly blonde hair. She ends up braiding the said strand and, by the time the carriage stops moving, she has braided my hair as well.

The carriage door swings open and Quinn wastes no time to jump out of it, stretching like a cat as soon as she hits the ground. More cautiously, I follow her and look around me, preparing for anything.

There are many carriages parked along the wide pathway, but they are almost drowned by the sea of people. So many people, walking in groups – some seem to be relaxed, others are visibly tensed, but there are also some that are crying. I follow the direction they are walking and spot their destination – a gigantic stone building that I have seen only once before, so long ago that it seems to have been in another lifetime.

For a few seconds, I am that twelve years old girl again. I haven’t thought of that day in so long, but I remember it so vividly. I remember the worried look on my mother’s face as she hugged Braelyn to her chest. My father, who was trying to hide his concern, but also proud. And Braelyn, my confident older sister, walking with her head held high and joking constantly, as if she was walking towards the grocery store, not towards the most lethal school in existence, with no guarantee of survival. She was only twenty, one year older than I am now, but she was not scared or intimidated. Or, at least, she didn’t show it. She was the kind of person who would say `I got this` and laugh in the face of imminent danger.

“Surprise!” Quinn shouts excitedly, practically beaming and almost jumping up and down like a little child.

“What are we doing here?” I manage to ask, trying and failing to keep my voice from shaking. Out of all the scenarios I had imagined, this is not one of them.

She looks at me with a huge grin on her face. “Dad has a meeting with General Sorrengail tomorrow, something about next year`s budget, but he decided to be fashionably early.” She explains, grabbing my hand to drag me after her, as she pushes her way forward through the sea of people. “He is already inside, because he can’t land with Mavrei here. No one had any objections when he said he would bring us along. They think we came to see what awaits us next year.”

Quinn doesn’t stop walking, but she is turning her head left and right, scanning the crowd. Growing obviously irritated, at some point she turns around to face me, not minding the people who throw us dirty looks for stopping in the middle of the road – it doesn’t help either that I am wearing short sleeves and the rebellion signet is on full display.

“Really, Im, could you snap out of your shock any time soon? The description of tall, dark and brooding doesn’t exactly narrow it down, you know?” She teases me, before adding with a wink. “I have to see for myself how handsome these boys of yours are.”

I blink slowly. Logically I knew the only reason we would be here would be for me to see Xaden and Garrick, but the realization takes a bit to settle in.

“Remind me to thank you later.” I tell Quinn, straightening my back and taking the lead.

Nothing matters anymore. I don’t even notice the people glaring at me as I push them aside to make way. The protests and swearing that accompany the glares are drowned by a buzzing in my ears – excitement, so bright and powerful that it makes my body tremble. I almost forgot how it feels to have something to look forward to that makes me feel like this.

It feels like I have spent an eternity running around in circles, my heart jumping at every single person who remotely resembles one of them. However, it couldn’t have been more than half an hour, I guess.

Quinn has been following me without complaining, cracking a joke from time to time when she felt I was getting too tense. I will have to think of some way to show her my gratitude after this day – no one else would have done this for me.

I stop in my tracks so suddenly that Quinn crashes into me when I hear someone shouting my name. For a second, I think I am imagining it, just another trick of my imagination, but then I hear it again.

“Immy!” This time I spot him.

Breaking into a sprint towards him, I can’t help smiling widely. I probably look like an idiot, but I do not care right now. I do not care who is looking at us, who is cursing at me for stepping on their toes. Nothing else matters as I run into Xaden’s arms, throwing my arms around his neck.

I close my eyes for a second, taking in everything. He has grown taller in the last three years, so I am basically hovering above the ground as he hugs me, but he still has the same smell – mint, leather and just a hint of citrus.

“What are you doing here, Immy?” Xaden asks after a short while, lowering me gently to the ground. He is looking me from head to toe, inspecting. “And why is your hair pink?”

I laugh openly at this. Yeah, I forgot about the hair. I died it about two years ago, in an attempt to cut ties with the past – a failed attempt too. Every time I was looking in the mirror, I was reminded of my mother – aside from my eyes, I looked exactly like her. Dying my blonde hair seemed like a good solution at the time. So, now I have shoulder-length cotton-pink hair, but at least it looks great.

“What, you don’t like it?” I joke, flipping my hair dramatically. “My friend pulled some strings so I could see you and Garrick.”

Xaden smiles – one of his sincere smiles, with the gold flickers in his onyx eyes shining brightly, reminding me of better days, of days before the revolution. Of days when it was just the four of us, doing whatever the hell we wanted to do. “I am so glad to see you, Immy.”

My heart grows every time he uses the old nickname. No one has called me that in years – not counting the letters from them. Quinn tried, once, but I asked her not to because it reminded me too much of those who would never call me that again – so, she calls me Im instead.

“The feeling is mutual, Riorson.” I admit, still smiling widely. “Where is Garrick? Did you meet with him yet? Did Bodhi come with him too?”

Xaden was sent to Tirvainne after the apostasy, along with Liam Mairi, but Garrick was sent at the other end of Navarre, along with Bodhi. Them being fostered by the same family was one of our greatest joys. And it made communication that much easier.

“He should return soon; he went a bit ahead to look for other marked kids. I guess he was too blind to see the small pink one.” He teases me, smirking. “And no, Bodhi is sadly still in Luceris.”

There is a bit of sadness in his voice and I get that. I would have loved to see Bodhi too – he is the soul of our small group in a way, making it his mission to lighten up every conversation with jokes.

“But never mind that. Won’t you introduce me to your companion?” Xaden rises an eyebrow, looking over my shoulder at Quinn.

In my rush to get to Xaden, I totally forgot about Quinn. I would apologize for leaving her behind, but she would just use her old joke for when we are in crowds that my hair is like a lighthouse.

“Really, Cardulo, where are your manners?” Quinn jokes, getting nearer and extending her arm towards Xaden. “Quinn Artan, Imogen`s foster sister.”

Well, that is new. Quinn has never introduced herself as my sister. Not that I mind it; it is actually nice.

“Xaden Riorson, but I guess you already know that.” He introduces himself, shaking her hand firmly.

“Oh, yes!” Quinn nods. For a moment, I can see a shadow pass over Xaden’s eyes, like a shield ready to be raised if needed. I don’t have to ask; I know he is getting ready for a comment about his father. “Imogen always talks about you and your other two friends. Glad to finally put a face to the name.”

The black swirling lines on our arms usually make people uncomfortable around us – and that is the best-case scenario. So, I am more than delighted to see the surprise in Xaden’s eyes when he understands that Quinn doesn’t care about him being the child of a separatist. I just hope she does not start spilling things I told her about them in confidence.

Xaden is spared from giving a response by someone approaching us. I frown a bit at the sight of the rebellion signet – I should know him if he is the child of a rebel. If I thought Xaden was tall and muscular, the dark-haired boy is even more so – he must be twice my size, for Malek’s sake! I will admit it, my eyes are glued on him – there is something mesmerizing about him.

It is only when he gets nearer that I notice his hazel eyes and the details of his face that I understand who he is. Shame is a weak word for how I feel at not recognizing Garrick Tavis from the beginning – his rebellion relic should have been enough of a hint. Aside from Xaden, whose relic reaches his jawline, Garrick has the largest rebellion relic – up to his shoulders.

“Hey, Garrick, look whom I found!” Xaden calls, pointing to me.

Garrick narrows his eyes. Locking eyes, I can see him going from confusion, to recognition and them confusion again. “Imogen?”

“Well, now I understand why you have a crush on the guy.” Quinn whistles next to me.

I throw her a dirty look – the kind of look that is a promise of violence if she doesn’t keep her trap shut. In the corner of my eye, I can see Xaden smirking – of course he heard her. Fantastic.

“The one and only!” I manage to say, with a confidence I don’t actually have.

He breaks into a wide smile and picks me up in his arms in a bear hug. I cling to his shoulders, giggling as he spins me around once. He smells of oranges and cinnamon, making me melt.

“Gar, you are crushing me…” I say, even though I don’t want him to break the hug.

“Why do you look like cotton candy?” He asks when he puts me down, taking a strand of my hair between his fingers.

“Because I was sick of people telling me I was not sweet enough.” I joke, blushing under his inspection.

“And because she likes drawing attention to herself.” Xaden adds, making me turn my attention away from Garrick. Judging by his amused smile, he did it on purpose – oh, I will not hear the end of his teases…

Quinn strides forward and stops right in front of Garrick, inspecting him shamelessly. Inclining her head, she smiles slyly. “Quinn Artan, please to meet you! I’ve heard SOOO much about you.”

Garrick raises an eyebrow, but nods. “I am curious. What you have heard about me?”

“Oh, don’t worry, only good things.” Quinn smirks, winking at him. Had I not known she is into girls, I would probably want to strangle her a bit for all this flirting.

Xaden clears his throat, stepping forward and throwing an arm around my shoulder. “As much as I would love to hear all those stories myself, I think we are supposed to go sign our names. Care to accompany us, ladies?”

I look over at Quinn and she nods in my direction.

“Go ahead, Im. Meet you back here afterwards. I have to find dad to let him know we are fine.” She says casually. “Looking forward to see you next year at school, boys.”

“Nice girl. I can see why you like her, Immy.” Garrick says after Quinn leaves us.

“She is a pain in the ass, don’t let the angelic face fool you.”

They both laugh and I smile at the sound. Gods, it feels so right. They are here, right next to me and I try to soak in the feeling, to bottle it up for the year to come.

Looking at the both of them, I can’t help but notice how much they changed – not only physically; long gone are the carefree, laid-back boys I grew up with, in their place now stand two grown men, mature and looking as if they carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. I wonder if they find me different too – aside from the pink hair. Isn’t it funny how day by day nothing changes, but when you look back everything is different? You cannot see your family die before your eyes and hang on to your innocence. I find comfort in the fact that our friendship didn’t change, even if we will never be the same kids ever again.

“How much do you trust her?” Xaden asks, switching in the blink of an eye from the laughing friend to the protective leader.

I consider it for a moment, aware of the true meaning of his question. He wants to know if Quinn knows what the rebellion truly was about or if I would ever tell her. I shake my head decisively.

“She is dear to me and I owe her a lot. I hate lying to her, but I also don’t want to bring trouble to her doorstep.” I answer honestly. I know that if Quinn knew about the Venin, she would be hell bent on doing something about it and I am way too familiar with that recklessness – no, she shouldn’t know about it, at least not for the moment.

“For now, it is better this way anyway.” Garrick agrees, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe one day, if you think she can swallow the truth.”

Would Quinn believe me if I told her that the Government is lying? If we ever decide to do something, would she fight on our side? Despite the reservation I came to have about everything, I know, deep down, the answer is yes.

I notice that instead of walking in the same direction as the sea of people, Xaden leads us towards a secluded corner of the building, where trees and bushes basically hide us from view.

“This year is not the time for taking risks anyway.” Xaden states and there is something in the way he speaks, in the way he straightens his back, that reminds me of his father. I was not allowed to take part in our parents` meetings, but every time I saw Fen Riorson his voice and his stance commanded respect and attention. You don’t get to be called The Great Traitor without a certain charisma.

“I was not taking any risks before, either.” I frown, trying to guess what he is getting at. “What is going on?”

“We won’t be able to write letters this year and even if we were, they could very well be intercepted.” Garrick says, leaning against the wall.

“So… you want me to keep an eye on Bodhi and Liam? I would have done that anyway.”

Xaden smiles, but there is nothing soft in his eyes. “That too, but not only them. I will need you and Bodhi to cover for me and Garrick and keep an eye on all the marked kids.”

I frown in surprise. Even if I share the task with Bodhi, that still leaves me in charge of around fifty kids. Now I understand why it took Xaden and Garrick an eternity to reply to my letters…

“What do I have to do, exactly?”

“I left Liam a letter to send you with all the names and addresses. We used to write to each of them once a month to make sure everything is on track. Pay closer attention to those who are supposed to be conscripted next year.” Xaden instructs me. “It is better to keep track of them all.”

I nod. So far it makes sense. “Anything else?”

Garrick scratches the back of his neck before he answers. “There is one more thing, but we have to make sure you won’t make a scene.”

“Garrick, there is a building filled with trained killers behind us and they already have enough reasons to hate us. I am not going to give them one more.”

“Brennan Sorrengail. You will have to keep in touch with him too.” Xaden adds.

I burst into a hysteric laugh at the absurdity of his demand. “Xaden, I appreciate the vote of confidence, but speaking to the dead is not on my list of talents.”

Surely it was a joke. Why are they not laughing? Why are they looking at me with those serious and grim faces?

“Okay, you two shitheads better tell me everything, right now.” I don’t scream because I don’t want to make a scene, like they said, but… Gods, I want to scream right now.

A few minutes later, after hearing the whole explication, I am staring at them, hoping that one of them will start grinning and say it was just a joke and they are not actually hiding the son of the woman who killed our parents. But no, Brennan Sorrengail is truly alive, living in Aretia and helping at rebuilding the city. And I am now expected to be the one to keep in touch with him and make sure things run smoothly.

“Who else knows?” I ask calmly, making an effort to keep my anger at bay.

“Aside from some people from Aretia…I told Bodhi before I left and Liam is also in on the secret, but that is it.” Garrick answers, looking at me as if he wants to apologize.

I want to scream at them. I want to shout, to cry, knowing where this path leads. We are still a bunch of kids – we have nothing! No weapons, no allies, nothing, yet we are secretly working against the Government and slowly rebuilding what we lost. We are harboring a presumed-dead Sorrengail! They are basically Basgiath royalty! Melgren can see the outcome of any battle; he will sniff us out before we even touch a sword. What are we going to use to defend us when that happens? The power of friendship?

“You better have a fucking plan.” I say, looking both of them in the eye.

Am I mad at them for keeping it a secret from me? Hell, yes! But that is a frustration I will take out on them later and not here out of all places. I don’t need an audience when I scream at them. And, a small, rational part of me understands why they hid this – for the same reason I did not tell Quinn about the Venins.

“We are biding our time.” Xaden explains, but I can see him relax slightly when he realizes I am calm. “Brennan is in charge of rebuilding the city, but we don’t have the resources necessary for another uprising. This is why the marked kids are crucial.”

I frown in confusion, but then I understand what he is counting on.

“Dragons. You are counting on them bonding to dragons.” I whisper.

“It will take a few years, but it is the best plan we have. Hopefully Poromiel will keep the Venins at bay long enough.” Garrick nods. I can’t help to notice the grim tone – something tells me that the situation is more urgent than they make it sound like.

We have always been aware of the fact that it is our responsibility to finish what our parents have started – get the means to help in the fight against Venins. We made a freaking pact to do it, right after we watched our families burn in front of us. But I always believed that was something that we won’t have to think about for at least ten years. It sounds like we will be lucky if we get to graduate.

Graduation seems like a miracle anyway. We might not make it to Threshing, let alone graduation!

I close my eyes, trying to stop myself from spiraling.

“Better a traitor than a coward and a liar.” The words echo in my mind.

My sister died trying to fight for what is right. Braelyn was just a little older than I am when she went to war and she never complained, she never cried or cowered in fear thinking about everything that might go wrong. I won’t be weak either.

“Alright. I can do this.” I promise, locking eyes with Xaden. “I don’t want either of you to worry about this. I got it. Just stay alive in there.”

If there are gods, I am going to make them cry if something happens to my friends.

I accompany the boys to the registration desk. There are people scowling at the sight of us – if there is something worse than a kid of a separatist, it’s a group of three marked kids. They see our relics and think of our parents, but no one understands that the dark lines that cover our arms are a permanent external reminder of our trauma. Garrick throws me a look when he sees me glaring back at those busy-bodies.

“Imogen, sometimes I think you don’t understand what keeping your head down and minding your business means.” He scolds me.

“Keep my head down? Why give them the satisfaction?” I bite back, using the same words Xaden said to me all those years ago. In the corner of my eye, I see him smirking at me.

“Arrogant bastards.” Garrick groans, rolling his eyes at us.

One of the most bittersweet feelings has to be when you realize how much you are going to miss a moment while you’re still living it. It is so easy to fall in pace with them and so hard to get used to their absence.

We are almost by the desk when Xaden turns to me, a soft smile on his lips. “Try not to kill anyone this year, Immy.”

I chuckle as I get on my tiptoes to hug him. “Try not to get killed, Riorson.”

I try to block every thought about the dangers that lie ahead for them. I try to ignore the possibility that this is goodbye. There will be many people trying to kill them, but I don’t know any other two people as tough as Xaden and Garrick. I should pity those who will try to kill them.

“See you in a year, Immy.” And then, with one last hug, he turns away from me, marching forward, towards the rider responsible with the list.

“I’ll take care of him, Imogen.” Garrick assures me. I almost melt under his soft gaze and I have a weird feeling in my stomach when I look at him.

I can’t be falling for Garrick Tavis. It is so, so wrong… but it is what is happening. And to be honest I think it began a long time ago and it is no fleeting feeling – I did not fall for him from the moment we first met, it is something that has taken roots along the years.

He did nothing special, but those little things he did made me fall for him. Little by little. With every protective gesture, with every scolding, with every bear hug and soft touch when he saw that I was sad… he crept up on me. I began to notice the way his hazel eyes looked like hot chocolate in the sun and how he used to save something sweet for me during our stay at the safe house. Every time he would let the guard down and throw his head back laughing with his whole heart, I found myself unable to look elsewhere.

Snapping back from my little daydreaming, I think about what he said. I know he will try his best to protect Xaden and the two of them will practically be inseparable. I don’t doubt that. He has always taken the role of protective mother hen in our group – considering all the stupid stuff we wanted to do, Garrick might be the only reason we are still alive.

“Take care of yourself too, Gar.”

“Will do. After all, you idiots have no self-preserving instinct.” He jokes, resting a hand on my shoulder.

I swear my mind is on auto-pilot as I unlace one of Braelyn’s daggers from the sheath on my tight and place it in his free hand. He is frowning in confusion, a little line appearing between his eyebrows.

“Take this with you. They are like lucky charms.” I manage to say, stumbling over the words and probably looking like a blushing idiot. I want to bury my head in the ground and never get out – that is my level of embarrassment.

“Immy, it’s your sister’s dagger, I cannot take it.” He protests, trying to give it back. My cheeks are practically on fire as I close his fingers over the dagger.

“Consider it a loan, then. You can give it back to me next year after I cross the parapet.” I insist, smiling weakly. I try to convince myself that this is payback for all the times he protected me, but I know I acted on my foolish feelings. This cheesy gesture is as far as I can go when it comes to admitting my feeling to Garrick.

He smiles softly and nods, putting the dagger in one of the countless sheaths on his vest. “You better fucking be there, Cardulo. I don’t like to have debts.”

Then he turns away and follows Xaden, without looking back. I keep my eyes glued on them until they are out of sight. Only then do I feel the air returning to my lungs and I can actually process what just happened.

If the parapet doesn’t kill me next year, the embarrassment of ever seeing Garrick again might. And aside from that, I agreed to practically be in charge of more than a hundred kids and of the son of the woman who killed my family.

What in the name of Malek was this day?

Chapter Text

Let me introduce you to my most loyal friend who never creates drama and is always there to listen to my problems – Sir Training Dummy. He never complains when I hit my problems away on his face. He is very good at impersonating people too! Some of the names in his repertoire include Commanding General Melgren, General Sorrengail, Xaden Riorson, Brennan Sorrengail and Garrick Tavis.

Among others. He is very versatile and adapts to my mood rather easily.

Today he is exceptional – he is impersonating everyone at the same time.

My fists went numb a while ago, but I don’t stop punching. I have too much pent-up rage and no amount of pain can stop me. My whole body is sweaty and sore, but it is better to channel my anger this way than the alternative – gods have mercy on any idiot who would be stupid enough to enter the training room right now, because I won`t.

What am I so angry about, you might ask? Everything.

I am mad at the fact that I have been looking out for dozens of kids and it was at the same time the most irritating, tiring and heartwarming thing – I grew to care for them, with their stupid little problems that no one else cares about. But it all made me think that I was also a kid who went through the exact same damn trauma. And who cares about my problems? Who is there for me? No one! Those I can talk about it with are not here and I have to keep it a secret from the people who are here. I want to scream at the top of my lungs “Can’t you see that I am broken too?”, but I cannot.

At the same time, I am pissed because I am tired of things being thrown my way with no explication. This whole correspondence duty has been sprung on me and I hate that I was not part of the decision-making process. I don’t want to be a last resort, someone you turn to when you have no other option, and Garrick and Xaden treated me exactly like that. For three years they have been doing this and only gods know what else and I had no idea. What am I to make of it? That they didn’t trust me enough to include me in their plans?

I am angry because I survived when so many others did not. And let me tell you something about surviving – it is far from beautiful and peaceful. Surviving is sobbing in a dark corner when no one can see the tears streaming down your face because you are supposed to stay strong. Surviving is always being afraid that those who killed your family might show up and finish what they started. Surviving is staying up all night because the memories from the time you were not forced to fight are slowly fading away.

And that is another thing that makes my blood boil in my veins, but I have no one to blame but myself. I am starting to forget the life before it all went terribly wrong. I do not remember my father’s silly jokes or the sound of his booming laugh; I do not remember the taste of my mother’s cooking or the details in the stories she used to tell me at bedtime. I do not remember the names of my sister’s friends or how any of my childhood toys looked like. I don’t even remember the last thing I said to my father or whether or not I hugged him, but I remember how hollow and cold his name sounded when it was pronounced that day – all that he was and everything he ever did, reduced to a name on a list, glossed over as if it was nothing. I remember my sister’s defiant face in the face of death, but I don’t remember how her bedroom looked like. I remember how my mother’s chest was moving frantically because she was crying while hugging me in that cell, but I do not recall what she used to sing while she was cooking.

I remember all the awful parts and the pain. Those are forever etched in my memory. But I am forgetting the little things that used to make me happy, the little things that made life a little brighter.

Eventually, Sir Training Dummy disappoints me too by falling over with a loud bang. Irrationally, I growl at the inanimate object as if its defeat was a betrayal. Yeah, I think I finally lost all my marbles.

“Catch!”

I turn just in time for the water bottle not to hit my head. I flinch in pain when I catch it – I am pretty sure my knuckles are bruised from all that punching, but I have no more energy to care. I take a big gulp of water and the coldness relaxes me a bit.

“How long have you been sitting there?” I ask Quinn as she approaches.

“Long enough to wonder what the poor dummy did to deserve that.” She answers, wincing. “Why are you not sleeping?”

“I keep thinking about tomorrow.” I answer. It is easier to give her half of the truth. We would be here until morning if I started to list all the reasons. “You?”

She sits down on the floor, with her legs under her and I follow her example. My legs are killing me, gods... Maybe it was not the best idea to exhaust myself the day before Conscription Day.

“Same.” Quinn shrugs. “I have half the mind to sign up for the Healer Quadrant.”

“I thought it was your dream to be a dragon rider.” I frown. Quinn has never even mentioned having doubts about what path she wants to follow; she was so confident and determined to get in the Rider Quadrant, always talking about what kind of dragon she dreamt of bonding to and talking my ear off about all the signets she knew about.

“I am excited about the part with the dragons, but…” She bites her lower lip, choosing her words carefully. “Sometimes I think the only reason I want to be a rider is because dad is one. I don’t think I have what it takes…”

“You are one of the best fighters I have ever seen and you wipe the floor with me at sword fighting.” I point out, thinking she just needs some encouraging. “If you are afraid about the parapet…”

“It is not that.” She interrupts me with a shake of her head. “I don’t think I have what it takes to take a life, Im.”

Well, that is the part I try not to think about either. I have no problem fighting and my balance is flawless, but to be a rider you have to be able to kill. Braelyn used to say that you can’t leave Basgiath without your hands covered in blood. I try to convince myself that I will have no problem to take a life, but… I remember the spark in my sister’s eyes before she crossed the parapet. It was not there the next time I saw her.

“My father had a saying.” I begin, looking at my bruised hands. “A warrior doesn’t kill because he enjoys it, but because he has the duty to protect himself and the defenseless. No decent human being loves killing, but sometimes it is necessary to protect those you love.”

Quinn looks at me and sketches a smile. I might not have reassured her, but there is nothing I could say that would put her at ease anyway. She has to come to terms with this on her own, just like everyone else. I will have to do that too.

“Had you not been forced to choose the Rider Quadrant, what would you have done?” She asks after a while. I understand that she needs a subject change and I am more than happy to go along with it.

“I always knew I wanted to be a rider, actually.” I admit, shrugging. “I guess it also has something to do with the fact that Braelyn was a rider and, like any little sister, I worshipped the ground she walked on. Even now, I don’t see myself doing anything else.”

“What was her signet?” Quinn asks. I am actually surprised this never came up until now.

“Vocal manipulation.”

Quinn’s eyes widen and I can’t blame her, I had the same reaction when Braelyn wrote to us after her first year and told us about her signet. It was not exactly an unheard-of signet, but it was impressive nonetheless. Not that it helped her survive in the end. Death was not an opponent who could be manipulated, not even by the most powerful voices.

“I want to have such a cool signet too.” Quinn musses, smiling softly.

“See? That is something to look forward to. Healers don’t get signets.” I tease her, smirking.

What I want is to survive long enough to get a signet at all. I could settle for the most basic one, like ice or fire manipulation.

“Oh, believe me, I have more than that to be excited about.” A wide grin spread across Quinn’s face. “I can’t wait to see how your reunion with Garrick goes.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands. Of course, she had to bring this up… Ever since last year, Quinn has been teasing me relentlessly about Garrick and it didn’t take her long to put two and two together when she noticed that I was missing a dagger. She has been insufferable! But, at the same time, she has also been a good friend. For the first few weeks, she used to sneak me a copy of the death list from Basgiath and that was no small task.

“When will you stop with this? There is nothing between me and Garrick.” Technically, it is not a lie, but not exactly true either. I don’t know. I mean, I want to be his friend, but at the same time I don’t. I mean, how can you be just friends with someone when every time you think about them, you`re thinking about how much more you really want? How can you be friends with someone when you find yourself thinking how his lips would feel against yours?

“Just friends don’t look at each other like you did last year!” She argues back. “He did not take his eyes off of you, Im!”

“Even if what you are saying is true – and I am not saying it is – it has been a year since then. A lot can happen in a year.” I end the discussion, not wanting to get into a whole other category of reasons to be angry. My body is too tired and the training dummy is broken. “Come on, busy-body. We should get at least a couple hours of sleep or we will fall off the damn thing.” I extend her a hand to help her stand up and smile affectionately.

To my surprise, Quinn doesn’t argue. She takes my hand and follows me out of the training room and up the stairs to our bedrooms. She tends to be clingy when she is tired.

I check my backpack for the fifth time this morning even though I know I have packed everything I need. Some clothes, an extra pair of boots, hair brush, some bandages, just in case, and items for personal hygiene. Being forced to move around has its perks – I can manage without much and I don’t get attached to objects anymore. Except for…

Opening my nightstand drawer, I take out a pile of neatly folded letters. The wise thing would be for me to burn them all; if they fall into the wrong hands… But I can’t do it. These pieces of paper are one of the reasons why I managed to keep going these past four years. I read every single one of the letters from my friends a million times and I have them memorized by now, but there are also some more recent ones, where the handwriting is not as neat and organized.

The worst part of passing down my duties to Liam will probably be that I will not receive letters from the smaller children anymore. Julianne has just learned to write and she loves to use colorful crayons for each sign. She always sends me a drawing of what she thinks I look like with every letter – she was not even born when the rebellion failed, so she has never met me in person, but the idea of me having pink hair seems to excite her. Once she drew me having rainbow hair and suggested that I try that next time I dye my hair.

Well, I already sewed the letters with important information and those from Brennan in the material of the backpack. If I am taking those ticking bombs with me, I might as well take the ones that make it all worth the risk too. It is not like they will make the backpack any heavier. I wonder if Bodhi will do the same…

Talking about Brennan… When I first started writing to him, I could not imagine ever missing doing that when my duty was over. It is strange, but I came to respect and have a certain fondness for him. The first letter he sent me, he started by apologizing for his mother’s actions and that took me by surprise. Then he started to go into detail about how the reconstruction of Aretia is going and, after finding out which one used to be my family’s house, he promised to do everything in his power to rebuild it soon.

But he is also interested in knowing how things are with us – he asks about Bodhi and Liam, about the other kids of separatists and, even if I tried to keep my distance in the beginning, I eventually started to answer his questions about my well-being as well. I soon came to the conclusion that he is just as lonely as I am sometimes – sure, I have Quinn and I love her, but I can’t talk to her about many things. Similarly, Brennan doesn’t have anyone to talk to in Aretia either.

I found out that Braelyn was in Brennan’s year at Basgiath. Unknowingly, he gave me a gift I could not have hoped for – stories about my sister that I never heard before. When you lose someone, it feels like a book left unfinished, but Brennan’s stories were like some missing chapters I never hoped I would hear of.

He told me about his family, too – about his sisters and father, but never about his mother. Either because it is a touchy subject for him or because he respected my boundaries – maybe both. His youngest sister, Violet, according to him, is training to become a Scribe and he hopes that one day she will help us with information from the inside.

Am I clinging to this plan? Not really. Brennan remembers the little girls his sisters used to be; he doesn’t know the women they grew up to be. Mira Sorrengail, for one, has been awarded a medal recently for her contribution in the war against the gryphons, decimating a great number of people who are actually doing something to hold at bay the true enemy. If Violet is just as eager to show her loyalty to Navarre as her sister, I doubt she will be of any help to us. I, for one, am just glad I only had to deal with the nice, rational child of General Sorrengail and I will let Xaden explain to our friend in Aretia that his sisters might be the enemy, when the time comes.

My short moment of reflection is interrupted by a soft knock at my door.

“May I enter?” Cale asks, opening the door slightly, peeking his head through the small creak.

I nod and invite him in.

“Backpack inspection before we go.” He announces with a wide grin.

Without invitation, he grabs my carefully packed bag and inspects the contents – well, I am glad I had the letters with important information hidden, sewn in the material of the bag. Not that Cale would have read them; he has respected my privacy since day one.

“Good.” He concludes. “Not too heavy to be a drawback, but enough to anchor you. How are the boots?”

I smile and point at the pair of black boots I am wearing – rider boots. Cale gave both me and Quinn a pair a few days ago and I instantly fell in love them – comfortable, but sturdy. Exactly what I need for the parapet. “Won’t they consider it cheating?”

“There is no rule forbidding wearing the proper equipment. I thought I taught you the importance of playing around the rules.” Cale smirks, ruffling my hair affectionately. I laugh and try to push his hand aside, trying to rearrange my hair, which is easier now that one side of it is shaved. It was Quinn’s idea, saying that it would look more intimidating and I love it.

“May I ask you something?” I ask after a few moments, continuing after Cale nods. “Why… what made you decide to foster me?”

Perhaps it is the possibility of dying today that prompts me to pose this question, but I have been thinking about it for years. He came out of nowhere that day, after the execution of my family, and, as soon as he entered the room where we were all being kept, he looked around as if he was searching for something. As if he was searching for me. It made no sense, as I’ve never seen him in my life – why would this random duke from the other side of Navarre be looking for me in particular among that group of marked kids?

Duke Artan sighs, throwing his head a bit back and closing his eyes for a second. I have a few theories as to why – maybe he knew Braelyn from her short time of being stationed close to here? maybe I reminded him of Quinn, considering I am his daughter’s age and I used to have blonde hair? Maybe he had fought alongside my father at some point? – but I never thought of what he is about to say:

“Your mother.” At my bewildered stare, he smiles softly and goes on. “I was injured during one battle, years before the uprising. There were so many of my men injured and I wanted to make sure they got the proper care first. Your mother stopped when she saw me and immediately figured that I was wounded too. I am forever grateful that she noticed because, apparently, the wound was infected and, had I waited any longer…” He trails off, shaking his head.

Tears are threatening to escape my eyes. Biting my lower lip, I wait for him to continue.

“The pain was excruciating and, to take my mind off it, your mother started to tell me about her little girls. She was very proud as she talked about your older sister, bragging that she was training to become a rider too.” I smile hearing that, remembering my mother’s joy when Braelyn returned home after graduation with her dragon. It was one of the most joyous days of our lives. “Then, she started to tell me about her youngest, who happened to be the same age as my own daughter. There was a different spark in her eyes as she described you – stubborn, temperamental, but caring and determined, she said. You were around ten at that time, but your mother said that you had an iron will when you put your mind to something. Especially when the said something was stupid and crazy. You have no idea how much I laughed hearing that you climbed to the roof of the house with your sledge and used it as a slope… I respect the creativity, but it seemed like you had no self-preservation instincts.” He laughs after adding the last part and, to be honest, I probably didn’t at that age. According to Garrick, I never developed one.

Just like Brennan`s stories about my sister, this little story is a gift for me. Unknowingly, that one act of kindness on my mother`s part all those years ago is what saved me – I could have ended up way worse than with the Artans. Some of the other children were not as lucky.

“I saw her name on the execution list after the apostasy.” Cale goes on with the story. “I thought to myself then that it doesn’t matter that she fought for the other side and betrayed Navarre, had she not been there that day, I would have died. Plain and simple. So, I did the only thing I could to repay my debt.” He smiles and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “It was pretty easy to spot you. After all, you looked exactly like your mom.”

“Why haven’t you told me about this before?” I ask, wiping my tears away.

He shrugs and stands up from the bed. “You were already hurting. I figured it would be better if I kept it to myself at that time and then… I don’t know, it never was the moment for this.”

Duke Cale Artan gives me one of his bright smiles as I stand up and hug him. For a moment, I allow myself to just feel it all and embrace the bittersweet warmth in my chest thinking of my mother in a war camp, telling her patients stories about me. How many of the people she healed heard the same stories? How many of them pictured a little girl pushing her winter sledge on the roof, in the middle of summer?

But only one of them got around to honor the great service my mother did them. Only one of them opened his house to an orphan teenage girl and gave her everything she needed.

“Thank you.” I sob with my face pressed into his chest. “Even if you did it to pay a debt, I am grateful you took me in.”

“Might have started with that thought, but you grew on me, kid.” He admits, patting my back. “Although having two teenage girls in a house was not exactly a delight.”

We laugh for a little bit, but then he has to go check on Quinn too, saying he must make sure she doesn’t pack one of her stuffed animals. I pick up my backpack and look around the room once more. I don’t know what is going to happen, but there is a big chance I will never see this place again. Even if I survive the parapet, I have three years ahead of me and it doesn’t get easier after that. And there is also the whole venin thing I know next to nothing about…

So, I say goodbye, probably for the last time, to the only home I knew in the last four years. There is a tightness in my chest as I close the door after me.

This year, walking towards the registration desk is easier. It might have something to do with the over six feet tall rider that walks in front of me and Quinn as if the dust itself should get out of his way. Cale Artan is an imposing man, but when he goes full rider mode, he is damn intimidating.

Not to mention that he had to make an entrance by landing with Mavrei right by the gates. Carriages are over-rated for riders, I guess.

One thing didn’t change since last year, however – the glares I receive as soon as they notice the relic. I sneer at every individual who locks eyes with me – if they want to make me a monster, then I might as well act like one.

Fortunately, or rather unfortunately – it is debatable, as I was enjoying sending dark looks without being scolded –, we reach the wooden desk bearing the rolls of the Riders Quadrant rather quickly. There is a tall man dressed in black leathers, who is, judging by the patches on his uniform and the three starts on his shoulder, a third-year rider. There is also an older man in a cream-colored tunic – Scribe, then.

“Would you look at that! Cale Artan!” The old Scribe exclaims as he lays eyes on my foster father.

“Captain Fitzgibbons.” Cale greets with a nod of his head. “It is good to see you. I had no idea you were still in service.”

As the two of them chat, I lock eyes with the third-year rider. He is tall, pretty muscular and has red hair – pretty handsome had he not been looking at me as if I had killed his whole family. The usual prejudice against the rebellion signet, no wonder.

“So, who do we have here?” Captain Fitzgibbons asks, looking at me and Quinn. “Your daughters?”

The rider snorts and rolls his eyes at the presumption, but Cale stares right at him as he responds: “Yes.”

My heart swells with affection for my foster father and I smirk when I see the arrogant rider’s eyes widen in confusion. There is no way the Scribe doesn’t notice the rebellion relic on my arm as I write my name down on the parchment, but he doesn’t comment either. I turn around to give Quinn the quill and she winks at me, grinning like an idiot.

Afterwards, Cale doesn’t waste another moment on pleasantries and ushers us forward, towards an open door into the turret. This is as far as he can come, so Quinn and I both stop and look up at him.

“I want you to be on your best behavior. No flashy bullshit, no flaunting. At least not until the Threshing. It is far safer to keep your head down and not draw attention to yourselves. Let them underestimate you.” Cale instructs us in that serious tone he uses during trainings. “Once you get your dragons, the rules change. Show them exactly why it is not a bright idea to mess with you.” We both nod solemnly. “And the parapet… slow and steady, no need to hurry to cross it. Hurry makes you both sloppy.”

“We are going to be fine, dad.” Quinn says with an easy smile on her lips. It might be strange to think that the confident, grinning girl from today is the same as the one who was thinking about running to another quadrant last night… but confidence is not the absence of insecurities, but rather the will to go ahead in spite of them, I think.

“As soon as you finish the first year, I expect a letter from each of you.” He says then, but his tone shifts from that of a general to that of a concerned father. Then he opens his arms widely and hugs us tightly.

Last year, Cale let me and Quinn hang around until the Scribes compiled the list of the candidates who didn’t make it across the parapet because he knew I would not be able to calm down without knowing. I wonder if this year he will breathe down their necks as they are crossing off the names of the ones who would not make it.

My heart jumps in my chest when I look ahead of me and see a familiar face in line for the Parapet. I break into a huge grin and wave to get his attention, not caring that I am already breaking Cale’s rule of not drawing attention to myself.

“Bodhi!” I call to get his attention.

Quinn follows the direction of my gaze. “You did not lie; he surely looks like the friendliest in your group.” Quinn observes, smiling with amusement. I cannot argue with that – Xaden is too serious and arrogant; Garrick’s default state is annoyance and I am… me.

I see him explain something to the riders assisting the crossing before he breaks the line and comes to us. Wasting no time, I throw my arms around him in a hug – and, for a moment, I forget where we are and what awaits us. For a brief second, I just enjoy seeing my goofy friend.

“Hey, look at you!” He exclaims, looking at me from head to toe, allowing me to do the same. In the last four years, Bodhi Durran changed quite a bit. He grew taller and put on some muscles, but he retained that warmth that always set him apart from his older cousin. There is a playfulness in his eyes and there is no sharpness in his features. Even his dark messy hair is the same as I remember. “When you wrote saying you shaved your hair, I thought you were kidding.”

“I take it you like it?” I challenge, rising an eyebrow at him jokingly.

“It will take some time to get used to it.” Bodhi admits, running a hand through his own hair.

A horrifying scream pierces the air, making us snap our attention back to the parapet. One down. I don’t want to think about how many others met the same fate today. It suddenly makes it all feel very real. It was easy to train for this and plan for it, but actually seeing the stone structure and to think that I will soon have to walk on it…

“We really have to stop getting ourselves into this kind of situations.” Bodhi points out, taking his backpack off his shoulders and rummaging in it for something.

“Sadly, it is only the beginning.” I note, my eyes still glued on the parapet and on the candidates crossing it.

“Oh, come on!” Quinn interjects. “Don’t get all dark and gloomy! Think about the bright side! Dragons!”

Bodhi finally finds what he was fishing for in his backpack and looks up. He looks at Quinn for the first time and extends his arm, offering her… chocolate?!

“Judging by the fact that you seem to stand Imogen, you must be Quinn!” Bodhi says instead of a proper introduction. “Bodhi Durran!”

“Did… did you bring chocolate on Conscription Day?” I ask incredulously.

“It’s stress chocolate!” He defends himself.

I am bewildered. Bodhi Durran, ladies and gentlemen, the only person who would even think to bring chocolate on this day.

“Conscription day stressed me out, okay?” He pouts, taking a bite out of his chocolate bar.

“Got to admit, Im, it actually helps.” Quinn points out, enjoying her piece.

“You just made a friend for life, Bodhi. Quinn is like a puppy – if you feed her sweets, she is going to love you forever.” I joke, shaking my head at the two of them with amusement.

Bodhi is the first to walk on that damned death-trap. I follow his broad figure as he puts one leg in front of the other. Firm. Steady. Unlike the guy who followed him – I could tell he lost his composure after the first few steps, when he looked up to see how much more he had ahead of him. Big mistake. He let himself be intimidated.

There is one more guy before me and, after he sets off, I feel my own fear rising.

“Name?” One of the older riders asks, looking at me with a bored expression. He doesn’t even blink at the rebellion relic on my arm and I find it strangely calming. Either he can’t be bothered to care or he doesn’t care because he is sure I won’t make it. I like being underestimated.

“Imogen Ilaria Cardulo.” I rise my chin a bit higher and straighten my shoulders, balancing the backpack better between my shoulder blades.

The girl next to him frowns, examining me as if I had just dropped from nowhere and materialized in front of her. “Cardulo as in Lieutenant Braelyn Cardulo?” She asks incredulously. I nod, feeling strangely warmer as I hear the name of my older sister. Of course, she would be known among them – she was, after all, one of the strongest riders in her generation. And she was a Wingleader during her third year.

“She was my sister. Is there a problem with that?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I won’t allow them to drag my sister’s name through mud in front of me. I am ready to bite their heads off at the slightest denigrating comment.

The girl’s eyes narrow and she scoffs. She is about to comment something just as the guy that was right behind Bodhi slips. He tries to hold on to the edge of the parapet, but he doesn’t have enough power in his arms to push his whole body up. His scream is cut short by a loud bang as his body meets the hard ground below.

“Looks like you are up, Cardulo.” She coos, the venom in her voice making me want to punch her.

I look over my shoulder to Quinn and sketch a small smile for her. “See you on the other side, Quinnie.”

“Be there in a second, Im.”

I love the confident smile she gives me before I take the first step on the parapet, leaving the safety of the turret.

One foot in front of the other. I silence every single uncertainty in my mind and concentrate on my breathing as I continue. Inhale. Exhale.

I don’t look ahead to see how much I have crossed already, that would be a mistake I simply can not afford right now. In. And out. Slow and steady.

It is almost like the games I used to play when I was little. It is not that different from all those times I walked on the stone fence between my house and Xaden’s, while waiting for him to come out to play. Did Xaden and Garrick remember the fence last year as they walked this exact same path? Did they think of our parents always scolding us for jumping over the fence when the gate was only a few feet away?

Knowing them, they must have run across this death-trap. I can almost picture them, arguing later on, far from prying eyes, on who was the fastest. The thought makes me smile inwardly.

I see a weaker stone, cracked all over and I avoid it. The parapet has claimed thousands of lives since it was built as a test, but I wander how many of them found their death because of this kind of unstable stones?

No, I can’t be thinking of falling and death! Okay, happy thoughts…

Baking with my mother during a chilly autumn day. Building a snowman with my father and Braelyn in front of the house. Laughing with Braelyn as she tells me of her latest love conquest. My 10th birthday party and all of my friends gathering at my house, singing me happy birthday. Bodhi falling head-first into my birthday cake, licking the frosting off his fingers afterwards. All the stupid little races and challenges I had with the boys…

And Garrick. The way his cheeks turn a crimson colour when he yells at me for doing something reckless. The way he throws his head back when he laughs with all his heart. The way he runs his hand through his hair when he is thinking. Garrick who would play with the dolls with the smaller kids during the rebellion and who would teach the boys basic sword play. Garrick who would find something sweet for me whenever I was sad and just listen to my rants.

And his eyes…

Yeah, probably not the best moment to day-dream about Garrick Tavis.

“Come on, Im!” I raise my gaze from the stones and look straight ahead at Bodhi. He made it safely to the other side. “Almost there! Come on!”

I smile widely looking at him. And right next to him stand Garrick and Xaden, next to a table with what looks like scrolls. I am so close that I can make out their faces! Xaden is looking at me with a half grin as he nods encouragingly and Garrick stands with his hands crossed over his chest, smiling slightly.

Less than thirty steps and I will be safe, I will be a cadet! I can actually do it… I might actually have a chance here.

I turn to look behind to see how Quinn is doing. She must have crossed more than half the distance; her balance is perfect. If she keeps going…

But then I remember what I noticed around there. I open my mouth to warn her, but it happens before I even manage to make a single sound. Her foot touches the cracked stone and it is enough for it to break. She shrieks as she loses her balance and slips off the parapet.

“QUINN!” I shout, my eyes wide as I see her struggle to cling to the stones of the parapet, her legs dangling off it.

I spare one look towards the safe side of the parapet, looking at my friends. Bodhi and Xaden shake their heads slightly when I meet their eyes, but it is Garrick whose body is visibly tense, his eyes pleading. He knows what I am about to do. They all do.

I turn around.

There is nothing else on my mind as I walk towards Quinn. I don’t think about anything else beside the possibility of losing her. Of losing one of the few people I truly care about. I can’t let that happen, not again.

I find myself praying as I walk. Praying that I will not slip. Praying that I will get there in time. I don’t focus on one deity in particular – I raise my plea to all of the gods at once, to whichever one is out there, listening. Please… Please…

A gush of wind almost makes me lose my balance, but I plant my feet down, taking a moment to steady myself. Only a moment. There is no time to spare.

My eyes don’t leave Quinn’s figure for a second. I watch as she tries to push enough force in her arms to climb back. In vain. Her grip is not secure enough and mortar is coming out from the stone she clings to.

The wind pushes her golden curls in her eyes. I find myself thinking about Cale, finding out that his daughter fell of the parapet. I think about how devastated he would be if that happens.

But I also think about how devastated I would be too. If I don’t get there in time, I don’t think I will be able to live with myself. I have already watched one sister die right before my eyes; I can’t possibly watch another one fall to her death. I can pretend all I want, but if something were to happen to those I still have…

My heart pounds like a drum as I finally reach her. Quinn’s eyes widen when she looks up to meet mine, but I don’t have the time or disposition for talking right now. I grab her arm and pull, praying that I will have enough strength to help her up without falling myself. This is a risk I did not consider. Not that it matters anymore – the decision was taken when I turned around.

“Come on!” I sneer as I see her shaking her head, but there is no anger in my voice, only panic. Blood chilling panic. “Let me fucking help, Artan!”

And she does. She lets me grab both her arms and I pull her up, slowly. The last thing I need is for both of us to fall over. Then, there is absolutely no one to come to our rescue.

When I see Quinn on her feet again, I let out a breath I did not even know I was holding. She is alive. She did not fall. She did not die. My heart is still beating like a damn orchestra and I have to tell myself this over and over – She is alive. She is alive.

“Please, don’t fucking do something like that again!” I practically sob as I hug her tightly, once.

“I can say the same!” She argues, breathing deeply and slowly to calm her heartbeats. “You turned back…”

The disbelief in her voice makes my heart ache. “Of course I did. I would always turn back for you.” I manage to say.

Our little bubble bursts when the realisation of where we are settles in again. There is another candidate coming nearer and nearer and I realise the parapet is not exactly the best place for a heart to heart. Not when the said candidate looks at me with so much anger.

“Come on. Follow my lead.” I tell Quinn over my shoulder as I resume walking, not letting go of her hand. We are going to use the buddy system this time. I don’t care if there is an unwritten law we are breaking right now – all I care is that we are both alive and that I did not have to watch another sister die.

When we make it to safety, the first thing I do is to hug Quinn tightly. This was it. We made it all the way. We are both alive! Nothing else matters.

“They have to be disqualified!” someone calls from behind us, making me frown.

The man that was right behind us is still throwing daggers at me. He is taller than me, with hair a light shade of brown and angry brown eyes. He would be handsome had he not been such a stuck-up, I guess.

He then looks up at Xaden and Garrick and it is almost comical to see how his whole face distorts with anger. I would laugh had that accusation not been directed at me.

“She turned around to help her! The Codex…”

Garrick crosses his arms on his chest, taking a defensive stance. I don’t give him or Xaden the time to say anything, however. I don’t need protection.

“The Codex stipulates that candidates can not receive external help when crossing the parapet. I was still on the Parapet when I turned around.” I challenge him, narrowing my eyes. “Besides, there is no rule against candidates helping each other.”

Am I improvising? Obviously. I have read the Codex more times than I care to remember and, indeed, there is no rule against helping someone. Everyone is too focused on killing each other out there that no one ever thought of writing a rule against helping someone. That doesn’t mean that there can’t be an unwritten rule against it somewhere.

However, the first rule of improvising in such situations is to keep a straight face. I cannot afford looking uncertain. If I look at Xaden, Garrick or even Quinn, he might pick up on my uncertainty and call my bluff. So, I keep my eyes locked on his and my chin high. I am glad Bodhi is no longer here – he always starts to giggle when I put on this seriousness.

“She is right.” Xaden draws in, sounding almost bored with it all as he taps on the scrolls on the table. “If you are done bickering, children…”

“Names?” Garrick sighs, resuming his place on the chair by the desk, grabbing the quill. He starts writing before we even say a word.

I want to laugh in relief – to lay down, on the ground, and laugh my lungs out.

“Imogen Cardulo.” I breath out, doing my best to keep my voice even. I just know, from the look Garrick sends me that I will not get away so easily – the real scolding will be in private. But his shoulders are no longer tense.

“Quinn Artan.” I look at her and my heart grows upon seeing the blooming smile on her face.

Xaden motions for us to get going, pointing with his head towards the building. I don’t need to be told twice. As I pass by Mr. Codex, I hear him mumble something about marked ones breaking the rules for one another. Oh, he has no idea…

He is still within my earshot as he says his name. “Dain Aetos.”

It is around midnight when I make my way towards the second-year`s floor.

It has been a long night. Forty-eight people died today at the parapet. Forty-eight families had to collect the bodies of their children or watch as they are buried at the foot of the mountain. Another five died in the courtyard – and that sight opened old wounds. I did not feel bad for them for dying after they crossed the parapet, I felt no pity for them when they showed fear under the scrutiny of the dragons – it was the way they died, burnt alive by dragon fire, that made me flinch.

On a bright side, I was placed in the same squad as Quinn. Unfortunately, so did Aetos. Just my luck to be in the same squad as the son of Colonel Aetos. Bodhi was a little luckier – he was placed in the Fourth Wing, the same wing as both Xaden and Garrick.

Xaden who is a freaking Section Leader! And Garrick who rose to Squad Leader. No one can imagine my pride when I saw them standing proudly during assignment.

I look around at the plain wooden doors – none of them offer the slightest hint about their inhabitant, to my disappointment. Perfect. And how am I supposed to…

The shadows seem to be moving around my legs and I blink a few times to make sure I am not imagining it. But no, the shadows are really moving, as if pointing the direction. I narrow my eyes and palm my blades as I follow them – I am a cadet now; the killing games have begun and I have no intention of being the first on the list tomorrow.

The shadows stop at a door towards the end of the hallway. I take one of my blades out of its sheath and knock with my other hand.

As soon as the door opens, I am ready to strike, but instead I am dragged into a bone-crushing hug, the door closing behind me. I inhale the smell of oranges and cinnamon and all the tension in my body disappears – one touch and I literally feel my knees buckle. Gods, I am so pathetic, but he feels warm and familiar. He feels solid and safe. I want to cling to his shirt, bury my face into the warm curve of his neck and never let go.

When he takes a step back, I feel considerably colder and breathless. I look up at Garrick, at the hard-set lines of his face, at the tightness in his jaw… but I don’t fail to notice that little spark in his eyes.

“Do you have any crumble of self-preservation, Cardulo?” Garrick begins, pinning me in place with a disappointed, angry look.

“Never heard of such a thing.” I answer cheekily, locking eyes with Xaden, who is seated on a chair, watching us with amusement. “Are you going to start scolding me too?”

He shakes his head, chuckling. “No. That is Garrick’s job.” Xaden states as he gives me a hug as well – warm, familiar, but not as knee buckling as Garrick’s. “Besides, it would make me a hypocrite if I suddenly started to condemn recklessness.”

“Pff!” Garrick rolls his eyes at us. “Encourage her, go ahead! Next time she will turn around in the middle of the Gauntlet or try jumping from a dragon’s back! What am I saying! Want me to get Chradh to start on the latter?”

“Oh, please!” I throw back, narrowing my eyes at him. “Are you going to tell me that had it been you and Xaden instead of me and Quinn, you would not have turned around to help him?”

“There is a difference! Xaden is like a brother to me!” Garrick doesn’t back down.

“And Quinn is like my sister!” Even I am surprised when I hear these words out loud, but the truth is incontestable. “She was there when no one else was. When so many people look down on me because of this stupid thing” I continue, pointing out to the rebellion relic on my arm, “she never gave a crap about it. Like it or not, she is as much my family now as you two are!” I don’t bother telling him to get off my back with all this protectiveness. He never will and, truthfully, I don’t want him to. I would be just as furious if he put his life in danger for no reason – difference is, I had a reason. This time.

That is enough to close Garrick’s mouth. He purses his lips and nods once, shortly – this must be the first time he has ever backed down from a verbal sparring with me. I enjoy the victory for less than three second before I turn my attention back on Xaden – this is the best time for me to let out all my pent-up anger towards him, as well.

I throw on the table a pile of letters – everything I ever received from Brennan, all the important information the other kids gave me. “You know what that is, Riorson?” I ask calmly, using my sweetest voice.

He looks at the letters and then his onyx eyes return to me. I don’t wait for him to answer before going on:

“That is the only argument I need to justify that I earned my right to know what the fuck you two are up to from now on. When we were sent to that safe house, we all made a pact you seem to have forgotten. Allow me to remind you…” I look towards Garrick as well, letting him know that I am equally mad at him too on this matter. “Whatever we do, we promised to do it together. We were supposed to stand together, no matter the odds, to the last fight. You two dimwits, me and Bodhi.”

“Imogen…” Garrick interrupts me, but I hold up my hand. I am not done.

“Now imagine how I felt when I found out that you have been… doing all of these things…” I choose my words carefully, not sure how thick the walls are. “And I had no fucking idea that you were doing any of this until you threw it all in my lap. I thought we promised not to keep secrets from each other.”

The last part comes out as a snarl, but I don’t give a crap. I have been thinking about it all for months. Day after day, the fear that they did not trust me enough was eating at me.

“Immy…” Xaden cuts in and, seeing I am not biting his head off as well, he takes it as a sign to continue his idea. “It was not a matter of trust. Of course we trust you and your abilities. Had we not, we wouldn’t have left you in charge.”

“We only wanted to protect you, Im.” Garrick adds, his eyes softening as he looks at me.

“I don’t want protection. Not from this kind of stuff. If you are diving head-first into danger, I am not going to stand by and watch.” My voice is trailing off, slightly. My anger is diminishing. “I am not a fragile little girl. Whatever you are doing, I want to be a part too.”

