Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It feels a bit like walking toward our own execution as we approach the Cliffs of Dralor with dragons circling above us. A crumbling, barely-there path reveals itself as we get closer, and my eyes trace up the steeply pitched, narrow excuse of a trail carved into the cliffside—the Medaro Pass.

I stretch out, cracking my back, extending my neck, and lifting my brows. I search for the top—but all I see are clouds. It looks like a stairway to heaven… or a diving board into hell depending on Malek’s mood today.

“It’s all about perspective,” a smug voice lilts in my head.

“Either way, it feels like we’re about to die,” I morbidly respond.

I hear clicking over my shoulder and what sounds like a scoff. “After all the horrors we’ve seen, you cower at the sight of a cliff?”

I roll my eyes. Bastadunn doesn’t hold even an ounce of room for weakness. He’s drilled that into me over and over again, no matter how much I argue that it is not weakness that gives me pause.

“It’d be foolish to not accurately assess this death trap we’re all walking into,” I argue.

“You’ve done what you can. We know we cannot win this war without them,” Bastadunn sighs resolutely.

“Thank you for repeating my words back to me. I’d almost forgotten them,” I snap back.

Bastadunn snarls and snaps at me over my shoulder, but I know it's affectionate and give him a scratch under his chin as I shake my head. It had been him giving me shit about this potentially disastrous agreement that I had let happen just four days ago.

We come to a stop at the foot of the treacherous cliff and I stare intently up into the clouds, willing them to part so that I can catch a glimpse of the finish line. I’m not yet convinced that we’re not all being set up for death. Like stupid little lambs being led to slaughter.

It’s fitting, I guess, seeing as how we’re walking into enemy territory blindly, climbing a pass that’s specifically designed to kill us and our gryphons, surrounded by vicious, dragon-riding, signet-wielding weapons that have been sharpened and honed to do the very same—to kill us.

What’s a little cloud coverage compared to all of that?

Still, I can’t help the panic that starts to rise, and I feel cement sludge around in my gut, acid burning up my chest and into the back of my throat. If it was just Bastadunn and me, I know we’d be fine. But to know that over a hundred fliers, all of the people that I know and lo—

“You made your decision. Now, stop with this foolishness and FOCUS,” Bastadunn barks at me.

I wince at the rebuke that rings in my ears, but I know he’s right. The decision has been made—one that I was complicit, even instrumental, in making—and there is only one path to follow now. The one snaking up the cliffside before us.

This is our best chance, and I’ll make the most of it. I’ve done more with less.

Now, I just need to focus on getting all of us up there alive. But I’m finding it incredibly distracting with all of the muttering behind me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Who the hell agreed to this?”

“Any bets on who gets pushed off first?”

“Quiet!” I snap at them over my shoulder.

They shrink back into their gryphons. First-years don’t know how to keep their cool. They’re technically my age but I see nothing but children when I look at them. A few of them have seen war before, but none of them are near where I need them to be.

Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh of Aretia separates himself from the pack of riders and stands in front to address all of us. I don’t pay attention. My eyes are scanning over the crowd of lethal weapons he just left. Surprisingly, many of them look like children to me too, though they’re clearly hardened in a way that my fliers are not. I’m not sure yet if that’s a good or bad thing given what we have to face.

“So they can push us off?” a rider yells out, in what sounds like frustration.

My eyes snap to the tall boy with dirty blonde hair. What a stupid question. How is he worried that we’ll push them off, when their dragons could just catch them then burn us into a crisp? He’s either stupid, a coward, or accidentally revealing his own hand. Regardless, I’ll keep an eye on him; cowardice and stupidity on the battlefield can be just as lethal as outright betrayal.

“Tell the others to watch out for that one,” I communicate to Bastadunn.

“I already did.”

I hear Aisereigh mention that the wingleaders have been given the locations of the gryphon traps to disarm. I’m already irritated and I can’t help but let out a loud, reflexive scoff at the unilateral decision. I thought he’d at least put an adult in charge. Now, I have to trust a fucking rider who hasn’t even graduated, to disarm the gryphon traps correctly.

Syrena shoots me a quick look of reprimand and I school my expression. They’re supposed to think I trust them.

Aisereigh continues his speech but I notice that my contribution caught the attention of a few of the riders. I glance over at them, careful to keep my face expressionless, innocent, a little fearful. My gaze pauses over a girl, similar to me in stature—a slight build, maybe a couple inches shorter—but she lacks my hardened edges, my scarred and inked skin. She might be what I’d look like if I were raised indoors, which makes sense given what I’ve learned about the youngest Sorrengail—easily identifiable by the silver ends of her hair.

While the Committee thinks that the Assembly should be our primary target for wartime negotiations, I don’t totally agree. I suspect that the lightning-wielder is central to ultimately defeating the dark wielders. I’ve seen too many childhood fables come true to ignore the undeniable fact that she bonded two dragons—one a feathertail, and the other, one of the strongest dragons in existence, whose mate is bonded to the rightful heir of Tyrrendor. Anyone who ignores that major wrinkle in the fabric that is our war strategy is an idiot who I’ve already lost respect for. Luckily, Syrena agrees, thank Hedeon for his wisdom. That is why Syrena would make an excellent Queen—unlike every other entitled, incompetent noble I’ve ever met.

I avert my gaze in my best attempt at bashfulness and look down at the ground, wringing my hands like I’m just another nervous first-year flier.

Aisereigh continues on with some bullshit about how fliers need to prove themselves by climbing across a parapet. My eyes flare and it takes every bit of self control I have to not let myself be totally consumed by rage. He thinks a parapet is daunting? A bit of stone that lies still and doesn’t attack you? Try standing off with a fucking venin if you want to prove your worth.

The riders continue to jerk themselves off over having to balance, of all things, in the man-made games they apparently do for fun. I nearly bite my tongue in half to keep myself from ridiculing their completely delusional levels of self-aggrandizement.

Bastadunn chuffs and clicks his beak in agreement.

“And if we were just risking ourselves, perhaps it would be appropriate to deem it inferior to your death bridge at Basgiath.” Syrena is talking now, and all the fliers listen with rapt attention. If anyone in line for the throne deserves it, it’s her. She’s fierce yet compassionate, as rational as she is intelligent—the type of leader I would gladly follow into battle.

“But consider while you climb, while you decide if you’ll truly accept fliers into your ranks, that while this trail is perfectly safe for humans, it’s perilous for gryphons. And ask yourself if you would risk the lives of your dragons climbing a trail built specifically to kill them into hostile territory so you can learn how to better destroy your enemy with the very people you considered your enemy up until last week.”

She says it more gracefully than I ever could, and I’m positively tickled at the way the riders squirm under her assessment.

As previously discussed, we pair up rider squads with flier drifts, matching each by their respective strengths. It was a tedious task to rank them as such, but the following discussions, about the strengths and weaknesses of every rider squad, were invaluable. We need every advantage we can get at this point and I’ll never be satisfied until all threats are neutralized.

I insert myself into Catriona’s drift—the one paired up with Sorrengail’s. I thank Amari that the precarious position we’ve put our gryphons in prevents her from channeling her greatest weapon. We’d all probably kill each other if left to Cat’s devices. And Syrena’s left it up to me to babysit her vicious piranha of a little sister.

We’re only hiking for maybe ten minutes when I hear Cat loudly mutter, “If she’s the best hope we have, we might as well die on this cliffside.”

“If you have something more powerful than lightning to wield against the venin, then be our guest,” the blonde rider behind me retorts—Mairi, I think.

I try to catch Cat’s eye to signal to her to shut the hell up. I’ve heard all of Cat’s grievances over the last few days in painstaking detail. I try to be sympathetic. I know she feels rejected as well as powerless over her own life and future. I know the pressure she feels, constantly trying to prove that she’s just as worthy of the throne as her sister. But as sympathetic as I am toward Cat, she’s in utter denial over her failed engagement with Riorson. There’s an irreconcilable attachment between the rightful Duke of Tyrrendor and the lightning-wielder, one of life and death, and one that could be our greatest strength or bring about our assured ruin. It is imperative that we keep them on our side.

Surely, someone aspiring for the throne should be able to see that.

“That might be useful if she could actually hit her targets, but from what I’ve seen, she clearly can’t,” Cat sneers.

“Apparently not,” Bastadunn chortles in my head.

I stifle a groan as we reach a wide portion of the trail and Mairi shoulders past me, stalking toward Cat, only to be held back by the rider in front of me—Gamlyn.

“Control her,” Bastadunn grumbles in my head.

“Sloane, leave it,” Sorrengail calls out from behind before I can intervene.

“No, she needs to learn when to shut her mouth!” Mairi yells, her face turning red.

“We’re not even high enough up that pushing her off the ledge would kill her. Patience, first-year,” Gamlyn smirks as he holds Mairi back.

“Back in line, Mairi!” their squad leader, Matthias, yells out from ahead.

“Yeah, Mairi,” Cat taunts, ever the little sister. I shoot her a look of steel and tell her to turn around with a twirl of my index finger.

At the three-hour mark, Sorrengail looks visibly worse for wear and Cat doesn’t miss the opportunity to comment as she watches us catch up at the switchback. “How in Malek’s name did you bond a dragon when you can barely walk?”

“If you don’t make her shut up, I will,” Bastadunn growls at me.

“Oh, give it a rest, Catty,” I finally call out, exasperated and absolutely fed up with her after three hours of this.

She gives me a death glare, her gaze as sharp as daggers—and I know I’m going to get an earful later. But I chalk it up to a necessary gambit when she storms off and I get a chuckle out of the riders around me.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Mairi says in awe.

“Catty is… apt,” Sorrengail chimes in.

“Kitten has claws, that’s for sure,” Gamlyn chuckles, pretending to bear his claws.

I can’t stop a smile from escaping. “Oh you have no idea. This is tame for her. But I wouldn’t call her that, if I were you. Trust me, you do not want to be on Cat’s shitlist. I know from experience.”

“I think I’m already at the top of that list,” Sorrengail says from behind.

I look over my shoulder to give her an apologetic smile that quickly slides into a smirk. “One of the many perks that come with the Tyrrish throne.”

She scoffs at me, but Gamlyn turns around to add, “Wait, what does that make you then, Vi, a Duchess?”

“No,” Sorrengail bites back forcefully.

She doesn’t see but I mouth, “It does,” at Gamlyn. He grins at me then turns back around.

Chatter starts to pick up between the riders and fliers, and just when I start to think things are getting too chummy, I hear a blast and look up to see a massive boulder hurtling down at us, along with enough debris to take our whole drift down. I throw my body over Bastadunn’s as best I can and squeeze him tightly against the cliff face. Dajalair behind us starts panicking and almost slips off the ledge while I desperately feel for my magic. It’s weak and fuck, I don’t want to use it and weaken Bastadunn.

“It won’t matter if we’re dead. DO IT!” he urges down our bond.

Right as I raise my hand, a giant black mass crashes into the boulder, obliterating it against the cliff face. I throw my arms over my head and cover Bastadunn’s body with as much of mine as I can as bits of rock pelt us from all angles. Through all of the dust and debris, I see a thick, black, spiky tail whoosh next to us, and my gaze follows the tail up to the the most massive dragon I’ve ever seen. This must be Tairn. And oh my gods if he isn’t breathtaking—both beautiful and terrifying.

I let myself take in his magnificence for only a heartbeat longer before I tear my gaze away, wanting to avoid getting scorched. I turn back to Bastadunn to help him remove debris from his feathers and fur.

“Are you okay?!” I ask while frantically looking over Bastadunn for injuries.

“I could have done without the mess,” Bastadunn huffs in annoyance and shakes out his feathers before he turns to continue up the trail.

I look over my shoulder to assess the damage behind me. Sorrengail seems to be communicating with her dragon. When Tairn swoops away I ask, “Everyone alright back there?”

I get bird calls of assent from the fliers. They look shaken, but nobody fell, thank Zihnal. I touch my necklace out of instinct and say a small prayer.

As I turn to continue following Bastadunn, I feel a strange surge of energy.

“What was that?” I ask Bastadunn, whipping my head over my shoulder to look for wyvern.

It takes him a second to respond, probably communicating with the other gryphons, but he eventually says, “A dragon hatchling has been born.”

My eyes widen in awe. A dragon hatchling? The things I would do to see a dragon hatchling…

“Including dying? No one has seen a dragon hatchling and lived to tell the tale,” Bastadunn mocks me.

Chapter Text

We take a lunch break around the halfway point, a little after midday. I make a point to run ahead to see who exactly I’m entrusting to disarm the rest of the traps. I’ll kill the wingleaders myself if they send another crushing boulder my way.

When I reach the front I approach the man I believe to be in charge.

“Are you the wingleader in charge of disarming the traps?” It comes out more aggressively than I mean for it to.

He hastily swallows a bite of his lunch and rises to face me. 

“Yes, Dain Aetos. Wingleader of Fourth Wing,” he introduces himself.

Great. Colonel Aetos’s son. I’ll need to keep a close eye on him. I’m not convinced that he isn’t here playing spy for his daddy.

“What happened with the trap that almost killed us all?” I ask with narrowed eyes. 

A flash of regret washes over his face, at odds with the otherwise tall, resolute man. “That was my fault. I made a mistake. I thought the trap was further up than it was.”

I tilt my head at him. “Mistakes will cost lives today. This isn’t an exercise.”

“You think I don’t know that?” he snaps back at me.

“And yet you almost killed us. You almost killed Sorrengail.”

He looks like I slapped him. “I… Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, no thanks to you. But now that you finally seem to understand what’s at stake, do you truly think you’re the best person to be in charge of disarming the rest of the traps? Answer carefully, arrogance will only get us all killed.”

He takes a deep breath and stands tall as he says, “I am. I won’t make another mistake.”

I don’t know if I believe him, but Bastadunn tells me several fights have broken out below. I lock my eyes on the wingleader’s as I drawl, “See that you don’t. I’ll kill you myself if you risk our lives again, rider.”

I make sure he knows I mean it before I turn on my heel and trot back down to Bastadunn. I make time to stop in front of Cat and pull her aside to scold her, “Cat, I need you to cut the shit with Sorrengail. At least for the rest of this trek. Not only is it distracting, it’s directly interfering with the mission we’ve set out to accomplish.”

She snatches her arm away from me and leans in to spit back, “Are you seriously going to side with her? Traitor.”

I gawk at her. “You can’t be serious. Why do you think I’m here? You think it’s to make more enemies? Cat, if you really want to be worthy of the throne, you need to learn how to put the realm above your own petty grievances. Get your shit together.”

I don’t wait for her shitty response and continue jogging down toward the commotion past Fourth Wing.

There’s a scuffle in Third Wing that resolves itself quickly. Apparently we paired up a rider and flier who both have lost family at the hands of the other side. They each get a punch in before they’re dragged apart. I grab Jarek by the shoulders and drag him with me to Second Wing where another fight is in full swing.

“You need some bruise paste for that?” I ask, looking up at the second-year flier’s rapidly swelling eye.

“I’ve got some in my pack,” he grunts.

“Good, make sure you put some on. Now. The sooner the better.”

I leave Jarek behind to fumble through his pack as I approach the mob. It’s four fliers against three riders, the rest trying to hold the crowd back and de-escalate.

I try pulling the fliers off, but one of the riders is a flurry of fists and pure rage and I can’t get close enough. He’s a huge, burly man with his mousy brown hair cut in a high-and-tight and scars littering his skin, another long one across his face.

I look back at Jarek, “I might need your help with this one. Can you take out his legs?”

He nods, rubbing the remnants of bruise paste into his face, then jogs up to me.

I give him a nod, then we launch. I jump on the big guy’s back, managing to hook a leg around his arm and pinning it to his waist by locking my feet together. I throw my arm around his meaty neck and squeeze with all the force I can muster as Jarek takes advantage of my momentum and takes out his legs. 

I twist into the fall and we tumble sideways. The rider whips his free hand away from me to try to catch his fall, but I hold tight, knowing that he won’t last ten seconds in this sleeper hold.

“YIELD,” I yell down at him.

He thrashes, trying to throw me off him but Jarek pins down the lower half of his body.

One second.

He’s struggling to get me off him, frantically grasping and pulling at whatever he can, but I only squeeze tighter. I can tell he’s fading but he’s still bucking and grasping desperately at me, pulling at my hair.

Two seconds.

“Give it up, Cassian, we’ll never make it to the top if you keep this shit up,” one of the riders lazily yells out.

Three seconds.

“We can always kill them once we get to the top,” another of the riders sneers.

Four seconds.

I smile and whisper, “That’s right, if you yield now and behave for the rest of the trek, I’ll let you take me one-on-one at the top.”

Five seconds.

His fingers find my wrist, nails biting into my skin, and for a second, I think he's about to pry me off.

But then his grip weakens. His body slackens.

He finally taps and I loosen my hold. He shoves me off toward the ledge when I climb off him, but one of the fliers catches me before I fall. He stumbles to his feet, trying to pull himself out of his near black-out.

“What a pleasure to meet you, Cassian. I look forward to seeing you at the top,” I smirk at him before grabbing the flier who instigated the fight and dragging him back up the trail with me.

“You and Jarek are switching places. Keep your head down. No more fights. You’re not just endangering yourself but all of the fliers and gryphons around you. If you want revenge, you need to be smart about it. Get to the top, rest, recuperate, and make sure you and Zephlair are at full power before you go after that meathead again.”

Riven shakes his head, looking murderously at every rider we pass. “It’s fucking infuriating hearing them talk down to us constantly, when they’re the ones who have been hiding behind their wards for the last six hundred years.”