I take a seat on the bed, my eyes moving from one to the other. They seem to have an entire conversation in silence, just by looking at each other. This is how it has always been with them. In the end, Garrick sighs and Xaden straightens his shoulders and turns to me. There is no hesitation in his onyx eyes. Good.

“All right. But I warn you, it might be dangerous.”

“That never stopped me before.” I grin, crossing my arms across my chest.

“I hate how your eyes light up when someone says danger…” Garrick muses, leaning against the wall.

I ignore him, focusing on Xaden. “I am all ears.” This time, there is no smirk, no joking tone. I am serious.

Chapter Text

Sitting on one of the benches in the training room, I let my mind wander around aimlessly for a bit. I am vaguely aware of Quinn and Bodhi talking next to me about fighting techniques and debating the best methods of dealing with different opponents, but I can't exactly focus on what they are saying. I am so tired and sore that I find myself unable to concentrate on anything lately.

Garrick took it upon himself to make sure Bodhi and I will be able to keep our seats on a dragon. In the event we actually get to bond one, that is. Quinn joined us for our torture sessions and she quickly formed an alliance with Bodhi, so now they spend each session complaining – Garrick has never been the most patient person in our group, so these complains usually lead to him losing his temper and adding extra weight in our routine. I can't complain, though – I know Garrick has our best interests at heart. Besides, if I want to complain, I don’t do it in front of an audience. I prefer to yell at him in private.

Speaking of our torturer… Garrick is somewhere in the room chatting with Professor Emetterio – something about the fights that are about to start, no doubt. I kind of wish he weren’t here – every time he oversees this class, he makes notes on every single wrong step I take and lectures me afterwards. I can win the fight, be flawless in my movements and he would still find something to nitpick at.

There are so many other things, far more important than this, that should be our top priority, but Garrick shuts me and Bodhi down every time we even try to start a discussion about those things. Him and Xaden basically forbade us from talking about the weapon smuggling, about Brennan or Aretia, saying our priority for now is to survive and bond a dragon.

As you can imagine, this is just one more reason for me to lash out at Garrick. Xaden, in the rare event he is actually around and not Melek knows where doing whatever secret thing he has on the off-limits agenda, makes a point of avoiding me and Garrick when we get into one of these screaming matches lately. Bodhi tried to intervene once and... let's just say it did not end well for him.

I jump a bit when I feel someone elbowing me in the ribs, growling in the back of my throat, but Quinn just rolls her eyes and subtly nods her head towards Emetterio, who is standing in the center of the room, writing down something on his clipboard.

“They called your name.” She whispers at my confused look, smirking. Bodhi is trying to conceal his chuckle behind her and he just raises both his thumbs up in my direction to wish me luck.

I sigh and stand up from the bench, locking eyes with Garrick as I approach the training mat. Yet another fight he can lecture me on later. Fantastic. He crosses his arms over his chest, his face unreadable as the squad leader mask slips on.

Emetterio is not looking at me anymore, his eyes scanning the room to pick me an opponent. His eyes finally fix on a massive guy from Third Wing whose name I never bothered to learn - I barely know the names of the people in my squad and I see no point in even trying to remember names when I will likely hear them on the death roll the day after Threshing. He is much taller than me and broader, with a dark complexion and an arrogant smirk on his face, which makes me groan internally.

“Oh, I’ll enjoy snapping you like a twig.” He croons as he gets into a fighting stance on the training mat, making me roll my eyes in annoyance. As if!

“We’ll see about that.” I purr sweetly, winking at him. I love it when they underestimate me.

His face contorts in disgust and anger as he lunges forward, swinging wildly towards my face. Too slow. I dodge the attack, ducking and sliding to his backside. I grab his leg and pull at the same time, making him lose his balance and fall. It never gets old, seeing the pure rage on their faces when they understand that I am not so easily breakable.

The next attacks are faster, wilder, but I play my size to my advantage and manage to avoid the blows. Well, almost all of them – in my overconfidence, I focus on landing my own punches and I don’t have the time to dodge as his foot collides with my side, right in the kidney area. The force of the impact makes me stumble two steps and I wince in pain – the momentary distraction from the pain giving him enough time to sweep my feet from under me and knock me down. My back hits the mat with an embarrassing shriek escaping my throat.

I try to push myself back up, but he is suddenly above me, faster than he had been in the fight up to that point. Looks like I committed the oldest mistake in the book and underestimated my enemy. Well, this is something I would scold myself for too, so I fully deserve the lecture I am certain I will get from Garrick afterwards.

“Tyrrish bitch!” He seethes, his face looming uncomfortably close to my own as he pins me down with his body. He raises his fist to punch me in the face, but I manage to move my face to the side fast enough that his fist goes straight to the mat underneath instead. For less than a second, as I turn my face, I see Garrick`s fists clenching at his sides and he makes a single step forward before stopping himself.

The Third Wing guy grabs me by the throat and I gasp loudly as my head collides with the mat again. “You and your freak friends should not even be alive after the shit your parents pulled on us.” He sneers, his disgusted grimace replaced after a moment with an arrogant, dangerous smirk. “No matter, however, you will meet with your traitor family soon.”

I see red before my eyes. This is no longer a training sparring – this is an open death threat, so every advice Cale and Xaden ever gave me about not drawing attention to myself at least until Threshing doesn’t matter anymore. I lunge forward, hitting him right in the nose with my head. His eyes water and that split second of distraction is enough for me to flip us around, landing on top of him – and, unlike him, I know exactly how to position my body to pin him under me properly.

The faces of my parents and sister flash before my eyes as my fist collides with his face, over and over again. It is not the first comment I’ve heard on this matter since I’ve crossed the parapet, but it is the first that makes me lose my temper completely – my patience was bound to run out at some point, after facing such comments on a daily basis. If he thinks the black lines across my arm make me a freak, then I will act accordingly.

He is squirming underneath me, trying to break free, but I don’t budge. If anything, my grip tightens and my hits grow more and more violent. I drown all sounds around me, focusing on the insatiable rage inside of me.

It was bastards like him that made life a living hell for me and other marked kids. Hypocrites who pose as righteous, trying to kill us every chance they get – cornering us in empty hallways or bathroom stalls, saying they want to fix the mistake Command made when they let us live. They dare call us monsters, when they are the ones hunting us down!

I stop suddenly, my fist freezing in the air before the next blow. There is blood on my knuckles and my clothes are stained as well. The bastard is lying there, his whole face bloodied and swollen, looking up at me. And there is genuine fear in his eyes.

Sparing him one last look, I stand up and leave. I leave the whole scene behind, not waiting to see anyone’s reaction. I know I had him there, right where I needed him to serve the killing blow… But that would have only made the monster they already think I am.

By the time he knocks on my door, my anger has shimmered down considerably. Mostly thanks to the churam I managed to steal from Xaden's room during the latest meeting where he asked me and Bodhi about our progress and about he chances the other marked ones in our years have.

“Fuck off!” I shout, letting the smoke out. Obviously, I am aware I am wasting my breath.

“That is no way of talking to a squad leader. You could be punished for insubordination, you know?” Garrick points out, entering the room anyway. He must have used his lesser magic to unlock the door. Yeah, I am definitely getting Soleil to put a ward on it soon.

“Good thing you are not my squad leader, then, Tavis.” The chuckle that escapes through my lips is humorless, sharp. “Here to lecture me?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Closing the door behind him, Garrick Tavis makes his way towards the windowsill where I am sitting and takes a seat next to me. I expect him to throw the rolled churam when he takes it from between my fingers, but, to my surprise, he puts it between his lips instead and inhales deeply from it.

“No.” Garrick finally answers. “I just wanted to make sure you are all right.”

I hug my knees to my chest, ignoring the pain in my side – definitely going to have a handsome bruise in that area tomorrow. There is still blood on my hands as I didn't want to leave my room to go to the bathroom to take care of it yet, not before I got my emotions under control at least, and my head hurts a bit, but… “I am fine.” I assure him, sighing. “Is…?”

“Emetterio took Nelius to the healers after you left. You messed him up pretty badly, but he should be alright. Nolon will have to fix him so he can attend Threshing, I suppose.” He states, looking out of the window at the cliffs below – I would not risk smoking in my room had it been situated on the side with the courtyard.

I close my eyes, relief washing over me. I did not kill him. He practically wanted to finish me off right in front of the whole Quadrant, but I am actually relieved that he is still drawing breath – how fucked up is that? As if reading my mind, Garrick finally turns to look at me and passes the churam as he asks, “What made you stop?”

Taking a deep breath, I take a few moments before finally replying. “They already think I am a monster. I did not want to prove them right.”

Finally, our eyes meet. People always say that blue eyes are the most beautiful, but I find myself mesmerized by the rich hazel of Garrick's. There is nothing boring about them, nothing mundane… Especially when his expression is warm, open and not the cold mask of a squad leader. His eyes are the color of a forest – an unmistakable hue of green, melting into gold, like the sun peeking from behind the leaves of the trees. The color of the earth after a summer rain.

“I am glad you are clinging to your mercy still.” He sighs, a sad playing on his lips. “Once you take a life… something in you also dies. I’d hope you never have to feel that, but…”

“But I am just postponing the inevitable.” I conclude. My father and sister were warriors, they had blood on their hands that never seemed to quite wash off – and we are preparing to step into their shoes. Sooner or later… “When did you…?”

“Threshing.” There is no need for me to finish the question. He knows what I am referring to – he always does. “A girl from Morraine, she tried to take me down before I got to Chradh. Apparently, Derik killed her mother during the rebellion.” His voice is barely a whisper when he adds the last part.

My eyes widen in surprise. Garrick rarely talks about his older brother. Ever since that day in the Royal Prison of Calldyr, when Derik’s name was called from the list with those fallen in battle, I have heard my friend mention his brother only once or twice.

Derik Tavis was a year older than Braelyn and, just like my sister, he was born to be a dragon rider. And he was the exact opposite of Garrick – he was brash, jumping head-first in any situation and couldn’t care less about rules, laughing in the face of danger. Growing up, I remember thinking he was like wild fire and, most probably, his recklessness made Garrick so protective and serious.

I put my hand on top of his and squeeze it gently. Xaden and Bodhi didn’t experience the pain of losing a sibling, but I did. Losing someone who has been there all your life is like a black hole in your soul – nothing can fill that void; you can never have the same kind of bond with anyone else… It's like a part of you dies along with them.

The pain will never go away and there is no way for me or anyone else to diminish it, but I found one thing that can help in this kind of situations. I can anchor him in the present.

“You made a step towards the mat today. Why?” There is genuine curiosity in my question. I have never seen Garrick’s mask of cold ignorance ever slip since the parapet. Especially not in public.

“I honestly don’t know. I heard him… what he called you... and then I saw that you were in an impossible position and I just wanted to put a stop to it.” Garrick admits, squeezing my hand tightly. “I wanted to get you out of there, rules be damned.”

“What stopped you?”

The corner of his mouth turns upwards as he looks at me. There is something like pride shining in his eyes. “I remembered that you are more than capable of holding your own in a fight.”

I grin widely at this. This is one of the most encouraging things I’ve heard in a long time. And it means even more coming from him.

“Wait until I get a dragon. Then I will be unstoppable.” I brag, finding it delightful to see him groaning and rolling his eyes at my overconfidence – but, his smile widens nonetheless. And I swear it seems to brighten the whole room.

“Did you feel a pull towards any of them during Presentation?” Garrick changes the subject, pivoting to a more serious subject and throwing the rest of the rolled churam out of the window.

“No.” Presentation Day was a catastrophe for my squad. Four of my squad mates were incinerated right in front of me by a green dragon for talking about what kind of dragons they hope not to bond with. I could not focus from that moment on and I did not pay any attention to any dragon in particular.

He sighs, running a hand through his dark curly hair. I am acutely aware of his every move and even after months of seeing him daily, I still find it difficult to get accustomed to it – he is not the same Garrick I grew up with and, probably, I am not the same either. He is still protective and caring, but there is a certain tightness in him, like a weight he can’t shake off his shoulders and he rarely lets his guard down.

“Try to look for green or brown ones. They are easier to bond with and, if you show them respect, there is a higher chance of them not burning you on the spot.” He instructs. “Red ones are a risk, but not as much as orange ones.”

“Braelyn had an orange one.” I point out, picking at the caked blood under my nails.

“They are unpredictable and harder to bond with, Im. The others are safer choices.”

“It is not like I am the one to choose, Gar. You know that.”

He nods and, after a couple of moment, he stands up. It is weird seeing Garrick Tavis in my room after almost four years, not including the brief meeting Quinn planned last year. Like I said, there is a visible change about him, but I still catch glimpses of who he used to be – of who I think he still is, deep down. And, besides, I can’t stop thinking about a whole different kind of having him in my bedroom.

I’ve been having this kind of thoughts a lot lately… About how his body would feel on mine, how his big, calloused hands would wrap around me to pull me closer, about the taste of his lips and… Damn it.

“Just…” His voice makes me snap out of my fantasies and I pray to Amari that he will blame the red hue in my cheeks on the churram. “Remember that they are always looking to kill us, Threshing is the perfect time for it because all the rules are thrown out of the window for the day. And, after today, Nelius and his friends will certainly hunt you down. For them, you just became target number one.”

“Just another Tuesday, but with dragons in the mix.” I joke, hoping to lighten up the mood, but Garrick doesn’t laugh.

“Immy…” My heart skips a beat at the sound of my old, childhood nickname on his lips, at the crumble of vulnerability in the way he says it. Then he shakes his head as if changing his mind. “Remember, no noble sacrifices or anything similarly stupid tomorrow. And if you fall from that dragon, I will kill you myself.”

“Noted.” I laugh, trying to ignore the sting of disappointment in my chest as he leaves.

“Remember to listen here,” Professor Kaori is saying, standing in front of all of us, tapping his chest. “If a dragon has already selected you, they’ll be calling.” He thumps his chest again. “So, pay attention to not just your surroundings but your feelings, and go with them. And if your feelings are telling you to go in the other direction…listen to that, too.”

I try to listen to Kaori, I really do, but this time I have someone else to blame for my inability to concentrate. I have just told Quinn about my discussion with Garrick last night and she is now practically squealing excitedly next to me.

“He likes you!” She says, grinning like an idiot.

“Quinnie, what exactly from my discussion with him points to that? We are just friends, nothing else. He came to make sure I am okay, just like you are Bodhi did, and I would not call our discussion about Threshing flirting!” I argue back, trying to make her calm down.

Her dark green eyes pin me in place and she smirks, as if seeing right through me. “Keep telling yourself that, Cardulo.”

Bodhi finally manages to find his way to where we are and saves me from the rest of Quinn`s teasing. I notice that he has the cards Kaori gave us with information on each dragon willing to bond this year in one hand and a wide grin on his face as he raises one for us to see.

“I think I got it!” He announces proudly, showing us the card with a green clubtail.

“Cool!” Quinn examines the card, looking over the short history on the back of it. “Where do you think Kaori gets all these facts, anyway?”

“I imagine Smachd is a big gossip.” Bodhi laughs, referring to Kaori`s dragon. “Just picture it! Kaori, with a cup of tea and a roll of paper, talking shit about all the dragons in the Vale with his equally nosy dragon.”

Quinn bursts into laughing, earning a pointed look from Kaori which only makes it harder for her and Bodhi to stop. I bite my lower lip to hide my own smile.

“You are going after that green one, Quinn?” I ask, remembering how she stopped in her tracks during Presentation when we passed by a huge green scorpiontail.

“Yep.” She nods, looking out towards the Vale as if she could already sense where the said dragon could be. From what I know, the unbonded dragons haven’t even left their nests yet. “Hopefully I get there first. I’ve heard Adan from First Wing talk about it too.”

“What about you, Immy?” Bodhi asks, just as Kaori finishes his speech.

“I honestly have no idea.” I admit, looking at the other cadets spreading across the field.

It’s been two hours since Threshing started and still nothing.

I passed some dragons so far – a couple of greens, two or three browns and some reds, careful to stay far enough from them to avoid their wrath. None of them gave me that feeling everyone has been talking about – that invisible pull, that certainty that it is meant to be.

Some cadets have already managed to bond, judging by the cries and shrieks above the tree lines. I just hope Quinn and Bodhi are among those in the sky and not another corpse with a broken neck somewhere. Or worse – one of the still smoking piles of ashes.

I hide behind a tree as I hear hurried footsteps nearing. A group of three cadets are running as fast as they can, as if they had seen Malek himself. They don’t even notice me as they continue running – they are shouting at each other and I barely catch some key words: dragon, ruthless, gigantic, orange.

A sane person who values their safety, would turn around and follow those frightened cadets. Someone with a crumble of self-preservation instinct, as Garrick calls it, would try to get as far away from there as possible, especially if they were warned just the day before to avoid orange dragons. Good thing I never considered myself sane. All the good things in my life are the consequence of risks I took.

Zihnal, the god of luck, never let me down before – he can’t start today, right?

I follow the direction those cadets came from and, soon, I find myself in a small clearing – a beautiful, almost secluded place. The kind of place where you would find couples lying in the grass, enjoying the nature and bathing in the warm sunlight. However, there is nothing romantic about the creature lying on the grass.

It stands there, in the middle of the clearing, the sun rays reflecting into its orange scales. It is gigantic – almost as big as Xaden`s dragon, its head bigger than my whole body and the claws upon which it rests its head are the size of my forearm, but there is something in the way it stays that reminds me of a feline. There is something in the way it lays, with its head leaning on the front legs and the dagger tail coiled around her that reminds me of a cat.

Unconsciously, I take a few steps towards it, oblivious to the smoking pile of ashes nearby. Out of all the reckless things I have ever done, this is my masterpiece. A small voice in my head starts yelling at me to run, to get away from the dragon, but I finally feel it – the invisible, inexplicable pull.

When I get close enough, the dragon finally opens its eyes and looks at me. Cold, golden eyes pin me down and my knees buckle under the intensity of its stare.

I barely remember Kaori’s instructions about never looking straight into the eyes of an orange dragon and I quickly lower my head – the harm has been done, however. The ground under me shakes from the low, threatening growl that comes from the dragon as it stands up to its full height.

I close my eyes. Well, this was it! I have managed to survive so long and, oddly enough, I find it fitting that I am going to find my death the same way my mother and sister did – incinerated by dragon fire. I think of Quinn and Bodhi, probably already bonded to a dragon, soaring through the skies. Then I think about Xaden and Garrick, probably flying around on Sgaeyl and Chradh like all the others leaders in the Quadrant – even if they were to find me, by some miracle, they would not be able to interfere.

Then I think about all the plans that I was supposed to be a part of after today. About the revenge I craved. I am content with everything else in my life, but this… this is the only think that I am angry I would not get to finish.

“Do not pretend you are some meek, pathetic little girl, Imogen Cardulo. Not when I saw that vicious mind working behind your eyes.” A silky female voice reprimands me.

My eyes shoot upwards, surprise clearly etched on my face. I must look stupid, sitting here staring in bewilderment at this dragon, with my mouth hanging open.

“You do.” The same voice coos, the dragon tilting her head to the side, looking at me from head to toes.

“You…” I breathe out, trying to put two and two together. She is talking to me! In my mind! “You chose… me?”

She lets out a huff of warm steam and I hear a low growl in my head, like a snort. “No, I just felt like chatting, vicious girl.”

“Wow, sarcasm. That’s original.” I might be crazy to talk like this to an enormous orange dragon and to roll my eyes at her, but here I am. Maybe Garrick is right and I should learn to keep my snide comments to myself before it gets me killed.

“If you don’t want a sarcastic answer, don’t ask a stupid question.” She retorts, inching her head closer to my face until we are basically eye to eye. Clearly, she wants to intimidate me, but I don’t back down and look straight into her golden eyes.

I am not sure if she found what she was looking for in my eyes, but after a few seconds she lets out a silky laugh – bone chilling and sharp like a blade, but mesmerizing. Straightening to her full height, her eyes don’t leave mine for a second as she says, “Not sure if you are extremely brave or extremely stupid, but… I like you, Pinky.”

“I’ve been told I have a dazzling personality.” I grin.

“Sure, you are a ray of sunshine. Now get on before I change my mind.” Can dragons roll their eyes? I am fairly sure mine just did.

No nasty comment comes after that. I approach her side and, suddenly, I am grateful for all those hours on the Gauntlet and for Garrick’s training – pushing all my force into one foot, I manage to jump on her back. Barely.

“Your mounting abilities need work.” She scoffs as I position myself on her back just as Garrick and Xaden instructed us.

“Well, it would be easier if you crouched a little!” I retort.

“Sounds like a you problem. Dragons don’t crouch down to anyone.” And, without warning, she takes off. The powerful flap of her wings and the sudden motion almost knock me off her back – almost. “You better hold on tight. If you fall, I am under no obligation to catch you.”

Weeks of training every night with Garrick, pulling all sorts of weights and strengthening the muscles in my thighs finally pay off. Even when she pulls us in the craziest flying maneuvers, I keep my seat, holding on tightly to her scales and pressing my thighs around her.

I am not going to fall.

The realization makes me grin widely and I allow myself to acknowledge the fact that I am actually flying. After all these years, I thought I had buried that naïve little girl with silly long braids and rainbow dresses who used to dream about flying, about touching the clouds, but now… Now I have finally fulfilled her dream. From deep inside of me a squeal of joy erupts and I feel… alive.

She turns her head a bit to the side to look at me. I am not good at reading the emotions of dragons, but I am fairly certain I see respect in her golden eyes. “Well… looks like I won’t get rid of you so easily.”

“If you were counting on that, it’s a you problem. You are stuck with me now.” I try to answer mentally, not exactly sure how this works. Why hasn’t anyone taught us about this? Kaori could spend a little less time on gossip and more on actually preparing us for interacting with the dragons.

“Is that so, Pinky?” She challenges, diving suddenly and flying dangerously low, near the cliffs. Seeing I am still hanging on after that one, she continues: “My name is Lystraepione, daughter of Yndrieren and Brezzarth, descended from the vicious line of Fhaicorain. But Lystra is fine, for now.”

“I’m…” Truthfully, I don’t even know how to introduce myself. What do I say? That I am the daughter of Alda and Rhion Cardulo? Doesn’t seem like something that would matter to a dragon. Maybe the sister of Braelyn Cardulo? After all, my sister had been bonded to an orange dragon. Do all dragons know each other? Maybe she remembers my sister's dragon as they were from the same den.

“I know exactly who you are, vicious girl. I know everything there is to know about you.” Lystra interrupts me, taking a sudden turn and flying towards the school.

“Because of the bond?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“Among other sources.” She purrs. I am about to ask about the other sources, but she goes on. “You will get more answers at the right time, girl. Now stand up straight and get ready to land. We will have an audience to impress.”

In less than five minutes, we are in the courtyard at Basgiath. There are about a dozen bonded pairs already there, indicating that most of the others are yet to come. Lystra makes sure we make an entrance by forcing a red scorpion tail to move from the exact spot she wanted to land, right at the front of the formation.

“You really had to?” I ask as I jump off her back, as gracefully as I possibly could.

“I have an image to maintain, Pinky.” She hisses, an unmistakable hint of annoyance in her voice. “It is already bad enough that we were not the first pair.”

Smiling up at her, I take a moment to appreciate this moment and let the past few hours settle in. Her orange scales remind me of the sunset and her appearance is at the same time elegant and lethal. Beautiful. And, from now on, my life is bonded to hers. The thought should terrify me, but it is actually strangely comforting.

I look around, searching for familiar faces.

I spot Bodhi in the middle of the formation, standing by a green dragon who I assume is the same one he had shown us this morning. The smile on his face as our eyes meet mirrors my own. We made it. In spite of everything, we are here today, alive. And we are officially riders.

Quinn lands a few minutes later and a weight lifts off my heart seeing her in one piece. Her black leathers are dirty and she looks as if she has just gotten out of a fight, but she is grinning like an idiot. Looks like she actually found the dragon she was looking for – a green scorpiontail.

There is also Dain Aetos a few rows back, standing straight like a damn statue in front of a red dragon, his gaze fixed on the dais where the generals and instructors are gathered. I follow his gaze and it takes every bit of self control to school my expression into indifference.

The three main characters of my nightmares are standing there, right by the rider responsible with recording the bonded pairs. General Melgren, General Sorrengail and Colonel Aetos. There is no emotion on their faces as they look at every bonded pair in front of them – the same expressionless faces they wore that day, on a totally different field, when they read my family's execution order and then stood idly as they were incinerated right before their eyes.

“Don’t worry, my vicious girl.” Lystra’s voice is like a caress in my mind this time, nothing of the lethality from before to be found in it. “You will get your revenge someday. We will make sure of it.”

I cling to this promise as I approach the representative with the roll. As I willingly get closer to the three people I want to see dead more than anything in the world.

“Cousin, did you really have to be such a buzzkill?” Bodhi complains as we descend a dark staircase towards the flight field, following Xaden and Garrick who are using their lesser magic to create mage lights. We should be able to do such tricks too, but no one explained how exactly this works. At least not yet. “We just became Riders, couldn’t you just let us party tonight and get on with the blah blah blahs tomorrow?”

“Besides… Marked ones can’t gather in groups larger than three.” I add, citing the Codex. I know I’ve been impatiently asking to get included in all the rebellion stuff, but I might be a little bit too tipsy for it at the moment.

“This is exactly why we are meeting while everyone else is celebrating. It is the perfect distraction.” Xaden explains, rolling his eyes as if he is talking to toddlers. “Would you rather find out about it at the next meeting with the rest of the marked ones?”

Bodhi and I share a look. No, we definitely would hate that. Despite the common trauma, the other children of separatists in the Quadrant are basically strangers to us, so, even if it sounds awful… it would be insulting to learn the details at the same time as them. After years of friendship, you would think we deserve to be a step above literal strangers.

“That’s what I thought too…” Xaden muses and, in spite of the darkness, I am pretty sure I see his lips pulling into a smirk.

“Stop toying with them, brother.” Garrick cuts in, leaning against a stone door at the end of the staircase, but not opening it. “They should be here soon.” The last part is directed solely towards Xaden, the serious tone and no bull-shit face telling me that Garrick is not in the mood for stupid questions – so I don’t ask who he is referring to.

Right after Threshing, when all the cadets and those in leading positions returned, Garrick was smiling as his eyes set on me and Bodhi. A rare, genuine smile that made his hazel eyes shine. In that moment, he looked exactly like the Garrick Tavis I grew up with – before all this rebellion, before Derik and his parents died, before we had these dark lines decorating our arms. Now, he is back to the squad leader attitude, that joyful self nowhere in sight.

“Stop fantasizing about him or mate him already!” Lystra chides me, her voice bringing me back to the present.

“You’ve been awfully quiet these past few hours.” I note, remembering how right after she gave me the signet – a huge tattoo of an orange dragon flying upwards that covers the left side of my waist –, she flew off. I had no time to ask her about that promise to help me take revenge on those who killed my family and she left me wondering why she would make a commitment that is basically a form of treason against Navarre.

“Every year after Threshing we have our own gathering, Pink. I believe that was more important than not making you feel as if you were ditched by your date at a ball.” She answers, picking the less important question.

Just when I want to argue back with my sarcastic dragon, Garrick pushes the stone door open and looks out to make sure there is no one on the flight field. “Clear!” He shouts, signaling that we can get out of the staircase.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness after the mage lights disappear. The field is empty, shrouded in darkness and only dimly illuminated by the moon. It is hard to believe that only a couple of hours ago this field was filled with hundreds of dragons and their riders… Now it is empty, safe for the four massive dragons standing right in front of us – I guess this is what Garrick meant by „they”.

“We really have to learn to communicate better.” I raise an eyebrow at Lystra, her orange scales bright against the darkness of the night. She only laughs in answer – what she finds so funny, I have no idea.

“Why are the dragons here?” Bodhi asks, voicing my thoughts exactly.

I look up at Chradh and Cuir, Bodhi's green clubtail, and then my eyes drift towards Sgaeyl. By far the biggest out of the four dragons, Xaden's dragon is also the most terrifying. Her golden eyes inspect me and Bodhi, as if trying to test us, to see what we are capable of.

I notice how close they stand, almost in formation. As if…

“They are here in case someone catches us. In case we need to run.” I answer instead of Garrick or Xaden. “Am I mistaken?” I direct the last part to Lystra.

“No. That is one reason…” She answers with a sigh.

“Indeed.” Xaden cuts in, nodding in my direction. “But they are also here because this matter concerns them as well. They want to take action as much as we do.”

My eyes narrow in confusion, but I keep my mouth shut. If we keep interrupting with questions, we will get nowhere and I am growing tired of this feeling of being left out and missing a big chunk of information. Besides, asking too many question would only piss them off and then we are surely not getting anything.

“We found out about this last year during our Threshing…” Xaden continues, his eyes drifting upwards to his dragon. “We already knew there were dragons who supported the rebellion, who were willing to fight against the venins, like our parents.”

I think of my sister and Jysir and of Garrick’s older brother. There had been dragon riders on our side when our parents left Aretia to declare the secession. Some of them died in battle, others were burned by dragon fire, but the fate of those dragons was never disclosed.

“Some of those dragons fell in battle or died after their riders perished.” Garrick adds, looking down at his boots so I can't see his eyes, but the bitterness in his voice is unmistakable. I know Derik's died because his dragon was killed. “Others returned to the Vale after the rebellion and, slowly, they managed to convince more and more dragons that our parents' only crime was that they could not stand idly on the side, knowing people are dying out there trying to fight off those creatures.”

“Let me see if I get this straight... There are rebel dragons now?” Bodhi asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It is more complicated than that, actually.” Xaden admits, scratching the back of his neck. “Some dragons, like them,” he makes a gesture towards our four dragons, “are on our side and willing to fight, yes. But there are still dragons who don’t want to risk the safety of the Vale, where their eggs and hatchlings are. And then, there is the third category…” Xaden’s eyes glaze over in that way that I came to understand signals that he is talking to Sgaeyl. He rolls his eyes at the blue dragon and then turns back towards us. “Sgaeyl calls them indecisive sorry-excuses for dragons. Sadly, this last category has the majority and they are the reasons why less and less dragons bond each year.”

I nod in understanding. So far, it all checks out. Coward dragons, badass dragons and idiot dragons. Simple. Just like people, really.

Then a thought forms into my mind, filling me with uncertainty and disappointment.

“Is that why you chose me?” I ask Lystra, looking anywhere else but at her. “Because of the rebellion relic?” I remember what she said about knowing everything there is to know about me – from other sources. I remember the smoking pile of ashes next to her when I came upon the clearing she was lying in. Is that it? The only reason why I was chosen by my dragon is because I am the child of a separatist?

Her laugh is like a purr inside my mind. “This might shock you, my vicious girl, but no. As much as I want to burn those monsters to ashes, I would have rather gone out there alone than bonded to a random kid whose only quality is that his parents stood up for something great. I chose you, Imogen Cardulo – not your rebellion relic. There is something enticing about you, girl.” Her voice is almost soft towards the end and I want to ask her what exactly she finds enticing, but she cuts me off, her tone serious and hard as steel: “Now stop fishing for compliments and listen to the shadow boy.”

“We should tell them about the signets.” Garrick suggests, leaning against his dragon now.

“Garrick, we go to Kaori’s classes, we know about the signets!” Bodhi rolls his eyes. “The signet reflects the rider’s personality blah blah blah. The dragon only channels power to the rider, not the ability itself. If we don’t manifest a signet, we go boom.”

I know that Bodhi usually talks when he is nervous and it is his way of dealing with the shock, to think of what he already knows, but, in this moment, I want to punch him just to shut him up. The expression on Xaden`s face makes it crystal clear that he is not going to steal Kaori's job. The expression on Garrick's tells me he is this close to losing his patience with us.

“Well, smartass… then please, tell us about the second signet if you already know so much.” Xaden draws, his voice dripping with sarcasm and annoyance, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he sees all color drain from Bodhi’s face. And mine, for that matter. “No? No further remarks? Then shut the fuck up and listen!”

Garrick throws him a look – that kind of loaded look that has always made me think that the two of them have an entire silent conversation. And then, in the blink of an eye, Xaden regains his composure and his mask slides back up.

“Last year, after Threshing, we found out that, along with the signet powers, some physical abilities had also improved. At first we thought it was just a consequence of being bonded to dragons or we developed them through training, but… none of the other riders seemed to have them. Only the marked riders.”

“So we came to the conclusion that it has something to do with the relic.”

Wobbling a bit on his feet, Bodhi sits his ass on the ground staring at Xaden as if he had grown a second and a third head and I feel as if I had just been struck in the head with a bat.

“Why would Codagh do this?” I ask, looking between my friends and the dragons.

“Your guess is as good as ours, Im.” Xaden admits, then points towards the dragons. “Sgaeyl’s mate, Tairn, is of the opinion that it might have been unwillingly, that Codagh did not plan on giving us any power along with the relic. We don’t actually have any way of knowing for sure – Codagh is the most powerful dragon in Navarre, he doesn’t justify his actions to others.”

“What kind of abilities did you receive?” Bodhi asks, beginning to wrap his head around the idea.

“Xaden is faster.” Garrick answers this time. “And I have increased strength. Not an incredible boost – I can’t lift a dragon, for example, but I am taking every advantage thrown our way.”

Garrick’s signet power is trajectory manipulation – meaning he has the ability to curve or even stop the trajectory of anything he throws or anything that is thrown at him. Combining this with the strength to lift heavier things… It is certainly not nothing. And speed is something that can make a difference between life and death in a fight – as if Xaden wasn’t lethal enough already.

“And the others?” I ask, thinking about Soleil and the rest of the second years.

“Among the same lines. Enhanced resilience for some… others can heal a little faster… Masen can pick up on any smell, no matter how faint and it is a pain in the ass to train with because he keeps wrinkling his nose and complains about the sweat.” Xaden adds the last part as a way of lighting the mood.

“Is that all?” Bodhi asks, the seriousness in his features something I am not used to.

“No. There is one more thing. But not all the marked ones know about this part.” Garrick warns us, looking at me and Bodhi as if we would even think of sharing with anyone what we've discussed tonight. Normally, this would be the moment I make a comment about trust and start a screaming match with him, but this whole situation is draining my energy. I want to be over with it already.

Xaden nods. He unsheathes two blades from the countless weapons tied to his flight suit and uses his shadows to place them right before me and Bodhi. I pick up the blade and turn it around, inspecting the Tyrrish runes forged into the design of the blade. The same kind of material and design as one of Braelyn’s daggers.

A blade made to kill venins.

“The main plan has not changed. We are biding our time until we have enough marked ones bonded to dragons before taking further action.” Xaden’s voice is a little bit softer now. “But we don’t like standing idly around as the gryphon fliers risk their necks out there – so, we decided to help them the only way we can. We are gathering Tyrrish weapons for them.”

The second signet thing was like a hit to the head, this feels like a dragon has landed on me. All this time we knew they were gathering weapons, but we thought they were for our own people. Smuggling weapons for the gryphon fliers… only Xaden could come up with such a crazy idea. It is such a big risk – it only takes one of us being caught and all 108 of us are dead.

“You must be joking…” I breath out, looking towards Garrick for confirmation. How? How is it possible that Garrick Tavis, the most level-headed and cautious person on earth, could ever agree with this plan? No, he doesn’t only agree – his hard-set jaw and the determined expression in his eyes tells me that he is actually on board with this.

“If they find out, they are all dead!” Bodhi argues, as baffled as I am. He doesn’t have to say what he means by they – all the other marked ones, all those children all of us spend so much time corresponding with. All of those innocent children, like Julianne.

“That is why we do everything we can so they don’t find out.” Garrick cuts him off. The violence in his voice makes us both jump in surprise. “We are aware of the risks, believe me!”

Xaden puts a hand on Garrick’s shoulder and whispers something to him. I take advantage of this moment to turn my attention to Lystra.

“Did you know about this?” I don’t even know what I mean by this anymore. The signets, the weapons… everything.

“We all did.” There is resignation in her voice. “I haven’t been on any of these weapon runs, but I agree with your friends, Imogen. We can wait, but by the time we actually join the fight, there might be no one to fight along with anymore. The real question is… are you up to this?”

By the time the boys finish their little chit-chat, I have already made up my mind.

“I can’t ask you to risk your life for these weapons…” Xaden begins to say.

“You don’t have to.” I cut him off. I have never run from a risk; I will not start today. “No matter what, we are all in this together. We stand together…”

“No matter the odds. To the last fight.” Bodhi stands up from the ground, completing the rest of the vow we took years ago. “If we are doing something stupid, we might as well do it together.”

The wide smiles Garrick and Xaden give us are genuine – no coldness, no tightness, no irony. We are in this together or not at all.

“This. Your loyalty. Your determination.” Lystra says and I feel through the bond that she is proud. “This is why I chose you, vicious girl.”

Chapter Text

I came to the conclusion that I hate Squad Games. They are just another stupid excuse to rile us against each other and promote rivalries. One squad will gather enough points that at the end of this period of challenges they will receive a silly reward and bragging rights – and gods forbid any of these arrogant riders turn down the opportunity to flex their muscles.

From the moment our Squad Leader started preaching to us what a great honour winning this competition is, I wanted to punch her. The very next day after Threshing she started to force us into longer training sessions in the weight gym and on the sparring mats, assessing our strengths and weaknesses to decide what challenges we would be most useful for. Some of my squad mates were just as excited and bought the whole ‘it is an honour’ speech – but, then again, unlike us, the children of the separatists, most are enrolling voluntarily and they have no idea that the nation they serve blindly is permanently lying to them. Even if they would hear the truth, I think many of these loyalists, like Aetos or Ciana, would find excuses for the Command.

And, I guess, some people need to cling to these illusions to forget the harsh reality we live in. They need to think we are training to become heroes for our country, not that we will practically be pigs sent to the slaughter after graduation.

However, I did find the Squad Games good in one aspect. I got to know my squad mates better and, to my surprise, some of them are not half-bad. Emery and Heaton, second years, are pretty fun to hang with and Ciana is a great source of gossip – she was the one who told Quinn and I about Aetos’ affair with Amber Mavis, a Squad Leader from Third Wing. Emery pointed out that those two are probably citing the Codex to each other in bed – how would that be for dirty talking?

Thankfully, the Squad Games are almost over. Today is the last day of the fighting competition stage and somewhere within the next two days we will have finished with the secret trial too. I don’t care if we win or not, but the thought of it being over is something to look forward to – I will finally be able to breathe a bit! My schedule has been a mess and I barely got time to eat and sleep between classes, training and meetings with Xaden and Garrick to discuss the weapon smuggling.

However, judging by the way I am prolonging the fight I am currently engaged in, one would not think I have any desire for the Squad Games to end.

I am fighting a mountain of a guy from Third Wing, Kane something. I didn’t catch his last name. He is three times my size and very strong – as if he is living in the weight room, I swear –, but he is so incredibly slow that I don’t even have to use my extra speed to avoid his punches and attacks. The only reason I have not ended the fight yet, despite the multiple openings, is because he was relatively friendly when we got into positions before the fight – he even apologized for any possible injuries! After so many months in this school, I have rarely met people who are still clinging to a crumble of their humanity, so I am willing to drag this duel just to not make him look bad for losing too quickly. It is the least I can do.

”Come on!” Lystra complains in my mind, growling in annoyance. “Just finish him already! You missed about a dozen opportunities! I did not take you for the merciful kind, vicious girl.”

“We both know I am not.” I point out, sliding between Kane’s legs to dodge a punch to my side.

“Then finish already! You are making us look bad!”

Can’t argue with that. Everybody who knows my fighting style can tell that I am holding back and the blatant mistakes that my opponent made and I let slide will get me a huge scolding from my Squad Leader. Fine, I am done playing.

Strategically, I let him step forward with every punch he attempts to make. He is probably thinking I am getting tired, and I am counting on that as I am leading him to the edge of the mat. If I just get him to step outside the mat… This way the fight is won and Garrick will not scold me for showing everyone the best fighting techniques.

When Kane rises his leg to kick me in the chest, I jump at the opportunity. It is entirely too easy to grab his foot as I slide by him, getting to his back, to avoid the hit.

“Fucking finally!” My dragon roars in my mind.

I look up towards my Squad, grinning confidently, knowing Kane will fall as soon as I drop his leg. I realize a second too late that instead of falling on his back, as I predicted, he is actually falling forward. Right on top of me.

I don’t even have time to take one step back as his body crashes into mine, sending me to the floor. The air leaves my lungs on the impact and my head painfully bounces off the mat once. However, I don’t have time to register the pain properly as Kane’s body falls on me, trapping me under more than 240 pounds.

His head hits the floor way harder than I did and I would feel bad for him if he weren’t currently blocking my airway with his crushing weight on my chest. One second passes. Then another. He is not moving and I turn my head to the side as much as I can to look at him – unconscious. He fucking passed out!

Already knowing it is in vain, I try to untangle my arms or legs from under him, but to no avail and I am pretty sure I heard the sound of bones snapping, but… the only thing I can think of is that I have just been in a fight, so my breathing was already labored and now… Now I can’t. Fucking. Breathe. At. All.

I can’t even move my hand to hit the floor. There is no way of yielding.

I vaguely hear Lystra’s roar in my mind as my eyes search around the room, desperately. I am already starting to feel lightheaded and black dots are gathering at the corner of my vision. Quinn and my Squad are too far away, somewhere in the back rows, so I have no way of seeing any of them from here.

Garrick. I see Garrick looking my way and a wave of relief washes over me. He will come and push Kane’s body off me. It will be alright; Garrick will make sure of it like he always does. He -

But he is not moving. He stands like a statue, with his arms crossed over his chest and a frown on his face. He doesn’t see that I can’t breathe. He doesn’t see that my whole body is trapped. No…

“Lys…” Maybe she can tell someone. Maybe she can tell another dragon in time…

I vaguely hear people whispering and then someone shouting: “They are not moving!”, followed by hurried steps and more yelling.

“Get out of the way!” I hear someone shout and, a few seconds later, the weight on my chest is removed. I greedily fill my lungs with air and it feels like someone shoved shrapnel up my throat. Coughing, I open my eyes and meet a pair of deep brown eyes I don’t recognise initially.

“We need a healer here!” Dain shouts over his shoulder as he kneels beside me. “Can you stand, Cardulo?”

“Cath was the nearest…” Lystra’s voice is apologetical, but I sense her relief. In this exact moment, I don’t care who she alerted, I am just glad someone took Kane off me. Even if that someone is Dain fucking Aetos.

I feel lightheaded, my throat and lungs are on fire and yet I find myself nodding, acutely aware that the whole school is in the room, crowding the space around the mat, watching. I was about to be squashed to death in front of the entire school! Accepting Dain’s extended hand, I try to push myself up and I regret it instantly.

I shriek in pain at the shooting pain in my chest and fall right back, squeezing my eyes shut. Yep, if I didn’t make a fool of myself until now… Now I sure have everyone’s attention.

“Im! Fucking move aside, Aetos!” Quinn screams, making her way through the crowd, and, as soon as she is near, she pushes Dain away. “She is bloody injured! Why did you make her move?!”

I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep myself from crying and try to focus on Quinn. I focus on the anger and panic in her voice, on the fear in her dark green eyes as she looks at me, on the way her hand is shaking as she searches for mine. Anything but the pain. I need my mind to focus on anything but the sharp, unforgiving pain in my chest.

I am pretty sure she is saying something, but, in that moment, words have simply lost all their meaning.

Eventually, I blacked out.

Or I think I did, because I have no idea when or how I got to my bedroom.

“Due to recent cutbacks, the light at the end of the tunnel has been turned off.” Lystra’s voice fills my head and I smile slightly hearing her.

“How long have I been out?” I ask, hissing in pain as I try to push myself upright in bed. Pushing aside the covers, I discover that someone had changed my clothes and now my entire torso is covered in bandages – there is also the unmistakable smell of healing salves coming from under the wrappings. Well, that explains the burning sensation on my skin.

“A couple of hours. Not that long. That boy of yours practically ran with you to the Healers after you blacked out.” I can almost hear the smirk in her voice at the last part.

I groan thinking about those last few images before it all turned black. Garrick standing by, watching me fight to breathe. Dain Aetos of all people pushing Kane off me. Quinn’s panicked shrieks. My pathetic cry of pain.

“Garrick took me to the Healers?” I ask then, cursing myself for this weakness – you would think my mind would be filled with all sorts of thoughts and concerns after that total shit show, but no. I am pathetic like that. “Where is he?”

“He carried you, but left immediately after the Healer said you have two broken ribs. Sgaeyl’s shadow boy and your blonde friend brought you back here.” There is anger in my dragon’s voice. “Idiots… they stood by and watched…”

I can’t deny the fact that I am slightly disappointed hearing that. It is stupid and clear proof I have too few braincells and too many heart cells, but…

“They had no way of knowing I was trapped, Lys. It is on me.”

A groan escapes my throat thinking about it all, about how embarrassing it all was. How will I ever be able to enter the training room and face my classmates after I made such a fool of myself? They are probably talking about how weak I am, about how I almost died because I could not shove a guy off me – oh, gods… how many dirty jokes will I have to face?

The door opens and I frown when I see Xaden striding in, using his shadows to close the door behind him. He rises an eyebrow when he sees me awake, but he doesn’t say anything as he places the tray he was carrying on my nightstand and takes a seat on the bed at my side.

“About time.” Xaden scoffs, passing me a glass of water that I gladly accept. “You’ve been out a couple hours already.”

The cold water is a blessing for my dry throat. Gods…

“Did they run out of nurses and hired you or did Malek send you to poison me with that foul smelling soup?” My voice is hoarse and it hurts a little to talk, but I can’t help myself.

“I was actually afraid you might have hit your head too, but you are as snarky as ever.” He rolls his eyes, feigning annoyance, but failing miserably. I see the way his shoulders loosened a bit and the wide smile that tugs at his lips.

“Don’t you have any more pressing matters than playing nurse?” I follow his hands as he takes the bowl of steaming soup in his lap. Had anyone told me that Xaden Riorson would ever feed me soup, I would have laughed my ass off, but here he is – in more than ten years of friendship, this is a first.

“Open your fucking mouth or I will force this down your throat.” He threatens when I make a disgusted face and turn my face to avoid the spoon he is shoving towards me.

“Dirty. Is this something your bed partners fall for?” I challenge cheekily.

“Very mature. What are you? 14?” He groans in annoyance as I finally accept the soup.

“Next time, bring poison. It might even be tastier. Where did you even get this from?” I cough, crinkling my nose after the first taste of the dreadful thing.

“Soleil is on kitchen duty. I think I might have overestimated her cooking abilities when she said she can make Tyrrish soup.” Xaden admits, looking down at the bowl and at the curious-looking bits of vegetables floating in it.

“This is supposed to be Tyrrish soup?” I ask in disbelief, frowning at the murky liquid. Yeah, definitely a far cry from the way mom used to make it. Not that it stops Xaden from forcing me to eat the damned thing – he says that any food is good right now because I apparently emptied my stomach on the floor in the Healer’s Quadrant earlier and on Quinn and him when they brought me back. One more thing to be embarrassed about. And an explanation as to why Quinn is not yet here.

“Did Aetos touch you?” Xaden asks after he is done telling me all the ways I embarrassed myself.

In the agitation of the moment, I did not even think about it. Xaden’s shadows picked up on one conversation Dain had with Carr one day about his signet and ever since then we had to be careful to avoid being touched by him. One wrong step and he would find out about the weapon smuggling and Aretia and Brennan.

“No. He just pushed Kane off me.” His shoulders relax in relief. Unknowingly, that moment could have been a death sentence for us had Dain read any of my memories.

After I finish eating the soup, Xaden puts the empty bowl on the tray and stands up to refill my glass of water. It is weirdly comforting having him here and, even if the soup was dreadful, it was nice of him to bring me something to eat. My mother used to make soup every time I was sick and it kind of reminded me of that.

“I embarrassed myself big time today.” It is not a question; I am not stupid to doubt that everyone in Basgiath will laugh at my expense.

Xaden takes a moment to reply, busying himself with rearranging some daggers on my desk and inspecting the blade of some of those I earned in challenges. For a little while, I could almost forget what is going on outside this room – I pushed aside the Squad Games, Basgiath entirely, really. For a few moments I looked at Xaden and did not think even for a second of the 107 scars on his back, of the life debt I owe him and of the massive pressure he is constantly carrying on his shoulders, refusing to share his burden with us. He was just my close friend, spending time with me, annoying me with awful soup and talking about stupid stuff to pass the time.

But reality has a way of creeping on us. At some point, we can’t ignore it anymore.

“For a while, some people will mock you, yes.” He admits, locking eyes with me. I expect him to go full leader mode, but there is still a glimmer of warmth in his onyx eyes. “What happened there was beyond your control, don’t beat yourself up too much. You are yet to manifest a signet and that is an incredible boost of power. And, aside from that, today showed us what your weaknesses are and what we have to work on more. You will have to work more in the weight room and I will make the time to teach you how to ground and wield until you can actually attend Carr’s class. Deal?”

“You barely have time for yourself as it is. I can’t have you waste your time teaching me that.” I argue, crossing my arms. He is a second year, an Executive Officer for Flame Section and he has to look out for each and every marked one. Not to mention he has to think of ways to get the weapons and then plan a meeting with the gryphon flyers to deliver them.

“It is not wasted time, Immy. Besides, you are like a ticking bomb if you are untrained. Have you seen your dragon? When she starts channeling it will overwhelm you if you don’t prepare ahead.” And with that I know he basically closed the discussion. “Understood?”

“He is not wrong, you know?” Lystra chimes in, reminding me that she is ever-present in my discussions but conveniently busy when I pester her about starting to channel.

I nod in approval. I don’t like this at all and I feel like an extra burden on his overflowing list of duties, but I know there is nothing I can say to change his mind anyway. If there is one person as stubborn as I am, that is Xaden Riorson and he even surpasses me sometimes.

And, even if I would have found something to comment, I don’t get the chance as the door opens again and Quinn dashes in, with Bodhi right behind her. She wastes no time before jumping in bed next to me and throwing her arms around me in a hug.

“What the hell, people! Have you forgotten how to knock?” I growl in annoyance.

“Oh shush!” Quinn cuts me off, giving me a once-over. “You scared the shit out of me, Im. How are you feeling?” There is so much concern in her eyes and she clings to me as if to make sure I am not going to go anywhere.

I consider the question for a moment then shrug. “Embarrassed, but otherwise, I’ll live.”

“What’s with the flowers?” Xaden asks as he stands up, making my attention snap back towards him and Bodhi – and, sure enough, Bodhi Durran is standing awkwardly by the door with a colorful bouquet of mismatched flowers and a bar of chocolate.

After extending me the flowers, Bodhi shrugs and looks at his older cousin. “Mom used to say that it is nice to bring flowers when someone is injured.”

“Did she also tell you it is nice to bring a whole bar of chocolate, not half?” I frown, examining the chocolate. “Really, Durran…”

That is all that Xaden needs to hear before bursting into laughing – a sincere, unguarded laugh I came to cherish since I rarely hear any of my friends laugh anymore. Crazy to think that a few years ago we used to be so much… happier.

“Asshole.” Xaden throws at his cousin, playfully.

“No! I did not eat it! I swear, it was whole when I left my room!” Bodhi starts to defend himself, swinging his arms around to make his point.

Quinn squeezes my hand a little tighter and looks at me with a mixture of guilt and amusement as she whispers: “Don’t hold this against him. I ate the chocolate. I thought it would help with the stress while he was picking the flowers.”

I actually laugh at this.

Xaden leaves after a few minutes, saying he has a meeting with the other leaders of the Fourth Wing to discuss the strategy for the last competition within the Squad Games. Judging by the look on his face, he is as sick and tired of this stupid contest as I am.

Quinn and Bodhi make themselves right at home in my room, venturing in a detailed description of what happened after they noticed that I was trapped under Kane. Details that Lystra did not supply in her brief account of the events. Good thing they brought churam for this.

They tell me about the mayhem that erupted in the audience after they noticed that Kane was not moving, about how they practically had to jump over the rows of riders in front of them and push their way to get to me.

They also tell me about Nelius, my sparring opponent before Threshing, and his friends waiting by the door to the Healer’s Quadrant – Bodhi picked up on them plotting something, but they scattered as soon they saw him. Perfect. Another threat to look out for – it is obvious that they saw that fight for what it was: a showcase of my weakest points, and they will look for a good moment to strike. It is no secret that Lystra did not start channeling power and Nelius still blames me for the fact that he did not bond a dragon at Threshing.

“You should have seen Thysa. She was absolutely furious when Commandant Panchek said that there are more factors to take into consideration when it comes to deciding who won, you or Kane.” Quinn makes a sour face, imitating our Squad Leader’s high-pitched voice as she continues. “It is unacceptable! It is just unfathomable that Third Wing would take the win and not us!”

Yeah, I expected this. Thysa doesn’t give a damn about the fact that someone from her squad almost died right before her eyes, her main concern is winning. I will probably have to face her wrath when I return to classes – she will not take my failure lightly . Thank the gods she is a third-year and will graduate this year.

“Well, I guess Thysa is not my biggest fan at the moment.” I sigh.

“The bitch has no right to be pissed.” Bodhi argues, looking out of the window for the twelfth time since they came. I guess he is just looking out to make sure no one will see us smoking. “Remember, you had the highest score at Flight Maneuvers.”

“We destroyed them there.” Lystra purrs proudly.

“And I lost at the Challenge Competition. So, they cancel each other.” I point out, groaning.

“Oh no, Im! We won.” Quinn grins widely. “It was ruled that Kane lost the moment he passed out before you.”

I smile slightly, but I can’t share her joy. It is a shallow win. Had it been a real fight, such things would not have mattered. Had he been a real enemy and passed out on top of me like that, I would have died suffocated under him. It was stupid to give me the win.

“Had it been a real fight, you would not have hesitated to kill him. And I would have been there to incinerate the evidence.” Lystra says it so lightly it sounds like we are discussing cooking recipes, not bloodshed and murder.

Following Bodhi’s movements as he opens the window widely, I continue my line of thought: “Good thing squad mates can’t kill you according to the Codex, because I am pretty sure I am now the weakest link in their eyes.”

“As your squad mate, I beg to differ.” Quinn argues, pouting.

“You don’t count. You are my friend.” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Your words are wounding me, Cardulo. We are not your friends, then?”

I turn around so fast that my necks snaps painfully. Climbing my window there are Emery and Heaton, still wearing their riding leathers and carrying rucksacks on their backs. So this is why Bodhi has been so concerned with the window.

“What the fuck are you two doing here?” I ask, bewildered.

“What does it look like?” Heaton asks, passing a hand through their blonde hair. “We are visiting a wounded squad-mate!”

My bedroom is way too small to host so many people in it. Heaton is among the thickest cadets in the Quadrant and Emery is easily the tallest in the room. It was already a bit crowded with Bodhi and Xaden, but now… This room was certainly not made for five people.