I wrap an arm around his waist and pull his over my shoulder as I say, “Trust me, I almost lost my shit when they were bragging about their little parapet exercise. We’ve got to make it to the top alive, though, if we want to show them what we’re made of. Try to hold on a little longer, we’re halfway there. Maybe best not to talk at all if you can’t trust your tongue.”

He sighs and nods as I introduce him to the Third Wing squad. He keeps his jaw clenched shut the entire time. I whisper into the other fliers’ ears to keep him away from the riders then trot back up to Bastadunn.

“Where’d you run off to, Soryn?” Gamlyn inquires as I situate my pack, pulling out some food to eat on the way. 

“Just making friends,” I give him a cheeky smile, as I bite off a piece of jerky.

“Did you get enough to eat?” Matthias asks.

“I’ll eat on the way. I can’t sit still to save my life, anyway,” I reassure her.

With that, we continue our trek upward. I’m itching to get off this cliffside and I know the latter part of this journey will be the true test for our gryphons.

“Say, are you guys familiar with that bloke, Cassian, from Second Wing?” I casually ask Gamlyn and Mairi.

“He’s a brute,” Mairi mutters.

“Ha! Your new friend, I’m guessing?” Gamlyn barks out, side-eyeing me.

I huff out a laugh and confirm, “Yes. We’ve got a date at the top if he manages to make it without killing anyone.”

“A date?” Gamlyn asks incredulously.

I just smile and continue, “He seemed a bit undisciplined, though, and I’m wondering if he’ll be able to uphold his end of the bargain.”

Gamlyn chuckles and says, “Cassian is all brawn, no brain, and when he can’t use his words, he resorts to using his fists. And he can barely use words.”

“Hmm… Is he a killer?” I ask.

Gamlyn and Mairi share a glance that answers for them.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Is he known to ever yield or show mercy?” I inquire, aware that I may be digging too much.

“You gonna fight him on this date of yours?” Gamlyn asks with his eyebrows raised.

“I think he’s going to try to fight me,” I correct him.

“Well, then you might be in luck. He tends to not take girls seriously,” Mairi says with a pout.

“I wouldn’t underestimate him, though. I’ve seen him snap more than one neck when he’s pissed off enough. And a flier raid was responsible for his brother’s death,” Gamlyn adds in a low voice.

Great, I think to myself. I need to eat more to get my energy up. I pull out some crackers. I need the carbs.

Luella looks back at me with the fear of the gods in her eyes. I smile and wink at her.

I have one more question, though, “Is his signet anything I should be worried about?”

“He’s a fire wielder. But like I said, he prefers using his fists,” Gamlyn offers freely.

Good. I can handle a little fire.

Chapter Text

A couple hours past the halfway point and the gryphons are waning. Bastadunn handles the altitude better than most as a summitwing gryphon, but I notice that even he is affected.

“I’m FINE, focus your attention on those that actually need it,” he growls at me.

We enter the thick cloud coverage and I pray that no psychos start throwing fliers off the cliffside. Visibility is shit in this, and it’d be easy to get away with.

We’re crawling at this point, and I would normally let my patience—or lack thereof—get the better of me by now, but it’s obviously our gryphons who are struggling the most and my heart aches instead.

“What do we do if they can’t make it? ” I ask Bastadunn.

“What we always do, move forward,” he bluntly responds.

“How can you say that?!” I fire back in outrage.

“You knew the potential consequences when you made this decision. Now it’s time to face them.”

Ugh. I hate facing consequences. I prefer to just do what I want then move along to the next problem. I sigh and continue to shuffle forward, doing my best to ignore the worry gnawing at my insides.

We suddenly come to a halt and I hear yelling up ahead. I peer around Bastadunn and see the wingleader, Aetos. 

He addresses us as we approach, avoiding my gaze. “There’s a pressure trigger. We know it sends arrows but don’t know from where, so we can’t disarm it. Hence why I’m standing here, warning everyone about that particular section.”

My eyes roll so hard that I have to throw my head back and groan. They probably should have figured it the fuck out before sending hundreds of cadets up this path. Could have set it off ahead of time, using range weapons from a dragon’s back. Fucking idiots, the lot of them.

Bastadunn clicks his beak in agreement. Aetos looks at me, then him, then quickly away.

“We have to jump,” Gamlyn fills in the blanks.

“Everyone’s made it across so far,” Aetos confirms.

“Luella?” Maren calls out from behind.

“I don’t know. It’s farther than I’ve ever jumped before,” Luella nervously admits.

Fuck, maybe we can throw her across.

“Ridoc, can you and Dain throw her across?” Sorrengail asks behind me.

My gaze snaps to hers. Did she just read my thoughts?

“You mean can I throw you across?” Ridoc smirks back at her.

Sorrengail snorts and says, “I’ll be able to jump it.”

I lift my eyebrows at her. Damn, that was cold. And a bit arrogant. She isn’t much bigger than Luella.

“I’m used to the altitude,” Sorrengail adds, to soften her bluster.

I turn back to Luella and mouth, “You want me to throw you?”

She considers it for a second then shakes her head.

“What has everyone else done?” Sorrengail asks the wingleader.

“Running leap. We’re just making sure whoever’s on the other side is done recovering first so there’s no impact. You jump first, Ridoc,” Aetos orders.

“So I’m not throwing Luella?” Gamlyn clarifies.

I try to catch Luella’s eye but the rider in front of her says, “She either makes it or she doesn’t, just like Parapet. I’ll go first.”

My eyebrows furrow in fury. How fucking dare that arrogant, little brat?

“Cibbe says he goes first,” Luella announces, and my outrage quickly turns into shock, then sours into worry.

The riders flatten themselves against the wall so that Cibbe can pass.

I hold my breath, feeling rocks pile up in my gut, when a dragon's wing slices by us and makes my skin prickle. Gods damn it, do they need to fly so close when things are already so precarious?

The riders whisper beside me and I fight the urge to tell them to shut up. I watch intently as Cibbelair takes his position, crouching down onto his hind legs. After what feels like a lifetime, but in reality was probably only a breath, he springs forward, clearing the rope, but he skids on his landing and skitters toward the edge. His talons desperately look for purchase, and one finally does, allowing him to recover and lean back into the cliffside. I let out an audible sigh and squeeze Luella from behind.

“Mind asking him if he’d serve as a railing?” Sorrengail asks Luella.

I whip around to look at her in shock again. Damn, she is way more ruthless than I had thought. She wants to use a gryphon as a railing? For riders? I almost tell her to fuck off but Cibbe responds first. Luella translates, “He… He reluctantly agrees.”

Before I can object, Aetos orders the brat, Visia, and Ridoc—or Gamlyn to me—to proceed.

We’ve been holding up the line, I’ll give the wingleader that. 

Visia takes a running leap and lands easily on the other side.

Damn it.

Gamlyn follows in her stead.

Luella has some exchange with Sorrengail that I don’t pay attention to as I wrack my brain for a way to get Luella across safely.

“I’ll—” Gamlyn starts to say something.

“Wait a second,” Sorrengail interjects.

We all turn to look at the deceptively frail-looking, little lightning-wielder.

“What are you thinking? Don’t tell me nothing. You have those little lines between your eyebrows,” Aetos smirks at Sorrengail.

Oh. He has affections for her. Good to know.

“I’m wondering how attached Ridoc is to his sword,” she says, looking at Gamlyn.

“It’s standard issue. Oh. You’re thinking…” Gamlyn trails off.

“Yep,” Sorrengail generously offers.

“I can’t guarantee it will hold,” Gamlyn hedges.

Oh. They’re going to leverage the sword in the cliffside to shorten the distance. Clever, I guess.

“Try,” Sorrengail pushes.

“No,” the wingleader opposes.

I shoot him another glare. Everything he says pisses me off for some reason.

He draws his shortsword, though, and says, “Use this one. It has a longer pommel, and it will be easier to work in.”

Ok, fine, not everything he says.

He hands the sword to Gamlyn then says to Sorrengail, “I still know how your mind works.”

I grimace, and it seems I’m not the only one as Mairi scoffs loudly.

Interesting. He doesn’t even seem to have the respect of his own Wing.

I watch as Gamlyn demonstrates an impressive amount of aptitude climbing the rock wall above the trap. He jams the shortsword into a crack in the cliffside that screeches and makes me wince.

“Rock,” he requests.

Aetos hands him a fist-sized rock and Gamlyn hammers the pommel into the crack. He tests his weight on the pommel then hangs from it. It’s solid.

Gamlyn rocks back once then swings forward and easily clears the rope. He turns around and wipes his hands clean. “Easy.” 

This could work as long as Luella can reach the hilt.

“And suddenly this is the Gauntlet, not Parapet,” Mairi mutters.

I roll my eyes at the mention of their games.