“I almost forgot how small first year’s bedrooms were.” Emery states, throwing himself on the chair by the desk and, like a little child, starting to fidget with the first toy he finds – yes, daggers are toys for riders.

“May I ask why you had to climb through the window? There is a perfectly functional door right there and people barged in here all day anyway.” My eyes find Quinn and Bodhi’s and I just know they had a hand in this. Weird seeing Bodhi so at ease around my squad mates – he is usually with his own squad when me and Quinn hang out with Emery and Heaton.

Heaton throws off their boots and jumps on the bed, crossing their strong legs under him. My poor bed creaks under the weight of three people – me, Quinn and now Heaton. They opens their backpack and pulls out a bottle of… no way…

“We could not just walk around the hallway with this now, could we? And besides, Emery has to put his wind manipulation powers to good use now and then – climbing windows is one of those times.” The goofy grin on their face as they holds the bottle of alcohol up proudly is contagious.

“And think about it! So many handsome riders in one room, people would think we started an orgy! And I don`t feel like sharing the booze.” Emery shrugs, using one knife to pick at his nails.

Bodhi is rummaging through Emery’s backpack at this point, taking out four more bottles of the same amber colored liquid and my eyes widen. “Cool.” He says simply as he opens one bottle.

“Where in the name of freaking Malek did you get alcohol from in this hellhole of a college?” I wonder, watching Heaton take a swing from a bottle – turns out they can breathe through any kind of liquid, not only water…

“Second-year perks. Let’s just say Panchek has an impressive collection.” Emery grins mischievously.

I look at Quinn with wide eyes, but she is just laughing as she pushes Heaton’s second bottle in my hand. Well, she has a knack for finding the exact thing I need to cheer me up a little. “Relax, Im. We deserve some fun and debauchery after the last few weeks! Time to get wasted!”

It might not be a good idea to drink after my earlier incident, but… to hell with it all.

What happens when you put five riders in one room with six bottles of alcohol? They get drunk out of their minds and start doing the stupidest things.

Bodhi and Emery snuck in the kitchens a few hours ago and stole some food – so now there is discarded food on every available surface in my room –, but now they are sitting on my bed with a needle and a candle, trying to pierce Quinn’s ears. For some reason, she decided that it is a great idea to have more holes in her ears so she will be able to wear all her favorite earrings and two drunk idiots were the most reliable people for the task.

As for me… I am currently covered in hair dye as I am working on Heaton’s hair. Somewhere after the second bottle of alcohol was emptied, the second-year confessed that they have always liked my pink hair and wanted to make a change too. Quinn has been flirting lately with a girl from Fourth Wing, Claw Section – Delilah, who just happened to know someone in the Healer Quadrant who had hair dye. So, now, Heaton has green hair that looks like flames erupting from their head. Green flames – the stupidity of it makes me giggle. And I got to touch up my roots. Win-win.

“No way! You are joking, right?” Quinn shouts, not even feeling the needle that pierces her ear by this point considering how numbed she is by alcohol. She has always been loud after drinking.

“I swear I saw Aetos and Mavis in that alcove near the Gathering Hall on our way here!” Heaton shouts back, grinning.

“Scandalous!” Bodhi joins in. “What would their precious Codex say if it knew they disrespected curfew to smooch?”

“You should have seen how quickly they started talking about the challenges and the Squad Games when they saw us. Too bad Aetos’ loose belt gave him away.” Emery adds, smirking.

I laugh so hard that I cringe in pain because of the broken ribs, imagining the scene – Dain Aetos, the paragon of duty and decency, caught in the act. I know I am supposed to be thankful to him for saving my life today, but damn is he getting on my nerves sometimes.

“Are you guys aware that next year we might have to answer to that hypocrite?” I groan. Out of all the cadets in our squad, Aetos is the most likely to become Squad Leader next year – he had an exceptional performance so far and Lystra told me that Cath is one of the most competitive dragons in the Quadrant. Not to mention that daddy Aetos is who he is.

“Please don’t remind me!” Quinn groans. “What is he going to do? Hurl the Codex after us every time we laugh?”

“We better get our fill of kicking his ass in training now, before he outranks us, Em.” Heaton laughs, their whole chest reverberating. They are the only second years in our squad – I wonder what happened to the other cadets that enrolled at the same time as them.

“Why don’t you two try for the position?” Bodhi asks the older riders. Under all that goofiness and warmth, he is one of the strongest of us with his ability to cancel any other signet. Such a signet plus his great scores in every class and fight surely put him in the running for a future higher position. Who would have thought? I am beyond proud of him.

“Hell no!” Heaton scoffs.

“Responsibilities mean less time for sex and fun, Durran.” Emery explains, placing the hot needle in my glass with water. “But Artan with her astral projection has a chance of getting higher in the food chain. Cardulo too if she decides to manifest a power any time soon.”

”Tell your drunk friend to mind his own channeling.” Lystra growls in my mind. Since when is it a touchy subject for her?

I have my speed, but Emery and Heaton don’t know about it and it is better this way. They are friendly and cool, but I can’t say I trust them – not in the same way I trust Quinn, that is for sure. It was already difficult to convince Xaden to let me tell Quinn about everything – he would certainly strangle me if I shared rebellion secrets with strangers in a drunken stupor.

Quinn shakes her head. “And be accused of getting the position because of my father? No thank you.”

All eyes turn to me. Would I even want to have a position of power? I was never the kind of person who is disciplined, but I can be bossy and intimidating. During the rebellion, it was not that difficult to get the younger kids to listen to me and none of them died on my watch, but… No. I am not a born leader like Xaden or Braelyn. And if today taught me anything, I can barely take care of myself at the moment.

“I would rather focus on getting out of this school alive than on collecting medals.”

“Fair point.” Emery says simply, returning to the desk and picking random knives to throw them at the target on my wall. His aim is awful and I am not sure the alcohol is the only one to blame here.

This is something I love about drunk people. We move from a subject to another quickly, we say whatever is on our minds and don’t think too deep about what the others said. The conversation is light, fun, filled with laughter. We talk about all the stupid things possible – about Commandant Panchek’s lack of originality in speeches, about how Bodhi has slept with half the female population in the Quadrant, about Aura Beinhaven and Septon Izar apparently being the new power couple of Basgiath. Heaton tells us about their little brother back at home, who wishes to become a rider. Quinn’s eyes are sparkling as she recalls the first time she had a girl sneaking into her room at night only to wake up with Cale and Mavrei at the window. Bodhi makes me laugh to the point of tears when he tells the others about how I used to chase him and Xaden with a wooden bat after they cut off the hair of one of my dolls and I tell them about the time all four of us – Garrick, Xaden, Bodhi and me – got lice one summer after we dared Bodhi to spend the night in the chicken coop.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Quinn asks at some point, as Emery uses his powers to blow dry my hair.

“Humans don’t mate, Quinn. Only dragons.” Bodhi points out, propping himself on his elbows on the bed.

Heaton pouts slightly as they are thinking about it. “Some people seem to be made for each other. Like… as if they were tailored to be together.”

“That has nothing to do with love or anything. It is just… similar personalities or some shit.” Bodhi argues back.

“Or diametral opposites.” I add, drinking the last remnant of alcohol in the bottle.

“I don’t know, dudes…” Emery muses, brushing my hair. “Some people just gravitate towards other people. There is some kind of magic there. Not like dragon mates, but… Similar. Maybe that is the whole reasons we are put on this earth…”

Quinn is fingering with one of her new earrings, deep in thought. Her blond curls are getting in her face, making her look like a little child, which I find adorable. “What if people are drawn to each other because their atoms were near each other when the universe was created and over time the same atoms keep coming back together? Maybe that is the reason we are placed on this earth.”

As soon as Quinn says this, his face comes into my mind. Gods, I am royally fucked.

We are all quiet for a moment, looking at her with wide eyes, but then the silence is broken when Heaton stands up to push me off the chair to have their hair dried by Emery too. They look at all of us and groan: “We are not getting into the whole what is the meaning of life discussion! That bullshit is unsolvable and you drunks are no philosophers.”

We all burst into laughter. But, gradually, the laughter subdues – first, it is Bodhi who stops, staring over my shoulder towards the door as if he had seen Malek himself. Then, Emery and Heaton too. I am the last one to turn around to see what happened.

You know that moment when you are having fun and then something happens, throwing your whole mood out of the window? I call that the fuckening.

Garrick Tavis is standing at my door with his arms crossed and a cold, calm expression. Anyone knowing him as well as I do can tell that it is hundred times worse when he has that face than when he is showing his anger. It means he is truly pissed off.

“Everyone OUT!” He practically barks the words, looking at each and every one of my friends as if he is making a huge effort not to draw the two swords on his back. “I will deal with your sorry distillery stinking hides later.”

Then his eyes settle on me. “Imm, we need to talk.”

Ah, there it is! The fuckening!

All four of them scuttle out of the room as fast as they can, wobbling on their feet and avoiding Garrick’s eyes at all cost.

Not me. I look right in his hazel eyes. This… him showing up at the most inconvenient moment after a whole day of avoiding me… his audacity in being angry at me… It all makes the blood boil in my veins.

“Could you maybe explain to me what made you think it was a good idea to do this?” He asks as soon as the door closes with a loud bam, leaving us alone together.

“To do what?”

“Don’t you dare play the dumb card.”

“I am not playing dumb. I want to hear exactly what you think I did wrong.” I raise my chin up, confrontational.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, but I see the cracks already. I see how the lid he keeps on his emotions is beginning to shatter. In the dim light of the candles, the hard-set lines of his face make him look even more terrifying than Xaden.

“Don’t be a brat, Imogen.” It is meant as a warning.

“Just fucking say it. Tell me exactly what I did.”

“Stop challenging h-.” Lystra tries to say.

“Stay out of it!” I snap at her through the bond. This is between me and Garrick and it has been a long time coming.

I notice the way he clenches his fists, the way a muscle in his set jaw twitched. His lips drew back in a snarl. The mask is slipping. Good. This is exactly what I am aiming for. No lectures, no chiding like I am a stupid little girl making a mistake. If he is angry, then he will have to confront me properly.

“Tomorrow is the fucking last trial of the Squad Games and you decide this is the time to get wasted? Half a squad, smelling like a freaking bar!” Anger is pouring out of every single word and he is nearly shouting.

I shake my head. “Don’t you use that stupid contest as an excuse. You don’t give a flying fuck about that. No one cares about that.”

“We are supposed to keep a low profile, Imogen! We are supposed to keep our heads down and not attract attention! They are looking for any reason to punish us! And if even one of us makes a wrong step…”

“Then we are all to be executed!” I cut him off. “Yes, I am aware. I was there when Xaden told us. I was there when he showed us the scars!”

“Were you?! Because you don’t seem to care a-”

“I care!” I shout, standing up from the bed to stand face to face with him. “Don’t you dare say I don’t care when all I do is care! Don’t you dare stand in front of me, lecturing me about responsibilities and loyalty! Where is your loyalty to me, Garrick? Hm? I have always been honest and loyal, but you… you and Xaden have been keeping all sort of things from me!”

“Again with this…” He scoffs, throwing his head a bit back and looking at the ceiling.

“Yes! Yes! Again with this! As long as the problem is still present, I will keep pointing at it! You can’t tell me you two are completely transparent with your plans! You don’t trust me!”

His mouth snaps shut and he frowns. “What did you just say?”

“Are you playing deaf now? I said you don’t trust me!”

“I do trust you, Imogen. I did. But you go out of your way to show me I actually shouldn’t! You were injured today! You broke your ribs today and what are you doing a few hours later? Drowning yourself in alcohol!” His face is red with anger at this point, but I am not far behind. “How can I trust you with so many lives when you are not even capable of looking after yourself? How can I trust you when you show no self-control and let your emotions overrun your every action?”

“Thank you for the confirmation!” I scoff.

“I want to trust you, Imogen! For heaven’s sake, do you think I don’t want to share the burden? You are just… irresponsible!”

“Have you stopped to wonder why I am even drinking, Garrick? Has that question even crossed your mind?” I snap back angrily. “No! Of course not! You saw me drunk and your mind instantly went to ‘she is reckless and stupid and self-destructive’!”

“I never said you are stupid. I would never say that!”

“You don’t need to! That is how you treat me!” I take a deep breath and after a two-second pause, I go on. “You know how my day went, Garrick? Let me tell you then… I thought I was on top of the world, that nothing could fucking touch me… I am practically invincible in fights, so what can go wrong, right? And then something went wrong and I was suffocating under a below mediocre fighter because I was so overconfident. I was standing there, in front of hundreds of people, fighting to breathe and everyone was looking at me. EVERYONE WAS FUCKING WATCHING ME DIE!”

I snort a laugh, shaking my head. “Do you have any kind of idea how embarrassing that is? Do you? And the embarrassment is nothing, really. What if it was a real fight? What if there was no one there to push Kane off me? In that moment I felt powerless, hopeless… Gods, I almost died! Can you even imagine how it feels to look at the person you trust the most in the world and realize that he is also staring? That he has no idea you are dying before his eyes? The last crumble of hope was taken from me when I understood that.”

“Im…” He tries to cut in, his voice considerably softer, but I don’t stop.

“And then…” I laugh again. “Fucking hilarious. Out of all the people in the world, Dain fucking Aetos… Dain Aetos, the son of the man who is also responsible for the death of my family… He was the one to jump to save me! Not my friends. One of the people I hate the most!”

“Imogen…”

“And if that was not reason enough to fucking want to die of embarrassment… I pass out, showing everyone just how weak I am. Well… not that it isn’t true, after all. Oh, right! And then, I puke all over the infirmary and my friends. Really, this is the stuff of comedies.”

I turn towards the desk and pick up one of Braelyn’s daggers. “She wouldn’t have done any of this. She would die again… she would die of humiliation if she knew how I made a fool of myself today! She was a freaking Wingleader and one of the strongest riders in her generation and me? I can’t even manifest a signet! I can’t even throw someone off me! It was sheer luck that someone saved me! In a real battle, I would have been dead!”

“You know she would never…”

“Would never say anything like this? Yes, I know.” I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean I am not a disappointment – to her, to her memory, to her legacy. I am not brave like she was, I am not brilliant or strong like my father, I am not calm and empathic like my mom. You know, I am starting to understand why you and Xaden don’t take me on missions or tell me everything – I am fucking useless, weak and I would not trust myself either. I am a liability!”

“Don’t say that.” He takes a step towards me, raising an arm to touch me, but I raise my hand to stop him. “That is not the reason.”

I brush aside his comment and close my eyes. “Not only am I useless, I am a bloody burden! Someone you have to look out for. Someone you have to protect. Someone you have to take time off your already busy schedule to train and prepare.”

My anger has gradually simmered down – it is not a raging fire anymore, but some crackling pieces of coal, on the point of going out.

“So this is why I was drinking. Not because I wanted to prove something or because I was self-destructive. The universe already has enough ways of doing that, it doesn’t need my help too. I wanted to forget.” I smile sadly, biting back tears as I look at him. “But you know what the worst part is? I almost died today, it was proven that I am basically nothing more than a burden and a liability, but yet… Yet, my mind kept clinging to you. All I could think of was that I wanted… no, I needed you. All I could think of was how much I wanted to just be near you, but you were not there. And damn it, Garrick! We keep yelling at each other, fighting over every single thing, I keep doing the stupid things, you keep treating me like a stupid child… and yet, I still… somewhere along the way, I fell for you and I haven’t found a way to stand up yet.”

I feel out of breath. There. There it is, everything out in the open. Every burden on my soul is laid out before me for him to see. All my insecurities, all my weaknesses, all my fears… all my feelings. I am done running from the truth, pretending he is just my friend – I can’t look at him as a friend anymore. Not when he is constantly on my mind and when my whole being burns when he is near me.

He stands there, looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he mutters: “I can’t deal with this now.”

And he leaves. He just turns around and leaves me alone.

It didn’t hurt me. Not hurt. Hurt is a four-letter word. It’s short, almost cute sounding. Aww… did it hurt you? No. It didn’t hurt. Hurt doesn’t begin to describe my feelings as I fall to the floor, crying. Destroyed, obliterated, desecrated, annihilated, demolished, shattered or demoralized maybe… but no. It didn’t hurt me. It didn’t hurt me at all.

My mother was obsessed with cleaning. Every other day, she would scrub every inch of the house and she would see every speck of dust as a personal affront. It didn’t matter what was going on in her life, if she was happy or sad, she could always be seen cleaning. I never understood why she did that, why she felt the need to live in perfect order.

Until last night.

At some point last night, I looked around me at the disaster in my room and I felt the need to put everything in order. I threw out the empty bottles and the stale food. I swept the floor and dusted the wooden surface of the desk. I changed the black sheets on my bed and rearranged all clothes and weapons. But it was still not enough, so I took a bucket of water and soap and scrubbed every inch and corner until my hands were numb and my fingertips had blisters.

Cleaning gave me something to focus on, gave me a purpose. It gave me an excuse to mute all the raging voices in my head. It gave me a sense of control – I could not make order of my thoughts and feelings, but I could make order in my bedroom. And control is something I truly need.

And when I got into bed, my body was too exhausted from the effort, so I passed out into a dreamless sleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. And that was a blessing. After everything that happened today, I think my mind has more than enough material to sew the most terrible nightmare.

When I wake up, for a few seconds, my mind is still floating in that realm between dream and reality – and I almost convince myself that last night was just a figment of my imagination. I didn’t actually almost die suffocated in front of the school. I didn’t fight with Garrick. I didn’t confess all of my feelings to him. Right?

“Oh, dear girl…” Lystra’s voice is almost a whisper in my mind, but even so, I find it too loud for my hungover head. The pity in it makes me want to curl into a ball and bawl my eyes out.

“He… he just left, Lys…” I sob, covering my face with my hands. “I practically told him I loved him and he…”

For a few moments, there is only silence between us. Dragons deal with emotions differently – for them, heartbreak can come only from two sources: losing their rider or losing their mate. And the latter is so rare that most of them don’t even have to worry about it.

“I don’t even blame him for walking out on me…” I muse. “I am a fucking mess. I am weak and useless, sharp and snappy… Who could ever love me?”

“I won’t pretend to understand human emotions, but I see and understand you, Imogen Cardulo.” This time, it is not softness or pity in Lystra’s voice – if I were to choose a word to describe her tone, it would be steel. Decisive, unbending. “I will only say this once so listen to me carefully, girl. You are a force to be reckoned. You were forged in fire, you survived pains others would have been crushed by. You are bold, and wild and fierce, but you are only human. You will make mistakes; it is only natural. But I know you will also stand up and push forward, making damn sure you never do that mistake twice.”

Getting a pep talk from my dragon is something I never thought I would hear. And it is something I didn’t know I needed. If Lystra, one of the most ruthless dragons in the Quadrant, chose to bind herself to me, then she must have seen something in me. Right?

“Now what?”

“Now you get out of bed and drag your lazy ass to that stupid competition. Show them it takes a lot more to break you.” Looks like the heart-to-heart moment is over and we are back to the usual.

But her plan actually makes sense, so I push through the pain in my ribs and get out of bed.

I am sheathing my daggers when I hear a knock on my door. Thinking it must be Quinn or Bodhi coming to check on me after last night, I open the door. And I instantly regret it.

Looking at Garrick as he stands in my doorframe, my traitorous heart starts beating quicker. Here he is, still dressed in the same clothes as last night, with his flight googles around his neck and his curly chestnut hair messier than usual. There are dark circles under his eyes and I know he didn’t get any sleep.

“Im, I’ve been –” He stops mid-sentence and frowns, looking me up and down. Whatever he was going to say is pushed aside as a concerned expression appears in his eyes. “Why are you in your leathers?”

“I am going to the last challenge.” It takes all my willpower to stand here, in front of him and to force my voice to come out steady and matter-of-factly.

“No. Absolutely not. You are injured and after yesterday –”

“After what happened yesterday, this is exactly what I have to do. If I hide in my room, then they will certainly see me as a weak link.” I cut him off, decisively. “I am in no mood to argue with you on this, Garrick.”

A part of me doesn’t want to talk to him at all, but the other… the pathetic weak part of me wants anything but to push him away. I am drawn to him like a moth is drawn to the flames.

His jaw clenches and I know he doesn’t approve of my decision, but he doesn’t argue further. Instead, he motions towards the door and I take a step back to let him enter – it is not a great idea to be alone in my room again, but it is an even worse one to have the whole floor listening to our conversation.

I lean against the doorframe and look at him. There was a time when having him in my room didn’t rattle the butterflies in my stomach, a time when I used to see him daily and not once think about the way his lips taste or about the warmth radiating from his skin. I could look into his eyes and not melt into a puddle. If I could, I would turn back time to when we were just friends, before I turned into this pathetic mess. To a time when my stupid feelings were not floating between us like a boulder we have no idea how to get rid of.

“I came to take the empty bottles.” His voice is emotionless as he says this. “If anyone is to find them in your room, it would be compromising for you and the other four idiots.”

Duty above all else. As always. With a sigh, I point to my wardrobe. “They are in that bag.” I mutter trying to sound bored rather than disappointed.

Garrick nods and strides across the small room to open the wardrobe and take out the bag in question. He is too composed… maybe there is a chance he blamed the alcohol for my confession last night? Maybe he didn’t take it seriously?

“Why did you leave last night?” I can’t help but ask, looking at him. A small part of me clings to the hope that he will say he deemed me too drunk to have a rational discussion with.

His shoulders straighten and he takes a deep breath before answering. “I was too angry and some of the things you said… I had to come to terms with on my own.”

My heart is pounding in my chest and I feel my panic rising. The things I said, meaning my confession. I search for his eyes to get even the faintest hint about what conclusion he came to is, but… for the first time, I can’t read his emotions.

“I’ve been thinking about it all night. It is my fault for being so oblivious, Im. The thought that you might feel all that… It never crossed my mind. I am so sorry. I really am, but…”

My whole body tenses as he puts his hand on mine. This is something people do when they are going to give bad news – he came here to tell me he doesn’t feel the same. No, no, no… This is going to change everything between us. I am going to lose him completely after this and I can’t. I can’t lose another person in my life. I can’t lose him.

I want to take it all back. I want to erase every single word I said and go back to the way things were before. I have been able to swallow my feelings before, I would gladly do that again if it meant I would still have him in my life as a friend.

There is a powerful burning sensation in my chest that I am pretty sure has nothing to do with my ribs. In the back of my mind, I am aware that Garrick is still talking, but I am now focused on the stinging sensation as it travels across my body, to the tips of my fingers and then it spreads to the hand he still holds on top of mine.

I stumble a step back when my mind is filled with sounds and images flash before my eyes. I see… myself. It takes me a second to understand what I am seeing – the fight from last night, but so much faster and from Garrick’s perspective.

“…somewhere along the way, I fell for you and I didn’t find a way to stand up yet.” I hear my own words on repeat as other images fill my mind – Chradh on the flight field, the night sky… Then it stops and the burning sensation ceases.

What. The. Hell. Was. That.

When I look back up, Garrick is staring at me with a confused expression plastered on his face. I was in his mind; I saw the last few hours through his eyes… Does he know? Can you feel when someone rummages through your mind?

“I was saying something, but I…” He frowns, massaging his temples. “What was I saying?”

“What… what do you mean?” My voice is shaking, panicked. What in Malek’s name did I do?

“One moment I was talking about something and now I don’t remember…” Garrick is shaking his head, disoriented. “I remember coming here last night and finding you and the other four drunk, I remember some screaming and… I left but I don’t know why.”

I… I actually took it back. I wanted to take back my confession and I did. But how?

“Your signet.” Lystra answers simply, as if erasing a memory is the most normal thing in the world. And all the implications of having this kind of signet… When did she start channeling? Wouldn’t I feel when she would pour power in me?

The momentary relief at the realization is quickly replaced with dread and guilt. I made a huge mistake… When we found out about Aetos, Garrick said that such a power made him feel sick – someone prying into your memories, sticking their nose into your personal business, is just as bad as an inntinnsic. I am way worse… I didn’t only pry into his mind, I erased pieces of information, memories, thoughts…

“How can I undo it? Lystra, tell me how to undo it!”

“I am afraid I don’t know, my girl.” There is pity in her voice and the answer makes me panic even worse. I can’t blame her for the signet – she is only channeling the power, the ability itself is something that has to do with me and me alone.

“The lack of sleep can do that to someone.” I find myself saying. “You yelled at me for getting drunk and then I pissed you off. The usual. Nothing else.”

The casual tone, the easiness with which the words flow off my tongue… it all makes me want to puke. In all the years we have known each other, I have never lied to Garrick. Not even once. And this is the greatest form of betrayal possible – I took his memories and now I am lying to his face.

I messed up big time this time…

The confused look in his eyes is like a knife in my heart. It physically pains me to watch as his confident mask slips back on and he nods, accepting my lies. He believes me when I am betraying his trust in the worst way possible.

“Yeah, I think you are right.” Garrick agrees, turning towards the door to leave. “Well, um… See you at the last challenge?”

“Yes… see you there.”

I fall down as soon as the door closes behind him. What have I done? What if he suddenly remembers? I have no idea how these powers work – what if it wears off? What if something jogs his memory? Does Chradh know? What if the dragon remembers and will tell him?

But I know the answer to all this…

If he remembers, I will have set on fire more than ten years of friendship.

“…somewhere along the way, I fell for you and I didn’t find a way to stand up yet.”

She drops it on me and I feel as if someone had taken all the air in the room. All the anger, all the guilt, everything I might have felt before is just erased and I feel numb. There is silence in my head as I stare at her, completely numb – for a few seconds, I feel and think nothing.

Then it all comes back in full force, like a tidal wave meant to drown me. I am flooded by emotions I have no way of sorting through, no way of understanding. Not right now, at least.

I look at her once – her green eyes are glistening with tears and her lower lip is shaking. No. No good can come if we continue the discussion – I am currently in an emotional mess and it is not something I can come to terms with in a few seconds and she is too vulnerable right now. So, I do the only reasonable thing in this situation and leave.

As I race on the hallway towards the secret staircase, I am hoping no one will show up to ask me why I am up at this hour. I don’t trust my self-control right now and having to deal with people… Fortunately, there is no one around and I get to the flight field with no incidents.

Chradh is already there, waiting for me and swinging his tail from side to side expectantly.

“When did you get here?” I ask, crossing the remaining distance quickly.

“I set off the moment she starting talking about the incident today.” He admits, sounding almost bored with it all. “Besides, you rarely have any discussions with her that don’t end in a fight.”

I resist the temptation to roll my eyes. He is not wrong, but this time… it is different. Not that he cares – Chradh made it clear to me in the almost two years we have been bonded that he has no interest in what he calls „petty human squabbles”. He shows up when I need to blow off steam, but he doesn’t pry into my personal business and I am content with this arrangement.

He takes off as soon as I jump on him and I relax watching Basgiath become a small dot bellow us. I finally feel like I can actually breathe now that I put some distance between myself and that place. And some distance between me and… her.

I take a few minutes to focus only on calming my nerves the best I can. The night air is cold and even with the flight googles on it hits my face like a whip, but there is something weirdly familiar in this – I was born in Aretia, a city surrounded by mountains and sharp cliffs above the sea. I grew up in a cold climate.

Okay… let’s start at the beginning. I am going to ignore for now the last part of the discussion and focus on the smaller bits. If I start thinking about that, I will go into a spiral and get nowhere. Step by step it is.

Almost instantly, the image of her lying there on that mat, crushed under that bigger rider pops into my head… I tried all day to convince myself that in that moment it didn’t look any different from any of her previous fights. She had been in tough situations before and always came out victorious in the end. Nelius was strangling her and she still managed to kick the shit out of him. When I felt that instinct to intervene, I pushed it back, thinking it is just my overprotective instinct – she turned to me for help, begging me to help her and I just stood there…

“Can you even imagine how it feels to look at the person you trust the most in the world and realize that he is also staring? That he has no idea you are dying before his eyes? The last crumble of hope was taken from me when I understood that.”

I replay her words in my mind. When she said this earlier, it felt like a punch in the gut – now it feels even worse. The guilt I felt all day was nothing comparing to hearing her saying this – I failed her. Imogen rarely asks for help – she has been like this since we were kids, always too stubborn, too proud… And now, when she turned to me for help, I didn’t even see it.

This is on me. She is right to blame me, I do too. No amount of apologizing will make it better, I know it, but from now on I will listen to that insistent voice in my head telling me to step in. It is better to face her wrath for overstepping than to have to see Dain Aetos step in to save her as I am trying to convince myself that she has it under control.

Not to mention it is a miracle that we dodged a huge problem. He could have used that moment to touch her – in the chaos of the moment, she could have understandably been too distressed to think about the risk he poses with his signet. Thankfully, Quinn got there just in time.

She is a proud person and she grew up in a military family, thinking any sign of weakness is the end of the world. I know the feeling all too well – my father was not one to coddle me and my brother and he pushed and pushed us to force our limits. When I fell off the Gauntlet during training last year, I also felt like it was the worst thing that could possibly happen – we are always under scrutiny because of the dark twisting lines on our arms, so I spent all first year trying to come on top, to win every single fight.

But embarrassment is a shallow thing next to the possibility of dying. I know it was a huge blow to her pride and self-esteem – and there will undoubtedly be a huge amount of mocking she will have to face. But I will take that over her dying any day and no matter what she says, she is aware of that too. I came so close to losing her today and carrying her limp body to the infirmary…

And then there is the whole trust issue… Out of everyone in my life, there are only two people I have complete faith in – one is Xaden and the other is undeniably Imogen. She might be temperamental and reckless, but she is right about one thing – she never gave us any reason to doubt her loyalty and dedication. When we ask her to do something, she does it – we practically dropped on her the whole Brennan thing and she didn’t object. I read the letters – she didn’t let her anger towards General Sorrengail show at all and eventually she actually… opened up to him. And the correspondence with the younger marked ones… even I lost my temper sometimes and hated when they started to complain about their hardships, but she never did. I always found it a paradox how she is so quick to lose her temper sometimes and still so damn patient in other situations.

With the whole rebellion… Imogen never backed down. When Xaden first came with the plan, I had some reservations, but she didn’t. That night on the flight field she reminded me of my brother – quick to jump head first in any situation, not caring about her own personal safety as long as she was fighting for what is right. But I care about her safety! I care about keeping her alive and it drives me insane whenever she does this!

Whenever she does something that endangers herself, I fly into an irrational rage. Coming to find her drunk hours after sustaining such grave injuries, I lost it. And my anger was only fueled by the realization that they were not exactly subtle about it. Half a squad was smelling like a bar and it would be a miracle if they manage to stand up straight in formation tomorrow, but that is not my problem – Thysa, their Squad Leader can deal with that. My problem was that there were two marked riders in this situation.

Like I said, we are held to a totally different standard and Command is constantly watching our every move. A few loyalist riders getting wasted is not such a big deal, but two marked ones…

All this made me go ballistic with worry and I didn’t even think about her reasoning.

And so, I accused her of not caring. I regretted the words the second they came out – that was one of the most idiotic things I ever said and I wish I could take them back. She knows about the deal Xaden made as well as I do. Imogen fucking wept on that cell floor as she helped me clean the cuts on Xaden`s back and she bit off the head of anyone who dared complain about the forced conscription when we told the rest of the children of the separatists. She is aware of the situation, of the risks.

Another thing that hit me hard was the fact that she keeps comparing herself to her sister. Don’t get me wrong, Braelyn Cardulo was a force to be reckoned and a good role model, but she was only human. I grew up with Imogen so I crossed paths with her sister quite frequently considering she was my brother’s best friend – she was a flawed human being just like the rest of us. She was unpredictable, always ready to pick fights and gods forbid you ever got on her bad side – Imogen has something from that burning rage, but she is considerably more sensible and logical. But anyone who knew Braelyn would know that she loved her sister too much to ever be disappointed in her.

I understand why Imogen ignores her sister’s flaws and idolizes her – I tend to do the same when it comes to Derik. But neither of them was perfect. As fearless and strong as we might think they were, our siblings were far from perfect – they fell, they lost fights, they made mistakes. They would not judge such moments like today. Well, Derik would tease me if it ever happened to me, but that was his love language.

And this brings me to the other thing… I wanted to tell her that she is not a liability, that I could never consider her a burden. No one does.

We don’t take her, or Bodhi for that matter, on secret missions because they are first years and it is dangerous. We keep some things from them because Aetos is a fucking pain in the ass and one touch is all it would take for all our secrets to reach the ears of the Command. It was never about what she can and she can’t do – frankly, she can do almost everything! She is a formidable fighter and freaking brilliant. When it comes to flying, she is a natural – I can count on a hand the people who can be a match to her in flight maneuvers!

But… at the same time, when Xaden and I leave Basgiath next year, Imogen and Bodhi will be in charge. And it is not the kind of responsibility we can throw in their lap at the last minute, like we did with the correspondence. We will have to start teaching them the ropes of the operation… and soon.

I sigh loudly. I have nothing else to sort and that leaves me face to face with the elephant… in my mind?

She said she fell in love with me. She stood there, with tears in her light green eyes, her voice breaking, and told me that she has feelings for me. And I stopped functioning.

In the past five years I did not allow myself to even think about feelings and love. I wake up, I train, I look out for my friends and those I am responsible for and focus on my duties. There were some flings with some girls, during my time in Luceras and in the first year at Basgiath, but never more than a one-night stand. This place is not exactly ideal for relationships and it is difficult to find the time for dating when people are waiting for you to let your guard down to kill you.

But even so…

I do find myself searching for a blob of pink hair whenever I enter a room or arrive on the flight field. The only times I am paying attention in Battle Brief nowadays are when I hear her voice. And when there are challenges, I am unable to function properly thinking about her and how she might fare in that fight. But those are all things friends do. I scan my surroundings to find Bodhi and Xaden too. I am paying attention to whatever they are saying too and I care about their performance in a fight.

Chradh scoffs in my mind and his whole body shakes slightly under me – is he laughing at me? But he doesn’t comment and I don’t invite him to join my mental debate – this is the last thing I need, my dragon to mock me.

My mother used to talk about people who are tailored for each other, twin flames she used to call them. She used this term to describe me and my brother – so different from each other, but working so well together. Where one of us fell short, the other fitted like a missing piece. Derik was daring and adventurous, ready to jump headfirst, whereas I was more cautious and sensible. Together we were the perfect pair. But she also used to say that my father was her twin flame – he was quiet and stern, whereas she was kind, loud and funny, the only person who could make him laugh to the point of tears.

Imogen is not my opposite, not exactly, but a few years ago, when we were in the safe house, I came to the conclusion she must be my twin flame too. I didn’t think of it as something romantic back then – she was just the person who got me. The person I understood better than myself.

Whenever I would be doing something with the younger children and start to lose my patience, she would show up and take over for me. Whenever I would feel demoralized or hopeless, she had a way of knowing exactly where I am and just her presence was enough to make it a little better – she has this kind of energy that can just calm me. But at the same time, whenever we got into an argument, Imogen has this annoying ability of making me lose control completely. I could have the worst possible day and she would find something to say or do to make me laugh until I could no longer breathe. She has a way of dismantling my defenses and challenging me at every turn.

And I used to do a better job at understanding her, not like today.

I know that when something is bothering her, she gets quiet and isolates herself, so I would find her and just sit next to her. She hates it when someone is pushing her to do anything so I would just wait for her to tell me what is the problem – in the end, she always did. She is selfless, so whenever she found a younger kid crying, she would give them her ration of sweets, even if sweets are also her go-to comfort food – so I would make sure to save any cake or candy I came across and give it to her later. She is stubborn and proud, so whenever bad news would come, she would let it all out physically – but punching things can sometimes get you injured, so I would make sure to be there to patch her up.

Then, tragedy struck and I was almost sure that this weird bond would not survive. I was no longer the same after that day and before Duke Artan showed up to pick up Imogen, I understood that she would never be the same again either.

When our parents started this rebellion, Imogen was almost fifteen. A normal girl who was loud and crazy and full of life, whose smile and laughter were so contagious. And so full of dreams… I still remember the excitement in her voice as she would daydream about flying and touching the skies.

Then we were forced into the safe house and her smile was replaced by worried frowns. She learned to push her feelings aside and put on a mask so not to frighten the smaller children in the house. She grew quiet and, on the nights the four of us would gather together in one room, she never talked about her dreams, but voiced her concern for our families.

The rebellion failed and our nightmares came to life. And I knew, when the soldiers brought her to the cell afterwards that day, that the girl who used to wear colorful dresses and have fun at all cost was gone. Just as I knew I would never be the same either after witnessing… that.

Three years, all I knew about her came from some words scribbled on a piece of paper. I had no way of checking on her to actually make sure she was alright. I had no way of knowing what is going on with her aside from what she chose to let me know. I found myself wondering about her wellbeing on countless sleepless nights.

I was not expecting to see her on my Conscription Day last year and I was certainly not expecting to be so awe-struck by her. In all those years I pictured her as she was that day, the last time I saw her – broken, grieving and unstable. But she was… beaming. Her light green eyes were shining with happiness and she was laughing in my arms – she was like a ray of freaking sunshine, I swear. On such a grim day, standing in front of the building that would be our jail for three years, I found myself smiling as I hugged her to my chest. She was there, alive and heathy and for a few seconds that is all that mattered.

By that point I had my fair share of experience with women, but none of them ever had this effect on me - no exaggeration, I was stunned. She was no longer the little girl I grew up with or the angry teenager – she was a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Later that day, laying awake in my bed in the common room for first year cadets, looking at the dagger she gave me, I tried to convince myself that the only reason I was so struck by her was the fact that we did not see each other in so long. I could not be looking at my childhood friend that way! It was only Imogen! And the dagger... That should have been my first hint that she felt something for me, right?

Thankfully, being a first-year cadet was very time consuming, especially if you are also looking into ways to aid the “enemy”, so I did not have time to think too much on that strange feeling when I was in her presence.

But then she got here. And there it was, the feeling. And we slowly fell back in our old habits – small caring gestures, screaming matches. The usual. Until today. When she told me about her feelings.

And now… now I have no excuses, no way of denying it. All those times I just wanted to gather her in my arms and never let go. All those times I found myself staring into her eyes a little too long. All those times my whole body tensed when she was near. All those times I would end up staring at her lips in the middle of an argument. All of those moments when I would find myself thinking about… well, her. In general. Not to mention the odd reactions my body would have any time we trained together.

I don’t know if it started during the Apostasy or on the Conscription Day, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I am undeniably, completely and hopelessly in love with Imogen Ilaria Cardulo.

“Then go tell her.” Chradh’s voice brings me back from my thoughts.

A new kind of emotion comes over me. She was drunk when she said all that – I don’t know how well she holds her drinking now, but when we were younger, she used to forget everything past a certain point. How much did she have to drink? Would she remember everything that happened last night?

“I need an excuse…” I mutter, vaguely aware that we are approaching Basgiath again. So, I need to find that excuse fast.

Then it hits me. The bottles of alcohol are most likely still in her room! I could drop by under the pretense that I am there just to collect the bottles because if anyone were to find them, she would be in trouble. And it is not even a lie. Not exactly. It is not like anyone in Command would just wake up and decide to inspect her room.

“Glad you have all that figured out. Now can I please go to sleep?” Chradh groans, sounding like a tired grandpa. And I can’t actually blame him – this is already the second night of not sleeping for the both of us because we were on a weapon run the night before.

“Thank you.” I tell him as we are landing on the flight field, but he just lets out a huff of warm steam as a reply.

“Im, I’ve been thinking all night long about what you said. All this time, I was so oblivious to it all and I didn’t allow myself to think for a second that you might be feeling that way about me. I am so sorry for leaving so abruptly, but it was just so unexpected and I was already riled up. I had to sort this whole thing out and now I have. I need you to know that I feel the same way… No, no. That is not the best way to say it. I need to find another way to tell her that I love her, not so abruptly.”

If anyone sees me, they will certainly think I have lost my marbles. Talking to myself as I am climbing the stairs to the first-year dorms… Well, I would think so too if I saw a poor idiot in this situation.

I am standing in front of her door and I still haven’t figured out a proper way of saying it. Is she even awake at this hour? She has been drinking last night and alcohol can make people sleepy. I could come back later…

Okay, no. I am losing my courage. Fuck this, I’ll just wing it and see how it goes.

She opens the door quickly and before I lose my nerve completely, I start talking:

“Im, I’ve been –” This is as far as I get reciting the speech. Why is she out of bed? Why is she all dressed up and prepped? She is injured, she is not supposed to go anywhere until she recovers. “Why are you in your leathers?”

“I am going to the last challenge.” Matter-of-factly, indifferent. I can’t sense any emotions in her voice. She would surely not be so composed if she remembered our discussion last night, right?

“No. Absolutely not. You are injured and after yesterday –” My protective instincts kick in and I find myself talking before I even register it properly.

“After what happened yesterday, this is exactly what I have to do. If I hide in my room, then they will certainly see me as a weak link.” She cuts me off, decisively. “I am in no mood to argue with you on this, Garrick.”

Okay, fair. Actually, no, it is not. But I have more pressing matters to discuss right now and this can wait. I can convince her to drop this stupid idea after we sort out the actual issue. I wave my hand towards the hallway behind me instead and she understands the message – if I am going to pour out my heart, I don’t need all the first-year riders as audience.

Imogen is standing still as a statue, looking at me expectantly. Fuck, she might actually not remember!

“I came to take the empty bottles.” I say, feeling awkward to just stand here like an idiot. “If anyone is to find them in your room, it would be compromising for you and the other four idiots.”

“They are in that bag.” She points towards her wardrobe and I am relieved to have an excuse to turn my back to her for a few seconds. I could return later today to discuss this with her? This way I can make it less embarrassing for her, making it seem like it comes from me and it is not prompted by her drunk confession?

“Why did you leave last night?”

Looks like she actually remembers, then. Okay, this is fine… I will just explain myself and clear this whole thing out right now. It will be fine. She already said she has feelings for me and it is mutual. Unless she changed her mind in the meantime? Especially considering I turned my back on her and left with no explanation last night…

“I was too angry and some of the things you said… I had to come to terms with on my own.”

I look into her eyes, trying to find something to cling to. She couldn’t have changed her mind in a few hours, right? This is not the kind of stuff you get over fast.

I inch closer to her and my attempted speech from earlier comes into my mind. Well, I sure as hell should not wing such things as it turns out. I should have taken some time to prepare an actual speech, to think about the best way to say this, but nooo…

“I’ve been thinking about it all night. It is my fault for being so oblivious, Im. The thought that you might feel all that… It never crossed my mind. I am so sorry. I really am, but…” Yep, I am butchering it. Great job, Garrick, she is scared now.

Trying to put on a comforting smile, I extend my hand to grab hers, as gently as I can. Have her eyes always been so beautiful? She has wonderful eyes – the lightest shade of green. Not the kind that makes you drown in them but the type that makes you feel alive. From afar, they might look cold and distant, but there is so much warmth and emotion in them. She has the kind of eyes that predisposed you to support her every endeavor – no wonder she got away with so much when we were little.

I open my mouth to continue, but… I have no clue what I was saying. One second Imogen was next to me and now she is like three steps away. What the fuck was I talking about?

“I was saying something, but I… What was I saying?” I groan. My head is killing me and I have no idea what is going on.

“What… what do you mean?”

“One moment I was talking about something and now I don’t remember…” I mutter.

The last thing I remember is coming here to talk to Imogen about something last night. I remember shepherding her drunk squad mates and Bodhi out of here. Heaton and Emery leaning on each other as they wobbled out of the room, too drunk to even walk straight. Quinn looked at me for a fraction of a second and then fixed her eyes to the ground as she passed me, like a child whose parents discovered they did something stupid.

Bodhi was the last to leave and I remember shaking my head at him. Out of the four of them, I had certain expectations of him – he knows what is at stake and, even worse, he saw her lying there on that infirmary bed, white as a paper sheet and unconscious. How could he be on board with this?

Then I was fighting with Imogen… I remember accusing her of being irresponsible and she was screaming at me about the actual reasons she wanted to get drunk. I remember all that perfectly – especially my guilt at hearing her saying that I let her down. But after that… nothing.

“I remember coming here last night and finding you and the other four drunk, I remember some screaming and… I left but I don’t know why.” I admit, looking at Imogen. Maybe she can fill me in. She will surely fill me in.

“The lack of sleep can do that to someone.” Imogen says, biting her lower lip a bit. “You yelled at me for getting drunk and then I pissed you off. The usual. Nothing else.”

This doesn’t make sense… There must be something else. I am still in my uniform and I am tired as hell, but I have gone longer periods of time without sleeping and I never had this problem. And that doesn`t exactly answer my question - Why did I leave?

Chradh. He might know something. He is always around; he surely knows what happened last night. But my link to him feels cold, as if disconnected – he is sleeping.

Imogen is looking at me expectantly and… concerned. She looks almost frightened. I am making her worry, fuck. I will sort this out later, she already has too much on her plate and every reason to hate me after yesterday – I don’t want to bother her with my stupid memory problem.

“Yeah, I think you are right.” I nod, smiling slightly. I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. “Well, um… See you at the last challenge?”

“Yes… see you there.” I hear her say as I close the door behind me.

Chapter Text

“Again!” He orders as he catches my arm, squeezing just enough to make me drop the sword.

My lips draw back in a snarl as I bend to pick up the blade. This is getting ridiculous. We’ve been here for hours and I have barely landed a hit. My whole body is aching, begging for a break, but I am not going to ask for one – I refuse to be a prissy in training. And there is also a matter of pride when it comes to sparring with him.

“Why don’t we stick to daggers?” I ask as get back into position on the mat. “Swords are slowing me down.”

“It is always helpful to master more weapons.” Xaden points out, giving me a lopsided grin. “And, besides, you have extra speed for a reason. Dive into it.”

“Emetterio won’t let me use it on the mat.” I point out, just to gain a little bit of time to catch my breath.

He rolls his eyes at me, clearly annoyed. “Good thing we are not training for the mat. In a real fight you will have to use everything in your arsenal, Im. There are no rules. Now stop talking and attack!”

My body groans in protest, but I spring into action again jumping for what would look like an attack from above, but as Xaden raises his sword to parry mine, I roll to the side and hit him with the hilt in the ribs. My victory is short lived as he turns in the blink of an eye and gets into offense – his movements are fluid, so quick that he is almost like a blur, but so are mine. It took me weeks of training to learn how to keep up with Xaden when we are both using our second signet in a fight, but now I have no problem following him and sometimes I even get to land a hit or two.

For some reason, it is ten times easier for me to channel my second signet, the one from the rebellion relic, than my actual power from the bond with my dragon. It took me almost a week to learn how to ground and envision a place that feels like home – in the beginning, I thought it would be my childhood home, but the thought of my now destroyed house brought only sorrow. It was only after Bodhi made a passing comment about the rocky beach we used to go to when we were kids that I finally found my anchoring point – some of my happiest memories happened on that beach: every time I gave Garrick a heart attack when I jumped off the cliffs directly in the water, every time we buried Bodhi in the sand, every swimming race and contest to see who can hold their breath the longest… we used to have a small tent built by Bodhi’s dad where we would sit for hours and talk and it felt as if that corner of Aretia was just ours.

I envision Lystra’s power as the ocean, crushing against the coast and, truthfully, it is fitting. The waves were usually calm and allowed us to swim, but other times they were so untameable, hitting the rocky cliffs so violently that none of us even thought of going in. I haven’t truly dived into my powers after that… incident. At least not to that extend. Xaden has been trying to help me learn to control them since Carr is not exactly invested in teaching me to master this ability — we decided that, with so many truth-sayers around, it would be too difficult to hide my actual signet from Command, but we can’t rely on any of them to help me train an ability that could very well be used against them. But that only seems to apply to me — you would have to be blind not to notice that Dain is held to different standards by Carr.

But there is one thing I learned to do…

I dodge an attack by rolling between Xaden’s legs and this movement gives me enough time to channel some power from Lystra – I step into the mental ocean, the water barely covering my feet, but it is enough to ignite that warm tingling feeling in my chest. There is a barely noticeable burning feeling in the tip of my fingers as I touch Xaden’s bare foot.

The confused expression on his face is the only sign I need to know it worked, but I only have a slim window to act. Taking advantage of his momentary disorientation, I extend my leg in a quick motion and sweep his feet from under him.

“Taking advantage of anything in our arsenal, right?” I smirk down at him, pointing the tip of my sword to his chest.

“Indeed,” Xaden replies, the corner of his mouth curling upwards. Why is he smirking –

My question is immediately answered when a shadow curls around my ankle and pulls me down. Quick as lightning, the asshole jumps to his feet and this time he is the one pinning me down with a triumphant smile that brightens his whole face. Arrogant bastard.

“You let your guard down before I yielded,” He mockingly chides me, shaking his head as he helps me up. “But I have to admit, you are improving with your speed. And it was ingenious to use that trick in a fight.”

That trick meaning wiping almost three second of the fight from his memory. Not enough to do real damage, but enough to create myself a window by disorienting him like this. It was actually something Lystra suggested one day after a sparring lesson like this one and Xaden has allowed me once or twice to test it on him during our wielding lessons.

“You really couldn’t give me the win after you basically wiped the floor with me all evening?” I sneer, throwing him a dirty look as I reach for a towel we left on the benches nearby.

“And stroke your already huge ego? Gods forbid.” He laughs as he throws his tunic back on.

“Look who’s talking. You have always been the definition of a sore loser, Riorson.” And he has been like this since we were kids – Bodhi and Garrick were more laid back and could accept a fair defeat, but Xaden and I are more competitive and there were numerous times our parents, Braelyn or Derik had to come to break us apart. Usually, we would patch things up rather quickly afterwards, but there were also times when we would not talk to each other for days at a time, forcing Bodhi to be an intermediate because even mad at each other we would still play together daily – Garrick would snap eventually and threaten to bang our heads against each other until we made up.

He chuckles, shaking his head at me. “Never change, Im.”

I am about to comment that I am not planning on ever doing that, but I notice his whole body straightening and the open smile on his face loses its warmth from before as he looks straight ahead at the double doors that separate the training room from the hallways. After so many months in Basgiath, I came to understand to some extent what Xaden’s powers have many functions and, right now, they seem to alert him to someone coming our way. Now, that is a useful signet…

“Be content with what you got, vicious one…” Lystra purrs in my mind, taking it way to personally.

“I was not blaming you, busy-body reptile!” For a day or two after my signet manifested, I did, but it was mostly just my anger and guilt lashing out and trying to find an outlet. But the power has nothing to do with Lystra, it is something entirely up to me. Something that says something about me.

The doors open and Garrick marches in with hurried steps, but he stops in his tracks upon seeing me there. It`s been three weeks since my power manifested at the perfect moment possible and then I dug my grave even deeper. Three weeks of me trying to avoid Garrick as much as possible because I can not stand that glint of confusion in his eyes whenever he sees me – he has not asked me about that night again, but I know he is still beating himself for not knowing what happened. Lystra told me that Chradh asked her about this too, but she kept her mouth shut for my sake.

And… it has been just too weird facing him after that, knowing that I practically violated his mind and then lied to his face. And my silence on the subject is like a constant lie, one I don’t know how to take back.

I assume Xaden told Garrick about our daily training sessions, but he didn’t say a word about my signet. He asked me during one of these private lessons what is the reason behind this tension between me and Garrick, teasing me whether we finally hooked up – how far from the truth he was… I did not tell him anything about what happened, but I think he has his suspicions. He’s Xaden, he always has his suspicions…

“Am I interrupting?” Garrick asks, looking at Xaden with that look that I learned to interpret as a silent way of inquiring whether or not to speak on a matter privately. It always makes me grit my teeth in frustration as this is usually my cue to leave.

Sheathing the sword and taking my stuff, I prepare to leave, when Xaden puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. “What is it, Garrick?” He asks, looking at his second in command expectantly. Well, looks like I am allowed to sit at the adult table for once.

His hazel eyes stop on me briefly, hesitantly, but he redresses quickly and goes on: “I just ran into Soleil and she seems to be under the impression that she is going tonight to Elsum with Imogen and Quinn. I told her that is not possible, but she was adamant that you gave the order.”

Elsum… That is a nearby outpost, one of the safest there are.

“Lys? Do you…?”

“There was an attack on Chakir.” She answers curtly.

There is a practice at Basgiath that has been in place ever since Braelyn and Derik were still students. Whenever there is a bigger attack at the border, active units from inland outposts are dispatched to help and third years from Basgiath are sent to the emptied outpost. A boring task for them, really – inland posts are usually pretty safe and well protected by the wards, so all they have to do is hang around in observation rooms until the big guns return. Garrick remembered this from Derik’s stories and Xaden quickly found a way to take advantage of these kind of situations – whenever he picks up on such orders being passed by Command, two or three marked riders set off after the third years and sneak in the outpost to loot the place for what we call Tyrrish weapons. These blades are adorned with Tyrrish knots – old, mythical runes of intricate swirls and ties. Runes that grant weapons made of a certain kind of alloy special properties based on what my father used to say – these runes and the protective wards that some bonded riders weave around Navarre by channeling power from the dragons are the only things that are effective against the venin.

So, basically, there is a tool for defense, the wards, and one for offense, the runes. Navarre prefers to hide behind this shield and pretends that the threat knocking at our doors doesn’t exist, leaving Poromiel to deal with this issue instead. We have less than thirty bonded riders on our side, counting Brennan and Quinn, too few to actually take up arms and join the fight. We don’t have the numbers and resources our parents had when they tried to proclaim Tyrrendor an independent nation either, so all we can do to help with the threat beyond the borders is this – look for weapons and sent them to those who are buying us time.

This is why Elsum is so important right now. What puzzles me is the fact that Garrick mentioned me and Quinn as part of this mission.

Xaden stays quiet for a moment, his lips pursed, clearly hesitant before he gives an answer. His gaze briefly turns from Garrick to me and then, for a few second, his eyes are unfocused, signaling that he is checking in with Sgaeyl. “I did give this order, Gar.”

Garrick’s eyes widen, clearly as taken aback as I am. But it’s a different kind of surprise. I am overjoyed, like a child who has just received a pony for their birthday, because I have been begging them to allow me to go on a mission for months already! They have always postponed it under different pretenses – first it was because I had to learn to fly better, then it was because of the Squad Games and because I had not manifested a signet yet. Garrick, on the other hand, is baffled, looking at Xaden as if he had just lost his minds completely.

“What… Why? We agreed that we won’t send I…” He shakes his head slightly, rethinking his words. “We agreed we won’t send any of the first-years on missions until they manifested a signet.”

Until I get my signet is what he means. Bodhi got his almost a month ago and Quinn`s astral projection is already old news. As for the other first years, few of them are actually entrusted with the knowledge of our secret endeavors. They have been waiting for me.