“Let’s go, Vi. I’ll even catch you,” Gamlyn says, crooking his fingers at Sorrengail.

“Fuck off,” she replies along with a middle finger. “I’m really hoping you’re right-handed,” she adds to Luella.

Luella nods.

“Good. That hilt is eight inches—” Sorrengail starts.

“Seven,” Aetos corrects.

“Imagine a man actually shortening a girl’s estimate,” Maren teases, and I don’t even try to restrain my laugh. Aetos glares at me.

“Right. Seven inches. Just have to jump far enough to grab it, then swing across like Ridoc,” Sorrengail explains.

Luella looks at her, horrified, and Sorrengail offers, “Want me to go first?”

Luella nods and backs into me. I embrace her from behind and rest my chin on her shoulder as we watch. When Sorrengail makes it across, I whisper in her ear, “Lu, are you sure you don’t want me to just boost you? I think I can channel enough to manage that.”

She shakes her head and escapes my embrace to turn and look at me. “No. If Violet can do it, I can.”

Ugh. On one hand I’m incredibly proud of Lu. People tend to underestimate her, myself included, but she’s much tougher than she looks. On the other hand, I’m not sure I’m willing to risk lives to protect someone’s ego. I have half a mind to order her to do as I say.

I don’t want to undermine her, or give away my authority, though, so I nod and pull her in for a quick but tight hug and plant a kiss on the side of her head.

I hold my breath and chew on the inside of my lip as I watch Luella nervously approach the runway. She shakes out her hands and puts one foot in front of the other. She takes a few deep breaths then rocks onto her back foot before rocking forward into a sprint toward the rope. She leaps just a fraction too early and I immediately think, fuck, Gamlyn placed the pommel too high.

But she kicks her feet and seems to just barely grab ahold of the hilt.

“Atta girl, Lu!” I shout, clapping.

“Now swing until you feel you have the force to carry you,” Sorrengail instructs from the other side.

“I can’t! My hands are slipping!” Luella cries out.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“You can! But you’d better move now,” Aetos yells.

“Move, Luella!” Maren yells from my side.

Luella starts swinging and I start praying to every god I can think of. Finally, she lets go and I feel like I’m watching in slow motion as her feet land just before the rope. She hurls herself over the line and I feel lifetimes pass as she runs into Sorrengail at full speed, making her smack into Visia.

Visia stumbles toward the ledge, and Sorrengail pivots her weight so that somehow Luella is on her outside. Gamlyn reaches for Sorrengail right as two arrows pierce him, and Luella and Visia are both forced off the ledge.

“Lu!!!” I scream as I rush toward her, but someone holds me back.

I fight with all my strength. I can jump across six feet in my fucking sleep. Let. Me. GO!

There are multiple people holding me back at this point, though, and I watch in horror as Sorrengail’s weak little arms try to hold Lu and Visia up.

I see Cibbe pluck Visia up and I want to rage at him when Luella is still hanging there. He throws Visia aside then starts desperately reaching for Lu.

“Say it out loud, fool!! ” Bastadunn yells at me.

“Let me GO! I can make it!” I scream at whoever will listen.

The forces holding me back release me and I am running on pure adrenaline as I sprint the few steps up to the rope line and launch myself over.

Sorrengail screams out something but I can’t hear over my own heartbeat as I land and dive down next to her to reach for Luella. I see her slip as soon as I reach the ledge and I launch myself forward to grasp at her. I feel nothing but a beak at my back, pulling me back, and I scream. Or someone else screams. I’m not sure, but there’s screaming.

“No! Catch her! Catch her, someone has to catch her!” I plead to no one.

The riders quickly turn their attention to Sorrengail and Gamlyn and I suddenly realize who’s screaming. I crawl up to Cibbe and wrap an arm around his neck.

No, no, no, no, gods no. I can’t have lost a flier on my own watch, under my own nose. I should have fucking channeled, what the fuck was I thinking.

“You dropped her!” I hear a shrill scream to my left.

My head snaps up to see Cat, enraged, but I’m caught off guard when it’s not directed at me. 

“I never had her,” Sorrengail whispers.

“Cat, no.” Maren rushes up to intercept her best friend. “I saw it happen. It’s not Violet’s fault. Luella almost killed both of the riders because she couldn’t jump the trap.”

I can’t even hear her treachery over Cibbe’s dying wails.

“You fucking dropped her! Cibbe saved your precious rider, and you dropped our flier!” Cat screams at the lightning-wielder.

I can’t believe I side with Cat on this one.

“I will kill you for this!” Cat viciously promises.

I can’t even worry about that now. I don’t pay attention to the snarls that come after. Not when Cibbe is slowly dying next to me. I stroke his feathers and try to comfort him the best I can, but my heart stutters when his does, and he uses the last of his staggering breaths to struggle out a goodbye cry. Three beats. One for his flier, one for his family, and one for his duty. When I hear the rest of the gryphons echo his call, I know he’s as good as gone.

I suddenly notice Maren and Cat next to me, and we crowd around Cibbe and try to ease him to the ground as his legs collapse underneath him. We sit behind him as we stroke his feathers.

“It’s all right. You have earned an honorable death,” Maren says into Cibbe’s eyes.

He blinks in recognition, then his eyelids start to flutter. 

Suddenly, a gray mass appears in the fog and a strong set of jaws wrap around Cibbe’s neck with a crunch. The dragon drags him out from under us and into the foggy abyss in a split-second. Maren shrieks. 

Wait. 

No. Not a dragon. 

My heart drops into my stomach. 

Wyvern.

I hear the word whispered in waves behind me then, “Get your gryphons up the cliff!”

Chapter Text

I pause for all of a heartbeat, but I’ve never hesitated in the face of dark wielders or their wyvern. And I'm certainly not starting now.

“Get Basta and the rest of the gryphons to the top. Give me your blades,” I demand to Maren and Cat.

Maren hastily hands me her runed dagger, but Cat and Basta start to argue with me. 

“I will not— ”

“You can’t—”

“That’s a direct fucking order,” I spit out. I reach out in demand, and Cat slowly hands over her dagger.

“Now, get Basta to the top, or else I’ll kill you myself,” I whisper, then shove her toward Bastadunn and shoot him an equally vicious glare.

“You can’t help me here. But you can get the gryphons out. Go. NOW,” I order. 

Basta growls at me but disseminates his orders and starts trotting up the path, leading the rest of the gryphons and fliers behind him. I wait for a gap in the herd then slip through to join the riders surrounding Gamlyn, mid-conversation.

“And we’re sitting ducks here,” Mairi says

“Go. Get off this trail,” Gamlyn coughs out along with a healthy dose of blood. Like a man slowly crawling toward his own death.

“We made a deal, remember? All four of us live to see graduation. We. Made. A. Deal,” Sorrengail insists, clasping Gamlyn’s hand.

“Ridoc?” another rider jogs up from behind me.

“They can’t see. Aetos, the dragons can’t see!” Aisereigh appears out of nowhere.

“On it!” Aetos responds.

“You’re on what exactly?” the new freckled rider spits at Aetos.

Interesting. Not just me that Aetos pisses off, then.

“Cath is relaying to Gaothal that Cianna needs to wield some wind so the riot can see. You can’t do anything here, Henrick, so get the others to safety!” Dain orders.

“If you think I’m going to leave my squadmates—” Henrick argues.

“Sounds like your wingleader gave you an order, cadet,” Aisereigh interrupts.

“You too, flier,” Aetos adds in my direction, avoiding eye contact.

“Have you ever taken down a wyvern without your dragon, wingleader?” I challenge. But the question is rhetorical.

He looks at me with overwhelming skepticism.

“I’d wager I’m the only one here with that particular skillset. You need me here.”

He just shakes his head, knowing he has no authority over me anyway.

“Right. You will not die. Do you understand?” Sorrengail instructs the bleeding-out Gamlyn.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Aisereigh inquires. 

Huh. There’s a familiarity there.

“I’m the best shot you’ve got. We both know it,” she responds. And I thank the gods she accepts the responsibility that’s so clearly been laid out on her shoulders.

“Fuck,” Aisereigh mutters. 

Not just familiarity, a definite affection, then.

“Find every wind wielder we have. I think there’s a storm wielder in First Wing. Not as powerful as my mother, but if we can raise the temperature it should help clear the clouds.”

She can lead. That’s a good sign.

“Violet! If we can’t clear the clouds, then use them to your advantage! No one here is as powerful as General Sorrengail. Come up with another plan,” Aisereigh instructs.

“We could send the entire riot in,” the wingleader suggests.

“And if there’s one rider on that wyvern, we could lose the entire riot,” Sorrengail retorts.

“You’re wounded. You know that, right?” Aetos whines.

“And you’re a memory reader.”

Holy shit. I don’t think I was supposed to hear that. I still and hold my breath, hoping they won’t see me if I don’t move.