When he turns to look at me, Xaden’s eyes are shining with uncertainty again and I realize that I just put him in an impossible situation. I never explicitly asked him to, but he never said a word about my power to Garrick or anyone else. He kept my secret until now – maybe because he picked up on the tension between me and Garrick, perhaps because he figured it is better to stay out of problems that do not concern him… but now the problem is staring at us, demanding answers.

I know he would lie for me if I asked, but I am not that selfish. It was not Xaden’s mistake and he doesn’t deserve to take the fall for me. I fucked my way into this mess, I have to be the one to fuck my way out. And, besides, I already know how hurt Garrick would be by my actions, I don’t want his relationship with Xaden to take a hit. He will need his friend after this…

“I did get my signet.” I want to punch myself for my brittle voice as I utter the words.

“What do you mean?” Garrick asks, his eyes narrowing slightly, suspicious. “Im, when did you…?”

“A couple of weeks ago.” I admit, my voice coming out as barely a whisper. You can`t outrun your fears forever, I guess, but this feels as if the sky has just fallen on me.

“What is your signet, Imogen?” No hint of warmth in his voice. His mouth is pressed into a hard-set line as he glances over at Xaden. The two of them do everything together – there are virtually no secrets between them, so Xaden omitting to tell him about this is like a slap across the face.

“I can erase memories.” I breathe out, defeated, as I watch his expression shift. At first, he looks at me confused, as if doubting he heard it correctly, as if waiting for me to laugh and say it is just some elaborate joke. Then he pursed his lips and I could tell he was beginning to put the pieces together. And, finally, there it is – the realization, the clear feeling of betrayal shinning in his hazel eyes.

I open my mouth to say something, but he has already turned around and left, crossing the sparring room in a few quick, long steps.

“At some point he was bound to find out, Im.” Xaden closes his eyes, passing a hand through his hair.

He is right. I was running on borrowed time keeping this whole mess under wraps. But maybe, just maybe, I can patch things up, find an explanation – this is what I hold on to as I run after Garrick. I have to use my extra speed to catch up to him and when I do, I try to grab him by the arm. A huge mistake, I realize immediately, as he pulls away from me as if I have just burned him. I deserve this, but it still pains me.

“Gar… Please let me explain.” I plead, searching for the faintest shimmer of warmth in his eyes.

We grew up together, so I can easily figure out his emotions based on his expression and body language. Tightly shut lips, flared nostrils, eyes squinting slightly and eyebrows drawn together… He is trying his best to control his anger and not lash out.

“I am trying not to say anything disrespectful or hurtful to you, so I need you to just give me some space. All right?” He says gravelly, avoiding to look directly at me.

“No! Let’s talk about it! I want to talk about it… to fix! Let me explain. Why won’t you let me fix it?”

At this, he finally looks at me and the control he was clinging to earlier snaps. “Because it is too late! There is no fucking fixing this, Imogen! You erased my memory and then lied to my face! You had weeks! Weeks! And you never once thought to come clean?!”

I rebuke at his words, each of them landing like a punch. I can’t contradict any of that – I did erase his memory; I did lie to him after that; I did avoid him after that because it was easier than telling him the truth.

Garrick takes a deep breath and massages the bridge of his nose. “You never lied to me before, Imogen. Just… tell me what happened that night.”

Hearing his request, I close my eyes. Anything but this… I would give him anything but this. And not because it is a matter of pride or stubbornness – I don’t think I could take putting my heart out there again only to be refused, but leaving this as a secret… him not knowing about my stupid confession gives me a slim, stupid hope that at least this way there is a chance for things to go back to how they were before. He was about to turn me down that morning, forever destroying any chance of survival for our friendship. How do you go back to that same closeness from before knowing that you can’t feel the same about them?

“Is there anything to go back to if you break his trust?” Lystra asks softly.

“Trust can be rebuilt…”

“Things won’t be the same again, however.”

“Perhaps not. But it doesn’t matter, I just want him in my life. If he knew, he would avoid me and there would always be awkward between us.”

“You don’t know that, my girl. Tell him.” She encourages me.

“I can’t.” I say out loud, answering to both of them.

Garrick looks at me, disappointed, then turns around and leaves. “Yeah… I figured.” He throws over his shoulder.

“Wisdom has been chasing you, but you’ve always been faster. ” Lystra sighs.

“Is there anything that can wipe off that sour expression?” Lystra’s voice rings in my mind as Basgiath shows up in the distance. We have been gone for a few hours, but it still feels too soon to return to that shithole. “You got what you wanted, vicious one. For months you have been asking to go on these missions and now you have.”

She turns her head towards me, her amber eyes shining like two lanterns in the night as she looks at me. I shake my head, sighing. Yes, I got what I wanted and, for a time, I was able to focus only on this – on the fact that I am finally on a mission, that I am doing something and honoring my family’s efforts –, pushing aside all thoughts about him. But now that I finished my task and the adrenaline left my body, reality kicks back in.

I am returning to what? What is going to be like around Garrick now that he knows I violated his mind and broke his trust? I tried to convince myself that we would sort things out somehow, but thinking about the disappointed and betrayed look on his face as he looked at me… He is going to hate me.

“You are such a killjoy!” Lystra groans, visibly trying to distract me. “Think of the bright side! The mission was a success!”

“I would not call it a success. We picked up what? Thirst blades?” I sigh.

.

Soleil proved to be a better teacher than Xaden or Garrick – far more patient and better at explaining stuff. However, upon seeing Quinn on the flight field, she was eying my friend questionably, clearly uncomfortable to the inclusion of an unmarked rider in these operations. To her credit, Quinn just raised an eyebrow and acted like she had every right to be here, ignoring the tightness in Soleil’s voice as she answered her questions.

The actual sneaking in part was a bit tricky because the third-years sent to man the outpost were a bit overzealous and actually patrolled around. Soleil almost called off the mission seeing this because she did not want to take such a big risk with us, on our first mission, but then I pointed out that our signets made us the perfect people to see it through. Quinn used her astral-projection to wander around the outpost and make enough noise to distract the riders from the area the weapon room was and even if one of them would have discovered us, I convinced Soleil that I would have no trouble erasing the memory. She has no way of knowing I have basically no training and that would be a huge gamble.

In the end, we managed to avoid having to take that risk, gathering the weapons and getting out unspotted.

“It is better than nothing, vicious one.” Lystra assures me as we land on the flight field. “Sgaeyl says her shadow boy wants a report once you get inside.”

“Of course he does.” I roll my eyes, jumping off her back. I will have to find a way to ditch this duty to Quinn or Soleil because I am in no mood to talk to Xaden tonight when he is sure as hell going to want to know about the whole Garrick thing too.

Soleil and Quinn approach me, balancing their own rucksacks with weapons – even if the quantity of blades is so low, we still divide it among three bags because it is safer this way – if anything were to happen to any of us, we would have had at least the other two supplies. I can read the disappointment on Quinn’s face as she lets the bag down in front of her – we were both hoping for something more, something that would make a significant difference.

I look up at Soleil, who looks exactly how I feel – absolutely drained. She has been using her warding powers all night long to offer us some kind of camouflage, both during the flight to Elsum and the actual sneaking in part. She pushes off her flying googles, trying to straighten her black hair with one hand.

“So, mission complete. Any questions?” She asks, looking between me and Quinn. If you ignore the nose ring, she reminds me of Devera – same expectant teacher stance.

“Is there any other weapon run? We can’t deliver them such a shitty supply…” Quinn trails off, frowning at the disappointing cargo.

Soleil sighs, the corner of her mouth turning a bit up. “Masen and Tavis had a better run last week and we might have to plan for one more before we deliver them to the flyers. And, before you ask, I don’t know if Riorson will send you two on the delivery run, take that out with him and Tavis.”

Fair. Soleil might be older than us, but she is only following orders here. Just like us.

“All right, I am off to bed. We should go in separate directions so we won`t cause suspicions if we run into anyone. Who wants to hide the weapons on their way?” She asks, clearly not in the mood for the detour herself.

I raise my hand. Exactly the excuse I’ve been hoping for to avoid Xaden tonight. It might take me an eternity to undo the wards on the barrels in the secret tunnel, like Soleil showed us earlier tonight, but I prefer that to the alternative. I am just too tired to even think about the whole shit show from earlier and, to be fair, I need time to think about it all myself before I can satisfy Xaden’s curiosity.

“Perfect! Artan, Fuil tells me Riorson wants a report of the mission, so I leave that to you.” Soleil sketches a smile as she throws me her stash of weapons. Then she turns around, raising a hand in farewell, her bright yellow nail polish shining briefly. I didn’t get to spend too much time with her, but she is a cool person – patient, calculated and just my kind of snarky. I am actually glad she was the one to explain to us how these things work and not Xaden… or Garrick.

“You barely focused on the mission as it is, I don’t want to imagine what a mess you would have been if you had him there to stare at.” Lystra scoffs, letting out a huff of warm steam.

“Who died in your mouth? Your breath stinks.” I throw her a dirty look, choosing to ignore her comment. She wants to annoy me, but two can play this game.

“Careful or you will be the next foul smell in my mouth.” She threatens, pinning me in place. This kind of thing would scare the shit out of anyone else, but I had a stare down with her the first time we met. Now it is basically a habit.

“You’ve been blabbering on about how you’re going to kill me for a while now. I’m beginning to doubt your commitment.” Lystra is not the kind of creature to coddle or show affection, but these kinds of empty threats are like her love language. She might try to conceal it, but she actually cares about me – orange dragons are harder to form a bond with, mostly because they are such annoying brats, but they are also the most loyal. Being her third rider reinforces the idea that she would never let anything happen to me if she can help it – if I die, there is a big chance she dies too.

“That smart mouth of your will get you in trouble someday, vicious one.” She growls in annoyance as she takes off after Cruth, Quinn’s green sword tail. She knows all too well that not the snarky comments got me in trouble recently…

“Are you just as sarcastic with your dragon as you are with the rest of us?” Quinn asks before my mind drags me back into the dark spiral again. She stands in front of me, with a hand of her hip and a wide grin on her face.

I balance all the bags on my back easily – damn, they are way too light. “The difference is that she knows how to talk back to me.” I answer with a smirk. “Far more entertaining than your groans and rolling eyes.”

“You are a match made in the pits of hell.” She throws back, eying the rucksacks. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stash them? I think Riorson would rather hear about the mission from you…”

“Intimidated, Artan?” I arch an eyebrow at her. She took to Bodhi almost instantly – it was friendship at the first shared chocolate, I guess – and after so much training with Garrick she has no problem being around him now. But Xaden is another story – everything Quinn knows about him comes from my childhood stories and the brief interactions she had with him as a Section Leader. It is understandable for her not to be as comfortable around him. In a way, I prefer it that way — Quinn and Bodhi are already a pain in the ass when they tease me about Garrick. I don’t need Xaden added to the mix.

“Hardly.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “It just feels like he doesn’t exactly trust me.”

And that is somewhat true, but it has nothing to do with Quinn. Xaden made it clear to me that the only reason he agreed to tell Quinn about it all was my closeness with her and the chance of her proving to be an asset to the rebellion – not only she has a badass signet, but she is the daughter of a loyalist and she can mingle in circles that we have no access to.

“He will.” I smirk confidently. Sending her on this mission is a sign that he is willing to give her an actual chance. “Give it time. I didn’t like you in the beginning either.”

“Auch! I loved you the moment you came in, shooting daggers with your eyes towards everyone in your path!” She grins, knowing I am just toying with her. “Are you going to tell me the actual reason why you avoid report duty?”

I shift my weight from one leg to another, debating. It is neither the moment nor the place for this discussion – I think we have about two or three hours until people wake up and there is still so much to do. But… it’s Quinn. I almost never keep things from her and the weight of the whole Garrick fiasco is pressing down on me. And learning about my signet during a mission... not exactly my finest either.

“Later,” I promise, sketching a comforting smile. “Meet you in my room after you are done with Xaden.”

Her shoulders relax for a bit and she gives me a small smile as she nods. Seems like my answer satisfied her for now.

After that, we part ways, aiming for different directions – Quinn will take the long way towards the dorms, while I aim for the boulder that hides the secret tunnel and staircase that Xaden and Garrick showed me and Bodhi on that night after Threshing. As I push aside the boulder, I think about Bodhi – I might have to wake him up to join my discussion with Quinn because I do not want to repeat myself and he might have some ideas as to how to patch things with Garrick, but…

My mind briefly wanders to the moment I went to Bodhi’s room to tell him about the mission tonight. I happened to interrupt him and a girl from First Wing and, to my astonishment, the girl was not even mad. I think her exact words were: “Oh sorry! Is it your turn with Bodhi? It was not my intention to extend over your timeslot!”– which left me baffled. I will have to ask Bodhi about this „waiting list” for getting in bed with him.

And, oh gods… that girl thought I was there to sleep with Bodhi?! The thought is utterly ridiculous and disgusting – it would be borderline incestuous! He is like my brother!

“You would not say the same if it were Garrick.” Lystra purrs in my mind.

“Don’t you have anything to do with your time aside from butting in on my thoughts?”

As soon as I secure the boulder back into place, I create a mage light to help me find the hidden barrels. There are a ton of protective spells and wards placed on the two barrels where we stash the weapons and Xaden threw an extra layer of shadows to hide them. In the two years Xaden and Garrick led this illegal operation, they have never seen anyone using this tunnel, but we can never be too sure that there is no one among the professors or in Command who has knowledge about this. Better safe than sorry.

Look, there are many things I am good at – I am a hell of a good rider and a decent fighter, I am starting to get a hang on my powers… but when it comes to deactivating wards and lesser magic, I struggle. Bodhi has a knack for this kind of things, making a hobby of finding ways to get past any protective spell just for fun, but I hate this kind of things and I get easily frustrated at them. This time is no exception as I struggle for around fifteen minutes to open a barrel and another fifteen to replicate the protections after dropping the blades inside.

After the training session with Xaden this evening, the mission and the emotional rollercoaster with Garrick, all I want is to crawl into bed and drift into sweet oblivion. I am mentally and physically spent and in no capacity to actually think of solutions for this clusterfuck I put myself in. However, I will most likely barely have time to take a shower and change my clothes before morning formation.

I barely climb about ten steps on the stairs when I hear a faint movement sound that vanishes any sign of exhaustion in my body. My hand rests on the hilt of one of the daggers on my tight as I freeze on the stairs, listening closely – I hear water dripping from a crack above, the soft sound of wind, nothing out of the ordinary, but I am certain I heard footsteps below me.

Almost convinced it is only my exhaustion playing tricks on me, I turn to continue walking when I see two silhouettes at the top of the stairs, running towards me, the metallic glint of a dagger reflecting slightly the light from my mage lantern. I turn back, fully aware that the stairs are a bad terrain for a fight given my height and built – maybe I could make them chase me outside, to the flight field, where I will have enough space to take advantage of my speed. Despite these past three months of intense training in the weight room, I am not willing to bet on my physical strength against opponents that, in the dim light, seemed way bigger than me.

But, standing at the base of the stairs and blocking the way are two more people. They must have hidden behind the stairs because I did not see them before.

I am trapped.

“Lystra!” I call through the mental bond.

“They are on their way, vicious one…” She answers fiercely. I don’t need to ask who they are; it doesn’t matter – judging by Lystra`s tension, whoever she notified is too far away and I am rapidly running out of time. Fuck!

“Well, well, well… look who it is! The marked bitch!” One of the men from the top of the stairs croons mockingly, coming close enough that I can finally see his face. A guy from Third Wing, Zyran if I remember correctly.

And, next to him, with a venomous smirk on his lips, there is my old pal Nelius. It becomes so much clearer now…

“What bed are you running to, Cardulo? Riorson’s or Tavis’?” Another one adds, arrogantly. Ah yes, the old jokes about being a bitch and sleeping my way up the social ladder. Very original.

“A moment of silence, please, for this poor soul’s intelligence.” I grin, inclining my head to the side. “Can I help you boys? Four of you and only one little me, doesn’t seem fair, does it?”

“You really think being sassy is a great idea right now? You are angering them!” Lystra roars into my head.

“Nope.” I answer honestly, continuing to eye the four cadets, watching for any sign they might move to strike.

“Good. I’d be concerned if you did.” She groans, her rage almost overwhelming me.

“So, boys… Care to give this girl a hint as to why you are honoring me with your attention tonight?” I ask in a sweet voice, trying to get a hold on my emotions and thoughts. They know about the secret tunnel and they saw me using the barrels… This is not good, but maybe if I keep talking, I will buy myself enough time for the others to get here and I will be able to erase this memory from their minds.

Nelius scoffs, taking a threatening step towards me so that we are now separated by only six stairs. He is too broad to get past him and his pal behind him would surely catch me even if I tried. Fan-fucking-tastic. “Easy enough to guess. Time to pay your debt, Cardulo. I did not bond a dragon because of you, so I am going to take yours.”

Lystra growls upon hearing this, her rage at an all-time high and I roll my eyes, waving a hand at him dismissingly. “You play the victim so well, Nelius, that I am surprised you don’t carry your own body chalk too. Has it crossed your mind that maybe… I don’t know… your sunny personality is the reason you did not bond?”

“You think you are clever, don’t you? With these sarcastic comments? Look around you, Cardulo. There are no big guys to come to your rescue now, no Tavis to pick you up and no Riorson to protect you. You are alone.” He goes on, a sadistic smirk spreading across his face.

“Funny. I don’t remember any of them on that mat that day… Oh, right! Because it was me who kicked your sorry ass.” I growl.

Rage distorts his face as he shouts “Tyrrish slut!” before lunging at me. If that is his battle cry, he sounds like a dying goose.

I duck as Nelius flings his fist at me and try to get past him, but the other cadet behind him, Zyran, wraps his arms around me to stop me. Lesser magic has never been more useful than right now as I slightly raise the hilt of a dagger by my tight enough to grab it properly and then sink the blade into his tight.

For a few seconds, as I manage to climb a few stairs, I almost think I will make it. I will get out of here and then meet with the others – I am quick enough to reach them before these idiots catch me and I doubt any of them will be brave enough to attack me then.

But then a heavy hand catches me by the collar of my tunic, pulling me back with enough force that I lose my balance. My head is slammed against the brick wall and for a few seconds my vision goes blurry from the impact. Lystra is roaring furiously in my mind, so that doesn’t help either.

“Not so witty now, are we?” Nelius smirks, his face so close to mine. He looks sideway to his other two companions and makes a sign with his head for them to move – my hazy mind puts it together too late and the next thing I know is that he grabs me by the front of my tunic and pushes me violently forward, towards the base of the tunnel.

I hear a faint creaking sound when I land and my back arches in pain upon the impact with the hard stone floor, but I have no time to think about any of this before Nelius is on me. I try to raise a hand to protect myself, but he is quicker this time to immobilize me, holding both of my wrists above my head with one hand. The sheer satisfaction on his face as he looks down at me…

“You know, it is funny really. This night is like winning the lottery! Not only will I get your dragon after I kill you…”

“Over my rotting corpse!” Lystra screams, her rage and feeling of helplessness hitting me with full force, to the point where I can not tell where my own feelings end and hers begin.

“But, afterwards…” Nelius goes on, visibly enjoying this taunting. “I will get rid of all you bloody traitors after I tell Command about your neat little hiding place here.”

My eyes widen and fear freezes the blood in my veins. I was hoping they would not give much thought to the weapon barrels, but it is clear they did. And it all comes clear to me – I knew Nelius and his friends would look for the perfect opportunity to take me out, especially after Bodhi overheard them following the Squad Games, but I just assumed they gave up on it after seeing that they did not take any action in three weeks. But they were biding their time, probably following me around and, after everything that happened today, I did not give much thought to the possibility of being seen using the secret passage.

I lead them here and now they have everything they need to end not only me but all of the marked ones. It has all gone to hell because of me…

Vaguely aware of Nelius shifting on top of me to take out a blade, I close my eyes, easily finding my beach. I will die right here and now, in this goddam forgotten tunnel, but at least I can have as a last image something familiar and comforting. The sea, my mental representation of the bond with Lystra is agitated, crushing against the shore violently, as if trying to reach me – I wonder what will happen to Lystra when the bond goes quiet on my side – a dragon without a rider is a tragedy, but how big of a tragedy exactly?

Then, my eyes settle on the little tent, nestled next to the cliffs, far enough from the water. There is a wooden plate on top of it, with childish letters carved into it – XR, GT, BD, IC and three other sets of letters that were not there on the actual plank, my own addition to the scenery: BC, DT and QA.

If they find out about the weapons and the secret missions, everyone dies. All 107 of us. Xaden, Bodhi, Soleil, annoying Ciaran, Eya, Masen, little Julianne… Probably Quinn too. And Garrick… Oh gods, Garrick! The thought of any of them paying for my mistake… the thought of him dying… No. I can’t let this happen.

With one last look towards the tent, I run towards the waves, diving head-first into the water. There is no guarantee this will help, but I have nothing left to lose and this is the only ace up my sleeve. I avoided going further than ankle deep, but now… Now I am swimming deeper and deeper, until my feet no longer reach the ocean floor, greedily taking all the power Lystra gives me.

I open my eyes and look into Nelius’ dark ones, feeling as if my whole body is on fire as I concentrate on his hand touching my wrists, letting all that power pour into him. Images flash before my eyes, going further and further back, taking and taking more and more. Until his eyes go blank and he rolls off me, his eyes wide open, fixed on a single point, unmoving.

“What did I just do?” I ask, feeling my power sizzling down.

“You fried his mind. Like the fucker deserved. Now get up, vicious one! You are not safe yet!” Lystra roars at me, pride and worry lacing her voice.

And she is right. I barely have time to roll over before two of the other cadets lunge towards me, ready to avenge their dead friend. I manage to jump to my feet and take a few steps back and I avoid most of their hits using my second signet, but two against one is a hell of a lot harder. My body moves to its own accord, years of training making all the difference in this fight – every fighting technique dad and Braelyn ever showed me comes back to me, along with Cal Artan’s pointers and advice. Garrick’s gruelling training and the sparring lessons with Xaden pay off because my movements are quick, fluid and precise.

“They are here!” Lystra announces me, but there is no relief in her silky voice. “One of them warded the door. Just… hang on!”

Zyran, I realize. This is where I know him from – unlike the others, he is bonded to a dragon and I saw him during Squad Battle. He won the wielding challenge because he has some of the most powerful ward signets. This is why he stands behind, on the stairs – to guard the door.

I manage to get behind one of the cadets and I don’t hesitate before stabbing him in the first exposed area I see – his neck, right above the collar. He falls to the ground almost instantly, but the three seconds it took me to deal with him, gave the other one the time he needed to immobilize my arms around my body and push me against the wall.

“No more tricks up you sleeve now, witch.” He growls, visibly out of breath, in my ear.

“Excuse me? How about you let my friend go?” A sweet voice calls from behind us, from the direction of the exit to the flight field.

The cadet turns around, jumping in surprise at the sound of Quinn’s voice and the distraction is all I need. He weakens his grip on me enough for me to raise my knee and hit him in the crouch area with all the force I can muster. Screaming in pain, he scrambles backwards, taking his gloved hands off me and I don’t waste the time – it is far too easy to call upon Lystra’s power this time and I welcome the electric feeling taking over my whole body as I touch his cheek.

His eyes, so full of hatred one second ago, become unfocused and then completely blank. His body hits the ground with a loud bam and he doesn’t stand up again. I take a deep breath as his memories fill my head, momentarily making me lose focus on the present.

“Look out!” Quinn calls, moving to push me out of the way, but she just goes right through me as she is not physically here right now.

Zyran, still standing on the stairs, took advantage of my moment of distraction and threw a dagger my way. And it would have landed exactly in my chest, had it not changed trajectory mid-way, the blade planting itself in the space right between Zyran’s eyes, killing him instantly. Garrick…

As soon as I see the last threat eliminated, I fall to my knees, the adrenaline pouring out of my body as reality settles in. I hear hurried steps on the stairs and voices calling my name, but none of it matters to me right now.

“Imogen?” I vaguely hear Lystra calling me, but it sounds so far away, as if I am underwater. Still underwater.

My eyes are fixed on the three corpses surrounding me, on the pool of blood next to me. My sister’s dagger is still glinting in the neck of a cadet whose name I don’t even know, but my hands and clothes are covered in his blood. The other two are staring right at me, their eyes cold and devoid of any emotion – Nelius, whom I now know wanted me dead because his father died fighting in the Apostasy, and the other one, a tall blond guy with a big birthmark on his cheek. Thalron. He had a younger sibling waiting for him at home, a little boy who looked up at his big brother the same way I used to look up at Braelyn. I took him from that little boy the same way Braelyn was taken from me.

I killed all three of them.

I let out a sigh of relief seeing Xaden and Garrick barge in at the perfect moment, practically breaking down the door leading to the secret passage. Zyran’s body drops with a loud bam, the dagger he intended for Im now buried in his forehead. Poetic.

As soon as I see Riorson and Tavis running down the stairs, I allow myself to snap back into my physical body, on the other side of the boulder. I have been using my powers for the better part of the night, during the mission, so I was on the edge of burning out by channeling power from Cruth again. But my sister was in trouble, I could not stand waiting around as Bodhi was trying to break the wards on the boulder.

“She is alive.” I tell Bodhi when I get back into my body, grinning widely.

Just before I used my powers to get by the wards, I have seen a side of Bodhi Durran I had no idea existed after I shouted at him to hurry up. There was no sight of the easy-going, funny boy who carried around chocolate and was ready to crack up a joke any second – he was angry, snappy… his hands were trembling as he was working on the wards with upmost focus. Panic marred his usually warm features – his childhood best friend was in danger, the girl he grew up with and with whom he had been through everything.

I may not have known Imogen for as long as Bodhi and the other two do, but she is my sister in everything but blood. She turned back for me on the freaking parapet! There is no where she could go that I would not follow.

Bodhi sighs in relief and hastily helps me stand up and, together, we push the boulder aside, the wards vanishing now that Zyran is dead.

“Close the entrance after you!” Xaden orders, using lesser magic to light the whole tunnel.

And I see his reasoning – people will soon go out, starting their morning duties and if anyone were to pass by this spot on the flight field, they would be greeted by the sight of four gruesome corpses. I recognize Zyran, lying on the stairs in an unnatural position, his own dagger still buried in his forehead, and there is also the unbound cadet that Imogen fought a while ago, Nelius. I have seen corpses before – hell, during Threshing I had to fight to the death with another cadet for Cruth! But the look of Nelius and Thalron’s eyes is terrifying – as if everything had been sucked out of them.

I saw Imogen kill Thalron just by touching his cheek. One, I am pissed she did not tell me about her memory wiping until now and two, I had no idea it was so goddamn powerful.

Careful to avoid stepping in the puddle of blood around another Third Wing rider, I run towards my best friend, currently lying in Garrick’s arms, not moving. My heart is beating rapidly in my chest – she can’t be dead. No, no, no! She was alive before I left…

I drop to my knees next to her and grab her hand, looking for a pulse. There it is – slow, but steady. The weight on my shoulders is immediately lifted.

“She passed out just as we got to her.” Garrick informs me, tightening his grip on her body.

“We have to get her out of here.” I say decisively, looking at the three men around me. There is a long bloody cut across the side of her neck and another bruised scratch on the right side of her face, but I don’t see any life threatening injuries. Not visible ones, at least.

“We should take her to the Healers.” Bodhi jumps in. “She might have internal bleeding or something!”

Garrick just stands there, cradling her body in his arms so gently and carefully, probably not even listening to us – I don’t think I have even seen that look on his face before, his features soften when he looks at her and there is a certain glint in his eyes, but Xaden is shaking his head at us. “We can’t. They would ask how she got injured and we can’t risk anyone finding out about the four dead bodies here.”

“I have a friend in the Healer’s Quadrant.” I say, meeting his onyx eyes, not willing to take my chances. She could have all sorts of injuries we don’t know about and I am not going to risk her life after barely getting her back.

Xaden looks about to argue with me, but then he stops himself, his eyes landing on her.

“We have to be quick. Formation is in an hour and they might not notice one or two of us missing, but five will raise some alarms. Nine of we count these ones...” He nods, putting a hand on Garrick’s shoulder. “Brother…?”

“We are taking her to my room.” Garrick croaks out, not bothering to looks at any of us. “I want to keep an eye on her.”

I share a knowing look with Xaden and Bodhi. I have known for years that Imogen has a thing for Garrick and I had my suspicions he might feel the same – all the protectiveness, the stolen glances, the screaming matches… They might be too stupid to acknowledge it, but it obvious to anyone who sees the two of them that there is something between them. Friends don`t look at each other the way they look at one another.

“I am staying with you.” I announce. There is no way I am leaving her side anytime soon.

“What about the bodies?” Bodhi asks as Xaden helps Garrick stand up because he refuses to let go of her.

Xaden wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking at the four dead people scattered around the tunnel. “We leave them here and take care of them tonight.”

I don’t need to know how they are going to take care of the bodies. They tried to kill my sister; they can be thrown to the dragons for all I care.

As the boys take Imogen to Garrick’s room on the second floor, I take a detour to find Delilah’s cousin, Opalea. She doesn’t ask too many questions – probably because she got used to weird requests from riders, especially since we showed up to her door that night to ask for hair dye – and if she is bothered by the fact that there are four marked riders in the room, three of them watching her every move like hawks… she doesn’t let is show. I wonder if she will tell Delilah, my girlfriend, about this visit to our Quadrant to check on Imogen – this would be just another awkward conversation where I can’t give my lover all the information and we end up having an argument. Looking forward to this...

The bright side? Make-up sex is mind-blowing!

Xaden and Bodhi leave for formation after Opalea says that physically, Im has sustained only minor injuries. They also agree to show our healer friend back to her Quadrant, so I am left alone with Garrick to wait for Imogen to wake up.

Garrick Tavis, as I came to understand, is not exactly the most talkative person. I don’t exactly understand the appeal for grumpy brooding guys, but then again, I don’t get the appeal for guys in general. Sitting in silence on either side of the bed, there is nothing else to do, so my mind wonders to all those stories Im has told me about Garrick.

Without a shadow of a doubt, he is in love with her… One only has to watch their training sessions and the way they scream at each other to figure that out. The sexual tension is at an all time high when they are around each other, I swear. The question is… why doesn’t either of them say something? For the life of me, I can’t understand their logic!

In the beginning, I though Garrick might have someone else when we got to Basgiath, but I never saw him even talking to anyone else and I am up to date with all the gossips around here. Emery mentioned once that last year there had been a handful of female riders coming out of Tavis’s room, but, strangely enough, none this year.

The theory about there being someone else is out of discussion when it comes to Imogen. She had her fun back home, but believe me, I would know if there was someone warming her bed now. Almost a year of being on dry land… I don’t understand how she stands it, to be honest.

Then, I thought it is some kind of rule in their little group to avoid such distractions, but Xaden and Bodhi don’t seem to abide by such rules.

I came to the conclusion they are just idiots, too blinded by their own feelings or too far up their own asses to admit they have feelings for the other. And it made the most sense, until a few weeks ago when the dynamic changed drastically.

Right after Squad Battle, something happened between them, but I didn’t get anything out of Imogen on the subject. Every time I tried to ask her about it, she shut me down saying there is nothing. Not that I believed her – there has to be a reason why she started to avoid him, why she suddenly stopped training with Garrick, along with me and Bodhi.

“Why have you been avoiding her?” I ask Garrick directly, narrowing my eyes in his direction.

“Goldie, you can’t just ask people such things!” Cruth chides me, absolutely outraged, but I ignore her.

He raises an eyebrow in my direction, looking at me as if I suddenly grew a second head. Seeing that I don’t back down, he sighs and turns his attention back to her and, for a while he doesn’t say anything. “I thought she was mad at me. For failing to see that she needed my help that day. She had every reason to despise me.”

I frown a bit. This girl is incapable of ever hating him – he could commit the biggest atrocities and betray her trust a thousand times and she would still forgive him. But I don’t say any of it – she would bite my head off if I actually said anything like that.

“Don’t you think she would bite your head off for this whole discussion?” Cruth asks, sounding as if she is trying to decide whether to be annoyed or amused with my bluntness.

“Nope! I am not meddling; I am merely gathering information.” I answer her cheerfully, before returning to Garrick. “That’s what the whole shitshow was about?”

The whole school hear about their little scene in the middle of the hallway yesterday – they might want to learn to keep their heated arguments in more private settlings. Told you, I am up to date with all the gossip around here!

He shakes his head, pursing his lips slightly. “No. That was about her using her powers on me.” He says it so casually, as if he is sure I know about it already, so I pretend I actually do. Until a few hours ago, I had no idea Imogen even got her powers yet, let alone having used them on Garrick, but I make a note to yell at her myself at some point.

I think about the way Thalron dropped dead from a mere touch. If her powers could do that... I wonder what she did to Garrick.

Biting my lip, I actually take a good look at Garrick Tavis. He is standing on a chair, his hair disheveled, dark circles from Malek knows how many nights of not sleeping… Every time he turns to look towards her, there is this look in his eyes – unmistakable tenderness, concern and affection, but also a hint of hurt. I know she did a mistake, but whatever it might have been, she would never have done something to hurt him on purpose. I know her - she would rather die than inflict any sort of pain on the person she loves. I once saw her throw a dagger exactly one millimeter away from Ciaran’s ear because he was blaming Garrick for a failed shipment.

“You know she cares deeply about you, right?” I say, taking pity on the poor idiot.

He just nods, his grip on her hand tightening slightly. How can two people who love each other so much not see it?

After that, we don’t say anything to each other for a while.

She opens her eyes a few minutes later, looking around the room disoriented. As soon as I see that she is awake, I jump up from my seat and throw my arms around her tightly.

“You have no idea how scared I was… I thought I would lose you for sure, Im.” I sob into her shoulder, all the tension and worry from the last few hours pouring out of me. There are no words to describe how I felt the moment Cruth told me that she was surrounded – I never doubted her abilities, far from it, but even Imogen Cardulo is only human and can do so much. Four versus one… “I am never leaving you alone!”

“Thank you for saving me, Quinnie.” Her voice is hoarse and I pull away a little to look at her. She smiles slightly at me, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and there is something in her eyes, a certain darkness… A feeling I remember all too well, a feeling that will haunt her every time she closes her eyes.

After all, I know no matter how hard we might try, the blood on our hands will never go away entirely. You just learn to live with yourself, but it will never be the same.

“Hey, look at me.” I raise her chin with a finger. “You did what you had to in order to survive. And, whatever you do, you will always be my sister.”

If it is true that there are as many minds as there are heads, then there are as many kinds of love as there are hearts. And Imogen is one of the people for whom I have a special kind of love – I would never hesitate to kill someone posing a threat to her and I know she would do the same for me.

“We will get through this, alright? All it matters is that you are alive and well.” I smile at her and she nods, closing her eyes.

Looking towards Garrick, I bite my lower lip. My heart breaks for the poor idiot, looking at her with so much emotion in his eyes and trying his best to hide it. He has that kind of look... as if she is the sun, the moon and all the stars in the night sky. Scratch that! He looks at her as if she is the incarnation of Amari, the queen of the gods herself. However difficult it is to step away from Imogen after everything that has happened, I know he was just as worried for her.

“I am going to tell the other two dipshits that you are awake, okay?” I tell her, winking. “Before Bodhi eats all the chocolate in Basgiath!”

The corner of her mouth twitches upwards, barely noticeable and it is gone as soon as it happened, but it is something. As I close the door behind me, I catch on a fracture of their conversation.

“I thought you hated me.” Imogen was saying, her voice still rough and broken.

“I might be mad at you, but I could never hate you, Im. Never.” Garrick answers, the raw emotion in his voice making me smile as I step away from the door.

“Do you think they will actually say anything to each other?” Cruth asks, proving she is just as nosey as I am.

“No.” I scoff, fully aware that there are too many things left unresolved and the timing is not favorable for them to actually sort out their feelings for each other. She is terribly shaken from the last few hours and taking three lives is no small burden, while he is still coming to terms with whatever happened on that night. Their friendship sustained a few blows and I know that until they fix that, anything else is off the table. “But it is a first time to healing.”

Chapter Text

I fight to keep my eyes open as Professor Devera talks about a battle that took place about two days ago around Chakir. There is no point in making an effort to actually listen to her – everything she says is a contorted version of the truth anyway and if we reconstruct the actual events by replacing what she tells us with what we know, this battle was no different from the others in the last few years. I kind of wish we could simply ask the gryphon fliers for information on this all, but it is dangerous enough if we are discovered with the intel we already have.

And, besides, according to Xaden`s plan, only one of us will be tasked with keeping track of all the information we know soon enough.

My eyes wonder to the first few rows and I make out Quinn`s golden curls and the raven black hair of another female rider that must be Delilah, judging by their intertwined fingers. But no sight of pink hair. Just like in the last almost two weeks, the chair next to Quinn is empty, which makes me clench my jaw.

“Still no answer from Lystra?” I ask Chradh even though I already know the answer. After that night in the tunnel, Imogen basically locked herself in her room. She only comes out for formation, breakfast and Carr`s class now that she officially announced speed as her signet. Lystra must be forcing her to attend some flight classes from time to time and every time we hold a meeting with the marked ones, she reluctantly shows up, sitting in a corner quietly, dragged out of her room by either Quinn or Xaden.

“Actually yes. She said she is under no obligation to give you updates on her rider and you can just ask her if you are so curious.” Chradh answers, yawning. “And I quite agree with her.”

I resist the temptation to roll my eyes at his reply. Of course, her dragon is just as stubborn as she is. And I would not resort to asking her, had Imogen not locked herself back in her room as soon as the few activities that require her presence ended.

The last time I talked to her was right after she woke up in my room – she had just gone though a pretty massive traumatic event and all I could do was hold her as she broke down crying. I know the numbing pain, the agonizing guilt after taking someone’s life – I knew she would someday have to face it too, just like the rest of us, but at that moment… I was enraged at the world for forcing her to renounce her innocence, mad at myself for not getting there sooner, furious that we are forced into this kind of life where we either die or become the monsters everyone thinks we are.

And ashamed because her first question, after everything she went through, was if I hated her. I kept thinking all the while she was unconscious that I need answers, that I need to have a serious discussion with her about her stealing my memory… I was mad at her – and I haven’t totally forgiven her yet – but to hate her? No matter what she did, I don’t think I could ever hate her – she is my friend, I have known her since she was a bratty six years old with pigtails and an obsession with rainbows. Like it or not, she has become a part of me. Which made her betraying my trust sting even more.

But that morning, holding her trembling body in my arms as she wept, I didn’t care about her mistake or about the unresolved problems between us. Those could be addressed later, I thought. Instead, I held her, trying to comfort her the best I could. People have different reactions to the same thing, so I didn’t tell her how to tackle this pain, but I offered to tell her how I cope with it. I am still learning myself how to go back and reread my own chapters without feeling like I want to set all of my pages on fire.

“Who is the real you?” She asked me then. “The person who did something awful or the one who’s horrified by the awful thing you did? Is one part of you allowed to ever forgive the other?”

“I am both.” I answered, wiping a few tears off her cheeks with my thumb. “And there is a third one, the part of me which knows why I did what I did – to protect myself, my friends, the people that count on me. The first one shows you what you are capable of. The second one tells you that you are not a cold-blooded person, that you are capable of repenting. And the third is rational, showing that you have goals, reasons to fight for.”

This is a lesson my father gave me the last time I saw him, but I didn’t truly understand him until I was covered in someone’s blood for the first time.

And now, I find myself applying it to all sorts of other things too. Every time I am stuck with a moral dilemma, there are three voices inside my head. It has been like a full-blown fight between them in my mind for the last few days.

“She violated our mind! She stole with no remorse hours of our life and then lied about it to our face!” The first voice screams in outrage. “We deserve retribution! We deserve answers!”

“But she is in a difficult place right now… And she might have had her reasoning. We can wait a little longer. Give her more time to come to terms with her trauma.” The second voice pleads.

“She had more than enough time! Weeks of not getting out of her room and moping around – it must come to an end! She has to be held accountable for her actions!” The first one argues back.

“She might still come clean…” The second one adds, weakly.

The third one, quiet until now interjects with authority. “We waited long enough and she will run away infinitely if we allow it – it is time to sort this out. Not to bite her head off, but to talk about it.”

This is the clearest decision I came to in a while. Ever since I found out about her signet my mind has been plagued by incoherent thoughts and doubts… then I saw her, kneeling in that bloodbath and then numb in my arms, looking small and fragile as a child. That complicated everything further, the realization of how much she matters to me like a bucket of ice-cold water thrown at me – no matter how much I tried to convince myself that I would be just as concerned if Xaden or Bodhi were in that situation… the wave of emotions I drowned in was something only she could cause.

This is uncharted territory, but… I couldn’t possibly be seeing her like that, right? However…

Anyway, it is easier to focus on the matter at hand. That is a whole different mess to sort through after this one is settled and I don’t want to borrow from tomorrow’s problems.

“Garrick? You coming?” Xaden asks, making me snap out of my daydreaming. He is standing, looking down at me with a small frown on his face – when did the class end?

“A few minutes ago.” Chradh answers, groaning. “I don’t like you so unfocused, Squad Leader. Get your shit together!” It is times like this that my dragon reminds me so much of my father – short-tempered, demanding perfect discipline and has little regard for feelings and such trivial matters.

“I am trying.” And truly, I am. Chradh is right – I am sloppy, not fully concentrating on the truly important things. Every single day, we are living with a sword dangling above our heads, threatening to kill us all. There are so many people depending on us, on me – I really have to get my shit back together and, as harsh as it sounds, so does Imogen. Especially as Xaden plans for her to be our main keeper of information.

I stand up and follow one step behind Xaden as we make our way out of the classroom, with Bodhi and Quinn along with her girlfriend close by. Which means our discussions will have to stay Navarrian loyalist-friendly.

“No luck getting her out today?” Xaden asks Quinn. There is no need to say who he is talking about.

“Well… she did not bother to open her door and when I got in, she raised her arm to throw a dagger at my head.” Quinn shrugs, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Knowing her aiming skills, I am kind of glad she just made a face at me and turned back to bed instead.”

“You should have dragged her out of bed anyway.” Xaden groans, but even his argument is weak – we all know that you can’t force Imogen to do anything. Ever.

“You might have suicidal tendencies, Riorson, but I kind of like my head where it is.” The blonde argues back, rolling her eyes. As if Imogen would ever hurt her… She is all bark, no bite when it comes to the people she loves.

I shake my head. Yeah, looks like she is still pretty volatile. Talking to her might prove a little difficult… But no, I took a decision and I am going to see it through. It`s been weeks since that night in her room and I still have no idea what happened – no more! Just because her pain is understandable, it doesn’t make her behavior acceptable.

“You all worry too much! She is getting better.” Bodhi chimes in, breaking into a wide grin.

“Did she come to your room the other night?” Xaden asks and at first I think he might be talking to Quinn again, but he is actually looking at Bodhi.

“Oh yeah! She stayed over all night actually. We had a jolly good time.” Bodhi answers, lifting a shoulder. “Told you, I am confident she is almost there.”

I frown a little at that – honestly, I had no idea Imogen had stayed over at Bodhi’s, but it is not exactly out of the ordinary for them. When we were children, out of us all, she had always sought his company the most wherever she was sad because there is something about Bodhi that is just… weirdly comforting. However, I thought the sleepovers ceased over the years as we grew up… Weird.

But at this point, I am just happy she got out of her room and socialized with someone. Anyone. Hurling weapons and glaring is not exactly healthy as far as human interactions go. I should just be happy that she is coming out of her shell, right? Then… why all I can think of is that she did not seek my company?

“From what I remember, you two are not exactly on the best of terms as of right now.” Chradh points out.

Correct, but… still.

I snap my attention back to the conversation and I realize I might have missed on a big chunk of it while I was thinking about the implications of Imogen because they seem to have moved to a whole new subject. Seriously now, what is wrong with me?

“Why is the whole female population of Basgiath waving at you?” Xaden asks Bodhi, just as another girl walks by and winks at Bodhi with a side smirk.

Bodhi greets the girl back and then meets his cousin’s eyes as he shrugs with a innocent, clueless expression plastered on his face – by this point this kind of expression became his signature. “They come by my room from time to time.” He admits, smiling sheepishly.

“To do what, exactly?” I find myself asking, a dark thought forming in my mind.

Bodhi looks at me, still with that stupid smile on his face as he answers. “Well, you know… To have a good time.”

To have a good time… Didn’t he just use that exact same sentence earlier? She wouldn’t… Would she? No, she never gave any hint of looking at Bodhi as anything but an annoying little brother, she never said anything… But, she spent the night “having a jolly good night”. With Bodhi.

“And? What is the issue, Squad Leader? You had your fair share of jolly good times last year.” Chradh chuckles in my mind and I do my best to block him out. He really had to pick today to be suddenly interested in my problems and butt in my thoughts?

No, no. She is an adult; she can sleep with whoever she likes and I have no say in that. If that someone happens to be Bodhi… Bodhi who is standing right in front of me with a stupid smile on his face as he tries to count on his fingers the number of girls who had been in his bed… I want to punch that smirk off his face.

No! What? Stop it! He is one of my best friends! Bodhi has no fault and neither does she, the rational part of my brain is aware of that. But there is still a big part of me which has to be restrained from jumping to knock his teeth out.

“So… about twelve-thirteen.” Bodhi concludes his count. “There are some whose name I am not even sure I know.”

I clench my jaw hearing it. How can she content herself to being just one of Malek knows how many others? Sure, Basgiath is not exactly the place for romance and most of the riders seek some relief in other people`s beds and being a marked one… let`s just say it is quite difficult to find bed partners when you have a cool tattoo branding you as public enemy number one. Ciaran once said he is sometimes afraid someone will pull a dagger on him in bed. Hell, even I had that thought once or twice last year.

What I am trying to say… I understand wanting a sexual partner who would not try to kill you as soon as you get your pants off. What I don’t understand is how she could pick Bodhi. And why!

Xaden stops in his tracks, looking at his younger cousin with apprehension. His onyx eyes briefly pass over me and the two other women and I swear I saw, for a brief second, a spark in them. A very familiar spark which I don’t have time to properly identify because it is gone as soon as it appeared.

“Enlighten us, cousin… what exactly are you doing that gets every woman in this bloody school lined up at your door?”

Bodhi frowns, looking absolutely dumb-struck. “Don’t know. I haven’t even talked to some of them before they came knocking on my door. Not that I am complaining. Why fix something that is not broken, you know?” The idiot has never even given a thought as to why there are always women in his bed. Of course he didn’t, he is Bodhi…

That answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Xaden at all as he presses on. “But there must be something that you are doing to get their attention! You have the same rebellion relic as all of us and still… most of the women in this school are either afraid of me or trying to prove something by sleeping with me. And Garrick…” He looks at me and shakes his head. “When was the last time you had some action, brother?”

“Oh, I don’t seem to remember. Just like I don’t remember since when my sex life is any of your business.” I roll my eyes at him and I see Artan and her girlfriend trying to hide their smiles in the corner of my eye. Like hell am I going to talk about this kind of things with these idiots.

“Almost a full year of no mating and it is showing.” Chradh snickers in my mind.

“Let’s go back to not giving a crap about each other’s personal life.” I growl at him through the bond.

Xaden crosses his arms over his chest, smirking. “Another way of saying you are not getting any. Back to my point… So? What is the secret?”

Bodhi considers the question for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on his face as if he is trying to solve the greatest mysteries of life and not such a trivial matter. “I am serious when I say this, cuz. I haven’t the faintest idea what exactly is going on.”

Xaden turns towards Quinn and Delilah snickering behind us and raises an eyebrow, questioning.

“Don’t look at me, I have no idea what they see in this clown. He is basically my competition! So when you find out, I would like to also…” Quinn is interrupted by a smack on her arm from a very pissed-off Delilah. “Ow! I mean… Had I not been with my very loving girlfriend, I would have liked to also know about this great secret on how to get the whole school in your bed.”

Despite myself, I smile seeing the two of them. The first months Quinn had been in Basgiath, she pretty much got into the pants of every woman she locked eyes with – it is rather satisfying to see that Delilah brought her womanizer days to an end.

“Anyway… good luck on your little quest.” Delilah wishes us, dragging Quinn away towards the flight field as we make our way towards the dorms.

Maybe we can just get to Xaden’s room and talk about the weapon delivery or something, anything to get my mind of it… At least until I decide on what exactly I want to say to Imogen later today. But it seems like Xaden has a totally different idea as he marches across the first-year floor instead of climbing to our floor.

“Where are we going?” Bodhi asks, pointing behind him. “My room is in that direction, cousin.”

“Good thing we are not going there.” Xaden smirks, walking straight to a certain door that makes my heart thump louder in my chest. “We are going to ask Imogen about your secret power on ladies.”

Bodhi frowns, puzzled. “Ask Imogen? Why would she even –” But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Xaden is already knocking at her door.

She doesn’t answer right away and I try to mentally prepare myself for what is to come. Why is Xaden so interested in this whole affair, anyway? And her… no matter her business with Bodhi, I will stay behind after this whole shit-show is solved and talk it out with her. I can’t go on like this.

And maybe it is better this way, I try to convince myself. If she is sleeping with Bodhi, then my messy feelings are obviously misplaced and the solution to this is pretty clear – I will just have to get over it all and get back to how things were before. Friends. Maybe Chradh is right, too – maybe the only reason I am so confused about how I feel about her is because I have been denying myself sexual activities and my body is boycotting my mind. It is clear that she only sees me as one and so should I.

But… what if I can’t shake it off? What if she goes beyond the friend mark for me and I can’t push it back to how it used to be? After all, there are all kinds of love in this world, as my mother used to say – but never the same kind of love twice.

When her door opens, however, all these thoughts fade from my mind and my heart skips a beat. She is standing in the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest and a tired expression on her beautiful face, as if just getting out of bed is already too much unjustified effort. Her pink hair is all messed up and she is wearing an oversized and over-worn sweater that I know I have seen her wear ever since she was thirteen and nothing else. But the thing that worries me the most is that hollow look in her eyes – there is no light in her pale green eyes as she looks at us.

“What?” Imogen asks, her eyes only half-open. I expected her to be volatile, angry, grieving, maybe something similar to how she was that day in the cell after our parents were executed, but this is a whole other level of broken. All my earlier rage and desire for answers fades immediately, replaced by worry and a kind of tenderness I can only feel regarding her.

“Good morning to you too, Im.” Xaden begins. “We have a question and you are just the person to answer it. What exactly about Bodhi makes you women search his bed?”

Bodhi`s eyebrows rise in pure shock as he yells: “Sweet Amari! You thought we slept together?! That would be fucking incestuous!”

The question actually gets a reaction out of her as she inclines her head slightly, frowning. “Everyone has the right to be stupid, but you are abusing the privilege, Riorson. I am in no mood for such buffoonery” She sneers and she moves to close the door in our faces.

I feel as if a weight has been lifted off my chest hearing that and I release a breath I haven’t even realize I was holding. They did not sleep together…

Xaden puts his foot down to prevent her from closing the door and he is smirking – the asshole. “I never said anything about you sleeping together! But they saw you coming out of his room on multiple occasions so they might consider you one of them. Ask them.” At this, Bodhi launches in another series of complains and pleas to just drop it, but his cousin seems hell-bent on getting to the bottom of it.

She arches an eyebrow, her eyes glazing over – I wonder if Lystra is encouraging her to indulge Xaden’s request of if she is telling her to kick his ass.

“She has never been the level-headed kind.” Chradh laughs in my head, making me wonder for the millionth time what kind of relations dragons have with each other.

“Fine.” She sighs, her shoulders dropping slightly.

I did not expect that, but Xaden grins victoriously, taking a mocking bow. Which earns him a slammed door in his face.

“Why do you care so much?” Bodhi groans, pouting.

“Because you are my baby cousin and it is fun.” Xaden replies, aiming for the stairs. I linger for a second more at Imogen’s door, but in the end, I follow them too.

“Please remind me, why are we doing this?” Bodhi groans as he plops into a chair in Imogen’s room, passing a hand through his hair.

“Because Imogen has to train with her powers.” Xaden answers simply, leaning against the wall to observe. It all looks like a bad idea to me to be totally honest.

“And why do I have to be the one she experiments on?” The poor idiot complains again and I almost feel bad for him. Almost. Better him than me.

“Because you have the least brain to lose if anything goes wrong.” Quinn cheerfully answers, giving him a thumbs up.

She was aiming to scare poor Bodhi and she hit her mark because he turns around to look up at Imogen, pale as a sheet of paper. “You sure you know what you are doing?” His voice is almost shaking as he speaks.

Imogen just shrugs, toying with one of her earrings – she is clearly nervous. From what I know, she has not used her powers since than night and I can definitely understand her reticence. “It is not an exact science, so no.” Im answers, sounding almost bored and that might fool some, but I know her too well and I can tell when she is trying to put up a mask.

I am actually not sure how Xaden even convinced her to try this tonight. Yesterday when she opened her door, I considered it a miracle she was even able to keep her composure… it seems like a big stretch to force her to dive right into her powers so soon. Especially considering how terrifying her powers can get if she makes a mistake. But… when I tried to voice my concerns to him earlier, Xaden wave it off, saying that if we coddle her, we are doing more harm than good and underlining that she is more than capable to do it.

There are many reasons why the sooner she learns to control them the better. She is in the same squad as Dain Aetos, the biggest threat to our secret operations and having someone capable of erasing or manipulating memories is a great weapon to have against someone like him. And if she would erase some details after every secret mission, the risk of being interrogated would be significantly smaller.

“So… how exactly does it work?” I ask, trying to meet her eyes, but she is avoiding me.

“I picture the beach and depending on how much power I take from Lystra, I can take more and more from someone’s memory.” Imogen explains, pushing a strand of pink hair behind her ear. “Usually, I can see the memories that I am erasing – like, they are flashing in quick motion before my eyes.”

The beach… her anchoring point is also the beach? Our beach?

“But is there a way of knowing when you are crossing the safety line?” Xaden asks, coming next to me at the desk and picking up the sharpening stone and a dagger.

She shakes her head, that hollowed look returning in her eyes. “It doesn’t exactly have an alarm ringing when I am about to fire someone’s mind.” Bodhi audibly gulps on the chair.

I remember the sight of those two corpses, the glassy eyes, fixed into an expression of horror and confusion. The realization that I was this close to the same fate when she used her power on me makes my blood boil, but, at the same time… the hurt in her eyes…

“Alright, then it is an easy fix. We don’t venture to memories older than a day, maximum two!” Quinn cuts in, smiling encouragingly in her direction. “You have it, Im.”

Her green eyes meet mine and I nod. There is a time for lectures, but you have to know when what all someone you love needs is encouraging. One day, after we sort this out, I might even trust her to work her magic on my mind.

“What memory should I go for?” She tilts her head towards Xaden, straightening her back. That’s more like the Imogen I know.

This time I don’t miss the mischievous grin on Xaden’s lips as he motions for her to come nearer. I have no idea what he is whispering in her ear, but the small smile tugging at her lips afterwards makes my heart skip a beat.

“What? What are you going to erase?” Bodhi asks his dark eyes full of fear.

“If we told you, then what would be the point of the exercise?” Quinn rolls her eyes.

“Relax, B.” Imogen croons sweetly, putting her hand on his. And then, not even two seconds later, she takes back her hand and looks over at each of us. “Done.”

“That… that is all?” Bodhi asks, uncertain. Yeah, I guess that is the beauty of her signet – you don’t even know when it hits you… but it is also the thing I hate the most about it. I spent weeks in an indescribable misery, not knowing what hit me that night…

“Yes.” Xaden answers. I look over at my best friend and for a moment I think about the fact that he knew about her ability. That he tried to train her and didn’t think to tell me about it. Granted, it was not his secret to tell and had the roles been reversed, I think I would have done the same. Still, I can`t exactly be mad at him – he was just respecting her decisions and this whole mess is none of his business. It only concerns me and her.

“So… what did you erase?” Bodhi asks Imogen, looking up at her.

“We are testing a theory, so we shall see if you remember on your own later on.” Xaden steps in, that smirk still on his lips. I look at him, raising an eyebrow but he just mouths later.

“Anyhow! What is the plan now?” Quinn clears her throat and I am not sure whether she is just trying to change the subject or if she is actually talking strategy.

My eyes trail Imogen as she jumps on her bed, sitting with her legs under her. There is a flicker of light in her eyes and for the first time in weeks I know she is actually paying attention to the discussion, not just showing up because she has to. “It is not like much has changed. I don’t want to jump straight to big memories.”

Xaden nods, putting down a dagger he has just sharpened. “We will continue training and each of us will take turns as lab rats. Hopefully, by the end of this year Im will have perfected it and we will erase details after each mission.”

“Is it possible to erase your own memories?” I ask Imogen, meeting her eye.

She shakes her head and, for a second, there is a flicker of pain in her eyes which she hides quickly. “I tried, but no. It doesn’t work on me.”

I had a feeling this was the case. She would have erased the memory of those bodies in the tunnel had she been able to.

“I would not be so sure, Squad Leader.” Chradh contradicts me. “If you could, would you erase the memory of the people you had to kill?”

I am about to say yes, but, truthfully… No. I would not have erased that part of me had I been given the choice. It might not be a pretty memory, but I can’t lie to myself, pretending it didn’t happen. Do I wish I didn’t have to resort to murder? Yes, oh gods, yes. Is it a burden, a weight on my shoulders that I can’t ever shake off? Of course, once your hands are marred with blood, nothing can ever wash them clean. But do I regret doing it? Would I do it again? As long as I am given the choice between someone who is a threat to me and my loved ones, I would always choose the latter.

It might make me a monster in other people’s eyes, but I do not hesitate when my life is in danger. Or when their lives are on the line… Each person in this room and more than 100 others. Bodhi and Xaden are my brothers and I am way too familiar with the pain of losing a brother – never again. Quinn somehow became like that bratty little sister I did not ask for, but she crept up on us and, like it or not, she is one of us now.

And Imogen… I did not even blink as I killed Zyran as he aimed for her – if anything, I regret that the bastard had such a quick death. The thought terrifies me, but I know that when it comes to her, there is little I wouldn’t do.

“You are pretty fucked up.” Chradh guffaws in my mind. I already knew that.

I turn to Xaden instead because the hurt in her eyes makes me want to burn down the whole world. “Aetos is a fucking big risk, then. They are in the same squad! Even if we have all the incriminatory details erased, if he touches Imogen… We have to get her moved to another squad.”

“We can look into it…” Xaden begins to say, but he is cut off by her.

“No.” Her voice is hard as steel as she looks pointedly at me and Xaden. “Being in the same squad as Aetos means I can keep a better eye on him. In a few weeks there will be a new batch of marked ones coming to begin their sentence here and they would need someone to look out for them. I can do that.”

“Im, if he touches you even once, it is all lost.” I argue back, shaking my head.

“Even if he does, I can counter him. If he gets close enough to touch me, it means I am close enough to touch him too.” She tilts up her head, stubbornly.

“Immy…” Bodhi begins to say, but she just pins him down with a glare and he raises his hands in surrender. Typical… some things never change and Imogen intimidating Bodhi is one of them.

“I am also in that squad; it is not like she will have to deal with Aetos on her own.” Quinn adds upon seeing the unconvinced frown on Xaden’s face.

I want to point out the stupid risks we are taking with this plan. If Imogen messes up as she erases something from Aetos’s mind and accidentally kills him, she would be executed immediately as they are squad mates. Quinn too if she is considered an accomplice.

But their arguments seem to satisfy Xaden for the moment as he nods his approval. “For the moment, we are going leave it at that. Now… Imogen is not the only one who has to train. How are you managing?” He asks Quinn and Bodhi.

Both of them look at me instead and I sigh. Ever since before Threshing, I took over their training whenever I had some time to spare and, as annoying as they can be, I have to admit they are getting better every day. If they would stop complaining so damn much, I would actually be proud of them.

“Bodhi is getting faster at channeling and he is learning how to use it in a fight and Quinn is getting annoyingly good at astral projecting whenever she is cornered. I was planning on testing their abilities on dragon back soon.” I answer, throwing the two first-years a stern look to make sure the praise doesn’t get to their heads.

Xaden nods and the corner of his mouth pulls upwards in a side-smile. “I am surprised you didn’t strangle them yet.”

“There is still time.” I groan. My eyes wonder towards her again and I raise an eyebrow questionably towards Xaden – it’s been more than a month since he took over her training, but now that the cat is out of the bag, I could take it off his plate.

“Already miss having her pinned down under you, Squad Leader?” Chradh laughs again.

“Im, we are resuming sparring lessons tomorrow.” Xaden announces her and I try to ignore the prang of disappointment. “You slouched behind long enough.”

It makes sense for Xaden to train her, considering they have the same unnatural speed and everything. Yes, that’s it. It makes sense.

Xaden takes out his pocket watch and clicks his tongue. “I think it’s enough for tonight. Scatter to your rooms.” Bodhi opens his mouth, no doubt wanting to ask about the erased memory again, but Quinn grabs him by the shoulder and drags him out the room. Xaden raises an eyebrow at me, but I shake my head to signal that I will catch up with him later.

After everyone else leaves the room, I lean back into the chair and turn my attention to Imogen.

“I am in no mood for a fight, Gar.” She sighs, closing her eyes.

“Good because neither am I.” I answer calmly, looking her over. There are dark circles under her eyes and she is still wearing that oversized sweater that I know belonged to her father – I wonder how she came to keep it after the apostasy, but then again, she also still has her sister’s daggers. “Are you okay?”

She gives me a sad smile and there is no anger in her pale green eyes now, but a calm heroic grief. “Is any of us truly okay? I am… I don’t know. I wish I could shake this off and go on about my day so that I will stop being a burden and actually be useful.”

“You are useful, Im. And it is normal to be shaken after everything that happened.”

“I have trouble picturing you or Xaden having a breakdown.”

I laugh at this, shaking my head. “I could not hold anything I ate down for almost three weeks and believe me, not even Xaden was unaffected by his first kill. We are not untouchable, Im.”

“Sometimes I think you might be.” She smiles at me, a small but genuine smile that feels like a cup of warm cocoa on a cold day. “It’s wild to think that you are the same silly boys with scraped knees I grew up with.”

“I still have a scar somewhere from that time we asked you to play the damsel in distress for our play-pretend games, if you need proof.” I chuckle, the memory sending a certain warmth through my body. She truly despised girly roles back then.

“Bodhi was a better princess than I could ever be, you have to admit it.” Imogen point out, her eyes shining in that way that I came to cherish so much. “Life used to be so much easier back then…”

I nod, thinking of the little kids we used to be. Bodhi used to be a bit chubby and somehow he managed to destroy his clothes every time we played, sending his mother into a fit of rage when he returned home at evening – we used to scuttle away as soon as he reached the threshold to avoid Mrs. Durran’s wrath. Xaden was a little idiot, with blisters, scratches and all sorts of injuries all over his body because he always looked for danger and made a competition out of everything – and we were all too eager to jump to the challenge every time, especially Imogen. But he was also the loudest out of all of us and, somehow, he always found ways to convince our parents to let us do whatever stupid thing we wanted.

Imogen is far from the girl with long golden hair pulled into pigtails and colorful dresses her mother forced her to wear. She still has that same temper, but I sometimes wonder if she still has those wild dreams she used to talk our ear off about. She used to wear her heart on her sleeve, but now I treasure every single one of her smiles.

I guess I changed too… I don’t laugh as much and as easily as I used to. Constantly I have this feeling that something should happen and I hate lazing around. My dream as a child was to grow up to be a warrior, like my father and brother, and, in a way, I guess I`ve achieved that – but it doesn’t feel as amazing as I thought it would. I used to long for adventures and I idealized fighting with honour for a better tomorrow – now, I doubt little me would be proud of who we grew up to be.

“We might not have as many scars to show for happiness as we do for everything else…” I say, pointing to my left arm, the one with the rebellion relic. “But as long as we are alive, I will consider every day a good day.”

“Do you still think we have a chance of getting out of this alive?” She asks, pursing her lips. I don’t know what she is referring to by this – Basgiath? The whole threat the venins pose? The rebellion we are slowly but surely getting into? All of it?

“My mom had a saying…” I start and she surprises me by saying it at the same time as I do: “What’s meant to be will always find a way.”

I smile at her. Seems like my mom actually said that a lot for her to remember it. “Hope is a dangerous thing to have because it can make us lose focus of the peril before us, but we are only human. Deep down I think each and every one of us has a hope, a reason to wake up in the morning and keep fighting.”

For a little while we sit in a comfortable silence and I allow myself to just enjoy the fact that she is here, alive and on the road to coming to terms with her latest experience. She is undoubtedly one of the strongest people I know, she’s got this. But there is still something clawing at my heart, not allowing me to be entirely content.

“Im, about that night…” I start, leaning in to rest my elbows on my knees. “I really think we should talk about it.”

She nods, playing with her fingers – the only sign that she is nervous. Finally, she looks up and locks eyes with me. “I am terribly sorry, Gar. I really am. You are my dearest friend and I would never even think of doing something to hurt you. I just…” She bites her lip, considering her next words. “I panicked and wanted to take back what I had just said and my stupid powers chose that exact moment to come to the rescue.”

“Still, I would have understood it. Why didn’t you just explain it to me? Why did you feel the need to lie to me?” I ask, trying to ignore the fact that the word friend feels like a weight on my heart.

“Because I was ashamed with myself, okay? I was panicked and afraid and confused… it was a concoction of emotions and I didn’t think clearly.” She admits. “But I promise you, no more lies from now on.”

I nod, accepting her apology. Sort of. “What exactly did you say? What could possibly be that bad?”

She hesitates. “It was a stupid thing, Garrick. It is nothing to worry about, I swear, but I just can’t repeat it.” I open my mouth to insist, but she shakes her head and pleads. “This is the only thing I ask for, don’t make me repeat it. Please, Gar.”

Biting my lip, I consider it. It is not exactly the whole truth I craved, but… for now it should suffice. Every single cell in my body screams at me to push for the truth, but that soft, gentle, second voice from earlier wins this time – she is still picking herself up and I worry that if I push I might do more harm than good. “Just promise me you will tell me at some point.” I sigh, holding my eyes locked on hers.

It’s Imogen. I know her almost as well as I know myself. Whatever she said that night is probably not as bad as she makes it out to be and it might be only her pride preventing her. At some point she will come around and tell me, when she is ready, and we will laugh about it. She is too important to me to keep her at arm’s length forever.

“I promise.” She agrees, smiling weakly. “So, are we okay?”

“Of course we are, silly.” I stand up from the chair and hug her, burying my nose in her hair. I close my eyes to enjoy the moment – the warmth of her small body against mine, the faint smell of honeysuckle and jasmine that I came to associate with her. I don`t want this moment to end, ever - I would be perfectly content to just stay here for the rest of my life. She fits perfectly in my arms and everything about her is intoxicating.

Besides, it is only fair for her to keep her secret when I have my own – I am in love with her and I am running out of ways of denying it.

“This is just plain stupid.” I groan for what must be the twelfth time since Xaden told me about his plan. He is nothing if not determined to find out what Bodhi’s secret is and his ambition goes as far as to have asked Imogen to erase the name of a certain girl from Bodhi’s memory – the girl they are theorizing will be visiting his tonight.

“Come on, Garrick! Don’t be such a buzzkill!” Quinn protests and I swear at some point I will roll my eyes into another dimension because of these idiots.

“How do we even know she will come tonight?” I ask incredulously.

“Because, according to what my shadows picked up on, she drops by Bodhi’s every Wednesday night.” Xaden explains, leaning against the wall next to Imogen’s door – we are waiting here until the said shadows will alert us to someone nearing Bodhi’s door.

I rub the bridge of my nose. There is so much we should be doing… We should be talking about the next weapon delivery, about ways to get our hands on more, but instead we are wasting our times trying to find out details about Bodhi’s sex life, because the answer Imogen came with after talking to some of the girls was not satisfying for Xaden – God forbid they would choose to sleep with Bodhi just because he is, and I quote, cute and practically the most inoffensive choice. There has to be a more elaborate ploy here.

The girls hurry to peek through the door at the sound of footsteps and I turn to look at Xaden. “Why this sudden interest in Bodhi’s affairs? Jealous?”

He throws his head back, laughing heartedly. “Sweet Malek, no.” Xaden shakes his head. “I have no problem finding bed partners, thank you for the concern.”

“Then?” I raise an eyebrow.

“It’s just for fun, Garrick. The past few months had us all so tensed and stressed out, we just needed some mindless fun. Especially Im.” He whispers, a smile creeping up his lips as he looks over at the girls. “Look at her, I haven’t seen that spark in her eyes in ages.”

I hear her laughing and my eyes find their way back to her. Today she is dressed in her flight leathers and looks significantly more alive than a few days ago when we came to her door – I guess she has just returned from a meeting with Lystra. She looks… breathtaking. There was no doubt that Imogen is a beautiful woman, but dressed in black leather from head to toe and with her cheeks still rosy from the wind, she is truly a sight that takes my breath away. And that wide smile on her face as she listens to something Quinn is saying…

“Still, couldn’t you find something that is not as gross as Bodhi’s harem problem?” I tease my best friend, but I don’t really care at this point as my eyes are still glued on her.

“Nah. I had to fulfil my cousin duties and torment him a little too. Part of the job.” Xaden smirks at me, no doubt noticing where my attention is directed. However, he doesn’t say anything on the subject.

Imogen turns to look at us with childish giddiness. “She is coming!”

I find myself peaking through the slightly opened door along with them, despite the high moral ground I was preaching from. If I am here, then I might as well find out what the whole secret is. Xaden and Imogen argue because one of them stepped on the other’s foot or something and, for a second I forget where we are and the stakes on our heads – this reminds me of so many other similar situations from my childhood with these two bickering as they pull a prank on Bodhi and I am just happy to tag along, enjoying the spectacle.

“Shut up or I will kick you in the shins! I want to hear them!” I threaten them because they are distracting me from the actual show. They both throw me death glares, but at least they are silent.

“Hypocrite.” Chradh scoffs.

Bodhi opens the door and from this angle we have a clear view of the puzzled expression on his face, similar to the one he makes whenever he tries to find the answer to a question in a test he hasn’t studied for – Bodhi and history are like two parallel lines, meant never to cross paths.

“Hey… Gina?” He greets and I scoff at the use of the name of his imaginary girlfriend from when he was eleven.

“What is her name?” I ask the other idiots listening in on the conversation.

“Zehra” Imogen and Quinn answer at the same time. Yep, certainly not a Gina.

We don’t exactly see the look on the girl’s face from here, but the small dissatisfied growl she makes is an indication that she doesn’t like to be mistaken for someone else. “Gina? Who is Gina?”

Bodhi bites his lips, looking like a kicked puppy. “… You are?” He tries again.

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” The girl bites back and the mumbling idiot shakes his head, defeated. This girl comes often to his room, according to Xaden, so for him not to even remember her name…

“You are evil.” I whisper to Xaden who is directly next to me. The devil grins back at me.

I expect to see the blonde girl hit Bodhi right across the face for his ignorance, but, instead she shrugs and puts both hands on his cheeks like you would do with a baby. “You are lucky you are so fucking adorable.” She sighs.

“Thanks… umm…” Bodhi is wide eyed, obviously still trying to guess her name. “You are very pretty too, umm…”

“Just call me Gina. Come on now!” She sighs, stepping inside his room and dragging him after her by the collar.

We burst into laughing as soon as Bodhi’s door closes behind them.

“Huh. Turns out it is just the fact that he is adorable.” Xaden muses, then breaks into a genuine laugh along with us.

“No!” Quinn shouts dramatically, falling onto the bed. “This is tragic! I can’t compete with him if they are attracted to his fucking cuteness! Couldn’t it be sex skills?!”

“You have a girlfriend!” Imogen playfully rolls her eyes, leaning against me as she struggles to keep her balance from laughing. Instinctively, my arm wraps around her waist and I can feel my heart beating ten times faster at the simple contact. It takes every bit of restrain not to pull her closer, knowing it would make things awkward.

Quinn pouts, making us all laugh harder. This is all stupid, yet it is the first time in a long time I felt my age. The first time we actually behaved like 20 something years old.

Chapter Text

As soon as we land on the flight field, I jump off Lystra and sprint towards the entrance to the secret tunnel, with Quinn a step behind me. The heavy rucksack hits my back with each step, but I don’t stop to adjust the belts – I will take it off soon enough and, besides, we are already running late.

“You are late.” Garrick says as a greeting, using his lesser magic to move the boulder hiding the entrance.

“You haven’t even opened your mouth yet and he is in a mood already…” Lystra purrs in my head as she and Mealladh take off behind us. Yeah, I guess she is right – this a brand-new record even for me.

“Why, hello to you to, Gar. We had a nice flight, thank you for asking.” I roll my eyes, marching towards the barrels to drop the rucksack, my heart swelling with pride at the sight of the almost fifty blades we gathered from Deaconshire on this run.

Garrick inspects the pile of weapons and a smirk blossoms on his face, softening his stern features. Gods, I love that look on him… And, considering the occasion today, he donned on his best regalia which only makes him even more handsome – a new uniform with a freshly sewed set of five patches to attest his mastery with various weapons on the right side of it. His double swords are strapped on his back with belts that accentuate his broad shoulders and there is a new patch, right next to the three stars marking him as a third year and the one for Fourth Wing – the emblem proclaiming him as Flame Section Leader.

“Don’t worry, Lystra, I’ll get over my stupid feelings.” Lystra impersonates me, rather poorly if I may say so myself, as I admire the freshly shaved strong line of his jawline. “You are drooling, girl.”

Yeah, I guess I don’t have it as under control as I thought…

“Has anyone seen you?” Garrick asks, putting the wards back up.

“Would we still be here if they had?” Quinn raises an eyebrow. “No one would even bat an eye at us – just two riders enjoying their free day.”

This is why today was the perfect day for a weapon run – everyone is either busy with Conscription Day or purely enjoying a day of no classes and there are also those arrogant bastards who are training because gods forbid they fall behind. All second and third years who were not assigned to overlook the Parapet flew off to enjoy a peaceful day however they wished – well, that or they just enjoyed each other’s company behind closed doors. So, no one looked twice in our direction this morning when we set off for Deaconshire to an outpost where Ciaran and another third year were sent because the active riders were dispatched to the border.

However, it was not part of the plan to return so late – it is just a short flight from here to Deaconshire and we were supposed to return at least an hour ago, but we did not take into account the patrol above a village two miles from here and the detour we were forced to make to avoid them. It might be our day off, but cadets are not allowed to leave school grounds without permission from Panchek or someone in Command – not that I would tell Garrick about this small inconvenience because I know he would make a big deal out of it and I am not risking it.

“How much do we have until formation?” I ask as we climb the stairs towards the school.

“We are going straight there.” He spares a glare our way, shrugging. “Do you have any way of drying your clothes before Panchek begins his number?”

I have never before been as thankful to Emery’s air manipulation as I am now. From what I know he was assigned to the Parapet today, so I am counting on him being too shaken to actually pay enough attention to us as to ask why we are soaking wet.

Which actually reminds me…

“Any news from Xaden?” I ask, thinking about the dozen marked ones who are supposed to begin their sentence here. I don’t know every one of them so well, but after a year of corresponding with all of them, I remember small tidbits about every marked kid I have ever received a letter from. And then… Liam is among them this year.

“I didn’t get a chance to get the details from Xaden, but I saw Liam earlier in the courtyard.” His smile mirrors mine as he says the last part. This is all I wanted to hear.

Quinn links arms with me as we reach the courtyard, raising an eyebrow. “Was there any doubt? From the way you all talk about this guy, he was born to be a rider.”

She is not wrong – from what Xaden told us about their time with duke Lindell and from the letters he received from Liam last year, he is more than prepared for every challenge thrown at him. But, at the same time, I still find it a little difficult to separate the Liam I remember from six years ago from the man he must have grown into.

We crossed paths with Liam and his family before the apostasy – his mother was a Colonel and one badass rider that Braelyn idolatrized, but it was only during our time in the safe house that we got to actually know him. He was a sweet kid, only one year younger than me and Bodhi. He volunteered to help around and he somehow always found a way to cheer us all up after a difficult day with crying children. And the way his younger sister was practically glued to his side whenever he went was heartwarming and heart wrenching at the same time. I don’t have the same bond to him as I do with my three idiots, but he is one of the two people I let in after the apostasy. The other being obviously Quinn.

“He spent 3 years with Xaden, I just hope it wasn’t enough to corrupt the kid.” Garrick jokes. “I just don’t think I can take another arrogant god.”

“Said the arrogant god.” I throw back, waving him off with my free hand.

“You are not one to complain, Garrick. Poor grunts like me and Imogen have to put up with you overconfident bastards.” Quinn nods, trying to contain a smile.

He rolls his eyes at us, but one only has to see the way him and Xaden look down from the top floor to know I am right. And, considering all the work they put to get into the position of power they are, it is deserved.

“You would not have to be poor grunts had you worked for a position.” Garrick offers, sounding annoyed.

This made the subject of much debate and arguing, actually. Last year, I was too busy dealing with other issues – manifesting a signet, running from the consequences of said signet, learning to use it properly and training the second one in combat (also known as having my ass handed to me every other night by either Xaden or Garrick) – so, I did not exactly put much effort into being on top of my class. And, besides, it is better this way – I don’t have a powerful daddy in command to hide my signet power, so the safer option is just to keep a low profile.

On a side note, I have to admit it is pretty annoying to think that even Bodhi rose above us – he is now the Executive Officer for Tail Section in Fourth Wing. I might be a little sour on that subject… What in Malek`s name did he do for that post? Bribe a Section Leader with chocolate? Quinn likes to tease him that it was his crouch that did the bribing.

Quinn, on the other hand… As soon as Aetos was announced as Squad Leader, Garrick exploded and he is still pissed that she didn’t get the position instead. She had the amazing grades, the cool signet and also a pretty influential dad. But she didn’t want to even hear about it – Quinn despises using her family name to get her way and positions of power are not really her thing. So that left us with our arch enemy and biggest threat as our direct superior.

As per usual when this subject is brought up, Quinn shows Garrick the middle finger and drags me towards our own squad at the freaking other side of the courtyard. I spare him one more look over the shoulder and I see him shaking his head with an amused smile on his lips. I surely hope they will stop this song and dance soon.

Emery doesn’t even raise an eyebrow when we ask him to dry our clothes, but there is a certain strange look in his eyes as he looks at my left arm today. Don’t get me wrong – there are still enough people around here who look at my rebellion relic with a range of emotion, from anger to disgust to pity, but Emery was never one to care for it, so it is weird that his eyes stop on it today. However, before I can ask him about it, Dain marches over to us with a grim expression on his face and instinctively, we all get in formation.

“Someone is in a mood today.” Quinn muses, but I don’t look towards her.

My eyes scan the sea of first years and my heart breaks at the sight of their hopeful expressions – poor bastards, they think the hard part is over… I remember how I felt when I was just like them. The euphoria of having faced my greatest fear at that moment, not realizing that when one fear is conquered, there is undoubtedly another to take its place. The relief at knowing I did not lose anyone I care about that day, even though I came very close to it. The excitement of being reunited with my family.

They are young, their innocence is like a lighthouse in this nightmare of a school that will undoubtedly do its best to extinguish it.

“You are too grim.” Lystra purrs into my head. “It builds character.”

“Or kills you.” I point out, thinking about the cadets in my squad last year that didn’t make it. We used to be ten, but only four of us are still standing – me, Quinn, Dain and Ciana.

As per tradition, Commandant Panchek starts his big speech, the Wingleaders and their Executive officers one step behind him. A proud grin spreads across my lips at the sight of Xaden and Garrick up there, looking every bit the lethal riders we used to play pretend as when we were kids.

“Three hundred and one of you have survived the parapet to become cadets today,” Commandant Panchek begins, that sickly sweet smile of his making me want to puke.

“Is he about to take flight? He looks like a featherless bird.” Lystra remarks and I bite my lip to hide my smile. Yeah, it is definitely funnier to get through this bore of a speech when you have a dragon to comment on it with.

“If idiots could fly this place would look like the flight field.” I snort back.

“Good thing we are graduating next year, vicious one. I don’t think I could take more of this idiot`s theatrics.” She groans, even though this is her first year of hearing this speech.

Yeah, I don’t exactly want to think about graduation yet. The thought of this being the last year with Garrick and Xaden is already painful enough. It is not like they would be assigned to the same outpost either and considering Command is a huge fan of our relics, they might end up at the border – coincidentally the outposts with the most casualties. Yeah, not the moment to think about this stuff and about how long might pass before I see them again a year from now. “We are graduating? I don’t remember you studying for maths or history.”

“I barely remember who I had for breakfast, let alone what lies the scribes are lecturing on nowadays.” She replies in a bored tone.

“Who?!”

As Nyra calls for each squad to take position for the new cadets to be distributed across the four wings, I catch Xaden’s eye. I am not as dumb as to exact any warmth in them, especially in the current context, but neither did I expect to see anything other than the mask of boredom he came to hone to perfection. I grew up with him and I can tell when there is something that is troubling him and that cold scheming expression is unmistakable.

“What’s gotten to him?” I ask Lystra, moving my gaze towards Garrick who stands two steps behind him, the image of the arrogant and ignorant warrior – yeah, not going to get anything out of him. Bodhi meets my eye across the crowd, however, and he just shrugs slightly at my questioning look – just as clueless as I am, then.

“No idea, girl. Sgaeyl didn’t say anything.”

Septon Izar, my Wingleader, steps forward to call the names of the cadets assigned to our wing and I try to concentrate. We are the second squad in the Flame Section of Second Wing, so we are among the first. I vaguely hear Quinn whistle quietly when a tall girl with dark brown hair worn in several rows of short braids that just touch the equally dark skin of her neck is called and I roll my eyes – Delilah would kill her, but old habits die hard.

“Violet Sorrengail!” Septon calls.

At first, I think I must have misheard, that it must be a mistake, but then I see a small girl with visibly long brown and silver hair pulled into a crown at the top of her head. Being struck by lightning would have been less of a shock. It takes every bit restrain in my body to just look straight ahead and ignore her as I feel her eyes stop on the dark lines on my arm.

“Breathe, vicious one.” Lystra’s silky voice fills my mind. I am vaguely aware of the side-glance Quinn gives me, but I don’t move an inch.

“What is she doing here?” I ask my dragon but my own wave of anger and confusion is fueled by hers – she is just as surprised as I am. What is Brennan Sorrengail’s youngest sister doing here? I remember every single letter where he would brag about his clever sister, describing her as practically born to be a scribe – brilliant and witty, but not physically strong. And this delicate little princess certainly doesn’t seem to be built for fights and wars. The whole plan Brennan and Xaden devised relied to some extent on her becoming a scribe – Brennan was sure that his baby sister would see our reasons and join the fight, supplying us information from within the Scribe Quadrant!

I have my eyes fixed on the back of Dain’s head – Dain Aetos, the son of Colonel Aetos, the right hand of General Lilith Sorrengail. It is no coincidence Sorrengail was assigned to our squad, his squad. And, also, Violet Sorrengail is not only Brennan’s sister, I realize – she is also the daughter of one of Navarre’s most loyal generals, the very same woman who still haunts my dreams, reciting the execution order of my mother and sister. Brennan has not seen her in six years and a lot can happen even in one day, one week, one month. My whole life changed its entire course in one single day.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” The girl next to Sorrengail whispers.

“Quiet,” Aetos hisses.

I look towards the dais again and I see what they are referring to. The four Wingleaders are in what looks like a heated argument and Xaden being Xaden obviously wins in the end as he turns to look his attention to us with the shadow of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Dain Aetos, you and your squad will switch with Aura Beinhaven’s,” Nyra orders.

Of course, I think as we move towards the other side of formation, towards Fourth Wing. It is no secret at this point that Septon has been trying to snatch Aura Beinhaven`s squad from Xaden – it is one of the most powerful squads this year, but I have a feeling that is just a bonus to Septon considering he is fucking Beinhaven since last year.

And Xaden seems to have gotten exactly what he wanted. Why the fuck is he staring at Sorrengail, however? Assessing her? Intimidating her? Is there something he omitted to tell us, another delightful secret plan?

“It makes sense to want to keep the enemy closer. Keeping her under his command is a wise move.” Lystra points out.

“Keeping his friends in the loop would also be a wise move.”

“You’re all cadets now.” Xaden’s voice booms across the courtyard. Apparently he has the honour of delivering the annual speech. “Take a look at your squad. These are the only people guaranteed by Codex not to kill you. But just because they can’t end your life doesn’t mean others won’t. You want a dragon? Earn one.”

I grit my teeth at this reminder. My hands are tied when it comes to Sorrengail if I value my own life. Fan-fucking-tasting!

My new Wingleader continues his speech over the excited cheers of the first years, toying with them as the dragons fly in, taking their places on the stone wall behind the dais. Eight dragons in total for each Wingleader and their executive officers. It is slightly amusing to see Sgaeyl, all bared teeth and looking ready to jump to shred us to pieces, next to Chradh, Garrick`s brown scorpion tail who just eyes the new cadets with contempt.

“She has always had a fleer for the dramatics,” Lystra cackles as Nyra`s red swordtail reduces one of the cadets who tried to run away to ashes.

“Already three down,” Quinn sighs next to me. “And still counting.”

A couple more scared cadets move out of formation, choosing to take their chances and try to make it to the door rather than stick around for the dragons they must have enrolled for in the beginning. I wonder what is going in their stupid heads as they take this decision – they are dragons, even if by some miracle they make it to the parapet, the fire breathing lizards can get to them. But, then again, the same brilliant minds took the decision to conscript into this Quadrant.

“And we already have the first wet pants too.” Heaton chuckles on my other side, their hair a bright red today. Funnily enough, it is the exact same shade as dragon fire.

“No one cares who your mommy or daddy is here. Even King Tauri’s second son died during his Threshing. So tell me again: Do you feel invincible now that you’ve made it into the Riders Quadrant? Untouchable? Elite?” As Xaden continues his speech, I am reminded of Fen – the way he talked, commanding the attention of everyone. People think that this charisma is the main reason why he managed to gather enough people to start the rebellion, but no – he spoke with conviction, but what he talked about is what convinced people to join the fight. “Because you’re not untouchable or special to them. To them, you’re just the prey.”

I glance over towards Violet Sorrengail again. Theoretically, family ties should not matter in Basgiath, but we know better – Dain Aetos walks around unbothered, even though his signet practically makes him an inntinnsic, because his father is who he is. And his good friend Violet here is the daughter of the woman who practically commands the whole of Basgiath War College – she might look all frail and small, but to her, we might be the pray she was sent to hunt down.

When Dain returns from the Healer`s Quadrant after taking Sorrengail to be patched up, he pins me down with a murderous look. The class ended a while ago, but Emetterio, after lecturing me on the rules of sparring matches and such, made me wait until my Squad leader returned to discuss my punishment – and the snob certainly took his sweet time to stand by his little princess` sick bed. If he was planning on hiding the fact that they know each other, he is doing a fucking sloppy job at it – what is the point of meeting in shadowed corners in the hallway when you are so obvious?

“He looks like he wants to kill you.” Lystra points out, her own anger pouring down the bond adding to my own.

“That Barlowe kid basically killed his opponent and nothing happened to him. How bad can it be?” I ask and, in all honesty, I don’t care what happens. I have one regret and that is that I got cold feet out there.

Aetos gets to where I am standing and grabs me by the arm, looking at me with the promise of retribution burning in his eyes. “I knew you were fucking unhinged, Cardulo, but I had no idea you would go as far as to hurt a squad mate.”

Lystra roars in my head, the dragon equivalent of shouting profanities as I came to understand in the last year, and I am about to retort with something equally polite, when a deep voice with barely contained rage booms across the room. “If you don’t get your hands off her in the next two seconds, you won’t have hands, Squad leader.”

Dain straightens his back and reluctantly lets go of my arm as Garrick makes his way towards us. I am not sure whether he obliges because Garrick is his direct superior or because he is downright intimidating as he pins him down with a look very few people are stupid enough to face. As he spares me one disappointed glare, I know my turn will come afterwards – that was to be expected and I only roll my eyes in response. I am one of those stupid people.

“I can hardly see why this matter concerns you, Section Leader.” Aetos is visibly trying to keep his pretty perfect soldier mask on because Emetterio is still around, but even so, his distaste is obvious as he looks at Garrick.

“I fail to see why I have to answer to you, Aetos. Everything that happens within my Section is my concern.” He grumbles back, turning his attention to the professor in the room. “Sir, I am aware of the gravity of the accusations and I will make sure she will be properly punished. I am sure she is sorry for her actions, anyway.” As he says he last part, his gaze drifts back to me and it takes every bit of self-restrain not to roll my eyes and just nod. If anything, I am sorry Violet Sorrengail walked out of here with only a broken arm, but whatever sails your boat.

Aetos scoffs quietly hearing that, but after a few more hushed words, Emetterio seems content to leave it to us to sort things out among ourselves. Yeah, no, scratch that – he leaves it to Garrick and Aetos to come to a satisfying punishment for me. I have exactly nothing to say on the matter.

“Ban on flying.” Aetos spats out, as soon as the professor leaves the room.

“I’ll give him a ban on flying if I get my claws on Cath…” Lystra growls and I share the sentiment.

Garrick crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head vehemently. “Out of discussion. She might be a fucking pain in the ass, but she is the fastest rider in the Wing and I am not letting her fall behind.”

“No one is irreplaceable.” Oh, I am humble enough to admit that, but just the right amount of cocky to know that would be a downgrade.

“I advise you to choose your next words carefully, Squad leader.” Garrick almost hisses the words and I can’t hide my smirk upon hearing that. I am in for my own lecture later, but in private. In public, he has my back.

“She pulled a knife on a fellow squad mate!” Dain insists, sending daggers with his eyes in my direction and I open my mouth to tell him exactly who I will pull my knife on next, but Garrick shakes his head at me, giving me the keep-your-fucking-mouth-shut glare. That shows growth on my part, alright? A year ago, I would have just blunted out the insult in spite of his warnings. Really, I should get more recognition for not being the menace to society I know I can be. “The Codex forbids riders in the same squad to kill each other. She should face far worse consequences than keeping her from the flight field.”

I was wondering when he would bring up the Codex. Really now, he should just get himself a pocket version to carry around with him at all times if he loves these rules so damn much. Knowing him, however, I am sure he knows the whole book word for word anyway, quoting from it even in his sleep.

“I am well-aware what the Codex stipulates, Aetos.” Garrick cuts him off curtly, his already short patience running out. “What you fail to see is that she didn’t kill Sorrengail. Injuries are not forbidden.”

“Not for a lack of trying…” My squad leader grumbles, still staring at me. For Dunne’s sake, I am this close to killing him right now. I would be fucking singing on the way to the gallows afterwards.

Garrick takes a step closer and narrows his eyes in a threatening way. “Cut the crap, Aetos. Had it been any other cadet or rider, you wouldn’t even give a fuck. Give her the exact punishment you would have given anyone else in your squad.”

Except I am no ordinary cadet because of my rebellion relic, which combined with the fact that I just hurt his childhood sweetheart makes me public enemy number one in Dain’s eyes. If he could, he would have me executed, I have no doubt about that – but, he has no grounds for such a decision and his proposal would be rejected by the Council. Most likely.

“Fine. Kitchen duty for a month.” It is clear by the look on his face that Dain is not content with this, but it is the common punishment for using your powers or weapons on the mat – the only thing he can hold me accountable for considering it is not illegal to actually hurt another cadet as long as they are still breathing afterwards.

Not that it is an easy task – imagine having to scrub clean hundreds of dishes every day for a month. Two times a day. But I would take that over not being allowed to see Lystra any day.

Garrick nods, satisfied with the answer. “Glad we could reach an accord, Squad leader.” He smiles sarcastically at Dain, practically dismissing him with an uninterested last look. Which means it’s my turn…

With one small gesture in my direction, Garrick walks towards the exit and I follow him through the hallways as he makes his way to the dorms. Any unfortunate soul that happens to cross paths with us turns around at the sight of a clearly very pissed Garrick Tavis. He doesn’t even look my way nor does he utter a single word until we reach the third floor and he aims towards the door to his brand-new third-year room.

I don’t have the opportunity to inspect the room itself as I walk in because as soon as he closes the door behind us, Garrick’s self-control crumbles. His nostrils flared, the veins in his neck standing out in livid ridges as he pins me down with a scorching glare. It is going to be one of that kind of discussion then…

“It’s a miracle he kept it bottled up until now,” Lystra acknowledges, sounding impressed.

“Why? What in Malek’s name made you think it would be a good idea to do that?” He snarls, the line of his mouth tightening a fraction more.

And, finally, my own anger comes to the surface as I look up at his furious face. “Where did that bullshit about injuries being fair game go?” I hiss, my nails digging into my crossed arms as my eyes remain locked on his.

“Don’t even try. You tried to kill her, Imogen!”

“Don’t worry, I beat myself up enough for failing to do so!” I shout right back, my body shaking with undiluted rage. The way my blade slid off her armor… what the hell was that made of?!

I didn’t think it would be possible, but his square jaw clenches even more and I am surprised I don’t hear the sound of teeth cracking from the pressure he grits them. “And thank god you missed…!”

“I never miss!” I cut in and, annoyed, he slams his fist in the wall by my head, making a reasonably big dent in it.

“You would have been executed if you killed her, Imogen! Are you even aware of that?!”

I tilt my chin, not backing down as I shout back. “Well fucking aware of that.”

“Then, pray tell, what was going on inside that psychotic head of yours to do that?” The door behind us opened and closed at some point, but in our anger none of us noticed as Xaden walked in. His face contorted into a mask of rage, brows furrowed, lips curled into a snarl, his very presence radiating a menacing aura that warned of an impending eruption.

I straighten my back as Lystra groans in my mind something among the lines of how screwed up I am. However, I am actually glad Xaden showed up for two reasons: one, his anger is more contained, like the quiet before the storm and I might have a chance to explain myself and, two, I am not going to have to repeat myself if they are both here.

“I didn’t go on that mat with the intention of killing her. I am not that stupid and I nor do I have a wish to meet with Malek for dinner. But it raised the alarm when she made that not-so-subtle comment about her mother’s role in ending the rebellion.” I spat, glaring at Garrick before I repeat in a high-pitch voice exactly what she had said to me. “I am proud of her service to protect our kingdom — from enemies both without and within.”

As she spat out those words, I was reminded of Nelius, almost a year ago, insulting my family in quite a similar manner. I was reminded of his lifeless body next to me that night in the tunnels and I was almost overwhelmed by the bits and pieces of memories I was left with after that, one more tormenting reminder of the blood on my hands. I was reminded of Braelyn, just two years older than I am now, holding her head up high and grinning as she stared death in the eye, knowing she fought for what really mattered. I was reminded of my mother, shaking as she wept, holding me to her chest – my mother who dedicated her life to saving lives and never took one. These were the enemies Lilith Sorrengail proudly defeated – people like my family, like Fen Riorson, like Garrick’s parents and brother. People who should be regarded as heroes had history not been told by the cowards hiding behind the wards.

“Has it crossed your mind that she might have just been trying to get a rise out of you?” Xaden scoffs, but I see that after I said the words his demeanour changed slightly – the way he looks at me is not as harsh as it was when he entered.

“There is a grain of truth in every jab.” I shake my head at him. After all, the truth is the funniest joke in the world and the most hurtful mocking. “And even if that was a jab, her following Aetos around all day long is not a great sign and you can’t tell me that she is exactly friendly around us. She is a fucking ray of sunshine around everyone, but as soon as her eyes settle on a rebellion relic…”

Xaden clenches his jaw and takes a seat at Garrick’s desk, playing with a knife – and I know he is actually considering what I just said. Garrick, on the other hand, doesn’t back down:

“That still doesn’t justify you pulling a dagger on her, Imogen! No matter…”

But I don’t let him finish his sentence as I turn to him, baring my teeth in anger. “Oh, spare me the lecture, Garrick! Would you have just stood there and played nice when she praises the execution of your family? No, for Dunne’s sake, you would have wanted to strangle her! Call me temperamental and crazy, but she is her mother’s daughter I just can’t stand by and wait to see if the sword dangling above our heads will drop or not!”

Garrick throws his head back, laughing humourlessly. “Of course, it’s just like you to jump to conclusions without consulting with any of us…”

“I saw an opportunity and acted on it. Had it not been for that stupid armour of hers, she would be dead now. And I would not regret a thing because I would have taken out a big risk to all of us.”

“What happened to not wanting to act like the monsters they already think we are?” Garrick shoots back and I frown at the use of my words from what feels like an eternity ago. I did say that, when I stopped myself from killing Nelius on the mat.

“I think we are way past that point after the tunnels.” I scoff, trying to focus on my anger and not on the painful reminder of the blood that stains my hands now. What I did that night doesn’t exactly make me a saint now, does it? But… I am not violet. I am not malicious. I am a result.

“Fighting for yourself and to protect your loved ones doesn’t make you a monster either, vicious one. You did what you had to do.”

Yes, that might be true, but not when the only emotion that drives me lately is hate and the desire to have my revenge. People say hate is a wasted emotion, a destructive force you can do nothing useful with. They’re wrong – I’ve gripped rage, I lean on it, it is the only thing convincing me to get up in the morning. If that doesn’t make me a monster…

Garrick is about to contradict me again and for a fraction of a second I see softness in his hazel eyes, but Xaden cuts in. “Enough bickering!”

He looks between me and Garrick and we all stand in silence for a few minutes. This is something that has never changed about Xaden – his scheming face. Ever since we were children, you could just see the wheels turning in his head at the speed of light as he ponders on different matters – weighting every single possibility and risk. There is a reason why he is the leader.

“We don’t have all the information yet – she might be as you say a spy sent by her mother, an extra set of eyes like Aetos, but we don’t know for sure. And we owe it to Brennan to at least not kill his younger sister until we get more conclusive evidence.” Xaden finally says, pinning both of us in place with an unrelenting glare.

“And when we get the evidence?” I ask, glaring back at him.

“Then I will take her out myself.” He sighs and I know he is serious about this promise. “If she turns out to be a threat, I will personally deal with Violet Sorrengail.”

We stare at each other for a couple more second, but in the end I nod in agreement. He has never given me any reason to doubt him when it came to keeping us all safe – fuck, he has 107 cuts on his back as testimony to his responsibility for our lives! I just hope he takes care of this matter soon.

“However, Garrick is right, Imogen.” Xaden continues and in the corner of my eye I can see Garrick leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. “I am not doubting your loyalty and dedication, but you can’t risk your life like that. Are we understood?”

This is the closest thing to an `I care about you` without getting overly sentimental in our little family, I guess. My eyes find Garrick’s again and I nod, slightly, to him – this is the only end for our earlier altercation.

“So, what would you have us do in the meantime?” Garrick changes the subject, his eyes fixed on Xaden and pointedly ignoring me. Of course, he is still pissed at me. Just another Tuesday…

Xaden sighs and leans back into the chair, the tip of the dagger in his hand almost digging into his finger. “We will have to be more careful with the deliveries now and until we know for sure where we are standing with Sorrengail, we will space them out more. Who is on the next delivery?”

“Bodhi and Soleil.” I answer after a moment of thinking. We have a meeting every month to discuss supply runs and deliveries and we are usually going in groups of two or three so that even if we stumble across someone as we sneak out, we wouldn’t technically be breaking any law.

Xaden nods towards Garrick. “Go with them and tell the fliers that for a while they will get their supplies once a month. Syrena will not like one bit, but if we could all get what we wanted, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

“And the supply runs?” I ask, leaning against the armoire. It is way easier this year to gather weapons because some are third years and can be called to cover outposts. However, we can’t exactly count on that – knowing how much leadership trusts us, I doubt they will send many marked third years there.

“You are basically plotting against them. A bit hypocritical to ask for their trust.” Lystra’s silky laugh fills my head. I was actually beginning to wonder by what miracle she kept to herself for so long.

“By that logic, you are plotting against your fellow dragon pals too.” I send back, slightly amused.

“Bloody cowards…” She scoffs and I groan my agreement.

My attention snaps back to Xaden when he explains the next course of action, his eyes darting between me and Garrick. “I want you two to directly supervise them. I will try to push for marked ones to be sent to outposts from time to time, but the most reliable option remains sneaking in.” His eyes settle on Garrick again as he continues: “I’ll have to ask you to go on every weapon run, brother. You can choose whom you take with you, but there is no one I trust more than you to make sure it all goes smoothly.”

I frown hearing that. Between this and all the other things Garrick will have on his plate this year as Section leader, it’s a fucking lot of pressure for just one person. Not to mention all the planning and decision making he is already doing with Xaden. I am about to point that out, when Xaden turns to me – Garrick is more than capable of holding his own and he will never complain about what is thrown his way, but shoulder it heroically. I love and hate that about him sometimes.

But the pressure on Xaden’s shoulders is just as great, I realise. Garrick executes every single plan, but Xaden has to come up with them, has to think of every possible outcome and calculate the risks; he has to keep his eye on each and every one of us to make sure we don’t step out of line because if one of us is discovered, then we are all doomed. And being Wingleader this year is no small task either. Not to mention having an extra Violet Sorrengail shaped burden added to the list. He wouldn’t ask any of us for help had he not been drowning under the pressure as it is.

“You are not going on missions this year, Im. I need you here because you are our only way of making sure we are not discovered.”

“I can erase details from the missions and also go on them, Xaden.” I point out, crossing my arms over my chest. The idea of standing around doing nothing is damn torture.

Xaden shakes his head, “You will have to do that too, yes, but I also need you to be my eyes wherever I can’t go. You are in Aetos` squad and you are the only person who can keep an eye on him without the risk of him reading your memories.”

I want to point out that if Aetos gets his hands on me, my memory is just as at risk as anyone`s – actually, if I am discovered, it`s even worse because the only memories I can`t erase are my own and I so happen to know everything I erased from the others. But… I am also the only one who can go toe to toe with Dain Aetos – whatever he steals, I can steal back.

So, I just nod in agreement. I will be fucking stretched thin time-wise, but I can manage it. If I can take even one thing off Xaden and Garrick`s shoulders…

Resting my head against the cold stone, I inhale deeply on the churam between my lips, smoke curling upwards from the end of the cigarette and a notebook left open next to me. At this point, on my third roll, it is automatic – suck in the sweet smoke, inhale it, enjoy the burning sensation for a little while before exhaling, then repeat.

“You know, it is you I have to thank for putting that first cigarette in my hand.” I let out a low, humorless laugh, examining the smoke dancing in the air in front of me. “I was what? Fifteen? Mom would have certainly lost her shit had she known what a bad influence you were. And...” I shake my head, the sound of her laughter echoes through my mind, a haunting melody that resurfaces in the quiet of the trophy room, both a source of solace and an agonizing reminder of a booming voice silenced forever. Some days it is like this – clinging to the fragments of memories, desperate to piece them together, but they slip through my fingers like sand, leaving me aching for the pain of relieving even the most gut-wrenching ones if it meant I got to see her face again; others were a whole other kind of shit show, getting dragged into a memory, sometimes not even one of my own, and not being able to snap out of it for hours on end as my body turns to stone. Always between extremes, either too much or too little. Churam helps to some extend to avoid the latter kind of situations.

“I wish you wouldn’t haunt me like this, Bri…” I grumble, my eyes fixed on the tall wall in front of me that is covered with the names of all the Wingleaders that Basgiath ever had – and right there, carved in cursive letters: Braelyn A. Cardulo, the only proof of my sister’s existence in this world. The closest thing to a tombstone she has. This room feels like a fucking graveyard anyway – no one comes here, no one cares about the golden memorabilia and old trophies covered in a thick coat of dust or about the string of names of people who used to roam these halls hundreds of years ago. How many of those more recent names are still drawing breath anyway?

But I know she is not here. If there is a part of our souls that linger in the world of the living as the rest of it goes to Malek’s realm, Basgiath is not the place my sister would choose to haunt. She had been one of the strongest riders in her generation, but this hell hole only filled her with anger and disappointment as she realized the cowardice of the people who lead us, when she learned of the truth behind the beautiful, heroic lies they spun. If she could, she would have burned this place to the ground. Or so I thought – maybe her hate for this place would make it the best place to haunt and it is not like there is still a home in Aretia her ghost could roam around. I could swear I saw her that day during Emetterio’s class, just as I was about to rip Sorrengail’s arm off.

I saw her just standing there, her pale green eyes locked on mine as she shook her head. I didn’t tell any of that to Garrick or Xaden, but this phantasm of my sister might be the only reason I didn’t kill Violet Sorrengail right there on the mat. They would only worry more, thinking I am going crazy if they knew. And I am not sure whether or not they would be right or not.

Most nights I stay awake, wondering if I am slowly losing my mind as the memories I had erased from other people’s minds flash before my eyes. I have not been doing this for long, but these bits and pieces of other’s lives crowd my mind, mixing with my own memories. Will I lose my marbles at some point? Will I ever stop being harassed by all the things that I now know about the people I had killed? Will I lose my ability to tell reality and memories apart?

That is my new greatest fear. Losing myself in the labyrinth of my own mind and never finding a way out again, slowly forgetting my life just as I am forgetting small details about my life before the apostasy. So, I write it all down – not the compromising rebellion stuff, but everything that makes me feel… alive. Maybe if I put it all down, I will not fade away.

But, back to my sister… I am not sure whether seeing her was the result of my signet slowly destroying my sanity, of my conscience taking a physical form for me to actually hear it as my rage took over me or both. It hasn’t happened again and no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t project her image with my powers. My signet is more powerful when I am near Lystra, but not even then was I able to do such things.

Anyway, this graveyard for the forgotten past of Basgiath is the only place where I feel close to Braelyn anymore. It is just her name, carved almost a decade ago in the wall, but it is a part of her and I cling to it desperately, especially during nights like this one when I feel like she would be the only person who could understand me.

“Now, you wound me, vicious one.” Lystra groans in my mind and I smile softly hearing her voice.

“I thought you were sleeping, you annoying lizard.” I send back, my voice softer than my words. She has been uncharacteristically silent all night long, even before the meeting with the other marked ones, so I just assumed she had gone to sleep.

“Your thoughts are so loud they could wake up the dead.” She scoffs, but I know she is trying to lighten the mood. Even though her word choice is not exactly great. “Was the meeting such a disaster that you had to smoke your entire stash of churam?”

It is my turn to scoff this time. Just like last year, Xaden decided we should hold a meeting as soon as possible after Conscription to check on the first years – basically make sure they know they are not completely alone in this hell hole and see what their problems are. We hold this kind of meetings rarely for obvious reasons, but considering challenges start next week and we have already lost two of us to the Parapet… we can’t risk them being underprepared.

Jace Sutherland and Dougal Luperco. I didn’t know them that well and I have only vague recollections of them during our time in the safe house. Jace was a bit of a clown, never taking things seriously. Dougal was one of those kids who worried too much, but he was also one of the best informants I had two years ago when I was on letter duty. Still, it stung a little more than expected to hear their names called out during morning formation, especially as the scribes shifted uncomfortably when they got to their names, as if they were not sure whether they even deserved to be called.

“Silence your heart, vicious one. There will be time to mourn the dead when it is all over.”

“We both know we are not getting out alive of this whole mess, Lys…” I smile weakly – I have already made my peace with the fact that I might die young. Even if I survive Basgiath, we are headed to war.

“You are getting stupidly pessimistic, child. Now… Tell me about the meeting.” Lystra cuts me off, not as sharply as she would usually.

And so, I do. I tell her about how fucking vague and off Xaden was all throughout the meeting, not really answering the questions the first years had – I did not expect him to talk openly about important stuff, like Brennan being alive and such things that not everyone is supposed to know, but each and every one of the 41 of us knows about the venins. When that first year asked about Battle Brief, he could definitely be a little more informative and not cut her off like that.

I was just about to tell her about the whole argument I had with the boys on the Sorrengail matter again when I hear the door to the trophy room open and I am instantly on my feet, aiming my dagger at the intruder. It is way past curfew, closer to morning actually, and no one ever comes here anyway.

“I come in peace!” Liam raises his hands, a sheepish smile on his face as he looks at me.

I curse under my breath and sheathe the dagger, glaring at the younger cadet. “Fucking Malek, Mairi! You are supposed to be sleeping!” After all, I let him to the common dorm myself after the meeting.

“Right back at you, Im.” He shoots back, coming closer when he makes sure I am not going to kill him. His blue eyes roam around the room, taking in every single dusty trophy and the different rusty weapons in glass cases. “Damn, this place is downright depressing. Why do you hang out around here?”

“He is not wrong. That room is terribly boring.” Lystra agrees.

Returning to my earlier seat on the floor, with my back pressed against the wall, I raise an eyebrow at him. “That is none of your business now, is it? How the fuck did you even find me here?”

Liam gives me a lazy shrug after he concludes his inspection and joins me on the floor, prompting his head against his knee. “I was just about to come talk to you and, when I didn’t find you in your room, I remembered seeing you come here after kitchen duty one night.”

Of course… there is nothing that escapes Liam’s notice. Even when we were all living in the safe house, he has always been the most attentive one out of all of us, picking up on the most random details. I have a feeling he saw the reason I am actually coming here, his eyes briefly scanning the litany of names carved into the wall.

His eyes settle on the stash of unsmoked churam rolls and he stretches to pick one. Looks like he picked some of Xaden’s nasty habits too.

“So… fun meeting tonight. Definitely looking forward to the next opportunity Xaden gets to growl at us and basically say nothing of consequence.” Liam says after he lights his roll with one of my matches.