“Oh, were we not stating obvious facts? Hate to break it to you, but your signet isn’t exactly helpful in this situation,” Sorrengail condescends.

“Would Riorson let you rush off into battle against gods know how many wyvern—or worse, the venin who created them—when you’re wounded?” Aetos argues.

“Yes. That’s why I love him.”

Gods, what a soap opera. And they have no idea how much information they just gave away.

I watch as Sorrengail takes Tairn’s tail like a balance beam and settles into rider’s position. I don’t draw attention to myself and wait to be addressed, but I take my position near the ledge, my shortsword in hand.

Eventually, Aetos settles next to me and quips, “You going to take out a wyvern with that thing?”

“Watch and learn, rider. Watch and learn.”

He just shakes his head, but I see the smile he tries to hide.

“Can you shield against fire?” I ask Aetos.

“Er, somewhat,” he says uncertainly.

That’s fine. I pull out three fire-countering runes from my pack and slam them into the dirt between us.

“Stay within eight feet of these. The wyvern won’t be able to breathe fire inside the perimeter. But the fire will still burn you if they wield outside of it.”

Aetos just swallows hard and nods.

We wait. My grip tightens around my sword. The air is suffocatingly still, and my muscles are coiled so tight that they ache.

I'm scanning over the dense fog when I see movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Wyvern, 11 o’clock,” I relay to the wingleader.

I strain my eyes, searching. My pulse hammers in my ears, and I shift from foot to foot, knowing it’s only a matter of time before—

It comes out of nowhere.

The massive membranous wings burst from the mist to our left, claws outstretched, jaws yawning wide.

I lunge out of the way, rolling just in time as blue fire spews toward us, so hot that the hairs in my nostrils curl from the heat, the fine hairs on my arm singeing into nothing. But I move just a fraction too late and the flames kiss the back of my calf. A sharp, blistering pain nearly consumes me.

But I don’t let it stop me. My shortsword is already in motion before I even get my footing. I slash up, hard, using the momentum from my roll and aiming for the wyvern’s throat. The blade connects with a satisfying slice—but it’s not deep enough. The wyvern screeches and jerks away before I can sever anything vital.

Damn it.

“It’s circling back!” Aetos shouts.

I grit my teeth, adjusting my stance, trying to ignore the throbbing, burning agony in my calf. The wyvern vanishes into the mist, and my pulse pounds in my ears as I scan for it.

Then suddenly, I see it dart through the fog. But not toward me. Toward—

Aetos.

I move before I think.

He sees it just in time, barely getting his sword up before the wyvern’s jaws snap down, the force of impact nearly knocking him off the ledge. His boots scrape against the stone, barely holding his ground. He grunts as he strains against the wyvern’s crushing jaw, his arms trembling from the effort. 

The wyvern snarls, adjusting its grip, and I know what’s coming—it’s going to twist its head and rip him off the cliff.

I don’t hesitate. I lunge and throw my entire weight at its throat, plunging my dagger up, under, right into the soft seam of its neck. But the wyvern just thrashes violently, slamming into me, sending us both tumbling.

Its claws scrape across my ribs as we crash into the rock and I choke back a pained yelp, barely holding onto my dagger.

My arms start trembling under the wyvern’s thrashing weight. The pain in my ribs sears through me and my grip slips for half a second.

“Move. Move or die," Basta’s voice slips into my mind.

And that’s all I needed to hear before reinforcing my grip and twisting my dagger violently.

The artery I severed finally gives, and black wyvern blood starts spewing from its throat. It splatters forcefully across my face, flooding into my mouth—warm and reeking of iron and something putrid. I gag as I fight the overwhelming urge to retch as the thick rotting goo overwhelms my senses, coating my tongue, my teeth, my throat. I can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything as my vision blurs for a second.

The wyvern finally convulses and it tumbles, screeching, disappearing into the foggy abyss. And my body collapses with it.

Aetos stumbles to my side, his face pale, staring at the slick black blood soaking my entire front.

“Shit. Are you okay?”

I suddenly feel bile rising in my throat—and it’s not because of Aetos’s face. 

I twist onto my hands and knees and spit. A thick glob of wyvern blood splatters onto the dirt. But I refuse to let myself puke. I spit again. And again. And again. But the rotten blood sticks to my tongue, the horrible taste refusing to leave my mouth.

My body starts to shake, the crash hitting me all at once.

A moment passes as I try to catch my breath, as I force the bile back down my throat.

Then I blink up at Aetos. “You learn anything?” My voice comes out hoarse, and I clear my throat, spitting out another glob of blood.

He shakes his head at me in disbelief before letting out a sharp breath. “I really thought you were bluffing.”

I shake off my dizziness, dismissing his disbelieving tone. “Focus, wingleader. They’ll be back.”

I pull myself up with Aetos’s help, and Aisereigh looks over his shoulder at us in concern, sweat beading on his forehead from mending Gamlyn.

Aetos and I position ourselves near the ledge again, and I grit my teeth as I try to ignore the pain in my ribs, in my calf. 

I start praying when I see another wyvern emerge from the clouds.

But the gods must have heard me. Because this time, it doesn’t make it far. A blinding light splits the sky, snapping down into the fog, and the clouds crackle with lightning. I squint just in time to see four distinct wyvern shapes light up blue before falling like charred gray husks into the abyss.

I stare in awe, slack jaw, my hair standing up from the residual electricity in the air, the scent of burnt flesh stinging my nose. “Holy shit. Did the lightning-wielder just take out four wyvern at once?”

“Yep,” Gamlyn answers like a proud dad.

I glance over my shoulder—Gamlyn looks better, but he’s still unsteady, his face too pale. Aisereigh hauls him up, his movements efficient but careful.

A rush of something unexpected crashes over me—relief. And I surprise myself when I let out a breath I had been holding and my shoulders sag. Maybe the full day of bonding did work.

“You made it.” My voice comes out shakier than I expect, and I have to clear my throat before I can manage a smile.

Gamlyn smirks. “Can’t believe you doubted me.”

I almost say I didn’t. But I did. So instead, I just shake my head.

“Damn, flier. That was impressive,” Aisereigh mutters, stepping up beside me. He’s already scanning my injuries, his fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to start healing immediately.

Then—my legs give out.

A flash of panic sparks in my chest, but before I can hit the ground, Aisereigh catches me, lowering me down carefully.

Shit.

The adrenaline is wearing off too fast, leaving everything raw, sharp, aching. The burned skin on my calf throbs in waves of fire, and the gashes across my ribs pulse with every breath. I don’t even realize I’m shaking until Aisereigh places a steady hand on my chest, just above where the wyvern’s claws had torn through me.

“I’ve got you,” he mutters, his voice calm, focused. The warmth of his magic seeps into my skin, and the pain in my ribs dulls. But I don’t miss the way his own hands tremble—he’s running on fumes, too.

He shifts to my blistered calf, and I hiss through my teeth as the flesh knits back together.

“Sorry,” he mutters, but I just shake my head. It’s nothing compared to what it was.

When he’s finished, he pulls me upright. The world tilts for a second before my vision sharpens again. He turns to Gamlyn, looping the man’s arm around his shoulder to help him stand.

I move to take Gamlyn’s other side—but the ever-noble Aetos beats me to it.

“Did you really just take down a wyvern by slicing its throat?” Gamlyn asks over Aetos’s shoulder, his voice still breathless.

Aetos huffs, “She sure did.”

Gamlyn turns his head to look at me, mock-reverence in his exhausted expression. “My guardian angel,” he murmurs, eyes shining with exaggerated adoration.

I roll my eyes, but a small laugh escapes me anyway. I pat his shoulder lightly, being careful of his injuries. “Good to see you still have your sense of humor, Gamlyn.”

“Ridoc,” he corrects me, lips twitching. “My friends call me Ridoc.”

I tilt my head, considering. Then I nod. “Ridoc, then.”

His smirk deepens. “Does that mean I get to call you… Elyra, was it?”

I arch a brow at him, then glance at Aetos, who’s already shaking his head. “Yes,” I say smoothly, “but only you. Aetos better not even think about it.”

Aetos just exhales through his nose, exasperated but clearly unsurprised.

We join the still-marching horde up the path. I’m not sure whether we’re in the middle of First or Second wing, but I'm on high alert for Cassian, nonetheless.

When we finally crest the clifftop, I’m greeted by a dozen hugs. Cat, Maren, Bragen, Trager, Riven, Veyda… I lose track as I look for Bastadunn.

“You really can’t find me in a crowd? ” he says, his tone dripping in disappointment. 

My eyes whip to his and I sprint toward him, pushing past the exhaustion in my legs. 

“Don’t you dare— ” he starts to warn, but I don’t care. I slam into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, my knees nearly buckling.

Every muscle in my body trembles violently, exhaustion creeping in like it might consume me whole. But I just focus on Basta.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am to find out how little faith you have in me,” he huffs, proudly, while leaning into my embrace.