“Tell me about it…” I groan, inhaling deeply from my own cigarette. Although, if I am being honest, what he said to that first year, Flynn, about having to be willing to pull their own weight… I can’t say he was wrong about that.

“You really had to challenge him like that in front of all the marked ones, though?” Liam gives me an amused smile, shaking his head.

I sigh, busying myself with the cigarette for a few moments as I think about a way to put it into words. “Look, Garrick might be right about Sorrengail not being guilty of her mother’s actions, but that doesn’t mean my blood doesn’t boil when I see her or when I catch her and Aetos whispering in the hallways – she is a fucking threat and I am running out of patience. I don’t know how you can all be so freaking fine with it, but in these ten days she has been here I didn’t see any proof she is any different than her mother.”

“But she didn’t give us any solid proof she is like her mother either.” He points out, lost in thought. “I am not blaming you one bit for not trusting her and wanting to protect us all, but Xaden seemed pretty pissed off when he was asked about it all.”

“That is the other reason I did it.” I let out a sigh, watching the smoke dancing in the air between us. “That first year…”

“Kael.” He supplies when he sees me struggling to remember the name.

“It wouldn’t have been pretty if a first year he barely knows asked something like that, but I am used to challenging Xaden. It was better to redirect his anger to me, especially after he had already snapped at the other one for whining.” I shrug. Yes, I want the whole Sorrengail issue solved, but I am smarter than to press the matter publicly – I understand why the other first years might want to be kept in the loop, I was just like them last year, but now that I actually have knowledge of what is going on… I get why some things are better kept within a small group of trusted people.

Liam looks at me with a side smirk and I frown, not understanding what he finds so amusing. “It just amazes me… you are so tough and snarky, ready to rumble and apparently uncaring, but I always thought you might be the one who cares the most out of all of us. Xaden and Garrick are too busy to make sure we all stay alive to actually care about unimportant stuff like how one might feel. Bodhi is ready to crack a joke at the drop of a hat, but it is you who actually makes the time to think about us as individuals.”

I scoff, waving my hand dismissingly. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mairi.”

“I am not. Can you really tell me that it was a mere coincidence that you took Flynn in your group of first years to train and not Garrick?” He presses on, a knowing smirk on his lips. Of course he noticed when I chose that prissy for my training group.

“Garrick tends to lose his temper quickly and that guy is already on the brink of giving up,” I admit. “We need as many of us bonded to dragons as possible. That is all.”

He gives me a knowing look that makes me want to punch him – arrogant kid. Then he starts searching for something in his vest pocket and I frown when he takes out a pile of letters, handing them to me.

“What are these?” I ask cautiously, creating a mage light to make out the writing on them.

My eyes widen instantly when I recognize the childish handwriting in colorful crayons, greatly improved from the way I remember it. Julianne… I knew Liam was tasked with keeping in touch with the smaller kids after me and Bodhi left for Basgiath, but I didn’t allow myself to think of that sweet six years old in a while because her childish innocence fills me with hope. If grief is an amputation, then hope is incurable hemophilia – you bleed and bleed and bleed. And I can’t let myself feel that when I am barely holding my shit together as it is.

“More proof that you care about other people. I’ve been meaning to give these to you for a while now…” Liam answers my earlier question, a smug expression on his face. “She still sends drawings of you, saying you might look cool with green hair, by the way. And, apparently, she pictures me as a ginger.”

I find myself laughing at the description, a warmth filling my chest as I think of this little girl whom I have never met. This little girl who never knew a life before she was sentenced to this damned existence, bearing a permanent reminder of what she never had. A girl I might never get to meet.

Another thing to grieve, I suppose. Opportunities I was not granted.

My eyes turn back towards the wall with my sister’s name on it and I can almost hear her voice as she tells me to be strong, to step in her shoes – but the shoes she left me are too damn big for me to fill. I wonder if she also had to constantly kill parts of herself in order to do what was expected of her. Probably yes. After all, what are your early twenties if not an endless strong of the ghosts of who you thought you would become?

“How are you dealing with the grief, Liam? How do you manage to smile and laugh so openly?” I ask him, seeing his blue eyes set on the stone wall, looking over the list of names. His sister is still alive, he will see her in a year, but he has lost his dear ones too – his mother, his father… Who knows how many other relatives? “How can you keep your emotions in check and maintain a positive look through all this?”

God only knows that anger is the only thing I found to lean against so that I won’t drown.

He turns to look at me, a pained look in his eyes as he confesses, in a small voice: “I have decided that the only way to live is to embrace grief. For grief exists only where love lived first.”

I smile hearing his words and nod. There are hearts that do not know how to hate, how to howl in anger, no matter how much they have been wronged. Liam is one of those precious souls, a lighthouse in this hellhole of a prison we are all sentenced to. I wish I could share his view.

“Stay soft, Liam. Don’t let this place take away your optimism.”

Liam gives me one of his bright smiles that can lighten up the whole room. “Tell me about her.” He says gently, not pushing, just letting me know that if I want, he is willing to listen to me as I revisit the memory of my sister.

So, I do.

Chapter Text

I... okay I have no actual excuse for the four months absence, but hear me out! I have an explanation!

Firstly, let's get this out of the way: This is not an actual chapter, but rather a way for me to come out and explain:

1. Why I have been absent lately.
2. When you might expect the next chapter.
3. Why the whole fic will go through a rewritting process.
4. My plans for the future chapters (yes, I said chapters).

Okay, so, let's start with the reasons for the delay.

As some of you already know, I am in my last year of uni and it is certainly kicking my ass. I have a thesis to write (bleah!) and normal school-work at the same time, so it leaves little to no time for myself and for the things I love. Add to that the massive writer's block I had for about a month and... yeah, you get a clear picture of the whole thing.

But now I am on a two week break and relatively free, so I should be able to finish chapter 9 (yes, I started on it and all that). I can't give you an exact date for the next update, but it will be soon (ish).

What I CAN tell you about the chapter, however is that I have around 7K words already, the title is "For You, I Would" and it will have the following: Imogen's thoughts about Violet Sorrengail after Threshing, some Imogen-Bodhi banter (I love these two and their friendship so much), a lot of Imogen and Garrick fluff and actually dealing with the visible stains on their relationship and (I like to think) some visible growth in Imogen's character (from the scared little girl who lost everything - to the reckless young cadet who is just coming into her own power and now to one of Xaden's most trusted people within the inner circle).

And now about the rewritting...

There are two reasons behind this decision: personal disappointment about the way I wrote (especially the first few chapters) and the publication of Iron Flame.

I love these characters and I don't want to entirely delete my progress so far, but some of the revelations in Iron Flame change things. I was not THAT far from the canon (or so I like to think), so I will look for a way to integrate stuff we learn in Iron Flame without altering the story so far that much.

If you haven't read Iron Flame yet, please stop reading because there might be spoilers for you!

- I will add mentions of Eya, Ciaran, Masen and Cat
- I will have to add the whole thing about Xaden being Tyrrish royalty basically
- The whole thing about how the marked ones got the rebellion relics from the stones made by Colonel Mairi (after I understand it myself)
- Add a mention of RSC for Xaden and Garrick at some point (don't ask me how, idk)
- And other small stuff like that.

What I will not change because... emotional value or stuff like that:
- Imogen being fostered by Quinn and her dad
- Quinn being included in the rebellion stuff
- The name of Imogen's dragon - I like Glane, but I actually put a lot of effort into finding the name for Lystra and its meaning suits her better (Glane means clean, boring)
- Garrick's signet being trajectory manipulation (we don't have a confirmed signet for him yet, so it is all good for now)
- The marked ones having two signets - it would be too much of a pain to edit that now, so...

And now on to the plans for future chapters!

I love writing from Imogen's perspective way too much, so I decided not to end this fanfic after chapter 9. Yes, you heard that right, there will be multiple chapters in the future, and I will dive into Iron Flame scenes at some point (God willing!)

I don't have an exact plan right now, only vague ideas but... we will see what happens.

On a side note,

I want to thank each and every one of you still reading this fanfic and especially those of you who take the time to leave a comment for me. Those comments are basically the reason I am still writing and trying to post stuff. Truly, thank you, the support has been... wow!

I am always open to criticism, ideas and even just chatting about Fourth Wing related things. You can find me on Tumbl (alexandia03) and especially on Discord - on the Fourth Wing Discord server (https://discord.com/?utm_source=Discord%20Widget&utm_medium=Logo) and my DMs are always open (same username).

Love,
Lydia.

Chapter Text

Okay, maybe I will look like an awful person for saying this but ever since assessment day and my promise to Xaden to stay away from that silver haired freak and let him deal with her, a considerably big part of me hoped someone in the Quadrant would take care of this situation for me. Like… I have already spent a year here and, honestly, I gave up on keeping track of how many names there are on the death roll every morning a long time ago because it is an impossible task at the rate people are dying around here.

So, you might think a porcelain princess would be dealt with in no time considering how many people hated her guts aside from the ones branded with the rebellion relics, whose fear or Xaden’s wrath overpowers their desire for revenge – her mother is not exactly the person who would win a popularity competition if it came down to it. My bet was on that Barlowe asshole who seemed to have a personal vendetta of his own against Sorrengail since Parapet. I am not saying I like the guy. Who would after he killed that kid on the mat on the first day without even flinching? Hell, I am ruthless and violent myself, but not even I can reach his level of cruelty. All I am saying is that he could add Sorrengail to his list before someone took the asshole out.

Then, there came the challenges and I even had bets with Bodhi and Quinn whenever Sorrengail was paired with someone obviously stronger and better trained than she was on how long it would take for said opponent to kill her. Weird special fucking armor or not, she should not have walked away alive from about half of those encounters, but there was no way to prove that she was cheating. And I was not the only one who noticed this – Bodhi and Garrick raised the same subject a couple of times during our meetings with Xaden, but as to a concrete explanation for how exactly she cheated, we were all clueless.

Speaking of those meetings… since assessment day, I don’t think there has been even one meeting where Violet Sorrengail’s name was not uttered like a hundred times. We are all used to dealing with problems – I, for one, work better under pressure and we have been pretty efficient dealing with whatever was thrown our way since we were forced into the Quadrant. However, the youngest Sorrengail is an issue with no solution – a problem that, no matter how much we are banging our heads against (preferably) flat surfaces for answers, only gets worse.

And despite Xaden’s promise to deal with her… we are all starting to think we have very different definitions of dealing with an enemy from his. To our embarrassment, even as his closest friends, Bodhi, Liam, Garrick and I find ourselves as confused as the rest of the marked ones when it comes to our Wingleader’s behavior towards the daughter of the person responsible for our parents’ execution – when you initially think of it you might think there is only one way one might feel in such a situation, but Xaden fucking Riorson has a talent to elude expectations in general. Not only is he doing nothing to eliminate her as a threat, but he is getting even more secretive than usual, to the point not even Garrick as his right-hand knows what is going on. Although I will admit that having Garrick join us in the “what the fuck is Xaden hiding from us now” club and banging his head against walls to understand our eminent leader is oddly satisfying.

I certainly hope he will show up one day and reveal that he has been acting on a grand secret plan to take out Sorrengail, but… Xaden Riorson seems to be in the business of trying to keep that girl alive. My jaw was almost on the floor when I saw him giving her an actual fighting lesson during Emetterio’s class when her challenge partner didn’t show up. I am not stupid, I knew there was no way he would have killed Brennan’s little sister in such a public setting, but I certainly didn’t expect him to actually give her fighting advice and show her moves that were better suited for her body type and size.

Since then, the four of us – Garrick, Bodhi, Liam and I – have been entertaining ourselves with a game of guessing what our friend and leader’s motives are. We are his oldest friends and the only people he shares even a little bit of information with, but even so… Xaden Riorson is not the kind of person you expect to have a heart to heart with and just be transparent with you about his plans. So, we can only theorize and, honestly, this game is kind of fun to play.

Garrick is convinced Xaden wants to bang Sorrengail and there is an internal struggle between his last rational braincells and his ‘desires’ – his argument is also supported by the fact that, unlike last year, he is not getting any fun in the sheets. Gods, I never thought I would regret the fact that he is no longer banging Catriona.

On the other hand, Liam is of the opinion there is indeed an internal struggle, but of a whole different nature. He thinks that Xaden is split between what he knows to be the safer option that would keep us all alive and the desire not to become the monster everyone else in the Quadrant already thinks him to be by killing a person who hasn’t given us any concrete proof of actually being a threat to us. Annoyingly enough, Garrick rather agrees with this option too, repeating what he said to me that night during the first meeting with the first year marked ones – “Punishing children for the sins of their parents is the Navarrian way, not the Tyrrish” and how we haven’t caught her spying on us yet. Blah blah blah! Gods, it’s so annoying when I can’t argue with him because he is right and whatever arguments I might raise would only make me sound like an irrational fool or a little child who is pissed because they didn’t get the desired toy.

What about me and Bodhi, you might ask? Well, Bodhi usually sides with whoever seems to have the most evidence and just shrugs it off and I point out that it is not unlikely that our dear leader had sustained a major head injury we know nothing about – riders fall from their dragons and stuff like that all the time, right? – and is in need of another such blow to set him straight. I would be all too happy to help set him back on track if that’s the case. When Quinn also joins us for this game of “What is wrong with Xaden”, she chides me for the fact that violence seems to be my solution to everything – but hey, it is effective!

But now… no matter what the actual reason Xaden had for not killing Sorrengail, it doesn’t matter anymore. Really, killing her or even hoping for her death at someone else’s hands is off the table permanently from now on because she decided to be an even more irritating pain in the ass than she already was and got herself bonded to that legendary dragon. That weak-as-a-twig girl getting a dragon was already annoying. Her getting two dragons… really now, what is it about this girl that is so special? It’s as if the gods are trying to see how many things they can bestow on her until she becomes too damn special for this planet.

But her getting bonded to Sgaeyl’s mate and thus having her life tied to Xaden’s? Had I not seen it with my own eyes, I would have laughed my ass off or punched the person telling me this kind of news. I swear, it all sounds like a very bad joke – the girl whose mother killed our families is now the person whom we have to protect at all cost from now on. The gods really do have a twisted sense of humor.

“I thought we agreed that there are no stupid oh-so-powerful beings governing the universe.” Lystra snarls in my mind as she always does when I invoke gods. On any other occasion, I would maybe entertain a debate with her on the subject of religion just to piss her off. It sure is interesting to hear Lystra’s stand on the matter. Dragons don’t believe in our gods, that much is crystal clear and I am starting to agree with that view – even if there are gods out there, they do a shitty job and I don’t want to hear about ‘the grand scheme of things’ anymore. Besides, my dragon did more for me than any of those hypothetical bastards in the heavens ever did.

However, tonight is not exactly the moment for that sort of discussion as my thoughts are consumed by the latest developments on the ‘Violet Sorrengail’ issue. I barely got to talk to Lystra about it today – when the most beloved first year in Basgiath returned with her two dragons, all the other dragons were summoned for a meeting of what Lystra called the Empyrean to discuss the decision. And even after that meeting was over, I didn’t get much out of my dragon on the matter – she found my need for answers and dealing with my anger at the revelation so annoying that she blocked me until now.

Leave it to my dragon to decide she is willing to talk when I am in the middle of a party.

“So… is there any hope Tairn regrets his decision to bond?” I ask my dragon as I move towards a quieter corner of the room where almost all the riders in Basgiath gathered for the annual post-Threshing party. Nothing to say ‘Congratulations on surviving all that crazy shit so far only to have leveled up to a whole new level of insanity’ like a party. I did not care much for this party when I was a first year myself – not that I actually got to enjoy it before Xaden and Garrick dragged Bodhi and I out to tell us about all the craziness being a rider comes with – so I don’t really give two shits about this one either. Had it not been for Quinn dragging me and Bodhi along because she did not want to go alone, I would have totally skipped this ‘gathering’. Well, free booze is a bonus and a good enough reason to hang around a little while longer, I suppose.

Lystra gives me a low huff that I came to associate with the dragon equivalent of a scoff. After one year of being bonded to her, I picked up on some stuff. Huh… now that I think of it, today is kind of our anniversary – one year of daily bickering and teasing, fantastic. “No. I am not saying all dragons choose the best riders all the time, but Tairn is certainly not the kind to make stupid mistakes like that.”

Yeah, I had a feeling the second largest dragon in Navarre wouldn’t be in the business of making decisions on a whim. Kaori told us about him when we were in our first year too, but I knew about him even from before – Xaden mentioned him once or twice in passing and even though Brennan avoided the subject in his letters, I have a feeling Tairn’s last and only other rider aside from Sorrengail was not just a friend. “Why her, though?” I press the subject, fully aware of the fact that I sound like an entitled brat – had it been Garrick or Bodhi I was talking to, they wouldn’t have hesitated to tease me on acting like a spoiled aristocrat and I wouldn’t have hesitated to kick their butts just like I used to when I actually was an aristocrat.

“Because she protected Andarna. I won’t try to justify Tairn’s reasoning to you, vicious one. Firstly, because humans have no right to know about our business and, secondly, because the how and the why makes no difference now. He is bonded to that girl and that is that.” Lystra says in her no-nonsense tone. She rarely uses this voice with me and only when she is unmovable on a matter, so I don’t try to push my luck on the subject – I am reckless, not stupid. There is a fine line between the two, but a line nonetheless.

I pour myself a glass of lavender lemonade mixed with liquor, mostly just to keep my hands busy – since that night after the Squad Games, I have been trying to avoid getting drunk because it lead to stupid decisions and even more idiotic actions that I am still facing the consequences of. But let’s focus on one problem at a time. “How likely is it that Sorrengail’s death would result in Tairn’s demise as well?” I ask instead, pushing aside my personal dislike for the first year.

“The death of his last rider almost took Tairn out too. And each bond a dragon has is more powerful than the last.” Lystra explains, letting out a sound that is close enough to a sigh. I know she doesn’t like this any more than I do, but it is not her that would have to actually look out for that girl.

With a sigh of my own, I bring the paper cup to my lips, taking a small sip as I let the realization that keeping the daughter of my family’s executioner alive is top priority now because her demise would cause a chain of other deaths that would conclude with one of my best friends’ untimely end. No one can expect me to be okay with this whole arrangement in the blink of an eye, but, at the same time… A small part of me is a bit relieved.

My eyes wander around the room as I try to get a grip over my anger and conflicted feelings. The room is big enough to accommodate all the cadets in the Rider’s Quadrant and then some – and I really mean that because I spotted at least a dozen people who are obviously from other Quadrants, easy to spot because the black leathers are obviously not theirs and stand out because they lack the badges and insignia we all have. No surprise there, riders’ parties are known to be the best in Basgiath and if any of them turned up in Infantry navy blue or the white aprons of the Healers, they would be picked on mercilessly.

I spot Quinn somewhere in the crowd, flirting with a girl from Third Wing – she is currently in a fight with Delilah, her third-year girlfriend from Second Wing. They have been fighting a lot lately due to the stress of Delilah graduating after this year and her doubts about long distance relationships – which has led to Quinn yelling yesterday at her something like, “If we have an expiration date, why bother staying together until then?” But I doubt my sweet idiot would take things further than some innocent flirting tonight. And for once it’s my turn to be the level-headed one in our friendship and will drag her out of here before she makes a mistake she will regret later.

Some of my squad mates are scattered around the room too, in various states of drunkenness. To my surprise, I even see Liam on the dance floor with a cute girl wrapped around him, clearly giving him that look – well, good for him. He deserves some celebrating after his achievements lately: his score on the Gauntlet, acing his tests, winning every challenge and getting bonded to a red swordtail. Is there anything this boy can’t do?

Someone leans against the wall next to me, their shoulder brushing against mine as they let out a loud sigh that is almost muffled by all the noise around us. I would normally get defensive at the closeness, but the perk of breaking Sorrengail’s arm on the first day is that few people actually have the nerve to even look at me now. And only a handful are allowed to touch me. “I don’t remember this party being as lame last year as it is now.” Bodhi complains, bringing his own cup to his lips.

“You were too drunk to notice the lameness of it all last year, Bo. And we didn’t return to the party after the whole discussion with Xaden and Garrick sobered us up.” I remind him, sketching a smile.

“Yeah, well, we had better booze last year, too. Even if I tried, I could not get drunk on this shit,” he adds, eying the lemonade critically. Can’t argue with that – honestly, it does taste like shit, but in lack of better alternatives…

“Even better. It wouldn’t look good on an Executive Officer to get wasted, would it? Look at Aetos for example, he is not even soiling his pristine Codex-abiding reputation by attending such depraved and undignified gatherings,” I pretend to be serious and pretentious, scrunching my nose in disgust like we have seen so many older women do when we were younger and our parents would force us to attend a fancy ball. Turning my head a bit to the side to give Bodhi a disappointed glare as part of the role, he burst into laughter and not even a second later I join him. Despite our families being in the upper-class, we were not raised with the pomp associated with the rank because our parents were more concerned with war-related things.

It takes us a while to gather our composure again after laughing uncontrollably for a good couple of minutes. We rarely talk about the lives we had before our parents started the rebellion, but the four of us share the same memories and some inside jokes will never die, I suppose. “You are just sour you did not rise through the ranks, Cardulo, admit it.” He teases as he elbows me playfully. I was actually wondering when he would drop such a comment – he was wise enough to keep such jokes to himself these past two months when I was so wound up I could snap if someone even so much as breathed wrong.

“As if! I have better things to do with my time than to babysit a bunch of stupid cadets. Look around you, Durran! There are around two dozen first years in your Section, give or take, right? That means two dozen drunk idiots that you will be responsible for tomorrow when classes resume. Not to mention second and third years under your command who are, if anything, even worse than the first years.” I grin up at my friend, drawing immense pleasure from the annoyed groan he lets out when the realization hits him.

Bodhi runs his hand through his black curls for a moment and then raises his paper cup as he says, “You know what they say, if you can’t stop them, might as well join them. And after all the shit we’ve been through these past few months and all the shit we are about to face, I think we’ve earned the right to get black-out drunk.” At that part we exchange a knowing look and we silently agree not to get into that discussion tonight – this day has been stressful enough without getting into the mess that is the trauma of RSC.

To change the subject, I gesture with the hand holding the cup around the room. “Any sign of the others?” Xaden took off as soon as Threshing concluded with the dragons marking their new riders and Garrick muttered something about going to make sure none of the other marked ones will do something stupid. My desire to kill Sorrengail is nothing by comparison to some of the others’, especially the first years who are so damn unhinged it almost makes me grateful for how patient Garrick and Xaden were with Bodhi and I. Sometimes I wonder if they were making conscious efforts not to strangle us just like I do whenever I have to look after those whiney bitches.

Bodhi lets out a small laugh, his dark eyes shining a bit with amusement. “You know how we always joke about that vein in Garrick’s neck threatening to burst whenever someone annoys the shit out of him? At the rate the new riders were pestering him with questions earlier, I think tonight is the night.”

“Well, that’s a bummer. I always hoped it would be one of us who made him snap.” I laugh, shaking my head. We came so close last year after War Games when Quinn and I rubbed our victory in his face – back when we were still part of Second Wing. In a twisted way, in spite of the looming sense of death and the stress of it all, we still have moments when we are just a bunch of ambitious idiots and Garrick has always been the worst at admitting defeat.

“I know right? Those pricks have no place stealing our job!” Bodhi says with exaggerated outrage at the first years, making me laugh again. “Anyway… Ciaran and Eya are also around here somewhere, plotting a coup by the way they stopped talking when they saw me approaching. Actually, all the marked ones I saw tonight were engaged in such mysterious discussions. You can guess the reason for their dissatisfaction.”

Oh, I have no doubt there is just as much discontent among the other marked ones. There are around forty marked ones in the Quadrant at this moment, but not all of them are up to date on our more… delicate affairs. We care about each and every one of them making it out alive of the Quadrant for two reasons – every bonded rider on our side counts if we are going to war, and believe me, we will sooner rather than later, but… there is also a sense of solidarity. We might not all be as close as the boys and I are; we might not trust each other as we came to trust Soleil, Ciaran, Eya and Masen, but we all went through the same hell. Fuck it, we are still not out of the flames as long as we are in this pit of hell itself and I meant what I told them about having to stick together in order to survive in here.

My lips pull into a side smirk at the thought of any of the other marked ones aside from Garrick, Bodhi, Liam and I standing up to Xaden. Well, I have yet to see Liam standing up to Xaden, but the kid has it in him, I just know it. “As much as I would love to see that shitshow and Malek knows I would not miss Sorrengail all that much… we might have to silence those assholes before Xaden shows up.” It doesn’t take a genius to figure that our mighty leader is in a sour mood at the moment and the first person who dares defy him – whose life is not tethered to his, that is – might not get to see the ‘delicious’ excuse for food they will serve at breakfast tomorrow.

Bodhi nods, a serious look in his dark eyes as they meet mine. The thought of having to defend Sorrengail and basically act as her guardian makes me want to claw my eyes out. Now add to that the fact that I might have to lecture a bunch of angry cadets (in various degrees of drunkenness) on something I myself am still coming to terms with…

“Maybe now you will have a deeper appreciation for the Wingleader and for Chradh’s boy for having to deal with you.” Lystra huffs, amusement lacing her voice like it does when I am irritated by stupid things. She has yet to miss an opportunity to laugh at my expense.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than to annoy me?” I groan back down the bond. Fine, I see the irony of the situation, but I would rather die than admit that, to her or to anyone else. And I would sooner cut out my own tongue than acknowledge that Garrick and Xaden were right about anything.

But dealing with the marked first years is a problem for later, preferably after I have numbed myself with a roll or two of churam so I don’t kill them. When it comes to fighting and training, I am patient and I can actually deal with idiocy, but reassuring people and trying to convince them not to do something incredibly stupid… how the fuck am I supposed to help people deal with a problem I have no idea how to face myself?

Starting on the mission of numbing myself in preparation for the meeting, I take a small sip out of the paper cup in my hand as I scan the room again. Bodhi had a point when he said that getting drunk on this sorry excuse for alcohol is damn near impossible – unless your name is Quinn Artan, notorious for being horrible at drinking any form of alcohol. I have no idea when she even took the drink, but leave it to Quinnie to get drunk even from this disgusting mix of lavender lemonade and alcohol.

I groan watching my best friend’s clumsy attempts at flirting with a first year from First Squad and even from this distance I know she is on the verge of vomiting all over that girl’s newly earned leathers. “It’s your turn to take care of her.” I inform Bodhi, pointing towards where our friend is about to make a fool of herself.

“What? I took care of her at the graduation party! It is certainly your turn!” Bodhi argues, clearly just as eager to deal with drunk Quinn as I am tonight. And I can’t truly blame him – the last time he was on Quinn-duty, she was full of energy and tried to pick up a fight with a guy twice her size before Bodhi dragged her upstairs to his room, where she somehow managed to puke all over his covers before passing out.

I pity him, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try to pass this responsibility to him if I can. After all, he is the responsible Executive Officer as he reminded me earlier, right? “And you still owe me for covering for your stupid ass when you missed a meeting because you were too busy fucking Tyvon.” I point out, flashing him a grin when he groans in frustration. He knows that had Garrick or Xaden heard that he was late because he was too busy fucking the executive officer for Second Wing, they would never let Bodhi hear the end of it.

“You are awful, Cardulo.” Bodhi shoots me a glare as he leaves his drink on the table. Then, raising his hand to show me the middle finger, he walks to where our dearest friend has just started trying to dance to impress the first-year. I pray to the gods that Bodhi gets to Quinn before she starts twerking or something.

“Your mating rituals are weird.” Lystra notes, sounding truly confused by the idea that any creature would find such displays arousing. And for once, I can’t blame her.

“They are not the norm. And, again, humans don’t mate.” I clarify, turning to inspect the refreshment table for something else to drink – I know there is some actual, decent alcohol in this hellhole, like the stuff Emery and Heaton stole from Panchek last year after Squad Games, but I doubt Command actually had anything to do with setting up this party, let alone supplying us with beverages. Thankfully, someone had the presence of mind to bring some water.

“As if you would know anything about hooking up rituals.” My dragon huffs, accentuating the words to show me she actually knows the terminology. I don’t know if all the dragons are so concerned with their rider’s sex life, but my oversized lizard never shied away from commenting on mine. Or on the lack thereof.

It is not like I am a virgin or anything. Gods no! I just… don’t feel the need to sleep around like my friends do. Quinn likes to point out that I am unable to separate feelings and sex, but that is not the case because I certainly could do that while I was living with her and Cal. Most of the guys in my year are just… uninteresting and I sure as hell won’t start sleeping with first years. Besides, Eya and Soleil both had partners that tried to kill them in bed because they thought they would be more vulnerable then – I have enough people trying to kill me in broad daylight for the rebellion relic on my arm, so that is a risk I am not desperate enough to take.

“Please, we both know who you actually want to bring to your bed.” Lystra cuts in again. I truly resent the fact that she can just slide into my thoughts without a care, whether or not I have my shields up. And she clearly doesn’t have any notion of privacy.

I refill my glass with water to wash away the foul taste of the lemonade and scan the room for a familiar face – aside from Bodhi and Quinn who are engaged in a mini-argument at the moment – when someone joins me at the refreshment table. Initially, I don’t pay the person any attention as I spot Eya in the crowd and I am about to make my way towards her when the said person addresses me.

“Doesn’t seem like you enjoy the party, Cardulo.” I raise an eyebrow at the guy next to me – tall, with a boring-ass buzzcut and blue eyes.

Like I said earlier, people usually know better than to approach me, but it looks like this guy didn’t get the memo. Not only does he have the audacity to talk to me, but he is also stupid enough to lean down, with his hand gripping the edge of the table, right next to my waist, bringing himself to eye level with me. Maybe Lystra is right and I am not up to date with the forms of flirting considered sexy lately, because I only find his whole demeanor exaggerated and a bit pathetic.

But that is to be expected from an infantry cadet, I guess. The hair and the clearly borrowed leathers give him away, although it could also just be that I grew up around people who graduated from that Quadrant – it is some sort of unwritten rule for aristocrats to go into the Infantry Quadrant because the commitment is limited to a few years of service and riders are usually discouraged from holding their family’s seats in the council; my dad, Fen Riorson and Garrick’s dad had all been in the infantry and had been best friends since their time in Basgiath. It was a bit of a scandal when both Braelyn and Derik opted for the Rider’s Quadrant instead. The boys and I were planning on becoming riders too, so in a way it wasn’t as traumatic for us, but it still would have been nice to have had a choice in the matter.

“And it seems to me that you shouldn’t be here to begin with, cadet Thornton.” I say evenly, not moving an inch. I don’t like how close he is to me right now, but I’ll be damned if I let my discomfort show.

Thornton was one of the infantry cadets my squad was assigned to work with during the land nav part of RSC earlier this year. It took me a moment to recognize him because he was fully bald back then and I am honestly surprised I even remember his name – well, his last name – but, then again, he had the balls to tell Aetos to fuck off when he pretended to know better how to read the map we were given for the exercise. That outraged and shocked look on Aetos’ face was priceless.

He grins at my response and lifts his shoulder in a half-shrug. “What can I say? Just wanted to see for myself whether it is true that the riders throw better parties than we do.” Thorton admits and I almost scoff – our graduation ceremony is anticlimactic compared to theirs, but the parties are arguably better because, unlike these arrogant pricks, we know how to let loose (my best friend is currently the living embodiment of letting loose, one might argue) and have the ability to talk about things besides our academic achievements and ranks. However, I am too focused on the way he gradually inches closer to me as he talks about the secrets to a good party. My hand instinctively moves closer to the dagger I have strapped to my right thigh.

“Good luck with your little research then.” I say flatly, narrowing my eyes in clear warning that it is not a good idea to come any closer. After the whole Sorrengail situation today, I am certainly not in the mood to deal with anyone, let alone an infantry cadet who has exactly zero game.

But it seems that flirting abilities are not the only thing that this idiot lacks as he ignores the clear signs of my disinterest, drawing even closer to the point where his face is one palm away from mine. “Oh, I don’t know so much about the party itself, but I will admit that the female company here is… provocative.” They should really add a course in common sense to their curriculum. I grip the hilt of my dagger, ready to draw it out, when his eyes shamelessly inspect my body and his hand moves off the edge of the table and to my waist.

A warm, bigger hand covers mine, pushing the dagger back in its sheath, right in that fraction of a second I needed to pick the exact place to strike. Had I not recognized the familiar smell of oranges, I would have kicked the newcomer straight in the nuts.

“Wow, is that kind of line something infantry women fall for? I hate to break it to you, cadet, but I am fairly sure you will have no luck with such shitty attempts here. Consider yourself lucky if you get out of here with your balls still attached to your body.” Garrick says in a deceivingly calm voice and I don’t have to turn around to see his face to know exactly the look he is giving the infantry cadet.

The way Thorton instantly backs away as his eyes widen in terror only confirms it. Lystra is laughing her scaley ass off at the whole situation and it only fuels my irritation with the whole thing. “Sorry, mate. I had no idea she had a boyfriend.” Thorton apologizes as he walks away, raising his hands up defensively. Oh, he has no idea how far away from the truth he is with that assumption…

My dragon snorts in my mind, but thankfully she refrains from an actual comment. She has made all the possible comments on this subject at this point anyway and I know exactly where she stands on this matter – according to her, my feelings are inconsequential and I should just fuck Garrick to get it out of my system and ‘maybe then I will be able to focus on more important matters than mating’. And I would normally argue that I am perfectly capable of thinking of things other than my feelings for Garrick, but right now I have to make a conscious effort not to focus too much on his hand that is still placed on top of mine.

So, in order to not look like a complete imbecile because of one little touch, it is better to focus on my irritation for now. As soon as Thorton is out of earshot, I turn around and glare up at Garrick, my lips pulling into a snarl. “I fail to see what exactly gives you the right to scare away people who are flirting with me.” I seethe, crossing my arms over my chest – mainly to hide the slight trembling in my right hand.

And the asshole actually has the nerve to start laughing. “Oh, please, like you were going to actually sleep with the guy!” Garrick snorts, looking at me as if I were a child who had just said something ridiculous.

“Oh, and pray tell, what makes you think I wasn’t? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and I sure as hell don’t need your fucking permission to take someone to my bed!” I snap back, very thankful in that moment for the relative darkness in the room that hides my blush.

That only seems to fuel Garrick’s amusement as he shakes his head at me, crossing his own arms over his chest. “Wait, you actually think I came to save you? Please, we both know that dumb idiot was the one in danger here and he had absolutely no idea what he was getting into. And I was also saving myself from the paperwork I would have been buried under if I let you eviscerate that guy.” He clarifies, the corner of his mouth pulling into an arrogant smirk.

At that, my anger diminishes a little. However, after this fucked up day, the familiarity of arguing with Garrick about the stupidest things possible is weirdly comforting, so I was ready to fire another stinging remark. But right then Ciaran passes by us on his way towards the door, pointing towards the improvised dance flood as he smirks at us with clear amusement. “Your friends are making quite the scene, Cardulo.”

Frowning, I look in the direction he pointed to, only to find a very irritated and embarrassed Bodhi trying to drag Quinn away from the dance floor, with no shortage of kicking and screaming from the latter and an impressing string of profanities from our illustrious Executive Officer Durran. Needless to say their little spectacle has caught the attention of quite the audience.

“Come on, let’s get out of here while we can still pretend not to know them.” Garrick says, an unmistakable hint of amusement lacing his deep voice at the pleading look Bodhi gives us across the room. Then he grabs my arm to drag me towards the door that leads directly outside from the gathering hall.

“Not in the mood to help our friends? Where did all that chivalry go?” I tease him and, yes, fine, I am trying to distract myself from the feeling of his hand on the bare skin of my forearm.

Garrick turns his head a bit to look back at me and scoffs back at me, “I dealt with idiotic situations all day and I expect to face a few more before I actually go to bed. Consider this me saving both of us from that shit-show and from the headache of having to clean puke off our clothes tonight. Besides, I could use a smoke right now.”

“Oh, you will hear no arguments from me.” I grin back at him. It is a rare occasion to see Garrick Tavis smoking, but after this shitty day I guess he needs to numb his nerves even more than I do. And churam is a better alternative to drinking anyway.

“That must be a first.” He smirks back and I just roll my eyes as I flip him off.

Obviously, we were not the only ones who thought of getting out of the crowded room for some air. Although I doubt those people desperately sucking each other’s faces with no regard for their own privacy are getting much air at the moment. After more than a year in this place, I got used to seeing people climbing each other in every darkish corner, so it is nothing new.

It is not like those people are paying attention to us, but Garrick and I begin walking towards a more secluded area anyway. No one would bat an eye at two cadets smoking and all those Codex lovers like Aetos and Mavis are not exactly the kind to attend parties in general, but even so, I know neither one of us is willing to take this risk – especially as marked ones and especially tonight.

“So, let me guess, Quinn had another fight with Delilah?” Garrick asks as we walk towards the bank of the river Iakobos. After using this place as a meeting spot with the other marked ones so often, I guess we both came to associate it with a remote sense of privacy.

“The long-distance issue again.” I confirm, pushing an annoying strand of hair that keeps getting in my eyes behind my ear.

My best friend’s love life is no secret to anyone – really, sometimes I think there is no one in Basgiath who doesn’t know what is going on with her and Delilah and that is partly because both of them have the annoying habit of having very loud screaming matches in very public places, such as the cafeteria, the flight field (if we are lucky, because the wide open-air area dilutes their raised voices), the hallways… Really, I wish I could name one place where they hadn’t had a heated argument.

“And you are one to talk after how you argue with the Section Leader?” Lystra scoffs down the bond and I groan in frustration. Of course she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to comment on that.

“It’s not the same thing. Quinn and Delilah have lover’s spats and although Garrick and I quarrel a lot, we are not so… public.” I contradict my dragon. Bodhi and Quinn seldom complain about their dragons meddling with their lives so I am starting to think my dragon is a hypocrite and her interest in my love life is caused by a lack in her own.

“For your information, my life doesn’t lack those methods of satisfying your needs that you deny yourself.” She scoffs right before the bond goes silent – I am not entirely certain whether she blocked me, but I will take every second of not hearing her comments about every single thing I am doing or thinking.

As we finally reach the river bank, there is a comfortable silence as we sit down on the grass, with our backs pressed against the tree and our shoulders almost brushing against each other but not quite. I can’t even count how many times we found ourselves in similar positions when we were kids, sneaking out of quite different kinds of parties – although back then Xaden and Bodhi would join us, just as eager to get out of the stuffy formal balls. This time, it is just me and Garrick and, I realize, this is the first time it had been only me and Garrick since he screamed at me for almost killing Sorrengail on Assessment Day – if he is aware of this too, I can’t tell.

Instead, he passes me a small bag with the sweet-smelling minced leaves of churam and papers. I roll my eyes in amusement, but I don’t make any comment on the fact that he is basically admitting to not being able to properly roll a cigarette and I don’t ask him about the stash of churam and where he got it from – frankly, it doesn’t matter. “Remember that first time you caught me and Xaden smoking? Gods, the lecture you gave us…” I recall, grinning at him teasingly.

Garrick has always been the most cautious out of us and he took the role of pseudo-parent in our group – I swear, none of us would be alive now had it not been for Garrick knocking some sense in us (quite literally sometimes) when we would come up with the craziest ideas that would have been a guaranteed one-way trip to Malek. But like any kids with strict parents, we found ways to evade his watchful eye, so Xaden and I managed to hide our new ‘hobby’ from Garrick… for all of a whole month. Yeah, Garrick had the strictest parents out of all of us and he grew up with Derik, the biggest daredevil I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, so he knew all the tricks in the book.

He lets out a short laugh at that, that kind of unguarded and genuine gesture that is so rare from him nowadays – I can basically count on my fingers the times I’ve gotten to catch glimpses of old Garrick since I crossed the Parapet last year. It feels even more precious whenever I am the one getting him to let his guard down. “You were fifteen, I lectured you on your stupid decisions, hoping to get through to that malnourished and overly-ignored conscience of yours,” he says looking at me with amusement shining in his hazel eyes. “I’ve learned in the meantime that it is a lost battle. And you know what they say – if you can’t stop them, join them.”

“Fucking hypocrite,” I laugh, shaking my head as this is the second time I have heart that saying tonight. He knows just as well as I do that in our situation we can hardly be blamed for the ways we find to cope. And it’s not like any of us is smoking past the point of relaxing ourselves a bit and we are not abusing this method – it is an occasional outlet, not an addiction.

“I think you are doing it wrong.” He says, pointing to how I’m rolling the churam into a joint. So much for my gracefulness earlier of not teasing him on his shitty rolling skills.

“I think you are asking for me to claw your face off, Tavis,” I say, giving him a murderous look.

“Now, for that you would actually have to reach my face, Cardulo.” I turn towards him, ready to cut into him for that remark about my height – really, he has been using this stupid sort of comments as a come-back since he had a growth spurt at twelve – but he raises his hands in surrender, chuckling as he adds with a crooked grin: “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

Continuing to glare at him, I finally extend one roll to him and then lean back against the tree to take a deep puff out of my own. We don’t talk for a couple of moments as we let the churam work its magic, taking that edge off. With each exhale, I feel some of the tension I hadn’t even realized I was carrying easing little by little. And after a few moments of silence, it’s Garrick who speaks first: “So today was a crappy day…” He mutters, pushing out the smoke as he leans his head against the tree, closing his eyes.

“Tell me about it.” I snort, starting to roll another joint to keep my hands occupied. Now I am starting to understand why Liam always carries wood around to carve stuff and, for a moment, I think about the figurine of Lystra he’s been working on lately. “Makes you miss the good old days when our biggest problem was the earful Sirena would give us after each delivery.”

Garrick lets out an approving groan, passing a hand over his face. “Had I known how big of a pain in the ass Sorrengail would become…”

“I hate saying ‘I told you so’ but…” I begin, playfully.

“Oh, please, that’s your fucking favorite phrase.” Garrick groans again and I give him a cheeky smirk to which he shakes his head, pretending to be annoyed, but I see the small smile he is fighting off. “I just… I never expected her to become such a big problem. I thought she would be a temporary issue.” He adds with a sigh.

I light the next roll and pass Garrick one too, which he takes without even hesitating. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting… the gods were never merciful enough to make any of our problems go away of their own accord, so I shouldn’t be surprised. But…” I let out a long sigh of my own and shake my head.

But of course Garrick noticed my little slip-up. I swear I could never understand how he could be so observant about everything and yet he hasn’t noticed… never mind that. “But?” He urges me on, frowning a bit in clear concern.

“This whole fucking shit with Sorrengail… To put it bluntly, I am starting to be afraid of myself, of my mind. As soon as the problem arose, my first thought was to eliminate her. No hesitation.” I admit, taking a deep breath. There is an unmistakable sense of shame and uncertainty washing over me – these are thoughts I haven’t even allowed myself to fully process and I am not sure whether it is the churam or his presence that emboldens me to talk about it. “And then, Xaden in his infinite vagueness, said she was ‘his to handle’, whatever that fucking meant… So I started to hope that someone else would take care of her. People die around here every day, people who worked their whole lives to be here, so I figured it was just a matter of time… but, turns out I underestimated the little bitch.”

I take a big gulp of air, aware that I am rambling at this point. “I guess… I am afraid what this all says about me, about the person I’ve become.” I whisper.

Not daring to look up at him at any point during my stupid fucking speech, I keep my eyes on the river in front of us. And as silence stretches between us, I start wondering whether it would be possible to just jump in it and drown myself because that would be preferable to the uncertainty and the feeling of being exposed.

Then he presses his shoulder against mine. “Whatever that says about you, it applies to me as well. All that bullshit I keep lecturing you on about not killing her because that would make us no different than Navarrians? It doesn’t come easily to me either, Im. Every time I see her, I remember how her mother stood on that platform that day, reading the execution sentence and how she dusted her jacket of the ashes of my parents afterwards.” Garrick admits, his voice barely above a whisper towards the end.

His confession makes me dig my nails into my palms hard enough to sting. If he had been feeling all this, he never betrayed any signs of it – on the fucking contrary, he always put on a calm front and I could never see any animosity in his eyes when Sorrengail was around. The genuine hatred in his voice banishes any doubts about his honesty right now, so… how the fuck did I miss it? When did I start falling for the masks he puts on around everyone else?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice even and failing miserably. When we were living in Riorson House during the Apostasy, in spite of our tendency to get into monster arguments from the smallest things possible, Garrick and I would still seek each other when we needed to talk to someone – even if it was only to vent. It hasn’t occurred to me until now that after what happened a few months ago, he might not trust me enough to confide in me anymore.

I finally turn around to look at him - really look at him for the first time tonight. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find – maybe I want to prove to myself that I still know him, that I can still see through his mask. But there is no mask as I look at him now – somewhere between the moment we left the party and now, it came off. And I certainly didn’t expect to find him so… exhausted. His shoulders sag, bearing the weight of tiredness like a burden too heavy to carry and in the faint moonlight I can vaguely make out the dark circles rimming his eyes. Fucking Malek, he looks like he hasn’t slept in days and there is a certain weariness in his hazel eyes that makes me furrow my brows in concern.

He lets out a weary sigh, a sound heavy with the weight of accumulated exhaustion, as if the burden of weariness has found its voice in his breath. “Because it would have only stroked your anger, Immy. You’ve been struggling since the attack and you have your own stuff to deal with this year – between RSC and all the things Xaden already has you do… the last thing you needed was validation for your anger.”

Garrick Hector Tavis never says no. I am honestly not sure whether this soldier mentality was drilled into him by his strict, infantry father (although I never saw Derik struggling with this – he would laugh in your face if you asked him to do something he didn’t want to deal with) or if there is another cause for it. No matter what is asked of him, no matter how taxing it would be for him, no matter the sacrifices he would have to make – Garrick will never say no when he is given a task. So, when Xaden, known for his inability to ask for anyone’s help in general, came up with the idea to increase the number of weapons we smuggle to the Poromish fliers by stealing not only from the outposts but from the source itself too – Garrick didn’t hesitate for a second before accepting to shoulder even more of the practical part of the smuggling operation. So now he goes on every weapon run or delivery, manages the logistics behind every mission to pick up more weapons from nearby outposts, volunteering to cover the inland outposts every time the riders are sent to reinforce the border… all this while also trying to help Xaden find a way to break into the heavily guarded and ever-manned forge at Basgiath.

And all of those things come on top of his duties as a Section Leader and as a third-year cadet whose grades and performance will be taken into consideration for his assignment next year. Needless to say, the dark swirling lines of the rebellion relic on his arm only mean that he has to work ten times harder than the average cadet to prove his worth.

Now I find out that, on top of everything he has to deal with… he also took care of me and considered the best approach to manage my feelings. Had it come from anyone else, I would have probably bitten their heads off already for the audacity to assume what I can and can’t handle, but it is not about that with Garrick. I did snap at him earlier about not needing anyone to come fight my battles for me, but, on the contrary, he was trying to keep me from getting into those situations in the first place. Because he is Garrick Tavis and he has always known what I needed, even when I didn’t know it myself. Because he was there when I was ambushed last year and he knows that I would regret it if I let my emotions get the best of me and killed someone in a fit of rage.

And this realisation makes me feel even more guilty about how blind I was when it came to his own state. I knew from the moment Xaden assigned the tasks a few months ago that it might be too much for anyone to handle alone, but I didn’t say anything. And then, when I tried to offer to take over the planning part of the operation, pointing out that Xaden basically left both of us in charge of it, Garrick just brushed the idea off at the time, saying we would talk more about it after I was done with RSC. Which now I am.

“Are you contemplating how to kick me for all the times I lectured you on killing Sorrengail?” He asks, bringing me back to the present. Right, I will have all the time to beat myself up for being a shitty friend later.

“Oh, you are a hypocrite alright for that, but no. I am more interested in kicking your ass for not asking for help when you look one step away from collapsing.” I shake my head at him, genuinely worried. “When was the last time you fucking slept, Gar?”

Garrick waves his hand, dismissively. “I’m fine, Im. I had to make a delivery last night and didn’t get the chance to sleep with the Threshing and everything, but I will be good as new after a few hours of rest.” I might have bought this excuse last year, but I know better – the delivery last night means at least a couple of restless days prior to that just to prepare for it and between the Gauntlet, Presentation and Threshing, he had a truly stressful time as Section Leader as well. “Besides, you have enough to deal with yourself with –”

“Don’t. I am sick of excuses and all that crap.” I cut him off, softer than I would have been with anyone else, but still with enough sternness to let him know that I am serious. “Just… just let me help you from now on. You don’t have to shoulder all this alone.”

At some point, acting on pure instinct rather than rationally, I reached for his hand and our fingers are currently intertwined in my lap. I am thankful for the darkness that conceals the way my cheeks flare up and to be honest, I expect him to pull his hand away and turn down my offer for help. But he doesn’t. Instead, he tightens his grip on my hand and I swear I catch a glimpse of his lips pulling into a small smile for a moment.

“Only if you promise to talk to me first instead of diving head first into stupid and reckless decisions.” Garrick drawls, reaching for another roll of churam from the little pile I managed to make.

I roll my eyes playfully and scoff at the request. “Can’t you ask for something that is actually within my power to do? Me thinking before acting is as likely as Bodhi telling us where he keeps his chocolate stash.”

My stupid little joke actually hits its mark as Garrick lets his head fall a bit back and laughs. He actually laughs – although I am fairly sure the churam is to blame because the joke was not that great. And for a moment I think of the good old times, back when we were just a couple of stupid carefree kids and our biggest concerns were how to pull off the craziest things possible, like cliff diving, and making sure we didn’t lose any limbs or worse in the process, respectively (it is not hard to guess who had which role).

But, of course, our illustrious leader had to pick this exact moment to show his face after hours of no one finding him anywhere because gods forbid we actually have even a second of fun in this pit of hell. I spot Xaden coming our way before Garrick does, but as soon as he sees him, his unaffected and stoic mask slides back on and I almost growl in frustration at just how easily he shoves his feelings back inside and hides his frustration, not wanting to let anyone down.

“Look who finally decided to honour us with his presence.” Garrick says, pretending to tip his imaginary hat and bend at the middle in a mocking version of a seated bow. Mocking and sarcasm have always been his go to whenever he tries to lighten the mood or whenever he notices that Xaden is way too tense.

One of Xaden’s shadows coils around a roll of churam and brings it up to where he is standing in front of us, the image of the serious leader who is not in the mood for jokes. He lights it up and even as he stands still I can see it in his eyes that his mind is in hundreds of places at once, running through different plans and decisions he will have to make. “I already have a raging headache after today, Garrick, so please… Could you two just gather the others so we could discuss what we will do about Sorr-“

“Finish that sentence, Riorson, and I just might solve your headache problem by relieving you of it entirely.” I interrupt him sharply. I know he is under his own amount of stress and it is probably greater than what Garrick and I have to deal with together, but tonight I can’t bring myself to care. Right now, my priority is Garrick and making sure he gets to relax and rest a bit tonight – and I certainly won’t allow Xaden to assign him any more responsibilities because I now know how shitty both of them are at delegating stuff to maintain a balance. I am starting to think they don’t have the word ‘balance’ in their vocabulary unless it refers to fighting skills.

“Look who’s talking! The champion of healthy decisions herself!” Lystra scoffs down the bond, but… yeah, no, I can’t argue with that.

For once Xaden actually looks… stunned. Guess he didn’t expect any resistance from any of us as he is finally willing to address the whole mess with the general’s daughter (or at least give us a crumb of information on the subject like he always does) after a whole day of all of us losing our minds over the newest developments and their implications – and, frankly, had he come like an hour or two earlier I would have gladly went to gather the others for the meeting (and would still bite Xaden’s head off during it, but for completely other reasons).

“Imogen, really, I am not in the mood for jokes. I had a long day and there is a lot to discuss about how to deal with…” Xaden rolls his eyes at me, clearly thinking that this is just my usual display of insubordination. My mistake then, I should have made myself clearer.

My dagger flies out of my hand and finds its mark before he can finish the sentence, planting itself into the tree Xaden is leaning against, merely two centimeters away from his ear. The corner of my mouth twitches upwards at the sight of him actually flinching and I don’t miss that fraction of a second when his eyes widen ever so slightly, before he masks his surprise by raising his eyebrow at me in that threatening way of his. This look might send more than half the Quadrant running for the hills, but Malek’s realm would freeze over before I back down in front of him. Garrick sighs next to me, but for once he doesn’t intervene. And, selfishly, I am glad he hasn’t pulled his hand back yet.

“What a coincidence! We also had a fucking long day and my hands seem to get twitchy hearing that name or anything related to her.” I retort, tilting my head to the side and giving him a sarcastic smile. “So, the way I see it, you have two options: you can join us for a smoke or fuck the hell off. Either way, we are not going to talk about work tonight.”

I am readying for a monster argument or for Xaden to blatantly ignore what I just said and go about his own agenda – it is not like he would actually take me as an actual threat and I am wholly aware of that. But it is my turn to be surprised when he actually relents. I am not sure what exactly tips the scale in our favor, but I have a feeling that with that quick look in Garrick’s direction Xaden came to the same conclusion as I have. With a shrug, Xaden Riorson actually plops down next to us and for a few moments we just sit there, looking at each other. I can’t even remember the last time we were together without planning and plotting.

“Okay, then, no work talk. Then what shall we talk about?” Xaden raises an eyebrow at us, the shadow of a smile playing on his lips as his gaze drops towards our intertwined hands. I shoot him a glare that I hope sends him the clear message that if he utters a single word about it, my next dagger will be aimed to his nether regions.

“Dunno.” Garrick admits, passing his free hand through his curls and raising his shoulder in a half-assed shrug. “Umm… How is school going?”

“Let’s not go there. We are already in a sour mood and that is fucking depressing.” I roll my eyes, mindlessly playing with Garrick’s fingers as I try to come up with a discussion topic. Really now, I kind of regret leaving Bodhi behind to take care of Quinn – he has always had a knack for finding the right thing to say and starting a conversation with anyone about anything. “Come on, when did you two become so catastrophically boring? Just… What is the first happy thought that comes to your mind?”

“Im, you can’t just order us to come up with a happy topic after a crappy day. It doesn’t work like that. And aren’t you the memory expert here?” Garrick chuckles and I just bump my shoulder into his playfully.

“Yes, the expert at forgetting, not remembering stuff. There’s a difference. And one might think you had a list of all the stupid things we used to do, considering how quick you are to bring them up when you lecture me.”

“Oh no, we tried to make a separate one for all the reckless ideas you ever had but we ran out of paper.” Xaden rolls his eyes at me, lighting another roll of churam and taking the paper cup that I almost forgot I even brought with me when we left the party. He clicks his tongue in disappointment when he finds it empty. “Couldn’t you at least take something to drink from the party?”