“It wasn’t you I was worried about," I send down the bond as I grab his face and look into his piercing yellow eyes.

I notice some riders out of the corner of my eye, trying and failing to herd gryphons into wagons.

“You should tell them to get into the wagons. We need our strength back as soon as possible,” I urge Bastadunn.

He clicks and huffs in annoyance, but relents. “Fine.”

He trots off, getting all of the gryphons to follow him into the wagons. The riders just watch in bafflement.

I watch them leave before I head back to the trailhead to greet the remaining fliers. I finish greeting a drift when Jarek runs up to me. His eyes go wide in concern when he sees me covered in black goo, but he shakes it off. 

“He’s coming for you,” he manages to warn me as he spins to stand behind my left shoulder. I immediately snap my gaze to the boulder of a man stalking toward me.

The boulder lifts a finger at me. “You’re mine.”

The fliers who traveled with him run ahead and plant themselves in front of me, turning and drawing their weapons.

I sidle past them and gesture for them to lower their weapons.

“Cassie, you made it! I was getting worried,” I greet him with a cloyingly sweet smile, shoving down my exhaustion. “Now, the question is, whether or not you behaved.”

“He absolutely did not," Rava hisses behind me.

“I didn’t kill anyone.” He tilts his head, mock-considering. “I’d say that was more than generous.”

He stops six feet away, his gaze crawling over me—slowly—sending a chill down my spine. A group of riders gathers behind him. Most look thirsty to see some flier blood spill.

His smile twists into something menacing. Hungry.

“Well, aren’t you a good little boy?” I mock, cocking my head.

“There’s nothing little about me,” he crassly jokes. “And don’t worry, little girl. I’ve been having very, very bad thoughts about you the whole way up,” he says in a low voice, taking another step toward me—his grimace turning into a vicious smirk.

The riders behind him tense. The fliers behind me ready their weapons again.

I roll my eyes. I’m over the posturing and bluntly say, “Shall we set some ground rules? Or are we fighting to kill?”

He crosses his arms and looks down at me with an amused glint in his eye. He’s at least a foot taller than me. Easily twice my size. “You think you can kill me, little flier?”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt. But I’d rather not, if you can believe it.”

I’ve been forbidden from killing any riders.

“Although, it would be much quicker that way. And I’m getting hungry,” I say lazily, unsheathing two daggers. 

The fliers behind me back up to give me space. A larger crowd starts to gather around the perimeter. He sheds his pack and longsword, throwing them to the side. He doesn’t unsheathe any weapons. Seems like Mairi was right.

He just turns back to me, watching me with that same hungry, amused glint in his eye.

Then—he moves.

Not an attack. Just a test. A flicker of movement—fast, predatory—just enough to make me react.

My weight shifts on instinct. The ache in my ribs spikes. My recently mended calf twitches.

And he sees it. His smirk deepens.

I go stone-still, forcing my body to relax. Daring him to try again.

“Slowing down, little girl,” he murmurs.

I smile, slow and sharp. “I still have enough in me to slit your throat.”

His smirk twitches. Just barely. And for a moment, neither of us move.

Then—

“Hey! What’s going on?” A voice bellows from the field to my left.

Aetos.

“Cassie and I have an agreement,” I say without removing my eyes from Cassian and twirling my daggers so that I hold one forward, and one in reverse. I perform a kata out of pure muscle memory and land in a panther stance, staying low to the ground but staying on the balls of my feet. I ignore the way my legs tremble beneath me.

“We did not just risk our lives to get you here, just for you to get yourself killed.”

I scoff. He better be talking to Cassian. I don’t dare look away, knowing I’ll only have a split-second to maintain my advantage when he attacks.

When neither of us acknowledges him, he tries again. “Stand down, Rockthorne. That’s an order.”

Cassian’s lips twitch into a menacing smile. “I don’t answer to you, Aetos.”

“But you answer to me, now, cadet,” Aisereigh steps in. “She just killed a wyvern with her bare hands. I doubt you’d put up much of a fight. Now, break it up. We need to get you all checked in at Riorson House.”

When no one moves, another rider barks out, “You dare ignore a direct order from your Lieutenant Colonel?! Get your asses marching before we throw you in the brig for insubordination!”

“Yes, Professor Devera,” some of the riders respond as they scurry off with the rest of the crowd. 

Cassian stares at me for five heartbeats, clenching his jaw and each of his fists before he finally spits at my feet.

But he doesn’t leave. 

Instead, he takes half a step forward, fast enough that my weight shifts on instinct.

I keep my stance steady. Or try to. My calf twinges, a sharp spike of pain radiating up my leg. I don’t let it show.

But Cassian's lips quirk into a smirk.

“Keep burning yourself out, little flier. You won’t last long.” His voice is quiet, amused. Then he turns, shoving past his squadmates without looking back.

The fliers stay behind with me until every last rider has their back turned. Finally a hand clasps my shoulder. I look up to see Jarek with his eyebrow raised.

“Did you really have to pick a fight with the biggest, nastiest bloke you could find?” 

I force out an indignant laugh, “How else am I supposed to assert my dominance?”

He rolls his eyes at me then wraps an arm around my shoulder, dragging me with him to follow behind the dwindling crowd. I let my shoulders sag, my body threatening to give out at any moment.

I want to collapse. Sleep.

But I can’t. Not yet. Not when we’re still surrounded by enemies.

“You look like shit, by the way,” he adds.

“Well aware, thank you,” I sigh.

It takes a few minutes for the rest of the adrenaline to wear off, and for our circumstances to sink in.

We made it.

To Aretia.

And I know there were some casualties… but most of us made it. Against all odds. 

Maybe the gods are on our side, after all.

Or maybe they just want to see how much we can bleed before we finally break.

Chapter Text

Riorson House is magnificent. And I resent every inch of it.

I’ve always despised the ruling class, not that I answer to Tyrrendor’s royalty. But they’re all participants—no, beneficiaries—of the same corrupt system that allowed a dozen people’s selfishness and negligence to dig the very grave we find ourselves in now.

While I was sleeping outside on the cold, hard ground, living off rodents and rabbits, the nobility of our continent was happy to tuck themselves behind walls just like the ones surrounding Riorson House, leaving the rest of us to die. 

“I thought you said we needed the heir,” Bastadunn counters.

“We do. Doesn’t mean I have to like him,” I shoot back.

He scoffs at me through our bond.

“Where are you, anyway?” I ask.

“There’s a valley nearby. Drifts are taking turns hunting their dinner.”

Check-in is a shit show, and I help myself to the scrolls of fliers who made it back; I know I was the last one off the field. I’m scanning them to see who made it when someone snatches the papers right out of my hands.

I look up to see Aetos, the bane of my new hellish existence. 

“Well, that was rude,” I scowl at him.

“These aren’t for you to touch, especially not when you’re covered in wyvern blood. You’ll hear in the morning at formation. You should wash up and head to dinner. They’re handing out room assignments.”

“You have no authority over me, wingleader,” I drawl menacingly, stepping into his personal space.

“Thank you for reminding me that I apparently hold no authority over anyone, anymore. He does, though.” He gestures over my shoulder at someone.

I turn to see a tall man with a perfectly chiseled jaw-line strolling toward us in rider-black, one eyebrow lifted at Aetos. His broad shoulders angle down into a slender waist. Built but not bulky. Probably good in hand-to-hand—well-balanced between strong and agile. The loose black curls on top of his head seem to bounce and dance over strikingly resolute eyebrows as he casually jaunts over. His gaze is intense, but as he gets closer, I make out a slight twinkle in his warm brown eyes.

“After Riorson, Durran is next in line for the Tyrrish throne. This is basically his house, his city.”

I’m suddenly filled with… rage. What the fuck does Aetos think I’m going to do, bend the knee? Of course this pretty-boy who looks like he’s never seen a day of battle in his life is a highborn. How fitting to see him standing there without so much as a smudge of dirt on his face, while I stand here looking like… this.

I rip my gaze back to Aetos. “You think I give a shit?!”

“What’s going on, Aetos?” Durran inquires.

“She’s snooping. Looking through the scrolls—“

“I’m looking to see if my friends are alive!” I scream at him.

He just glares at me, holding the papers above his head.

My patience for Aetos bled out on the cliffside and I don’t hesitate before landing a swift punch to his gut. He doubles over and I snatch the papers back from him and walk away.

I hear footsteps following me and I unsheathe my shortsword, turning on my heel, and pointing it at— 

“You wouldn’t attack me in my cousin’s house, would you?” the Spare says with his hands up in surrender, a smile playing on his lips, looking down at me like I’m an amusing toddler. 

I narrow my eyes at him. How just like an aristocrat to crack a joke while I’m worrying about my friends being dead. This is why I despise nobility.

“I would do just about anything in self-defense,” I warn.