“Believe me, what they had at that party can’t be called alcohol. They only had the lemonade with distilled liquor, not even that wine from the party after graduation.” I assure Xaden, remembering his disgust when he tried the lavender lemonade a few months ago when we dragged him to said party in an attempt to make him relax a bit. And because Bodhi, Garrick and I wanted to celebrate him finally ending the betrothal to Catriona. Honestly, the last thing we need right now with the whole Sorrengail bullshit was the drama and craziness Catriona Cordella brings wherever she goes.

Garrick leans a bit closer to me and lets his head fall onto my shoulder and I pray to whatever gods might be listening that he wouldn’t be able to hear how my heart is beating erratically at the closeness. “Remember when we raided Fen’s wine cellar when we were… what, fourteen?” He laughs softly at the memory and I find myself smiling too at the memory.

“Which time? You will have to be more exact.” I grin. Now that was real wine… And at some point sneaking into the cellar to see what all the fuss was about with Fen’s wine collection became our little tradition during our parents’ parties.

“That time on Xaden’s birthday, when Derik and Braelyn found the four of us absolutely wasted in the cellar.” Garrick clarifies and I can feel his body shaking with laughter against mine.

Xaden lets out what must be the first genuine chuckle I have heard from him since… well, since I saw him on the day he got conscripted. “Honestly, it is a miracle we were not caught before that. You idiots were an absolute pain in the ass after a few sips.”

“Oh please, we basically had to carry you back to your room every single time and you were convinced you could sing better than the musicians at the ball!” I tease our leader, giving him a shit-eating grin. “But gods, Bri was so angry when they found us…” Maybe it is the churam taking over now, but for once I don’t actually feel close to breaking down as I think of my older sister and our life before the Apostasy. It actually feels… nice. Soothing.

“What was that speech she gave us? ‘Those bottles are older than all of you idiots altogether and you would have to save all of your allowances for the next ten years just to pay off one!’” Garrick laughs, making a surprisingly good impression of my older sister.

“Meanwhile your brother was laughing his ass off calling us idiots in fifty different ways.” Xaden points out, his black hair getting in his eyes a bit as he shakes his head with laughter. He looks... younger like this. A bit more relaxed, with his messy and that twinkle in his eyes, he actually looks... well, his age - he looks like a 22 years old should look like. “I half expected Braelyn to use her signet to make us do something embarrassing to punish us, honestly. Or worse, to make us tell the parents what we did.”

My sister had an unusual signet that allowed her to influence others with enhanced vocal persuasiveness – or, for short, charmspeak. She was already convincing enough before she got her power, but once she became a rider, there was nothing she couldn’t get someone to do for her. And she had a habit of threatening me and my friends to make us dance like monkeys or other embarrassing things like this whenever we misbehaved or pissed her off.

“Oh, she didn’t need her signet to punish us. She knew we were scared shitless and would do anything she asked us to, anyway.” I scoff, remembering how for the rest of my sister and Derik’s permission the four of us were practically their servants. They were not snitches, but they sure didn’t have any remorse when it came to blackmailing us.

“And that concoction Derik gave us the next day was a punishment in itself. Gods, that thing was vile.” Garrick adds and we all shudder as we recall the dubious liquid that was supposedly a cure for hangover. The older Tavis brother and my sister shared the same kind of screwed sense of humor – which explains why they were best friends since forever.

Now that I think of it, we were all too stupid and drunk at the time to question their reason for being there. The assholes were preaching us on getting drunk when they were planning on doing the same!

“Speaking of disgusting things… Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the intention and it was sweet of you to do that for me… but, gods! That cake you made me for my tenth birthday was an abomination and an insult to chocolate cakes.” Xaden added, making a face that reminds me of his facial expression when he actually tasted that cake all those years ago.

It was Xaden’s first birthday after his mom left – a decision I still don’t understand to this day. Fen was a good dad and he loved his son a lot, but he was a soldier first and foremost and like all soldiers, he was shitty at two things: dealing with feelings and emotions and childrearing. And after our best friend basically locked himself in his room, we took it upon ourselves to find a way to cheer him up and what better way to achieve that if not by making his favorite dessert? What we didn’t take into consideration was the fact that we were three spoiled brats who never had to cook for themselves and had absolutely no idea how to bake a cake – and our older siblings were too busy laughing their asses off at the mess we made in the kitchen to actually help us.

And the cake might have tasted awful, but we achieved our goal that day: we made Xaden laugh and that was all that mattered to us. Just like tonight seeing these two smile and laugh is the only thing I actually care about.

“We were nine!” Garrick countered and I swear to all the gods, I forgot how contagious his smile was… and how handsome he is when he actually lets his guard down and enjoys himself. The signs of his exhaustion are still there, more visible right now that he is allowing himself to relax, but there is no trace of those ever-present lines between his brows, his jaw is no longer clenched, there is a playful spark in his hazel eyes… and damn, there are those cute dimples of his!

“You should just be thankful we didn’t go with our initial idea of making you a mud cake.” I grin, letting my head fall a bit to the side to rest against Garrick’s. He smells like oranges and he is so warm – why must everything about him be so damn comforting?

“Honestly, with all the love and gratitude, I think mud would have tasted better than that!” Xaden snorts, using one of his shadows to fill the empty cup with water from the river.

“We will certainly take that preference into account for your next birthday, dickhead.” I tease him and Garrick and I burst into laughter at the murderous look he throws us.

The conversation goes on and we lose track of time. From our initial struggle to come up with topics of discussion, we are now jumping from one memory to another and laughing so hard my cheeks hurt. We talk about the pillow forts we used to build during our sleepovers at each other’s houses, about how we set the curtains in Riorson House on fire once because we were in a hurry to put the cigarettes out so we wouldn’t get caught, about that one time we dared Bodhi to sleep in the chicken coup and how he got back at us by sharing the lice he acquired from that sleepover (the boys actually got rid of that way easier than I did by shaving their heads that summer – but at least I didn’t look ridiculous like they did). We talked about how we used to turn everything into our playground – how we used to spend hours in the snow, burying each other and having the most vicious and competitive snowball fights this continent ever saw, and, in lack of snow, we would jump in puddles and return home covered in mud from head to toe when it rained or we would struggle to get rid of the sand for days afterwards whenever we went to the beach.

And, truthfully, I want this moment to go on forever. I missed spending time just talking and laughing with these two and right now it almost feels… normal. It reminds me of countless nights we used to stay up till late together, talking about… well, what didn’t we talk about! And, selfishly, I also cling to every second of having Garrick’s body so close to mine – I know he will never feel the same way about me, but for a little while I can just enjoy holding my friend and ignore the ache in my chest every time I think of his rejection. There is some comfort in knowing I can still have him in my life, even as a friend, and maybe one day I wouldn’t wish for more and learn to content myself with this.

Thankfully, I am spared of having to make the hard decision of ending this feel-good get together when Xaden notices Garrick fighting to stay awake. “I think it’s time to get you to bed, brother.” He announces, standing up and giving me a couple of precious seconds of just holding Garrick while he dusts off his flight leathers and picks at the grass that somehow got stuck to his clothes after hours of lying in it. But I don’t miss the amused look he gives me when he finally comes to help me lift Garrick – who is mumbling incoherently about not needing help to walk, but it is clear to anyone with eyes that he is one step away from passing out.

I briefly find myself wondering how I would have managed to carry Garrick back into the Quadrant had Xaden not been here to help – I am proud to the point of arrogance, I’ll admit, but even I know it would have been beyond my capabilities to support someone who is twice my size and built like a fucking mountain. I have no desire to relive the traumatic experience of being trapped and suffocating from a few months ago – and Garrick is way bigger than that guy was and at this hour the only people awake are either blackout drunk at the party or hooking up, so no help to count on.

“So, do you regret not being the obnoxious leader for once and ignoring your responsibilities?” I tease Xaden as we balance Garrick’s weight between us – although, if I were to be honest, Xaden is arguably shouldering most of it.

I expect Xaden to flip me off or to ignore my teasing altogether, like he usually does when I am trying to annoy him, but to my surprise, he hasn’t put his leadership mask back on yet and he actually smiles at me. “I will admit that I am still worried about the things I wanted to discuss with you all, but tonight was… nice. Why don’t we have this kind of night more often?”

Garrick groans from between us, his voice reminding me of a small tired child as he mumbles something about Xaden being an idiot, which, to be honest, is the short version and pretty accurate. But I take it upon myself to give our dearest friend the unabridged version too. “Basically, because you have your head too far up your own ass most of the time to actually remember that we are your best friends and not only your allies and subalterns. And we see you so rarely lately that it is a miracle if we get to say hi, let alone have a smoke and go down memory lane together.”

“I don’t -” He starts to defend himself, but stops himself when he realizes that is indeed the case. And he even looks remorseful for once, which is certainly a first. “I am that much of a dick?”

“Well, you are not exactly at the same level as Aetos, but…” I tease him, but then I see the downright pathetic look on his face and I soften my words. “Look, Xay… we all worry for you because we see you drowning under the pressure of it all. We can’t help you because you deliberately keep us in the dark, which is shitty.” I hold my free hand up when he opens his mouth to argue, most likely going to say something stupid and heroic like how he doesn’t want to burden us and that this is his cross to carry, not ours. “Just… let us help more. And not only because we are your friends and care for you. You will graduate next year and it is not like you could continue to take care of things around here from whatever dead-end outpost they will send you to and our… friends… will still need our help.” I am careful choosing my words as vaguely as possible when we enter the school – here even the walls have ears as I’ve come to understand. “But Bodhi and I will still be here and, if you two assholes will actually learn how to delegate stuff and teach us how, we could do it. And I get it that you don’t trust the others, but they will soon become a problem if we don’t at least throw them some crumbs.”

He is quiet as we walk towards the stairs to the dorm area of the building, considering what I just told him. I think it is ultimately the sight of his best friend and right-hand man being exhausted after desperately trying to hold everything together that convinces him that I might be on to something. “I will… think about this. Next meeting we will address this issue, I promise.” Xaden finally agrees. “When did you become the wise one around here?”

“Someone had to assume the role as you monkeys have one functional braincell at most. And not one for each, you share the same braincell that is probably considering going on strike because you ignore it too often.” I give him a shit eating grin, which makes him groan in annoyance. There is the Xaden I know and love!

“At least your modesty is intact.” He says dryly.

“It was never at risk to begin with.” I retort, happily. As we climb the stairs to the third-year dorms, I find myself hesitating, but then I decide that there is no better time than the present. We already got into talking about work related stuff, so the harm is done. “Have you thought about how we are going to deal with you-know-who?” I promised not to say her name tonight and I am keeping my word.

A shadow passes over his face at the change of subject and he lets out a long sigh. I dare say he looks… almost as exhausted as Garrick did a few hours ago when I first got a glimpse under the mask he wears just as a soldier would wear his armor. “Honestly? I don’t know, Im. She is the last person I wanted to have tied to me and dealing with her is not exactly a walk in the park. Not to mention that I have yet to tell Aisereigh about this whole situation.” He sighs, working on undoing the wards around Garrick’s door. “All I know is that I have no desire to test that theory that her death would result in mine as well and now that she practically has a big Tairn shaped target on her back… I wanted to ask Garrick if he could make time to train her, that’s the only plan I have so far.”

And Garrick being Garrick would say yes in a heartbeat, because it is a request from Xaden and because he doesn’t want to let down his best friend. Especially not when this girl’s life is directly linked to Xaden's. But Malek’s realm would freeze over before I let Garrick take up even more responsibilities.

“I will do it.” I say as soon as Xaden finishes talking, my eyes fixed on Garrick, still too out of it to actually take part into the conversation. I guess I always knew it, but now it has become clear without a shadow of a doubt that there is nothing I wouldn’t do if it meant protecting him, even from himself. Even if I have to swallow my pride and do the last thing I thought I would ever agree to. “I will train her instead.”

“Imogen, I don’t think –” Xaden begins, but I look up from Garrick’s sleeping form on the bed and lock eyes with him instead, putting on the best threatening and decisive look I can muster. And judging on how he cuts off, it must have worked.

“Look, Xaden, you either accept my help or do it yourself because we both know you can’t ask anyone who is not in the same chain of command as she is without raising suspicions. Hell, it is suspicious already!” I say calmly, looking straight into his eyes. “But I will not let you pass this responsibility off to Garrick. Are we understood?”

We both know I won’t kill the little bitch. I wouldn’t have killed her before and I certainly won’t do it now – I care about Xaden too much for that. But I know that the main reason he nods in agreement and doesn’t push for giving Garrick this task is because he understands what I have just understood myself – I don’t know how, but it is clear in the way his gaze softens as he looks at me. He knows my feelings for Garrick are way deeper than a stupid childhood crush. He knows I am royally fucked.

“Alright then. We'll talk more about it all tomorrow, okay?” He says, helping me put Garrick in a more comfortable position in bed.

“Talk more about what?” Garrick groans, making us both jump in surprise. I was convinced he was asleep already, but I guess he woke up when we moved him to the bed.

Xaden gives me a small smile and moves towards the door. “Nothing, brother. I take it you two can manage from here?” He asks and I nod in confirmation. Right before slipping out, he stops for a moment and gives me a small, grateful smile. “Thank you. For tonight and… for handling that for me. I really appreciate it, Im.”

After Xaden leaves, my attention is solely on Garrick. There is something so precious about the way he acts like a child when he is sleepy, rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to clear them and stay awake a little while longer as I help him take off his boots and jacket and then as I help him get under the blanket. It makes me feel soft watching him like this.

I don’t know how to explain it exactly, but there is something weirdly intimate in how he allows me to see him like this, when he is vulnerable and there is no trace of any masks or armors.

“Are you going to tell me what Xaden was talking about?” He asks me, trying to raise an eyebrow at me, but he starts yawning right at that moment so it is rather hilarious. And adorable. Sweet Malek, he is so damn adorable.

“Nice try. We will talk about this tomorrow. Now you need to rest, idiot.” I laugh and, without even thinking, I reach to push back a longer curl that was getting in his eyes. I know I am stalling right now, but I just can’t bring myself to leave – tomorrow we will be back to our usual selves and gods only know when I will get to see this side of him again, if ever, or when we will ever be as close as we are now. Even if it is just his exhaustion and the churam affecting our judgement, I cling to this moment for as long as I can.

“I will admit, I don’t think I would have made it up the stairs on my own.” He yawns again and I roll my eyes playfully at him. I know he doesn’t feel the same way about me, but for a moment I get the feeling he is stalling as well, trying to prolong this moment too – which is probably just wishful thinking and me projecting my own feelings onto him.

“You think?” I tease him and I finally convince myself that this is enough, that he needs sleep and I am not doing him any service keeping him awake right now. “Well… if there is nothing else you need…” I mumble, standing up from where I was kneeling by the side of the bed until that moment.

Before I can even fully stand up to leave, he stops me by wrapping his hand around my wrist and I frown a bit in concern, thinking I might have forgotten something… “Stay.” Garrick whispers softly and I swear in that moment he looks just as surprised of what he has just said as I feel. A moment passes, then another and we just stand there, looking at each other, and I expect him to shake his head and take that back, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just moves a bit to the side to make enough room for me on the bed. “Please?”

Taking a deep breath, I find myself nodding and, slowly, as if afraid that even the slightest movement might break the spell that seems to have fallen on both of us, I take off my boots and my own jacket before laying down next to him. We are still fully dressed, yet in this exact moment, with our faces mere inches from each other, I feel more naked than I ever had in my entire life. It is not the first time we have slept in the same bed – we used to have sleepovers often when we were children and during our parents’ rebellion, on the nights we knew they were marching into battle, we somehow always ended up falling asleep together.

But back then… we were children, it was something… I don’t know, innocent. Now it feels way different. It feels strange, a little awkward… yet, at the same time, right somewhat.

Then he smiles, as if sensing my thoughts. He beckons me closer and I oblige him, my heart beating faster in my chest as I basically cuddle in his arms. I let my head fall on his chest, right above his heart and my own slows down as I listen to his heartbeats, smiling to myself at the sweet smell of oranges that I came to associate with him. We don’t talk after that – there is nothing to say, anyway.

Sleep finds us both soon afterwards and for the first time in almost six years, I manage to sleep through the night, with no nightmares or bad dreams.

I wake up before he does and I manage to slip out of his room without him noticing and before anyone could see me. But I know, as I descend the stairs to the second-year floor, that something changed forever after this night. I had men in my bed before and, yet, spending the night in Garrick’s arms felt more intimate than any of those occasions ever did. Which, combined with my earlier realization that how I feel about him goes deeper than physicality – I want to make sure he is safe, that he is feeling alright, I want to see him smiling and laughing and gods above, there is no price too high and nothing I wouldn’t do to ensure all of these things – only means one thing: I am so so so fucked up right now because I am love with this man, although I know he doesn’t feel the same.

Chapter Text

“We have a problem.” Derik says when he returns from checking on their siblings and their friends.

Braelyn, perched on the long counter in the kitchen of Riorson House, sharpening one of her favorite daggers, raises her eyes to glare at her best friend. “We certainly do. Or more like you do if you thought you could just dump clean-up on me while you -” She snarls but then trails off upon seeing the clear concern on his face, all her anger dissipating instantly.

“Forget clean-up, we have bigger problems!” The older Tavis brother shakes his head, impatiently. Funny, it is usually Braelyn who is the impatient one, not Derik. “Remember the cake those little idiots made?”

“Do I remember? Look around you, every inch of this kitchen remembers that fucking disaster!” The seventeen year old girl rolls her eyes, making a large gesture with her arm around the kitchen that looks worse than a battlefield, not that either of them has ever seen one.

However, the joke seems to be lost on Derik as he looks at her point blank, a serious look she has rarely seen on his face. “And remember how we said they wouldn’t be stupid enough to eat more than a couple spoonfuls each?”

That question makes her tense in anticipation, already fearing for the worse. Had they underestimated just how stupid these kids could be? When she and Derik found them in the kitchen, covered from head to toe in flour and eggs, laughing their asses off and playing around as they ‘baked’ a ‘cake’, they decided there is no harm in allowing them to have some fun. Truthfully they found it kind of cute how the three of them decided that the best way to cheer up Xaden on his birthday, the first one since the duchess of Aretia left, was to make his favorite dessert.

But the end result was far from an edible chocolate cake. When Braelyn first saw it fresh out of the oven, she thought it was a pile of mud and she wouldn’t have risked eating that thing even if it was the only available food on earth.

“Don’t tell me…” She begins to say.

“The whole thing is gone. And I don’t mean in the sense that they threw it away, Lyn. They fucking ate the whole shit.” Before Derik could even finish the whole sentence, Braelyn was already on her feet, the dagger forgotten somewhere on the table as she ran out of the kitchen, with Derik only one step behind her.

“I will fucking strangle them!” She growls, but any sense of anger is buried under a thick layer of worry and fear for her little sister’s well-being. In spite of how much she complains about Imogen and with how often they fight with each other, Braelyn doesn’t want anything to happen to her baby sister or any of her friends, and the thought of them in pain makes her see red.

“You have to be fucking shitting me!” Derik groans exasperatedly, his shout followed by a litany of curses and swearing that would have earned him, even at the age of seventeen, at least a couple of weeks of being grounded had his parents been around. Maybe more had it been Opalea Tavis who heard the colorful language her eldest son used, especially if we take into consideration the fact that he used it in the presence of his ten year old younger brother and his friends. She understandably has a lower tolerance for vulgarities compared to her husband; after all, Colonel Gavril Tavis is a soldier and has spent enough time around his fellow infantry men. It was probably on those troop inspections he took Derik with him that the boy picked up the bad habit.

Braelyn has to bite her tongue to prevent herself from laughing at her best friend’s outburst. And oh, it is certainly a challenge not to lose it right now, seeing Derik so frustrated, looking close to literally strangling Xaden Riorson for vomiting all over his clothes. He had tried so hard to avoid this exact thing earlier when he carried Garrick, making sure his little brother emptied his stomach on the floor and not on his clothes, so it’s extra infuriating that the very thing he tried to avoid happened. It’s even funnier when you add to it the fact that he is actually quite fond of the shirt.

“I am this close to just leaving them to suffer alone in a corner until their parents return.” The oldest Tavis boy threatens, looking disdainfully at the semi-conscious kid in his arms before he unceremoniously drops him on the bed next to Garrick. “It’s not like it’s our job to take care of their stupid asses. We didn’t make them eat that cake.”

“No, but who will our parents blame when they return and they see their ‘precious angels’ writhing in pain? And after all, weren’t you the one who wanted to be a healer? You can kiss the private lessons with my mom goodbye if she returns to find these idiots like this.” She points out, leaning against the doorframe, waiting for him so they can go look in the kitchens for something to help the little brats. Thankfully, Imogen and Bodhi had been easier to put to bed, putting up less of a struggle and taking mercy on Braelyn’s clothes, unlike Garrick and Xaden.

Her mind wanders, trying to think of a way to convince the ‘precious angels’ to keep their traps shut about this incident with the cake when the adults return, preferably without them realizing her and Derik have more to gain from keeping it under wraps. She would certainly prefer meeting Malek himself than facing her mother’s wrath for allowing the kids to eat a ‘cake’ made by their stupid asses. As nice a gesture as it was, with Xaden’s birthday and all that, their parents would surely not see the cuteness when faced with their four ‘angels’ suffering from food poisoning. Braelyn and Derik would surely take the fall for this seeing as they agreed to look after them while their parents were gone on a diplomatic mission in Caldyr.

But her usually sharp mind stops working and strategizing when she is faced with a shirtless Derik Tavis standing right in front of her. She has seen him like this countless times - sweet Amari, they have seen each other in various states of undress through their fifteen years of friendship and she lost count of the times she saw him in his briefs when going for a swim in the lake close to his family’s estate or on the beach. But… for some reason, recently, her mind entertains less than innocent thoughts when faced with such sightings.

She blames it on the fact that he is no longer the lanky boy she grew up with and she is just not used to the change. He has always been taller than her and, in spite of his desire to be a healer, his father still pushes him to undergo the same training Braelyn herself goes through. Although she suspects he would have accompanied her to training even if he hadn’t been forced by his dad - they have always done everything together. And that aforementioned grueling training caused quite the change in Derik’s physique - no wonder all the girls in Aretia turn their heads to gawk at him when the two of them walk together through the city. Braelyn would be lying if she said she would not enjoy snapping their necks for those longing looks.

“Lyn? Lyn!” Derik says, loud enough to snap her out of her daydreaming. “You sure you haven’t eaten some of that vile attempt of a cake too? You have a weird look on your face. What were you thinking about?”

She shakes her head, pushing a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. “Nothing. Just thinking of how to keep the little pests from telling on us.” Technically, not a lie, she justifies in her own mind… but not the entire truth either. She hasn’t fully accepted that entire truth herself. “Put on a shirt, it’s freezing for Dunne’s sake!” She adds, turning around to go check once more on Imogen and Bodhi - she is certainly not leaving because of her traitorous thoughts at the sight of him. No at all.

Thankfully, both Imogen and Bodhi are still asleep - curled in fetal position and with their faces contorted in pain, but asleep. Better like this than to have them moaning and grunting in pain like Garrick and Xaden are. Besides, Braelyn thinks with a small smile, they are rather adorable when they are asleep and they are, for once, silent - if you ignore the soft whines they both let out from time to time.

“Aww, what is that? Is the cutthroat Braelyn Alexandra Cardulo turning… soft?” Derik teases her as he joins her, this time thankfully wearing a shirt. She finds it easier to deal with him when he is his usual annoying self. “She has a heart, ladies and gentlemen!”

She turns to look at him, pinning him with a disdainful look in her green eyes. “You still stink of vomit.”

“Uf, Lyn the brute! Not my fault and besides… you think you smell like a bed of roses or what?”

“Lilies of the valley, thanks for noticing.” The seventeen year old turns around with a smirk, closing the door to Bodhi's room before starting to walk towards the kitchen, knowing without looking over her shoulder to check that Derik will follow. He always does. “So, Mr Future-Healer, what should we get those four little treasures to help with the pain?”

“Hell if I know. I didn't get that far in my training in just two months, Lyn. Your mom is like a knowledge goblin, she doesn't like giving away all that information. She says I have to learn on my feet, whatever that means.” Derik rolls his eyes, walking by her side and praying to Zihnal that he doesn't actually stink that much - surely she was just teasing him, right? He changed his shirt and even used some of the cologne he found on Xaden's desk - although, if you ask him, his friends should have bought him some actually nice smelling cologne to replace that shit instead of almost killing him and themselves with that cake.

“Then this is the perfect opportunity for you to shine and do just that - think on your feet and tell me what you think we should give the idiots.” Braelyn shrugs. She is all too familiar with her mother's little ‘tests’ and her belief that the best kind of lessons are the ones where you are forced to think for yourself and figure it out as you go. Imogen excels at that kind of stuff because she is impulsive and doesn't think things through in advance most of the time - much like Derik, really. Braelyn, like her father, prefers to have a semblance of control over the situation and rely on already-existing knowledge and instructions.

She turns to look up at Derik once they reach the kitchens, expectantly. He runs a hand through his tight mess of curls, tangling them a little more in the process, a habit he has whenever he is deep in thought. She can basically see him combing through all the medical information he accumulated from the time spent with her mother in the infirmary. Braelyn finds herself thinking that he actually looks… handsome: a little line forming between his eyebrows as he thinks, his teeth sinking into his lower lip while his hazel eyes roam around the room as he makes a plan.

“Liquids. Lots of warm liquids would help, like tea and some soup. And bland foods so they have something consistent in their stomach like… toast and crackers. Maybe some bananas and apples wouldn't be a bad idea. And there was a soothing potion I saw your mom make once…” He starts explaining, his frown deepening as he tries to remember the ingredients for the concoction.

Braelyn grins proudly, nodding encouragingly at him. She knew he just needed a little push in the right direction to take charge. And she realizes that he is indeed made for this kind of stuff - contrary to what his infantry father thinks, still hoping his son will change his mind and follow in his footsteps one day. It took Derik years to convince Gavril Tavis to even allow him to spend his free time as Alda Cardulo’s apprentice in the infirmary - and Braelyn played a role in that as well, pestering her mother for months to talk to Derik’s parents.

“Go see to that potion, I can take care of the food.” She assures her best friend, still grinning widely.

“I'll be back as soon as possible.” He promises, leaning to kiss her cheek quickly before he even realizes what he’s doing.The realization came when he was already out of the kitchen - and even he has no idea what got into him to do that. Braelyn is practically frozen in place, her brain unable to even process the kiss for a good five minutes.

It’s not like they never touch or show physical affection to each other - well, if you count tackling each other to the ground during training, bumping shoulders as they tease each other or the spontaneous hug in the excitement of getting a fighting technique right as physical affection. But kisses? They each decide that for now it is safer to blame it on the stress of dealing with the little pests. And after all, their egos won’t ever allow them to consider it as anything more nor discuss it once Derik returns with the potion.

The rest of the day passes in a blur - after they get the kids to eat and take the potion (all four of them complain about it for an hour), they decide that it is easier to split the ‘patients’ in two pairs. Braelyn pretends to want to take Garrick and Xaden, arguing that as they are the oldest two, they will be easier to deal with. She even puts on a show of pleading and negotiating with Derik for them - and the poor fool actually falls for her trap! You’d think that knowing each other since forever would mean he knows not to trust her when it comes to avoiding their siblings’ (and their friends) whining.

So Braelyn gets to look after the nicer ones - and truly, they are almost a delight to look after: they eat what she gives them, keep their whining to a minimum (although the older girl is not sure if they are quiet because they are in too much pain or just tired) and they have the decency to puke in the bucket Braelyn brought for them. The most ‘annoying’ things they demand are cuddles and stories to pass the time - although if anyone were to ask the two Cardulo girls about it later, they would deny it to their dying day.

The next morning, after making sure both Imogen and Bodhi are still asleep, huddled in their cocoons of blankets, Braelyn makes her way to the kitchen to make herself some coffee and, in a rare act of kindness on her part, she makes a cup for Derik too -as a peace offering for tricking him.

Balancing both mugs in one hand (she’s never felt more grateful for the dexterity earned from all of those music lessons as a child), she tiptoes to the door to Xaden’s room, peeking inside cautiously. On her way to the bathroom last night she’d heard the pathetic whines and complaints of the two younger boys, accompanied by Derik’s frustrated groans and the occasional cuss, and she’d rather avoid walking in on a similar episode. Thankfully, the room is quiet as all three boys are soundly asleep. Huh, she never expected Xaden to snore, but the more you know…

She smiles to herself as she takes in the scene before her: the bed in Xaden’s room is big enough to accommodate all three of them, which is no small feat as even at eleven Xaden and Garrick are rather tall and the duke’s son has a habit of sprawling over half the bed - which forces Garrick to half-lie on his older brother, his face buried in Derik’s shoulder. If Braelyn’s being honest, she is kind of thankful for this whole cake fiasco, even just because it reduced their younger siblings to needy, adorable little things. She can’t even recall the last time Imogen asked to sleep with her (although Braelyn has to admit it’s partially her fault because she used to tease her sister about it when they were younger), let alone ask for affection so overtly. She assumes Garrick is not much different. Judging by Derik’s hand on his brother’s back he fell asleep while rubbing comforting circles, a sign that he feels similarly grateful to be needed by his brother.

She sets the coffee mugs on the nightstand and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, her green eyes fixed on Derik’s sleeping face. ‘Gods above, he is adorable…’ She thinks to herself, her fingers itching to push away that rebellious curl that always gets in his eyes. He looks so peaceful when he is sleeping, allowing her to really look at him, to take in every little detail of his appearance: his messy hair, which is not anything unusual as his hair is like a bird’s nest on a good day too, looking so soft and fluffy, almost inviting Braelyn to tangle her fingers in it; the sharp and strong features of his face somewhat softened right now, his lips slightly parted…

Her heart is beating like a war drum in her chest and she can’t pry her eyes from his lips. Sweet Amari, when did she start entertaining such thoughts for her best friend? They grew up together, she can’t even remember a day when she didn’t see him. She can’t pinpoint the exact moment when she stopped seeing him only as her closest friend… what is certain is that now everything has changed.

‘This is utter madness.’ Braelyn thinks, trying to shake off the wandering thought, but… He is asleep and she knows that Derik is a deep sleeper… No one would ever know and maybe this way she could prove to herself that this is all a temporary lapse of judgment, surele she is just confused and not in love with her best friend!

“Fuck it…” She whispers under her breath, finally through with all this overthinking. She has never before been too afraid to do whatever she wants when she wants it, she will not start now. Leaning down, ever so gently - because gods forbid, the last thing she needs right now is for Garrick or Xaden to wake up and see her reenacting the kissing scene from Sleeping Beauty - she presses her lips to Derik's and, suddenly, her mind goes completely silent; all her doubts and worries vanish as she gets all the confirmation she needs.

‘It is almost funny when you think about it,’ she thinks. ‘You have these lines you won’t cross. But then you cross them. And suddenly you possess the very dangerous information that you can break the rule and the world won’t instantly come to an end. On the contrary - the world is brighter than ever before.’

The kiss lasts less than five seconds, but in those five seconds Braelyn feels like her whole world turns upside down. And, everything be damned, she has kissed guys before, but this is nothing like those times.

She doesn't pull away completely, remaining a breath away from Derik's face as she fights to regain control over her senses and for her heartbeat to slow down. For those few seconds she keeps her eyes closed, finding it easier than looking at Derik's face again, which would certainly not help her cause right now.

But, help her gods, when she finally opens her eyes, she does not expect to find a pair of hazel eyes - the softest pool of honey surrounded by a sea of forest green - staring right back at her. Her own eyes widen in panic and she frantically searches for something, anything to say, to explain… this. Whatever this is.

She doesn't need to.

“You call that a kiss? Coward.” Derik says huskily, his words bolder than he feels in that moment. He pulls her back down, pressing his lips against hers again, praying to Zihnal and whatever gods are out there that this is not just some dream. And if it is… he is not sure he would want to wake up from it. Although, he is fairly sure his subconscious would have at least come up with a more romantic setting, not the room of a child that still faintly smells of puke and has two sick kids in bed with him. This is certainly not how he imagined his first time kissing Braelyn Cardulo to go, but who is he to complain?

Braelyn lets out a whimper of surprise, but the very next moment she relaxes into the kiss, her lips sliding against his. She wishes she could say they were both graceful, skilled, in perfect sync with each other, but that is not the case - like any first kiss it absolutely lacks any form of finesse, but they are both too nervous and relieved to care right now.

Shyly, she allows her hand to tangle into his curls - that are somehow even softer than she thought they would be - and his hand cups her cheek gently, as if afraid that any more pressure will make her dissipate back into the sweet but cruel dreams he’d had of doing this. There is no sense of urgency in the kiss - no, it is sweet, both of them growing bolder by the second, but it is still chaste, neither of them having any desire to take it further. It is not the time nor the place for more, and even if the circumstances were different, the kiss would still have remained chaste: lovely, full of emotion, and freeing all the feelings they were too afraid to face before. No, this kiss is a liberation and an exploration. Because indeed they are both curiously exploring, committing to memory every detail about each other they can. They have known each other for as long as they can remember and before they would have confidently affirmed that there is little they don’t know about the other. But suddenly there is a different light cast over the smallest things: has she always smelled of honey and coconut? has his hair always been this messy, with a faint citric scent, probably from his conditioner? how had she completely forgotten until that very moment about that little chip in his front tooth from when she punched him at twelve? her skin is softer and warmer under his fingers than he ever imagined.

Time becomes a foreign notion to both teens and they couldn’t have said how long the kiss lasted. Anywhere from one second to several hours. And neither quite wants the moment to end when they ultimately part for air, their fingers still dancing over each other’s skin, their breaths still stuttering. They keep their eyes closed as they press their foreheads together - reality can wait a couple more seconds before it comes crashing in again.

“Damn, Lyn, you are killing me! Kissing me when I can’t even properly hold you, that’s cheating.” Derik, in typical Derik fashion, breaks the silence, giving her that charming, crooked smile of his, although she finds it even cuter right now with his lips slightly pinker. Like always, he has figured out a way to dispel any lingering uncertainty and fear about how everything between them irrevocably changed.

“And what, pray tell, is holding you back now?” She inquires, raising an eyebrow. She doesn’t mind it as much as she pretends to, her fingers idly tracing the side of his face.

Taking it as a challenge, the seventeen year old inclines his head a bit to the side and eyes his younger brother who is still nestled into his side and with Derik’s hand still rubbing small circles on his back, but as soon as the older boy takes his hand away, the ‘precious angel’ begins to stir, frowning in his sleep and pushing himself even closer to his brother.

“You see, I am pretty sure neither one of us wants to have these two up and about right now. Not only was it a hellish challenge to put them to sleep to begin with, but I highly doubt either of us wants them to be aware of…” He trails off, unsure how to continue his thought - aware of their kiss? aware that they might have more than friendly thoughts for each other? He had no idea what that kiss made them now, but one thing he was certain about - he wanted to kiss Lyn again and preferably do so without an audience.

“Gods no!” Braelyn laughs, shaking her head. “I would like to have you all to myself, without these idiots sticking their noses in our business.”

Her green eyes twinkle in a way Derik hasn’t seen before - sure he has seen her happy before, he has even seen her being soft and affectionate, sometimes towards him too, but this is different. And it is all for him, all the emotions he sees on her beautiful face, the ones he understands and the ones he has yet to decipher, are all directed towards him. And so help him gods, he loves that look on her face. He doesn’t need to ask her what ‘their business’ means or anything of the sort - she is the most stubborn, proud, and sarcastic person he has ever met, she would rather eat glass than talk about any of these things… at least not right now. And he can’t fault her for not being comfortable with being vulnerable here because it has nothing to do with him - hell no, she has no trouble with that usually - and everything to do with the two sick parasites in this bed.

“Lyn…” Derik says softly, cupping her cheek in his free hand, looking in her eyes with no trace of humor or playfulness for a moment because he wants to make sure she understands that what he is about to say is truly serious and that he means every word because he knows that she has a habit of overthinking things. “I have every intention of talking about this whole ‘business’ as soon as the idiots are feeling better, but I want you to know that… this?” He makes a quick sign between the two of them with his finger. “I have been thinking about it for a long time and it is even better than I imagined. Really now, you have to be good at everything you do? You’ve ruined kissing for me for the rest of my life, woman!”

He doesn’t miss the slight blush in her cheeks or how she averts her eyes for a moment before looking back at him, smiling brightly. “Derik Tavis, are you trying to flirt right now?”

“Have been doing that for a year now. Thanks for noticing.” He retorts with a shit-eating grin that makes her laugh softly and reward him with a small kiss on the back of his hand as she leans into his touch. “Softness looks good on you, Lyn.”

“Oh shush. Don’t get used to it.” Braelyn says, but there is no bite to her retort before she leans down to place a quick kiss on his lips.

The day passes relatively normally after that, with each of them tending to the two kids in their care and seeing each other in the kitchen as they prepare meals and medicine. Except for a playful kiss on the cheek, neither dares to do anything more for fear of their siblings somehow finding the strength to take a break from their wailing and coming to find them, or getting caught by the staff of Riorson House. But these stolen moments, woven between normal conversation and their usual banter and teasing… These give them a rush of adrenaline along with soft tenderness, making them yearn for more time together to have that promised conversation to figure out everything.

The next day some of the parents return early from the trip, apparently notified by the kitchen staff that their ‘precious angels’ are sick and suffering, although Braelyn and Derik have it all under control. The silver lining for the older two is that the letter reached Colonel Tavis and Mrs Cardulo first and they had the wisdom to keep the whole debacle secret from their spouses and the other parents, who would have undoubtedly lost their minds with worry. But that is a small mercy, if you could even call it that - it is, after all, their parents who came home. And their parents certainly know how to deliver a long ass lecture on not taking proper care of the kids - it is apparently fine to let them jump off cliffs, play with real weapons, take the sleigh to the roof when there is no snow, let them sleep in the chicken coop, and other such idiotic things, but their parents draw the line at food poisoning. And they know better than to hope they won’t get grounded - but that is a conversation they’ll have after the little brats are better.

“Garrick?” Gavril Tavis says in that soft tone he only uses when his sons or wife are sick or injured - although Derik would like to point out that Garrick gets to see this side of their father most often - and he shakes his youngest son awake with a gentleness that contrasts with his stern soldier image. “Come on, son. We should get going.”

Garrick rubs his eyes sleepily, groaning a bit as he turns to look at his father. Confusion is clear on his face as he looks at his father - wasn’t he supposed to be gone for at least another week? “Go where?” He asks.

“Home, of course. It would do you good to be in your bed and let Xaden rest properly too -” Colonel Tavis begins to explain as Derik leans against the doorframe to watch.

“NOO!” Xaden and Garrick wail at the same time, their grip on each other tightening to the point Derik suspects they might need something to pry them apart.

“What do you mean ‘no’?” Gavril blinks, taken aback by this reaction. “Boys…”

“I don't want to go home! I want to stay here with Xaden!” Garrick resists, with a stubbornness that almost makes Derik proud - looks like his little brother did pick up a thing or two from him, even if he picks the weirdest moments to show it.

“We want to die together!” Xaden adds in what is supposed to sound like a serious declaration, but with both of them still very much in pain, his voice is too weak to convey the steel determination of their decision to face Malek together.

Anyone with eyes can see the exaggerated dramatism behind that statement – they are nowhere near Malek's threshold, but then again, these two rarely fall ill. Imogen and Bodhi are known for their obsession with sweets which makes them frequent visitors of the infirmary wing and Derik has caught them more than a couple times trying to steal a potion for stomach aches so they wouldn't have to face Mrs. Cardulo's scolding for eating too many sweets (a speech both kids hear at least twice a week anyway and can recite by heart). But Garrick and Xaden are a different story. These two heard some soldiers talking once and they took to heart that whole “your body is a temple” mantra, so at eleven they are both very careful about what they eat.

So when Garrick was the first one to show signs of feeling unwell, vomiting and vocally complaining about the pain, Derik was beyond himself with worry. And his concern only grew when Xaden started showing the same symptoms. It was only when Imogen and Bodhi started to feel bad too that Derik figured out the cause of the problem and he relaxed slightly. Yes, the pain was considerable, but the younger ones were used to stomach illnesses and they were not nearly as loud as Garrick and Xaden, so it dawned on him that the main reason the older two complained so much - wailing and even starting to make dramatic statements about dying and distributing their belongings in their wills - was because they were not used to being ill at all. Any pain is catastrophically painful to them.

“But-” Colonel Tavis tries again, but that is as far as he gets before he is again interrupted by the boys, screaming their defiant refusal to be separated.

Derik would have laughed at the look on his father's face had he not been under the threat of punishment himself. But sweet Amari, that look is priceless -it’s free entertainment and he sure loves a good show.

“Why can't Derik and Braelyn continue to take care of us?” Garrick asks and even though Derik was proud of his defiance of their father a moment ago, now he wants to shake the little devil (although that isn't exactly a good idea at the moment while he is a puke hazard) for dragging him into this shit-show. “They managed just fine until now!”

That argument seems to give Colonel Gavril Tavis pause. To his horror, Derik realizes that he is actually considering it. He can’t be serious, right? Didn’t he just bite his head off a few minutes ago for letting it happen in the first place?

But Colonel Tavis just nods in agreement to his younger son’s request, voicing his support of this wonderful idea as he fights off a smirk that very much resembles the shit-eating grin Derik himself frequently flashes, the kind that gets on Braelyn’s nerves every single time because it signals that he came up with something incredibly stupid and very annoying, usually at her expense. Oh, how Derik hates to be on the receiving end of that smirk right now… and it dawns on him that this is exactly the kind of thing his dad would do, his twisted way of making his eldest son pay for his ‘mistake’ - of course Derik doesn’t consider it his mistake. It is not like he shoved that cake down their throats.

“Unless Derik and Braelyn have something against it, of course…” His father then turns to look at Derik, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

The teenager is about to begin a rant about how unfair and stupid it is to make him take care of the cry-babies and that it is clear favoritism that the actual culprits get away with playing the victims and making demands, while the older siblings get punished. Fortunately, at that exact moment another familiar voice chimes in:

“No complaints there, sir.” Braelyn states, coming to stand next to Derik by the door. “It will be no trouble at all.”

Derik looks at her as if she has grown a second head. Did she hit her head or something? But as if sensing his thoughts, Braelyn discreetly steps on his foot and flashes him a “Keep your mouth shut, you idiot” look he is quite familiar with. Good to know that even with the change in their relationship, some things remain exactly the same.

“Then it is settled. I will go check on the other two and speak with Alda about this.” Gavril announces, giving his ill son one last look, amused to find him still clinging to Xaden as if fearing his dad might change his mind and decide to force them to ‘die apart’. He doesn’t, not when this whole arrangement suits him perfectly - the older kids will learn a lesson in responsibility and Alda will be around just in case they get overwhelmed, but it doesn’t look to be that serious.

The older kids each take a step to the side to allow Colonel Tavis to leave the room and as soon as he enters Bodhi’s room, Braelyn grabs Derik’s hand and drags him down the hall to the first empty room they find. “You are such an idiot!” She exclaims with no preamble, rolling her eyes at his stupefied expression.

“I am an idiot? You just agreed to nurse those idiots back to health! You know they are trying to punish us with this, right?” He argues back, leaning against the closed door, pushing his hands in his pockets to prevent him from pulling her closer to him.

“Of course I do! That’s the point!” She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose as if she is facing a slow child. “Look at it this way, had you argued with your dad about it, do you really think he would have changed his mind?” Derik purses his lips, well aware that she is right, but unwilling to admit it to her face. And she knows better than to expect an answer from him, so she just goes on, a bit softer this time. “And this way we won’t have to serve our punishments separately, Derik.”

That… he hasn’t thought about that. Ever since they were little, whenever they were grounded, their parents’ go-to punishment was to keep them from seeing one another for a period of time. Well, they kept them from seeing any of their friends, but the absence of the others was not as pressing as not seeing each other. Maybe they are as co-dependent as their parents like to joke.

There is also one more fact that their egos prevent them from admitting out loud as another reason why the ‘punishment’ is not nearly as bad. They do love their siblings and the little assholes are at that age where they want to be as independent as possible, too proud to ask for their siblings’ help with anything these days and certainly not very eager to spend time together - a far cry from the way they used to just follow them everywhere, copying their every move and looking up at them. Well, arguably, the little brats still copy them, but they try not to make it so obvious. So now to have Imogen and Garrick clinging to them, asking for cuddles and willingly spending time with them? It feels good.

Derik breaks into a huge grin, snaking an arm around her waist and resting it on the small of her back to push her body flush against his. “Have I ever told you how brilliant you are, Lyn?”

“Not nearly often enough. I wouldn’t mind hearing it more, Tavis.” She chuckles, a teasing smile on her lips as she rises on her tip-toes to eliminate the distance between them so she can peck his lips, meaning to pull away afterwards.

But a short kiss is not nearly enough for the boy, so he pulls on her lower lip playfully to deepen the kiss, switching their positions so her back is pressed against the door. He kisses her in ways that the love he feels pours through her like sunlight on a cold morning, their mouths moving with a slow tenderness that erases the world around them until it is only them. It was an innocent craving of closeness, an exploration that lost its shyness the longer they kissed, their hands growing bolder and bolder with each caress and squeeze, yearning for more.

The need for air forces their mouths to part, but he takes advantage of this to dip his head lower, leaving a trail of kisses down her neck. Her perfume invades his senses and that little strangled sound she lets out as her head drops back to allow him more access to her skin only fuels his desire for more. So much more.

But reality has a cruel habit of reminding them that they can’t just evade it whenever they want.

“Bri?” They both jump at the sound of the small familiar voice behind the door, but thankfully Braelyn had the presence of mind to place a locking rune on the door when Derik pushed her against it earlier.

The older Cardulo girl takes a moment to catch her breath and make sure her voice isn’t shaky before answering her sister. “Yes, Immy? Everything alright?”

“Mom is looking for you and Derik to give you instructions before she and Mr Tavis leave to take care of some things.” Imogen answers in that same small voice, the only indication that the little blonde girl is unwell.

“Go back to bed, Midge. We will be there in a second.” Derik promises, passing a hand over his face, the tips of his ears red from almost getting caught. He hadn’t even thought of locking runes.

“Don’t take too long.” Imogen adds before returning to Bodhi’s room and Braelyn smiles a bit as she can basically hear the pout in her sister’s voice. Annoying little thing, but she really can be adorable at times. Not that she would ever say that to her face.

Derik takes a step back, helping Braelyn straighten her clothes and hair and she returns the favor, smiling a bit at how naturally this comes to them. “Well that was fun.” She laughs dryly. “Rain check?”

“As soon as these little idiots are better, we are picking up from where we left that.” Derik winks at her as he breaks the rune on the door handle, but he doesn’t open the door before throwing one last comment. “And by the gods, Lyn, make sure you wear something that is easy to take off.”

She blushes deeply, but she still smacks him in the arm for that last comment. It’s either that or kissing him again and they don’t have time for the kind of kiss he deserves.

Chapter Text

That night, the path from the bar to the Artan estate felt more like a walk of shame than any of the previous times and I couldn’t exactly put my finger on the reason - well, not really; I knew damn well what the reason was, but I was doing my best to shove down that realization and pretend I didn’t know - it was easier than facing the truth that was lurking in the corner of my mind like one of the shadowy monstrous figures I kept seeing from the corner of my eyes. At least for the latter, I could blame it on the substances in my system, but the former… Let's just say that when I am awake, I do a better job at running and hiding from the truth than I do under the influence - doesn’t mean I don’t still try though. So, all in all… you could say that I am just full of crap.

“There you are!” A familiar voice snaps me out of my current fight with my own thoughts, its lightness, joyfulness and excitement at odds with my current state. “You’re playing with fire, Miss Cardulo, returning so late… or should I say… so early? Utterly scandalous!”

I look up to see Quinn perched on the edge of her windowsill, a wide grin lighting her face in a way that is just so… Quinn. “That's good, life without a little scandal would be boring,” I scoff up at my best friend, trying to match her excitement.

However, I’ve never been good at lying and pretending when it comes to Quinn. From the very start of our friendship she has been able to see right through me – a blessing and a curse, really. So she instantly picks up on my irritation and her earlier enthusiasm is chased away by her frown. “Ims? What happened? Everything alright?”

I don't answer right away, pretending to focus on finding the raised stones in the structure of the mansion – although we both know we can climb to Quinn's second floor bedroom with our eyes closed. Malek knows how many times we have both climbed that damned wall after nights out at the bar when we lost count of the drinks we had. At this point, if climbing a wall drunk were a requirement for the Quadrant, we would be at the top of our class.

“Ims?” Quinn tries again, clearly worried by my silence. She leans over the windowsill even more as I get within arms reach and I accept her extended hand, allowing her to pull me inside.

“Close the window, I don't want the rest of the estate to hear about this as well,” I instruct as soon as I slide inside, stopping only to kick off my boots before throwing myself on Quinn's bed. Knowing my friends’ tendency to have loud reactions, I decide to sacrifice the pleasant early morning breeze in favor of privacy.

The bed dips slightly when Quinn joins me, but she doesn't push for answers this time, knowing it’s better to let me gather my thoughts at my own pace – something I am forever grateful for, especially after growing up with three impatient assholes.

I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling, on the little golden stars Quinn had painted on it to look like constellations, and take a deep breath before I mumble, “The asshole asked me out.”

“Rhett?” Quinn asks softly, her shoulder pressed against mine as we lay together in bed, looking at the painted stars. She taps her finger against my hand, tentatively.

“Who the fuck else?” I scoff, but there is no real bite behind my words. Somewhere on the walk back home, all the initial anger that I’d used to lash out at my fuck-buddy ran out, leaving behind the sting of disappointment and something that I can’t quite put a name on – confusion? Irritation? It's that growing feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me want to roar my frustration, mixed with the knowledge that it won’t help as long as the problem has no solution and I can’t truly scream at the source of it.

Quinn hums softly, switching from the gentle taps on my hand to drawing soothing circles on my wrist – had it been anyone else, I would have sliced off their hand already. “I thought you two had a deal. No feelings, just sex.”

“That makes two of us! But nooo!” I groan, lifting my hand and waving it in tired exasperation. “He had to fuck that up in the worst way possible! He – and I quote – “caught feelings accidentally” and decided to make it my problem!”

Quinn is quiet for a moment after my outburst, allowing me to settle down somewhat before she decides to add fuel to the fire by asking something equally stupid to what Rhett had said. “Is it truly a problem? Or are you making it one?”

I launch to a sitting position so fast that my head spins a little – not a great idea to make sudden movements when you are as drunk as I am, but tonight turns out to be a night of bad ideas for everyone. “Of fucking course it's a freaking problem! We had a deal! He was not supposed to–”

The glare I level on my best friend turns out to be inefficient this time because she is not even remotely dissuaded by the silent threat. “He wasn’t supposed to do what, Ims? Not catch feelings for you? How could he not? With the risk of this going to your head, you’re a catch in every sense of the word – you are drop dead gorgeous, funny and witty… and he is neither blind nor stupid. I am saying this with all the sisterly love I have for you, you are the idiot here for thinking he wouldn’t notice all of those things after spending so much time around you.”

“That’s not the point.” I roll my eyes, wondering if Quinn is actually the drunk one here. “The problem is that we had a deal!”

“Yes, exactly! The problem is that you had a deal in the first place – let's be honest, the guy is not half-bad and he obviously likes you, but for some reason you won't allow him to be more than an occasional fuck.” Quinn pushes herself up, her green eyes focused on me.

I grit my teeth in frustration. “You’re supposed to be on my side. What a friend you are!”

“I am an amazing friend, but that’s not the point of our discussion; you’re just trying to push the discussion elsewhere and distract me until I let go of this.” Gods above and below, I hate it when she acts this wise and serious. “Why are you pushing all of these guys away, Imogen?”

“I am not,” I stubbornly bite back.

“Yes, you are. You keep these walls around you and don't take them down for anyone,” She relentlessly pushes. “Not even for me.”

“Oh, is this what this is about? I already told you I am not–” But I don't get to finish my retort because Quinn cuts me off with a sharp laugh.

“Don't flatter yourself. You know you are not my type.” She waves her hand, amused. “And this is just yet another desperate attempt at distracting me. Not gonna work, so… I am going to ask again. Why are you shooting every guy down, Imogen? Why are you so afraid of emotional commitments?”

The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, “Because they are not him!”

I instantly regret this slip and I desperately want to take the words back, but I know the harm has already been done. Not only because I know Quinn is not likely to let this slide, but also because the mere mention of him breaks those weak defenses I managed to put up to keep these thoughts away. His face flashes behind my closed eyes for a second – his warm hazel eyes, his slightly crooked smile with those stupid dimples, those eternally unruly dark curls – and my traitorous heart aches as it always does when he is brought up.

“Who is he?” Quinn asks after a long pause, her hand finding its way back to hold mine, her touch gentle and comforting. She isn’t pushing this time – I see it in her eyes, the silent promise to drop the subject if I ask.

“It’s a long story.” One last attempt.

“I have the time, if you want to talk about it.”

Maybe it's the vulnerability brought about by my mind summoning his phantasm or maybe it's that comforting gentleness in Quinn's eyes… or maybe it's a mix of my need to finally share this burden with another soul and the knowledge that, after almost three years of knowing her, I can trust Quinn with anything.

So I find myself shifting a bit on the bed to find a more comfortable position because I know we’ll be here for a while, and I finally open up to my best friend about the person who, unbeknownst to him, has been having an iron grip on my heart since I was fourteen. “His name is Garrick Tavis…”

Slipping out of Garrick's room in the morning and making my way towards the second-year floor feels a lot like that night years ago. The deserted hallways and eerie silence that is only sometimes disturbed by the snores of a cadet who hasn't bothered to ward his room – none of these things hold any resemblance to the pathway to the Artan estate at night, but the feelings that weigh me down are not that different. Somehow, I feel even worse than I did that night, this short distance feeling more like a walk of shame than it did back then.

It feels only natural for me to pick the same destination as I did that night.

I should feel guilty about waking Quinn at the crack of dawn, but, honestly, she has barged into my room at worse times – and with worse reasons and excuses too. And she is the safest option out of my two best friends – she will grumble and whine a little, but considering I am actually willing to talk to her about my love life, she should get over it quickly. Bodhi on the other hand… I wouldn't get away with disturbing his sleep so easily, especially after I left him to take care of Quinn on his own last night. That being said, I knock on Quinn's door confidently.

The door cracks open and my friend's sleepy scowl greets me. “Ims? Do you have any idea what time it is?” Her curly hair is sticking in every direction and the makeup she applied last night is smeared across her face, complimenting the red eyes – a sign of the lack of sleep and of how much she drank last night. However, I must look at least equally as bad because she furrows her brows, concerned, and steps aside to usher me inside. “Where are you coming from?”

“Garrick's,” I admit in a small voice as soon as the door closes behind me.

Quinn's eyebrows raise so high they basically disappear into her hairline, any sign of lingering sleepiness instantly vanishing, replaced in quick succession by shock, curiosity and excitement. “Am I still dreaming?”

I take my boots off and jump on the bed, drawing the warm blankets around me protectively. “It’s not what you think,” I clarify, burying my head in one of her smaller pillows – one with different shades of pink, orange and white (Quinn hates the plain black issued bed clothes, so she spent an entire allowance once in Chantara on textiles to make her own). “Nothing sexual happened.”

Unfortunately, I think bitterly. Although that would have only complicated things further.

“Then… What exactly happened?” Quinn presses, joining me on the bed, carding her fingers through her hair in a fruitless attempt to tame it.

I hesitate for a second, embarrassed to talk about my night of getting high with the boys which led to me giving in to that stupidly selfish part of me that stubbornly ignores the reality that Garrick Tavis will never see me as anything but his friend, probably his sister. But this is Quinn and, after all, I didn't wake her up just to sit in silence together. So I tell her about my night, from the moment that infantry guy flirted with me, how it led to Garrick stepping in to shoo him away and then to the decision to ditch the party to go out for a smoke. I try not to dwell on just how adorable Garrick looked as he fought to stay awake as Xaden carried him to his room, or on how vulnerable and open he sounded when he asked me to stay with him… and certainly not on how well I fit into his arms, my head naturally falling to rest in the crook of his neck as his arms tangled around me.

However, no matter how much I try to hide the full emotional impact of those little things, Quinn seems to see right through me, even better than that third year in First Wing Claw Section whose signet actually allows him to do just that. “How long are you going to pretend there is nothing going on between you? You fucking slept in his bed… He asked you to sleep with him! Fuck it, you fucking cuddled!”

“Don’t say that…”

“I will fucking say it, Im! He chased away that guy who was flirting with you, he held your hand all night and basically laid on top of you… and all that before he asked you to join him in bed!” She all but screams in exasperation. “And that is only analyzing last night! That guy has been dropping hints of liking you since I met him and you are obviously in love with him, so what the fuck is wrong with you?! Why do you make a problem out of nothing?! You could easily just tell him and –”

“I already told him!” I scream back before I can stop myself. Almost a whole year of keeping the secret of what happened that night after the War Games all to myself… gods, why don't conversations have an undo button?

“For you, they do,” Lystra purrs into my mind. “But that is what got you into this mess in the first place, isn't it?” It is certainly not the moment for this, no matter how right my dragon is – did she really have to choose this morning to wake up before noon?!

Quinn looks at me, utterly puzzled for a moment and I catch a flicker of hurt in her eyes as she asks, “When did that happen?” That betrayed look remains plastered on her face as the silence stretches between us – I can't bring myself to talk about that night, to explain the greatest mistake of my life… but I don't have to. “It was that night, when you erased something from his memory, wasn't it? You erased your confession.”

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, hoping against all odds that by some miracle the earth might open underneath me and swallow me whole – no such luck, so I just nod my head once. I feel like I have a knot blocking my throat and if I so much as open my mouth, the pressure it conceals will erupt violently.

As it turns out, however, using my vocal cords is not the only trigger to unleash all that emotion. As soon as Quinn throws her arms around me to draw me into a tight hug, I break down into a violent sob and I let out all of those repressed feelings I haven’t allowed myself to feel since then.

“I t-told hi-him…” I manage to say between broken sobs against Quinn's shoulder. “I f-fr-freaking told him h-how I fee-feel! And h-he just wa-walked o-out on me!” I hate how whiny and high-pitched my voice is right now, how I sound like a stupid teenager facing her first heartbreak.

“Shh… it's okay, sweetie. Let it all out, I am here for you,” Quinn murmurs soothingly, gently stroking my hair and, for a second, I am taken back in time – and I couldn't say if the memory of another pair of arms holding me as I cry is comforting or adding to the problem right now.

It takes me a while before I regain my coherence, but Quinn waits patiently for me to gather my wits and doesn't push me to talk before I am ready. But how could I tell her – or anyone else for that matter – about that night? Not only is it the most embarrassing night of my life, but I can’t even begin to explain to myself what happened then, let alone another soul.

“Try,” Lystra urges. “You've been carrying this for long enough, vicious one.”

I sure hate it when my dragon is right, but now my exhaustion greatly overweighs my stubbornness and pride – so I follow her advice without fighting it, even though telling Quinn means reliving every hurtful bit of that night. The great disadvantage with my signet is that I can wipe other people's memories, but the memories I most desperately want to erase are untouchable – mine.

“So, that's where we left it. He has no idea what happened that night, but he knows I altered his memory and stole something,” I conclude, avoiding Quinn's gaze as I wrap up the story, keeping my eyes fixed on the tassels of the pillow in my lap.

“And that's why there’s been so much tension between the two of you this last year. Gods, Im…”

“Don’t!” I cut her off, gripping the soft material tightly. “Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t deserve your pity or anyone else's. Not for this mistake…”

“You don't de– Im, what the fuck! I am not pitying you, but I am not seeing you as the monster in this story either! You made a mistake, but you thought you were protecting your own feelings and saving your friendship!” Quinn says fiercely, snatching the pillow from my arms and hitting me with it lightly. “I would have done the same. Gods only know how often I wish I could do something like that lately…”

I frown, confused by this statement. Quinn is the most easy-going person I know and she always owns up to her own actions - the idea of her being ashamed of anything is hard to believe. “What do you mean?”

She lets out a dry, humorless laugh and it is her turn now to stare at the pillow, tugging at the loose ends of the stitching. “It’s not that important, really.”

“Are things with Deliliah that bad?” I can sense a lie when I hear one. “I know you guys are having some problems but…”

“Problems is a mild way to put it,” Quinn admits quietly. “She doesn't like the fact that I don't tell her where I’m going, and doesn't understand what I’m doing with you guys so often that I can never tell her about it. I knew it would be a problem since last year, but now…” She trails off, sucking on her bottom lip. “She gave me an ultimatum yesterday.”

I don't like the sound of it. Not one bit.

“Neither does Cruth,” Lystra growls quietly. “She has been threatening to burn that ignorant girl to a crisp more than I have been threatening people lately.” Well, if a green Scorpiontail can get so pissed, it is certainly not a great sign.

“What ultimatum?” I finally ask, already dreading the answer.

“Either I tell her what I am doing and let her into my ‘shady business’ as she calls it or… she won't put up with it any longer.” Yep, I saw that coming – that doesn't mean I am happy about it though. Not when I know I am the reason Quinn is in this situation in the first place.

I desperately want to tell her that she should tell Delilah everything, about the venin, about our deal with Poromiel, about Navarre's lies… but I know I can't do that. It's not that I don't trust Delilah – with her camouflage signet she would be an amazing addition to our cause and she is a Squad Leader, which is an advantage too (you can never have too many allies in leadership) –, but it’s not my secret to tell. Had it been only my life at stake, I would risk it, but I can’t just do it when almost a hundred other people depend on this secret (not to count those in Poromiel that count on those few weapons we are able to supply). Xaden reluctantly agreed to let Quinn in our plans and he still has doubts about her; he would lose his mind if we told anyone else – especially nowadays with the whole fucking Sorrengail affair constantly stressing him out.

“What are you going to do?” I finally ask, hating myself for even having to ask this.

“I can’t tell her,” Quinn says simply and I don't hear even a shade of doubt or hesitation in her voice. Just a solemn resignation. “And even if I could… I love her, I truly do… but I am not sure I can trust her with this. I trust her with my life… but it's too soon to burden our relationship with such secrets that are not even mine… We’re 22, I have no way of knowing after a few months together that she is the person I will spend my life with, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that you and Bodhi are my friends for life. And I wouldn’t do anything to put your lives at risk.”

The fierce determination in her voice makes my eyes sting with the threat of tears again. She is choosing me over her girlfriend, and I mentally add this to the list of unfair things I’ve forced Quinn to go through in the six years of knowing each other.

“Still, is there no way of fixing your relationship without having to talk about it?” I ask weakly, my mind running through different scenarios and possibilities. “I will swear on the damn Codex in front of her that we are not doing anything that could be of consequence to your relationship. Hell, we might be able to get Lystra and Cruth to convince her dragon to calm her down on the issue…”

Quinn shakes her head, some strands of her blonde curls getting into her eyes. “Already tried the last one. Cruth says Ceilt is not… on board with the whole anti-venin fight.”

“She is right,” Lystra confirms, her voice sharpening in the same way it usually does when we talk about those dragons that consider protecting the Vale and hiding behind the wards the right solution. “He is an old coward and I always tell Slisleag that he should challenge him to become head of their den. But nooo! We should respect our elders.”

“How come you only tell me stuff about dragon politics at the worst times possible?” I snap at my dragon.

“When do you want me to tell you that stuff? When you ask? Keep dreaming.”

Having a dragon like mine means having to know when and what battles to pick – this is one for later, I decide.

I grab Quinn's hand this time, squeezing it tightly in what I hope is a comforting and reassuring gesture. “We will figure this out. You two love each other, after all…”

“Do we? Because I’m starting to doubt it. If we were truly in love, shouldn't I feel guilty about not choosing her? Shouldn't she trust me and respect my boundaries? Heck, I am almost certain she wouldn't even believe me if I told her about the venin – she’d probably just laugh and accuse me of lying to her face! This is not how my parents' relationship was.”

“Maybe not, but… isn't every relationship supposed to be, I don't know, unique? You can't compare them…”

“It’s unavoidable, Ims.” She shakes her head again and I decide not to push – after all, what do I know about relationships? I’ve only ever had fuck buddies, not real committed relationships (unless you count that one relationship I had in third grade) – and I have been on dry land for a while now too.

Neither one of us says anything for a while, the silence not entirely comfortable as we both reflect on what has been said, on our issues – the emotional mess that my relationship with Garrick has become, the internal conflict Quinn faces in her own relationship with the ultimatum, only fueled by the pressing and confusing questions about her confusing feelings for her girlfriend…

“What are you going to do about Garrick?” Quinn asks after a while, falling back on the bed and staring at the ceiling.

I shrug but, realizing that she can't see me from this angle, I admit out loud, “I don't know. Nothing?”

“You know, he might have changed his mind in the meantime. He might have started to have feelings for you… it would certainly explain his behavior around you.” She raises her hand, waving it around as she talks.

I scoff at the idea. “Yeah, because what happened in the last year is certainly grounds for falling in love. Who needs flirting and all that crap when you can betray their trust, violate their mind, almost die on them and fight and argue with them at every twist and turn?” I say sarcastically, joining Quinn on the bed.

From this position I can’t actually see Quinn rolling her eyes, but I can hear the scoff. “Ims, remember when you came back to my room after you ended things with Rhett?” She doesn't wait for my confirmation between continuing, “Remember what I told you that night?”

“I can’t figure out if these are rhetorical questions or if you actually expect an answer, Quinnie. But go on, you talked my ear off that night.”

This time around I can feel her internal groan in my very soul. “There it is, your hesitation and, sometimes, downright refusal to process your feelings or to take emotional risks like making confessions or commitments… You have emotional motion sickness.”

“That’s not –” I stop myself, closing my mouth and pursing my lips in a thin line before I can finish my denial. “I mean…”

“You always hide behind sarcasm or nasty comments and you always avoid feeling things until you are completely overwhelmed. Like tonight.” She insists, continuing to psychoanalyze me with that infuriating wise-beyond-her-years look.

I can’t deny it – I do have all of those defense mechanisms (although having it so cleverly and bluntly pointed out is not exactly comfortable).

Speaking of uncomfortable… “No witty remarks about this?” I send down the bond, surprised that my dragon hasn't already jumped at the opportunity of making fun of something I did.

“You don't need me to point out every one of your mistakes, it would get boring. Besides, Goldie Locks here has it covered and you do a good enough job at beating yourself up over it,” Lystra purrs and I can almost hear the dragon equivalent of a smile in her voice.

Turning my attention back to Quinn, I get over my pride to admit, “You are right. I do that.” But I make up for my wounded ego by being a little petty as I also point out, “But you are in the same board as me, Miss ‘do I really love her?’”

“It takes one to know one,” Quinn agrees with a sigh. “But it's fine, we can walk very slowly and hold each other's hair when we get emotionally nauseous.”

Having two best friends is usually an advantageous deal – everything doubles: the advice, the teasing, the help, the gossip, the fun… but it also comes with one great disadvantage: having to go through every emotional turmoil and whirlwind of feelings twice if you are not inspired enough to get both of them in the attendance for the first act.

And they always make sure that the other one doesn't miss out on all the drama. Missing a class or not taking notes during history or physics? Those are excusable offenses. Missing out on this stuff? Inadmissible for Basgiath's biggest gossips.

Not that Bodhi looks especially happy to see us at his door around the time the first cadets wake up to get in line for the bathroom while there still is warm water. “You know, normal people usually want to sleep in after taking care of your drunken ass,” Bodhi scoffs at Quinn, then, turning to shoot me an equally friendly glare, he adds, “A task you graciously bestowed on me, you fucking blackmailer.”

“It was not blackmail, I called in a favor,” I point out, pushing past my oldest friend to get into his room. I know why Quinn dragged me here and I am not about to have the entire Quadrant hear about it.

“For that you owe me like two favors in return,” Bodhi says grumpily, but he allows us in. “And one of them would be to let me get back into my bed and –”

“You should ask Im what bed she slept in last night,” Quinn snickers, not-so-subtly changing the subject.

Bodhi's eyebrows pull into a frown and any trace of lingering sleepiness is chased away by the settling curiosity. “Wait… I saw you leave with Garrick last night and… No way!”

I groan and let myself fall face-first on the bed. Here we go again…

Thankfully, Quinn takes it upon herself to tell the story this time around, with great attention to detail. Unfortunately, Quinn also has a tendency to be very dramatic and Bodhi doesn’t fail to match her. But then again, they are my best friends for a reason – the others are either allergic to feelings and emotions (relatable, truthfully) or they are the reason I have these feelings in the first place.

I really need to make new friends…

“You slept with Garrick!” Bodhi somehow manages to glare at me as he is getting ready for the day. “Actually no, that is not even the worst part of this entire situation! I can't fucking decide which is, to be honest…”

“Welcome to the club,” I groan in defeat. “Do you have anything helpful to say or are you just going to point out my mistakes and act all shocked and scandalized?”

“Sorry I am not capable of instantly coming to terms with this level of idiocy!” Bodhi defends himself and I can’t help but think of how ironic it is that he is the one to comment on my idiocy when he is currently hunting through the jungle that is his room for his boots. “I have been pestering you to talk to him since we were fourteen and when you actually do it you pick the worst possible moment for it!”

He finds one of the boots by the wardrobe, a victorious look on his face as he holds it up to show us his ‘capture’. I scoff (both to his words and to his theatrics), “As if picking another time for the confession would have helped! The end result would have been the same no matter what I did.”

“How would you know?” Bodhi presses on. “Based on what you just said –”

“Technically what Quinn said,” I point out, one hundred percent aware of the fact that I am acting childishly.

“Based on what you told me. Now let him finish,” Quinn shushes me, suddenly interested.

In the meantime, Bodhi locates his next prey – for the life of me, I can’t imagine how his boot ended up in the bin – and sends me a pleading look to throw it to him as I am closer to it. I honor his request a little too eagerly, sending the military boot flying straight to his hip.

“Auch! Very mature, Cardulo!” He rolls his eyes, bending to tie his laces. “Anyway, as I was saying… “Based on your story of that night, you didn't actually hear him turn you down. You panicked and erased his memory before he finished his sentence and, from where I am standing, it could have gone both ways.”

I narrow my eyes at Bodhi while Quinn gasps and then squeals with joy. “What are you saying?” I say slowly.

Bodhi finishes lacing his boots and sits back up, taking his jacket from the hook attached to the door (the only clothing item placed normally in this room) and gestures for us to get ready to leave for breakfast too. “I’m saying… you are not one hundred percent sure Garrick was going to say he didn't feel the same way about you.”

“And,” Quinn chimes in, “that would explain his recent behavior too!”

“You are both hopeless!” I protest, waving my hand dismissively, but, deep down, there is a warm feeling taking root in my chest like a weed. I can’t afford fueling this foolish thought. I am already struggling to get over these feelings, the last thing I need is to water this fucking weed. Hope is a dangerous illness.

Quinn slaps my hand down, an unusually serious look on her face as she stares me down, “No, Im, you are the hopeless one here.”

“Not hopeless,” Bodhi disagrees as he ushers us out of his room and puts the wards back up. “Just afraid.”

I frown at that last bit – where the fuck did he get that idea from? Am I in the middle of an emotional turmoil? Yes, but it’s not like I am sitting in front of an angry dragon and it is certainly not like this issue has the same stakes as sneaking into the forge or stealing weapons from outposts.

“Those are not the only kind of situations that can instill fear into someone, vicious one.” I can almost picture the reptilian smirk on Lystra's face. “Fear comes in a wide variety of forms.”

“What do I have to be afraid of?” I scoff, in answer to both Bodhi and my dragon. From where I am standing, it is not a problem to overcome by being brave, but rather by learning some self-control to get over my stupid crush.

Bodhi and Quinn exchange a look as if they are trying to decide which one of them should have the honor of saying the next stupidity, so I give them a pointed impatient glare to hurry them along. Their damned theatrics…

“You are afraid of getting back to the previous step, to that pre-confession self-doubt and uncertainty.” As he says that, Bodhi looks directly in my eyes, completely unaffected by my glare. “It is easier to pretend you have been turned down, but in truth… you weren't, not really. And that scares you.”

Afraid of… that's the most idiotic thing I have heard – well, not today, because I have heard and done a lot of stupid things in the last twenty-four hours. But it is certainly in the top five! Why would I be afraid of getting back to a state I have been in for years?! “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Let’s look at it this way,” Quinn says patiently. “You find yourself once again at that point where you either confess your feelings and actually talk to Garrick or… well, I was about to say you get over it, but that is not in the cards for you, so… you either talk to him or you continue to suffer in silence.”

“And the uncertainty is killing you,” Bodhi adds, casually intertwining his fingers behind his head as we make our way towards the cafeteria.

“Pain and fear are not the same thing,” I say, hoping to put an end to this discussion.

“Can you honestly say you are not afraid of reliving all that pain? Or making more mistakes because of that pain and fear of losing him?” Quinn insists; that serious look on her usually carefree and smiling face is somehow more intimidating than I ever thought my friend could ever be.

I open my mouth, but for some reason my snarky comeback doesn't come out. In the back of my mind I can hear Lystra chuckling at my reaction and I grit my teeth in frustration, “They got you there.”

Thankfully for me, I am spared of giving a response to that and from having to face my friends’ smugness by Emery and Heaton joining our little group. I can honestly say I have never been happier to see these two.

“Okay we need your input –” Emery begins, foregoing any greetings and pleasantries, but he stops from whatever he wanted to ask when his eyes land on Quinn, “Glad to see you are not comatose after last night, Artan. Heaton, pay up!”

Heaton rolls their eyes but disgruntledly shoves a few coins in Emery's extended hand. “This is the last time I make a bet with you.”

This proves to be a good enough distraction for Quinn to (at least momentarily) forget about grueling me on my disastrous love life. “What did you two bet on?” She raises an eyebrow at them.

“You,” Heaton says dryly.

Quinn flares up at that, but Bodhi cuts in, an amused look on his face, “Details, please?” It is visible that he is struggling just as much as I am not to laugh.

“What my tactful friend meant to say…” Emery smiles, putting his hands up in a defensive stance at Quinn's glare – I should be proud that she picked up something from me. “Last night you were so drunk we figured there were three outcomes. Heaton here said there was no way you wouldn't end up in an alcohol induced coma, but I believed in you and your tolerance. No way you would black out from that sorry excuse of a drink!”

Quinn redirects her death glare towards Heaton. “What was the third option?” I ask, biting my lip to conceal my own smile so I wouldn't bring Quinn’s wrath upon myself.

Emery points out towards Bodhi at that, “If the alcohol didn't do her in, we were sure Durran would after she threw up all over his pants.”

“I certainly wanted to…” Bodhi admits, giving Quinn a dirty look of his own before shaking his head and smiling at Quinn's puppy-eyes and guilty pout. “Anyway, what did you want to ask?”

“Yes! Right!” Emery claps his hands, walking backwards so he can look at the rest of us as we make our way to the cafeteria, a smug grin on his face. “What is the most stupid way a signet has ever manifested and why is it Heaton's?”

Oh, the gods are certainly laughing at my expense right now… Just when I finally managed to momentarily forget about that night and how my signet manifested…

“One thing is for sure, you are certainly in the run for that award,” Lystra purrs.

I internally roll my eyes at my dragon and force myself to refocus on the conversation of my friends. Heaton is trying to come up with examples of other people who had embarrassing first manifestations of their signet to defend himself, but Emery shakes his head and shoots each proposal down. “How did your signet first manifest, Heaton?” I ask, realizing I have never heard this story before.

Emery’s smug grin tells me that it will be a good story even before Heaton starts telling it. “I drank too much during a Quadrant party last year…”

“More like establishing a new record at drinking a whole barrel of beer upside down,” Emery completes the story, clapping our ‘champion’ on the back.

“Yeah, I broke two records that day. I threw up so much the next morning that I fell asleep with my head in the toilet.” Heaton passes a hand over their face and it takes every bit of restraint not to laugh at the mental image of our huge tough squadmate hugging the toilet and passing out with their head on it. Gross, but also hilarious. “I would have drowned in my own puke had my signet not manifested that morning. Not the most useful signet ever, but it was certainly what I needed that day.”

“And it was hilarious to test the limits of said signet afterwards.” Emery grins.

Okay, I have to admit, my signet at least had the decency to manifest when I wasn’t dying in a puddle of my own vomit. At the embarrassment criteria, Heaton beat me — and they seem to have made his peace with it seeing as they only shake their head when Quinn, Bodhi and I burst into laughter.

“See, it could have been worse!” Lystra points out. “You could have ended up with a useless signet on top of it all!”

Yeah, instead I ended up with a strained relationship with the guy I have liked since I was thirteen and a signet that I am fairly sure will make me lose my mind in the near future.

“Still, a useful signet!” My dragon stubbornly insists and I groan my assent — can’t say it never comes in handy.

“What about you? Any embarrassing signet stories?” Emery wiggles his eyebrows when he asks the three of us.

It’s out of the question to talk about my real signet — not only because I am not eager to relive that fateful night for the third time this morning, but also because it is one of the few things Xaden and Command agree on (on different grounds, admittedly). Initially, we thought it would be better to lie that my signet is that extra speed that I can also lend to my dragon, but it would have raised too many questions — Lystra is among the most powerful dragons of her den and her previous riders had impressive signets, so me getting just a speed boost wouldn’t have worked and there are too many truth sayers and riders with mind-related signets for our lie to hold for long. That’s not to say we were not scared shitless of taking the risk of telling command about it — they let Dain live with a similar signet, but the rules for loyalists differ drastically from the standards the marked ones are held to.

The difference was evident in the way Carr treated me and Dain afterwards too — even though we both received special lessons, it is clear that they want Dain to master his signet and push his limits to see just how powerful his ability can be, but not me. They would be stupid to help me develop an ability that might very well be used against them one day, so they just like to keep an eye on me.

Which is why we were not stupid either and we didn’t tell them the extent of my abilities — Carr has no idea I can erase memories older than an hour, let alone fry someone’s mind with one touch, and he still thinks I can’t see the memories I wipe out (although sometimes I wish that was the case). And as for training and pushing my limits, Xaden and Garrick see to that when they have the time — in the year since I got the ability, I learned that it is easier for me to control it by touch, but it is not limited to that (as we came to learn one night when I was having a breakdown and kept erasing my friends’ memories over and over again).

Not to mention the downside… but that is not something I want to dwell on right now, this morning has been depressing enough.

What I can talk about is the enhanced speed, but even with that, I can’t actually talk about the first time it manifested a little while before Squad Games (while I was running drills with Quinn and Bodhi during the evilness that was Garrick’s training regime). However, as I already mentioned, Xaden and Command agreed on one thing — using my speed as a cover-up for my classified signet.

“I got called a cheater when my speed manifested, but that hardly counts as embarrassing.” I shrug, a smile tugging at my lips at the memory. Aetos was so damn mad when I so happened to be able to boost Lystra’s flight speed during a little contest between our section and Claw Section, Third Wing — I swore he was about to hurl the damned Codex at my head even though I had just scored our section a win.

“No,” Heaton agrees, holding their hand up for a high-five, “that counts as badass. Aetos was so angry he was turning almost the same shade of violet as my hair.”

“Oh right, it was purple week!” Quinn recalls with a chuckle. “I honestly thought I died and came back as a ghost the morning my signet manifested. I could walk through things and walls and it was only later that I realized people could actually see me, they just pretended they couldn’t when I would scream ‘boo’ and other stuff in their faces.” She turns to level a glare on Bodhi and I at that. “Thanks for that.”

“Anytime!” Bodhi smiles cheekily and I laugh. “It was a pain to help her back into her physical body afterwards.”

“And even harder to figure out how she could do that again, this time on purpose,” I add.

Quinn gives us an innocent shrug, defending herself by pointing out that she could not replicate something she did in her sleep, then Emery turns towards Bodhi: “What about you, Durran? Any embarrassing stories about your — wait, what was your signet again?”

“Classified,” Bodhi says with a smug smile. “And even if it wasn’t, you’re dreaming if you think I would tell you something embarrassing to use against me, Barne.”

“Why, I would never!” Emery feigns innocence, putting his hand over his heart dramatically. “Maybe just a little bit. Friendly.”

As for Bodhi’s signet… the moment his signet first manifested ties back to Quinn’s signet, ironically enough. A little while before Squad Games, Quinn had a particularly difficult day channeling — meaning she couldn’t stop it and she kept jumping in and out of her astral form. I think Bodhi finally got fed up with it at some point (after hours of struggling to help her, mind you) and once his temper flared, Quinn suddenly stopped. She imagines her bond with Cruth as the light peeking through the leaves of the forest behind her family mansion, but she said that the moment Bodhi lost his cool, the light instantly dulled and she felt like she couldn’t reach Cruth’s power. We then tested Bodhi’s ability on Xaden and Garrick, even on Soleil to confirm it — and let me tell you, Carr was not happy to have another rare and dangerous signet manifest among the marked ones.

After my own signet manifested, Bodhi became my test subject because it was safer to train on him seeing as he had a built-in safety net — if I ever went too far, he could just stop me, stilling the rough waves of Lystra’s power instantly. Unbeknownst to the others, Bodhi is also the one I seek out whenever my signet starts affecting me (and the only one who knows about these negative consequences); it’s way easier to snap out of the library of stolen memories whose pressure slowly pushes me to insanity when the connection to my power is severed.

“Speaking of mocking material…” Quinn says as we reach the grand carved doors of the cafeteria, a mischievous gleam in her green eyes. “Post-Threshing pay time! Let’s see who betted on who… Bodhi?”

I groan in frustration when Quinn changes the subject — not because I know how poorly I betted on the first years (frankly, I did get Sawyer and Mattias right, but I didn’t expect that clown to make it out and I actually hoped that a dragon would be so gracious as to incinerate that annoying girl from Third Squad who looks at everyone with a rebelion relic like we wear the mark of Malek and avoids us like the plague, but she somehow not only made it out alive, but she was transferred to our squad), but rather because this reminds of the stupid promise I made last night.

“So,” Bodhi draws his voice theatrically as he opens his pocket notebook. “Emery bet on Tynan, Trina and Sawyer dying, but only the first two were on the death roll… On Heaton’s list were… Pryor, Luca and Ridoc… Pryor and Ridoc are both alive… Imogen was also sure Ridoc and Pryor wouldn’t make it, but she got Luca right… And Quinn’s bet was on Trina, Tynan and Luca…”

The funny thing is, had it not been for this little game, I doubt any of us would have bothered to find out any of the first year’s names before they got called on the death roll. Heaton and Emery admitted they didn’t pay us any attention last year either and I kind of understand their reasoning — why bother getting to learn someone’s name if you’d hear it the next day during formation anyway?

“And you all thought Violet Sorrengail was a goner,” Bodhi concludes with a laugh. “Pay up, bitches!”

Quinn and Emery haggle a bit on the math as we fill up our trays, but they conclude that the fairest way is for each of us to buy a round at Chantara next weekend for every wrong call. Three rounds will certainly make a dent in my savings, but that is a small price to pay compared to the blow my pride is about to take…

“Where are you going, Im?” Bodhi asks when I pass our usual table, heading towards the one where the rest of our squad (aside from Aetos and Ciara) are seated at.

Right, Bodhi wasn't there last night, so he doesn't know about my discussion with Xaden or about my stupid promise to take care of Sorrengail's training. In retrospect, it seemed like a noble thing to do – my friend's life is tethered to that fragile porcelain doll and, for some reason, he has some complicated feelings for her. And I happen to know a thing or two about complicated feelings. Not to mention, I didn't want this chore to be added to Garrick's already huge list.

But now, all those noble reasons have lost some of their shiny gleam when I am actually faced with the prospect of not only making sure that girl lives… but also interacting with her on a daily basis.

I debate putting this on Bodhi – he is the nicest out of our little group and he doesn’t harbor so much hostility towards the general's daughter… However, it already raises some questions that I would train that girl, it would certainly draw some unwanted attention if Bodhi or someone not in the same chain of command as her would do it.

“I made a stupid fucking promise,” I grumble as I make my way towards that damned table.

Thankfully for me, Quinn, Emery and Heaton follow me – out of curiosity or support, I have no idea. What I do know is that their confused looks are far more helpful than the weird looks and barely contained laughs I see from the corner of my eye from Garrick and Bodhi at the leadership table.

I turn to look towards Xaden and I sure hope he knows that he owes me big time for this.

As I watch Sorrengail limping out of the weight room I can’t help a little vindictive smile tugging at my lips. Xaden asked me not to put any pressure on the little birdie’s broken wing, but he didn’t say anything about torturing her legs — and if he even so much as breathes a word against my training methods, I will bite his head off way worse than I just did with the injured porcelain doll.

“You certainly didn’t take her easy, huh?” I hear a chuckle behind me — a rich sound that makes my heart beat erratically, as if I am the one who had just undergone that training routine, not Sorrengail.

I don’t trust myself enough to turn to face him just yet, not until I get a grip first. “If Riorson wanted an easy routine, he should have stuck with Mattias overlooking her training,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. “Besides, you are in no position to criticize my methods, Tavis.”

I try to focus on the memory of those grueling training sessions Garrick pushed us through last year so my heart wouldn’t jump straight out of my chest to dance to the sound of his laugh. The whole room seems to vibrate to it and my entire being along with it. “And why is that, Ims?” He challenges, a mischievous gleam in his eyes when I finally turn to glare at him.

He is infuriating in every sense of the word. Insufferably annoying, frustratingly arrogant and cocky… infuriatingly handsome too, with the way his black shirt clings to his body, highlighting every hard line of his muscles, his dark curls falling into his eyes in that way they usually do when Garrick goes a little too long without a haircut and he pulls at them way too often. And his damned eyes… Nope! Not going there! Focusing on the first part now — yep, that’s it, less chances of making a fool of myself if I concentrate on all the things that make him annoying.

“Oh, you think you are cute, don’t you?” I roll my eyes. “Quinn could barely get out of the bed the first week of your ‘easy’ training and Bodhi and I were counting the seconds until our limbs would pop out of their sockets. So don’t come to me now to complain about how I choose to train —”

“Ims?” He cuts me off with an amused smile I would like to wipe off his face with a punch… or something else. “I wasn’t planning on criticizing, you did a great job with her.”

The compliment catches me off-guard and I feel my cheeks getting warmer — it’s times like this when I miss my longer hair… “You sound surprised,” I say just so I could say something and not just stand there like an idiot.

Garrick shrugs, crossing his own arms over his chest, his annoying muscles being even more pronounced like this, “Maybe a little. I half expected you to drop some weights on her head at some point.” He smiles as he adds, “I certainly wanted to do that to my first year.”

“You mean the decoy you used to spy on me and make sure I don’t flare up and get our friend killed?” The accusation has been sitting on the tip of my tongue for hours, ever since he waltzed in here with the pitiful first year that got assigned into his group of marked ones to train. I didn’t snap at him at that moment — he was clever to arrive with that girl, Almut something; he knows I am not stupid enough to ask him what he was doing there with a panicky first year glued to his side – the last thing that girl needs is to see that we are not organized or trust-worthy when she is struggling with her will to live and fight for her life in here.

Garrick has the decency to look at least sheepish at that, “Would you believe me if I said I had this training session already planned for tonight?”

“I would believe that you moved it so that it would happen tonight when you heard I was going to train Sorrengail,” I throw back, relieved to find out that it is easy to step back into our usual song and dance in spite of my emotional turmoil stirred by the simple fact that he breathes – arguing with him comes easier than normal chatting. “Did Xaden put you up to this or is it you who don’t trust me?”

The whole thing bothers me more than I want to admit – yes, I am stubborn and hot-tempered, I challenge authority (in the rare instances I actually perceive my childhood best friends as authority) and have little to no respect for rules… but from that to my friends thinking I would be irresponsible enough to harm someone whose life is tethered to one of my oldest friends’ is a long way. It reminds me of that damned night again, but in a completely different way – it reminds me of the lack of trust and the constant secrecy Xaden and Garrick held up as a wall between them and Bodhi and me when it came to the weapon runs; all that was the last straw that pushed me to my emotional outburst that night and I am still facing the consequences.

I can’t face all that stuff again. I just can't.

Garrick's gaze softens and he takes a step closer, putting his hand on my shoulder in a firm but far gentler manner that you would expect from someone his size. “How is it that you always jump to the worst conclusions first? I didn't come here because I don't trust you and Xaden didn't put me up to it either. Frankly, I would tell him to fuck himself if he dared to do that.”

I blink a few times to chase away the sting in my eyes. “Then why are you here, Garrick?”

“Because I thought you might need some emotional support. I know you are way more patient than all of us combined, but… I don't know, maybe it would help knowing you have someone in your corner no matter what.” He straightens his back and his hand falls from my shoulder, but his eyes remain locked on mine, serious, honest.

“I can take care of myself,” I say, but it comes out softer than my previous defenses, less biting.

“I didn't say anything about fighting your battles,” Garrick agrees and I remember something Quinn had said about the night I was ambushed, about what Garrick had said to her – how he still blamed himself for standing by while I was suffocating under Kane during the Squad Games. “You can do that on your own just fine. I am just the sexy cheerleader in the corner.”

I snort at the last comment, a smile finding its way back on my lips. This damned idiot…

“Besides,” he continues, “I have you to thank for taking this chore off my plate. Gods only know I would have lost my patience with Sorrengail a dozen times if I were in your place.”

“No, you wouldn't have.” I roll my eyes, seeing this comment as what it actually is – his way of lightening the mood and making me feel better about myself.

“I almost rolled my eyes into another dimension when she showed up with Aetos on her trail like a love-sick puppy. And I don’t know what kind of fucked up friendships she had if she thought Xaden ordered you to train her,” He says seriously. “I hate it when people jump to conclusions when they have no clue what they are talking about.”

Fair point. Xaden might be our leader, but he rarely forces us to do stuff we don't want to. He would have never forced any of the marked ones to train the daughter of the woman responsible for the deaths of our families, he would have found a way to do it himself if he needed to. Even though he sometimes forgets about this thin line, Xaden still knows that we are his friends first and his allies second – this was a friendly favor and there is no hierarchy in friendships.

“She got on my nerves when she called Xaden by his first name. As if she could lay some sort of claim to him already, as if she knew him.” I roll my eyes – no one aside from our close circle ever calls him Xaden, but this girl has the nerve to do so after a few weeks of knowing him?

Garrick hums in response, visibly deep in thought for a few moments. “You know, it’s like watching a disaster about to happen, with those two.”

That’s… not what I expected him to say. At my puzzled look he sighs and continues, “Xaden and Sorrengail. I don't know, Ims, I have never seen him so…” He drifts off, struggling to find a proper description for what I would categorize as our friend's late onset insanity. “I've never seen him the way he is around her. Not around Cat and certainly not around any other woman.”

“Oh, aren't we lucky! He chose to fall in love at the worst time possible… and with the worst person too!” I laugh bitterly at the truth I have been trying to ignore for a while now. I came to the same conclusions last night, but somehow it feels more final now that someone voiced these concerns.

Garrick stares at me with a strange look in his eyes and I raise an eyebrow at him. “You can't exactly choose when you fall in love with, Immy. Not any more than you can choose who you fall in love with.”

And, suddenly, I feel like we are no longer talking about Xaden and Sorrengail. My mind races with all kinds of scenarios and, in spite of my earlier affirmations, I desperately try to cling to the stupid hope that he might be talking about me as Quinn and Bodhi argued, but… that flickering hope is quickly pushed down, smothered by darker thoughts. What if he is talking about someone else? What if he is going to confess his love for someone else – someone who hasn't broken his trust as I did, who didn't lie to his face, someone who doesn’t treasure the walls they had built around themselves and is willing to take risks?

“Your thoughts are running wild again,” Lystra warns, a hint of urgency and concern lacing her tone. “We don’t want you to lose control again, so focus and ground, vicious one.”

My first instinct is to snap at her, to tell her to mind her own business, but I smother that initial rage. I am not angry with my dragon and, although it wouldn't be the first time I redirected my frustrations upon her, I reign in the impulse.

“No, we don't…” I agree, taking a deep breath and holding it to the count of ten. The last thing I need right now is another episode where I lose control over my powers, especially now that the ability is no longer limited by physical touch.

“Ims?” Garrick frowns, a muscle in his jaw ticking, signaling his worry. “Everything okay?”

“I'm fine.” The lie feels like acid on my tongue. Lystra growls lowly in the back of my head and she doesn’t have to use words for me to get the reminder – I promised I wouldn't lie to him, but… I don't feel up to actually voicing my emotions at the moment.

“It would free you,” My dragon argues. “You have nothing to lose. It's the perfect moment.”

Except I have everything to lose – this fragile balance, the delicate peace that has barely settled over our relationship, which feels as if it could break as easily as a spiderweb. Maybe Bodhi is right – I am afraid of everything he accused me of being frightened of. It doesn't take a genius to figure that I am terrified of damaging what I have barely managed to rebuild by taking stupid risks.

Besides, the time for deep conversations and heartfelt confessions has passed. Somewhere in the space between one breath and the other, both of our guards have slipped back up.

So I don't give him the full, unabridged truth about my state of mind (and heart). But I give him the next best thing, half of the truth. “I… it's just been a long day and I am starting to feel the weight of it all, I guess.”

The line of his mouth tightens slightly – a barely noticeable change, but nothing about him could ever be too small or insignificant in my eyes. He knows it's not the whole truth.

Just as quickly as it came, the tightness dissipates and he puts on a smile – not as bright and honest as the ones he had given me before, but every single one of his crooked smiles makes me feel a few degrees warmer and twists my insides into tight knots. “Well then… good thing I have just the thing to take some of that pressure off.”

I frown, wondering to myself what he could be possibly talking about, and he takes advantage of my confusion, moving swiftly, way quicker than someone his weight and size should be allowed to move (it defies the laws of physics!), to sweep my feet from underneath me. My instincts kick in before his foot makes contact with my second leg, shifting my center of gravity so I can jump back a few paces. “What the actual fuck, Tavis?” I growl at him, my confusion shifting into irritation that he would resort to such a childish tactic – I would have hoped we had come a long way from those times when one of us would spontaneously trip the other just to end a discussion.

Garrick's grin widens and, for a split second, I catch a flash of pride in his eyes. He takes a couple of steps backwards himself, settling into a fighting stance as naturally as one might breathe and he curls his fingers in a beckoning gesture, a clear challenge. “We both know you don't like talking and you've been doing it for a while now, so… I am helping you do something that comes more naturally to you.”

“Kicking your ass?”

He snorts, shaking his head, “When has that ever happened? But tell you what, I am gracious enough to allow you to try.”

I raise an eyebrow – I have totally wiped the floor with his arrogant ass in the past, but it seems like the peacock has short-term memory (and this time, it is not my fault). His ego is just like my hair – high-maintenance: just as I need to re-pink my hair every three weeks, Garrick's ego needs re-bruising periodically to humble him, or else he gets insufferable.

To be honest, I can’t even remember the last time I sparred with Garrick. Last year, when he took charge of our training, we used to fight each other almost every night and, although he initially had the upper hand after a year in Basgiath and already being bonded to Chradh, I quickly caught up and, before we knew it, the fights turned into games of endurance where we each tried to land as many hits and leave bruises of varying sizes and shapes on each other before someone (usually Bodhi) stepped in to call it a draw.

“You humans and your weird mating rituals,” Lystra grumbles in the back of my head but I have heard this line from her so many times by this point that I don't even react to it, not even bothering to correct her on the fact that humans don't mate.

“Rules?” I ask Garrick, getting into my own fighting stance – one leg stretched a bit in front of the other for more flexibility, knowing that against Garrick my agility is my advantage.

He hums in thought, “No weapons?”

“And no signets.” I don't trust myself to dip even my little finger in the ocean of Lystra's power when it comes to him, but I also don't want him to hurl me around the room by changing the trajectory of my movements. It's so damn annoying when he redirects my hits mid-swing.

“Fair enough,” He agrees, a wide, arrogant smirk on his face as he repeats the beckoning gesture. “And no hold-backs, Cardulo. I am not one of your first years.”

“Too bad,” I laugh, sprinting into action. I feign a blow to his right side only to slide by his left side and aim a back-kick to the back of his knee, but he deflects it, pushing me away at the last second. “I can actually muster some pity for them.”

And so the dance begins. We move in almost perfect syncron, like a well-learned choreography even though we haven't done this in months – when one makes to move for a hit, the other bends and jumps and slides and stretches to avoid it. We each have our strong suits, perfectly complimenting each other (his strength and my speed, his broad form and my agility) and we know each other's favorite moves – after all, we were there when our tutors, our fathers or our siblings taught us and we (along with Xaden and Bodhi) helped each other perfect them.

In a weird way, we know each other so well that we anticipate even the unexpected moves that deviate from the overall fighting technique of each of us. There are small tells that no one else would have picked on – a flash in his eyes, his gaze dropping for a second to calculate his next strike, a little hitch in his already labored breath. Gods only know what my tells are because, just as I don’t tell Garrick about these things I notice, he doesn’t tell me about mine – if we were aware of these things, we would try to correct and conceal them and neither one of us wants to lose this little advantage.

A little thing about me – I hate conventional dancing. Both my parents had military backgrounds and high positions – my mother finished at the top of her class in the Healer's Quadrant and was later on appointed the Head of the Aretian Infirmary and Medical Wing, which fit perfectly with my accident prone infantry father, one of Fen Riorson's most-trusted Generals. However, unfortunately for me, my parents also came from aristocratic families and they wanted Braelyn and I to know more than to fight – so they pushed us into all sorts of ‘extracurriculars’ until we found something we liked.

To be fair, Bodhi and Garrick were subjected to the same ‘torture’ by their parents, but that’s less important. The important part is that I tried everything, from plastic arts (that proved to be more of Garrick's thing) to dancing to needlework and other little crafts (I somehow ended up using that needle as a weapon against the boys)... until I finally settled on music, like Bodhi.

Back to dancing, I think that was the one I hated the most and I showed absolutely no talent for. And, unfortunately, I was forced to continue taking at least some basic courses for years – poor Bodhi always ended up injured because he was my designated dance partner. I only had two modes when dancing – either I felt like I was moving underwater, chained to the seafloor or I was trying to get it over with as quickly as possible, injuring everything in my path – including myself.

That is not the case here. In a fight, I am fluid, focused, the blood in my veins singing under the spell of adrenaline, a rush of excitement running through me even as my breathing gets heavier and my body aches from the strain. It’s… exhilarating!

However, like every dance, this is not spared of missteps, each mistake on both parts is punished with a hit, some sure to leave bruises – Garrick widens his stance too much, allowing me to land a solid kick to his lower chest, but, drunk on my little victory, I am too slow as I try to slide between his legs, so he manages to catch me by my forearm, pulling my back flush against his chest, immobilizing me.

We are both panting heavily by this point and, with the length of his body pressed against mine, I feel Garrick's chest rising and falling, his warm breath tingling my ear this close. Every line of his body is hard, warm and, for a second, I forget what we were doing, distracted by the welcoming warmth, by the feeling of having his arms wrapped around me. “What was that about kicking my ass?” He whispers into my ear and I hear rather than see his smug shit-eating grin.

His forearm is wrapped around my neck, the other arm holding my entire upper body against his tightly, but his cocky premature-victory blinded him to one aspect – my lower body is free. “My mistake,” I say shortly.

I can feel his confusion and I was actually counting on that. “It’s entirely my fault… for leaving your ass unbruised for so damn long.” Taken by surprise by my reply, Garrick doesn’t snap out of his surprise quickly enough to brace for the way my ankle wraps around his, swiftly bringing him down.

I am freed from his hold, but only for a second, only long enough to turn around, before he grabs the hem of my tunic, bringing me down during his own fall. His hazel eyes flash with annoyance when I land on top of him and I feel a rush of irritation of my own.

My forearm presses against his neck and I make to position my lower body so I can immobilize him and claim my victory but – he proves yet again that I underestimate his speed. I can’t help the surprised yelp that escapes me when he flips us around – a sound that I would have normally considered embarrassing, had I not found myself in an even more mortifying position.

Garrick’s broad figure hovers above me, our heaving chests brushing against each other with every breath as he prompts himself on his elbows. His knees are firmly planted on the mat, next to my thighs, making any attempt to escape from this compromising position impossible.

“How many times have you dreamt of –” Lystra manages to say between her fits of laughter before I cut her off.

“Not the moment!” I slam my shields back up, but the damage has already been done. The mental image has taken root. For a moment I get so caught up in my little fantasy that I have the outlandish impression that something hard is poking my stomach, before Garrick shifts, lifting his hips a little.

Painfully aware that my cheeks are on fire, I pray to whatever god is listening Garrick would think it is only from the physical exertion. I tilt my head a bit, intending to plaster a scowl on my face, but I wish I hadn’t looked up – his face is so painfully close to mine, our noses almost touching. I can actually see every speckle of gold in the center of the forest green of his eyes and count every damn freckle around the bridge of his nose, so faint that you can barely tell they are there. My traitorous heart starts beating even harder, fighting to escape from my ribcage and my eyes trail down his face, lingering on his lips –

Gods, he is so, so damn close, I would barely have to lift my head off the mat for our lips to meet… I wonder (for what must be the millionth time) what he tastes like, what it would be like to press my lips to hit, to have his rough hands caressing my body –

I am brought back to reality by his deep, husky voice – sweet Amari, couldn’t he have a high-pitched voice, so ridiculously at odds with the perfection that he is that it would put out at least a little of my arousal? “Mims…”

The use of the old childhood nickname takes me by surprise, making me feel even more vulnerable than I already did. Where the fuck did it come from? He hasn’t called me that since we were… gods, twelve? I don’t even know how he came up with it and why, but I remember how I used to flare up whenever he would use it, thinking it was ridiculous and teasing and downright childish – but now… now it makes my eyes sting and fills my insides with this fluttering, almost uncomfortable feeling. All because of a stupid nickname!

No, I am lying. It’s not only the nickname that makes me feel like this, it’s… him, in general. The way his messy curls, a bit damp with sweat but oh so soft, frame his face like a halo, his mouth slightly agape… and his eyes, his damned hazel eyes! There is this unfamiliar look in his eyes as he stares at me right now – I can’t read behind it, but it has this strong, strange, magnetic pull that makes me melt.

Everything about him is simply… I can’t properly describe it, the only word that seems to fit is ‘vulnerable’. It reminds me of the look he had last night when he asked me to sleep with him – vulnerable, unguarded, open…

“You haven’t called me that in ages,” I find myself saying, biting my lip to cage in any other stupidity that might escape me, like admitting how it makes me feel or how I missed it.

His gaze falls on my lips at the movement and it remains there for a few moments when I unconsciously release my bitten lip. “I always loved calling you that,” He whispers, so softly that I know that had I not been so close to him, I wouldn’t have heard it.

“Why?” Everything else has faded away. I forget all about Sorrengail and our previous sparring – my world narrows down on this, on him, on how right it feels to be here, with him.

His lips pull into a little smile that shows his dimples. “Because I always felt like it suits you. The real you, behind all those high walls, under all the sarcasm and the snark,” Garrick admits. “But mainly because I am selfish.”

“What do you mean?” I push, my brow furrowing into a frown. How we are having a discussion in this situation, in this position is beyond me. “Why would you be selfish?”

He shifts so that he puts all his weight into one arm, his other hand reaching to caress the line forming between my brows, almost instinctively, as if it has a mind of its own. His touch is so gentle, so… I wish he would never stop touching me like this. “I love that nickname because I am the only one who sees that side of you, the real you. And I am the only one using it.”

I blink up at him and I swear my heart skips a beat or two. His hand lightly slides down my face, lingering on my cheek and I open my mouth – to say what exactly, I have no idea, nor do I get the chance to figure it out because the door to the training gym opens, snapping both of us out of whatever spell we have been under until now.

“Oh shit,” Bodhi says as we hurry to stand up and put some distance between us, as if we are two kids who had been caught doing something we were not supposed to. The warmth spreading on my cheeks feels at odds with the cold feeling in the rest of my body. “No no! Ignore me, I was not even here!”

I roll my eyes – a little too late for that, Bodhs.

Garrick clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck – I wonder if it is all in my head or if he actually looks as disheveled as I feel. “What is it, Bodhi?” He asks, his voice steady, normal, so different from the raspy vulnerability from earlier.

Bodhi looks defeated and guilty, “Sorry for interrupting, not my intention. I can still leave and you can get back to –”

“The only thing you have interrupted is me kicking Garrick’s ass in sparring. His ego was getting too big,” I say, trying to make myself sound casual, unbothered. I sneak a look towards Garrick, but he avoids looking in my direction.

“As if!” Garrick scoffs. “You should get your head checked, Mimsy. I totally won there.”

The use of the old nickname doesn’t go unnoticed by Bodhi and he raises an eyebrow at Garrick, but doesn’t comment on it. Thankfully. “Anyway,” Garrick quickly adds to change the subject, “to what do we owe the interruption, Durran?”

Bodhi turns to look at me, sheepishly. “We talked about going to Chantara tonight, remember? With Quinn?”

After breakfast today, the three of us made plans to go out drinking tonight to continue our discussion from this morning. Or, more like Quinn and Bodhi decided we have to continue the discussion because they felt like I didn’t get tortured enough with their psychoanalysis – plans I totally forgot about and I kind of hoped they would too.

“Right, then,” Garrick says, that easy-going smile plastered on his face. “As your friend, I hope you have fun, but as your Section Leader… not too much fun, cadets. You have flight maneuvers tomorrow morning and I would hate to put you on bathroom scrubbing duty for showing up with a hangover.”

“You are not my Section Leader, Tavis!” Bodhi calls after Garrick as he walks out of the gym, lifting his middle finger in a salute before the door slams shut behind him.

I close my eyes for a second, trying not to feel so disappointed. I surely imagined the entire moment, I already know that Garrick doesn’t feel like that towards me, but… why does it hurt so much?

“Sorry, Ims,” Bodhi says, the guilty look even more pronounced now. “Had I known…”

“Nothing happened, Bodhs. You didn’t interrupt anything,” I sigh, waving a hand dismissively. If anything, I should be thankful that Bodhi came when he came and interrupted us before I could make a fool of myself by doing something stupid, like actually acting on my delusions. “It’s fine.”

I can see it in Bodhi’s eyes that he doesn’t buy it, “I have eyes too, Ims. That’s a load a crap.” He shakes his head and gestures towards the door. “Let’s go get changed, then you can tell both me and Quinn all about what actually happened here.”

Stubbornly, I want to tell him nothing happened, again, but I know that I will end up telling them everything. So much for not wanting to continue the torture session from this morning – I ended up coming up with more material for the evening session. Aren’t I lucky?

As we walk towards the second-year floor, Bodhi is uncharacteristically quiet – too quiet for someone who knows there will be drinks and a lot of gossip in the near future. “Why so forlorn, Durran? Shouldn’t you be jubilating that you get to dissect my love life again?

He sighs and looks at me with a pained expression, “I am just thinking about the earful I will get from Quinn,” he admits. Then, at my confused look, he adds, “You will get an ‘I told you so’, from the both of us – because, frankly, I am the prime witness here and tonight just proved that there is some sexual tension between the two of you. And I… I will get the scolding of my life for interrupting that sexual tension from reaching its peak.”

I scoff at his words, but choose to conserve my energy for later when I would undoubtedly have to defend myself. Is there some truth to their assumption? No idea. All I know is that tonight was… strange. And I will have to relieve every second of it with my friends at the pub tonight, then a few hundred times more on my own because that moment of having Garrick Tavis on top of me will undoubtedly keep replaying in my head and keep me awake (then replay a few times in my sleep as well, but with some alterations). But, on the bright side… I am not the only one who will suffer tonight – I will face Quinn’s wrath tonight for being, according to her, an idiot, but Bodhi will have it ten times worse.

Chapter Text

So... Onyx Storm, am I right? Spoilers ahead.

I will try to keep it brief so that I can get to work right away - bear with me. 

You all know at this point that I am a BIT of a perfectionist (okay, a lot) and I have been promising that rewrite of this fic... well, I didn't get far with the rewrite and now I am happy for that fact because it allows me to integrate OS stuff in the new version. 

Fortunately for me, a lot of the stuff in OS doesn't affect this fic HUGELY, but there are some things I would like to get in here and so many ideas that came to me while reading. So, what you are going to see...

MV is getting a huge make-over. I am talking added scenes, more info on characters that were barely mentioned, maybe even added chapters. I don't want to delete this or to start over in another post because... well, it wouldn't feel the same. There will be some small alterations to the first chapter and then I will get started on the next - and there will be a small * in the title of the fic to let you know that the chapter has been rewritten (AO3 doesn't send notifications for that, so... make sure to follow me on Tumblr or hop on Discord in the Rider's Quadrant Server if you are not there already, I will make sure to let everyone know when I post the updated versions).

There are some things that I won't change though: Glane will be Lystra in this fic and Katrina will be Braelyn's middle name from now on (also, who tf names her kid Katrina fucking Cardulo! jk). Derik is also here to stay, no matter what RY says, and Quinn's name is Artan-Hollis because I said so. Also, I was right about the second signets! HA! 

This will be a long process, I know, and there will likely not be any new chapters until I fix the existing ones. That doesn't mean you won't see updates from me - check GAWG and Inkpot Gods, they are waiting for some love and they should receive somewhat regular updates. And YMFLHTM and my other pieces will probably get a new sibling in April.

And I want to thank everyone who took the time to leave a comment and read my silly little story - love you and I hope you'll stick around, if not, I understand and... We made it a good one.