“Well that’s a relief because I’m not here to attack you,” he says, crossing his arms.

I don’t lower my blade.

He sighs and says, “Look, I don’t care if you want to read the scrolls. But I need to make sure those get back to the scribes before they have a meltdown.”

He turns back to a girl in brown robes and signs something to her. I don’t know what they’re saying. I didn’t get much of an education outside of battle tactics, in contrast to the undoubtedly exceptional education that I’m sure the Heir and the Spare both received.  

I huff a sigh and sheath my blade, trying to skim over the scrolls as quickly as I can. 

I find everyone I’m looking for except…

My heart plummets. Something dreadful takes its place.

No, no, no. I skim the papers again. She can’t be… She has to be…

I shove the papers into the rider’s hands unceremoniously as I sprint across the Entrance Hall and into the Great Hall where everyone had been ushered.

It’s packed and rowdy already, with verbal altercations popping up all over. I ignore everyone and stalk the perimeter of the room, searching. I finally spot Silvanus and hurry toward him.

“Silvan!” I call out from behind him.

He turns. 

And the way his face falls when he sees me steals my breath and replaces it with lead. I stop in my tracks as if frozen, and suddenly I can’t breathe.

No, no, no, she can’t….

Silvanus rises from his table to jog up to me. He has the wherewithal to walk me out of the Great Hall, out of Riorson House, and into a dark corner of the courtyard before he tells me what I already know. I just stare up at him, too afraid to ask the question, desperately seeking a different answer in his eyes.

He looks down at me for a long time, his eyes filling with sorrow. His hands brace my shoulders as he chews out the words like he has to rip them from his very soul.

His grip tightens. “Elyra—”

“No.” My voice cracks like brittle ice.

“Talia didn’t make it.”

The world narrows. His voice warps, muffled under the roar in my ears. Talia didn’t—

No. 

I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. She… 

My body lurches forward before I can stop it, my hands fisting in his jacket like I can hold onto the truth I want to exist. “She was—she was right behind us,” I plead, as if that should be enough. As if being close to safety should mean something.

“She didn’t make it,” he says again, softer this time, his fingers pressing bruises into my arms because I’m shaking too hard to stay upright.

A sharp pressure builds in my chest, trapped behind my ribs, pressing against my lungs like it wants to claw its way out.

There’s no way. No way that Talia of all people didn’t make it up the cliffside. That can’t be how she went, she was… invincible. 

“I don’t believe you,” I whisper.

“Elyra.” His voice is steady, but his eyes are raw, grief tightening his face in ways I’ve never seen before.

I search them. For a lie. For something I can fight. But there’s nothing. Nothing but grief.

A knot forms in my throat, and I feel a familiar burn behind my eyes. I focus on my rage to keep from crying.

How the fuck was it a fucking cliffside that took her?! How could she not make it?! She was the best of us! She was supposed to be stronger than that! She was supposed to…

My stomach turns violently. I want to break something. Scream. Tear through the world until I find something solid enough to hold onto.

“It was an accident,” he tells me when I don’t say anything.

“What happened?” I ask, my breath pathetically stuttering.

“It was after the wyvern showed up. We were rushing to get off the cliffside, and Fehralair must have slipped. None of us saw. We could barely see through the clouds. And the dragons… they didn’t get there in time.”

The way he can’t look me in the eye tells me he’s keeping something from me. Silvanus couldn’t lie to save his life. 

I look back and forth between his eyes when he looks back at me, and I slowly ask, “What are you not telling me?”

He grimaces and stays silent for a while before admitting, “Talia got into it with one of the riders. Again, no one saw anything. But…”

“Who’s responsible?” I demand.

“We have no proof, El,” he tries to dismiss me.

“WHO? ” I demand again, on the verge of hysterics.

He rubs a hand over his face before shaking his head and sighing, “I’m not going to tell you that, El. I know what you’re thinking, and I can’t let you go there. I only told you because I don’t want to lie to you.”

Fuck, I wish I could channel right now. I decide to let it go for now, realizing I have plenty of time to discover the truth. Plus, there’s only one question on my mind, but I can’t seem to ask it. I have to gulp down the bile rising in my throat twice before I croak out, “Where…”

“We brought her with us. I’ve already asked to do a proper sendoff. It’ll be a sky burial at dawn. Talia always told me that’s how she would have done it,” Silvanus answers my unasked question, his normally unshakably hazel eyes shining with a glaze of tears.

Finally, my body betrays me. My knees buckle as tears start streaming down my face.

Silvanus catches me before I hit the ground.

“I’ve got you. I’m so sorry, El,” he says, squeezing me like he’s trying to keep me together.

I let myself crumble in his arms for a while. There aren’t many people in this world who make me feel safe, but Silvanus is one. And Talia… 

I suddenly realize I’m getting filth all over him, and pull back, wiping my tears away. “Shit, sorry, I’m getting gunk all over you.”

He just pulls me in again and squeezes me tight, planting a kiss on top of my head.

“We’re going to be alright, El. You know Talia will always be with us,” he says, drawing back and placing my hand over my own heart, pressing his on top of mine, “in here. We fight for her.”

His eyes burn with grief and determination, and I just nod, letting his resolve fill me when I ultimately come up short.

Chapter Text

Silvanus leads me back to the Great Hall, but I barely register the walk. The sounds of the room—clinking dishes, tired chatter—are muffled beneath the thick, impenetrable fog in my head. I sit at the end of the table in a daze, half-heartedly spooning, but mostly staring, at my soup. 

It all tastes like ash.

My fingers tighten around the bowl, and I force down a swallow. 

My stomach churns.

I need to get out of here. I need a fucking bath. Or maybe to drown myself. Either way, a tub would do the trick.

I push back from the table, scanning the room until I find Aetos’s punchable little face at the end of another table. He personally promised me a room assignment.

I walk up to him then lean over the table to sigh, “Where can I get my room assignment? I need a bath.”

He looks up at me nervously and says, “I’m not sure, someone from the Assembly. I’d say B—Aisereigh, but I haven’t been able to find him.”

“I can show you to a bathing chamber.” The Spare stands up, his voice smooth and easy, and I stiffen before I meet his gaze.

I exhale sharply through my nose, my jaw clenching at how relaxed he is, how easily he smiles when I feel like a piece of me just died. Something inside me twists violently at the sheer injustice of it.

I try to focus on my breath. I’m at my absolute limit, hanging on by a thread to the very last shred of self control I possess. But some alone time and a bath to drown my screams would help with that.

I blink away my bitterness and force out a “please” with as much pleasantness as I can muster.

He doesn’t say anything. He just studies me for a second, before turning and gesturing for me to follow.

We walk in silence.

I expect him to fill the quiet with some unnecessary chit-chat, but he doesn’t. He just leads me through the Entrance Hall, up the polished grand staircase, and down a long hallway, before stopping in front of a door.

He uses magic to unlock the door, then pushes it open while putting out his other hand for me to take.

I look at him in indignation. “Wait. Did you just bring me to your bedroom?”

I’ve played this game enough times to know this old trick.

He gives me a small sigh then says, “It’s going to take ages to get your room assignment, and you won’t get any privacy in the shared bathing chamber. There’s a completely private bathing chamber in here that’s yours if you want it. You can even crash here tonight. I’ll leave you alone, promise,” he finishes with his hand over his heart.

He gives me a ghost of a smile which I appreciate because if he looked any happier, I’d probably punch him. But I just narrow my eyes at him. Why would he help me when he doesn’t even know me? There’s only one reason why men do that. And this man led me to his bedroom before even asking for my name.

When I just stare at him with skepticism, he urges, “The only reason I’m doing this is because you’re starting to scare the first-years walking around like that. They’re going to have nightmares.”

I roll my eyes but I can’t help it when my lips twitch into a small smile. I just sigh and take his hand, letting him pull me past his wards. I’m desperate for some privacy at this point. Plus, if he tries anything, I’ll cut his balls off.

It’s a spacious bedroom. Not over-the-top but certainly enough to please a noble. The furnishings have a muted regalness to them, relying on gleaming mahogany wood surfaces, lush fabrics, and arched windows to give it an effortless air of elegance. There’s a hearth in the room that’s unlit with two leather armchairs in front of it, a desk and bookshelf covered in books, a large, intricately carved armoire, and a weapons rack.

I’m on autopilot as my body automatically takes me to the weapons rack. The only thing in the room that I feel comfortable touching. There’s some runed objects among a variety of weapons. I slide a finger across the blade of a longsword, and it almost cuts. He keeps his weapons sharp, that’s good. Or bad. I haven’t decided yet.

I feel Durran watching me out of the corner of his eye as he gathers a towel and some clean clothes for me. When he opens the door to the bathing chamber, I abandon my investigation and follow him in.

“There are soaps and everything you need already by the tub. I have an extra toothbrush for you, and here’s a towel and a change of clothes. They might be a little big, but the pants have drawstrings.”

I take the pile from him, and I know I should say thank you, but I don’t. I feel a meltdown brewing fiercely right underneath the surface and I’m afraid it’ll come hurling out of me if I open my mouth.

“Anything else I can get for you?” he asks.

I just shake my head and walk to set the pile down on a stool by the tub, my hands trembling slightly.

He just nods and turns to leave, but pauses for a few seconds before shutting the door. Then he finally says, “The bedroom’s yours for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow, flier.”

He shuts the door behind him.

And I can't hold it in a moment longer.

I break, collapsing onto my knees, squeezing myself around the middle like I might be able to squeeze the grief out. I sob in silence for a minute until I hear the bedroom door click—the one I’m sure has sound wards.

When the second door clicks shut I come undone in the ugliest way possible with tears, snot, and drool mixing with wyvern blood to create a disgusting tapestry of grief on my face. But it’s not just grief. Grief doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s failure that crushes me. Hopelessness.

I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved to this war. It’s taken everything from me. It takes and takes, then gives just to take it away again. It makes me want to crawl in a hole and die, to give up, to get off this merry-go-round of death and never look back. It feels pointless. Why do I even bother? What is there left to fight for?

“Me. And Silvanus. And Syrena. You fight for Jarek, Rava, Riven, Catriona, Maren. You get the picture. We’d be here all night if I had to list off all of the people you fight for. And it’s not just the living we fight for. It’s Talia and Fehra, Luella and Cibbe. For all the lives we lost today. For all who gave their lives before us. For your family. For Beckett, for E—”

“DON’T! ”

Bastadunn silences.

I take a deep breath and try to gather myself. “I’m sorry, I just… I can’t right now,” I apologize.

“Hmm… Well if you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, you should get off the ground. I know you’re stronger than whatever this display has been.”

Bastadunn is a professional at kicking my ass, and my usual anger starts to replace whatever’s broken inside of me. So I pick myself up off the floor and wipe my tears away.

Sniffling, my breath stuttering on every inhale, I start the tap, pouring hot water into the tub, then start looking at the little containers set out next to it. I spoon a generous amount of salts into the tub, along with some lavender and mint. After some hesitation, I add some coconut milk as well. I’ll allow myself this little luxury. 

I unhook my harness and belt, letting my weapons clatter to the ground. Then, I sit down on a bench and take my shoes off. My feet are killing me. I’m no stranger to long walks but I haven’t had to do it in a long time, not with Bastadunn, and not with my recent assignments. 

I pull at the laces, caked in dirt and blood, and struggle to loosen them enough to get my feet out. I finally yank them off, releasing a wave of heat so thick I half expect to see steam rising. I sigh in relief as I set my boots aside and feel my circulation crawling back to the areas it was struggling to reach before. I slide my socks off to reveal red and white imprints mottling my skin, and my feet almost burn at the sudden exposure to the cool air. I try to wriggle my toes, but they resist me.

I start to unbutton my shirt, struggling to release each button from the caked on wyvern blood. I roll my neck as I work my way down, stretching out and trying to crack my back. What I would do for a massage… Ugh, I can’t think that way, not right now.

With the final button released, I peel my stiff shirt off and fling it on the ground in front of my boots. I stand to unbutton my pants and start to pull the stiff material down over my hips. My legs are slick with sweat and the pants cling to my skin. I sit back down and slowly tease them off one leg at a time. 

Finally down to just my knickers, I unhook my bra, throwing it in the pile of dirty clothes, and slip my panties down, letting them drop to the ground. I step out of them and directly into the bath I just drew.

I stifle a grunt as I step in because ohh it fucking burns. But I’m a masochist and force my body into the scalding hot water anyway. I release a throaty breath as I sink into the hot water and submerge my torso. I give myself a moment to adjust to the temperature, then I take a deep breath of lavender, mint, and coconut milk. Is it weird that I want to taste it? 

I let myself soak for a few minutes before I grab a washcloth and a bar of soap, and start scrubbing myself from head to toe. I watch as my bath gets murkier, but I scrub and scrub until I’m sure that there’s nothing left but fresh, raw skin. I probably scrub a bit harder than I need to, but that’s how I like it.

I finally dip my hair back into the water and start working out the crust and knots. I inspect the special hair soap that Durran must use to get his curls to look so pretty, and spoon out a dollop. I rub it into my scalp, and into the ends of my long, black hair, until I’m sure that I’ve lathered every strand of hair on my head. I dip my hair back and wash out the suds, then drain the bathtub and rinse with fresh water.

When I finally feel clean, I stand and wrap myself in the thick towel that Durran gave me, squeezing my hair out over the tub, then assess the change of clothes he provided. Some ivory, cotton, draw-string pants that will surely be too long on me, and a matching ivory shirt. I don’t really feel like rewearing my undergarments, so I just pull the clothes on without them. I have to roll the pants about six times, but they fit with the drawstring. The shirt is clearly a man’s, though, and I don’t need those rumors to start already. I sigh. I wasn’t planning on staying any longer than I needed to bathe, but I’ll have to stay until everyone’s asleep. 3 AM is my favorite time, anyway.

I walk back out into the bedroom after brushing my teeth and I suddenly feel… adrenaline coursing through my veins. My heart starts thumping like it’s trying to escape my chest and I try to swallow it down and breathe. I decide to sit down in an armchair by the crackling hearth to gather myself.

Wait. I could have sworn it was unlit when we arrived. Did an attendant sneak in while I was bathing? Or did the Spare…

A chill runs down my spine, sharp and wrong. It’s harmless, I tell myself. Just a fire. But my fingers tighten against the arms of the chair, and suddenly, I feel too exposed.

I close my eyes and try to ease my breaths as a million memories flash through my head, memories I’ve tried my damndest to forget.

Blood on my hands, voices screaming my name, bodies crumpling to the ground, the look in his eyes before—

No. Not that. Not now.

I exhale sharply, gripping the arms of the chair like holding onto something solid might keep me from spiraling. But the unease doesn’t fade. 

When my brain doesn’t stop, I realize that I’m fucking lost. I don’t know who I am or who I’m supposed to be right now. A first-year Cliffsbane cadet? A battle-hardened warrior? A leader? A spy?

“You know who you are, and you know what we need to do. Be whoever you need to be to get the job done,” Bastadunn interjects, as he always does.

I sigh a sigh that teeters on a groan and I ask something I would usually never ask, “But who am I supposed to be right now? Everything’s so twisted here. I lost Talia as a friend, a sister. I lost Luella as a Captain. I… I was who I needed to be on the cliffside, but you know what happens when I get close to people.”

“All true, but that’s not what you really want to ask me, is it? Your resolve never wavered on that cliffside.”

I pause for a long time, trying to think of how to put my jumble of emotions into words. I give up and just say, “You know what I’m asking.”

“You have to say it. To admit it. You must admit the problem before you can ever hope to see the solution clearly.”

I sit and think for a while. But I can’t. I can’t say it. Bastadunn surprisingly doesn’t push me on it, either.

I eventually get up from the armchair and pace around the room, my arms knitted tightly across my chest. My feet stop moving in front of the bookshelves, as I read over the titles that litter them. There’s no rhyme or reason to the way they’re stacked. The titles range from typical texts found in any battle tactics course, to cultural texts about Tyrrendor, fictional books and fables, history, runework, healing.

I pick up the one that business-me can’t resist perusing. I curl up in the armchair and start to read. It has all of the traditional Tyrrish runes along with simple, intermediate, and advanced examples of each. Most of the information I know, but there are a few tidbits that I find interesting enough to catalogue away for further research.

The clock strikes midnight, and the embers of the fire fade, when I finally decide to try to get some sleep. I look over at the large bed from my spot in the armchair, and… I look around to find other suitable places to sleep. There’s only one that catches my eye. I decide to open the armoire to see if there are any spare blankets and pillows, and thank Zihnal, there are. I pull them out and settle down on the floor next to the fire. Camp is the only place I feel comfortable sleeping anymore. I doze off surprisingly quickly.

I wake in a panic a few hours later, fumbling for daggers that aren’t there. It takes me a few seconds to gather my bearings, but I do so relatively quickly considering I’m alone, no enemies in sight. It’s a quarter to three. Like clockwork, those nightmares.

“How are you feeling? ” I probe.

“You can channel. Now let me sleep,” Bastadunn sleepily grunts at me.

I stack a few more logs in the hearth and channel some magic to light the tinder. I sit back and watch the kindling light, then the logs. I let the fire grow enough to grant me some light as I fumble to fold the blanket, leaving it neatly stacked on the armchair along with my pillow, and return the book to its place on the bookshelf.

I head to the bathing chamber to gather my weapons and clothes, though it’s hard to see with only faint firelight flickering through the doorway. I pack them into my bag, hanging my weapons and shoes from the straps. I don’t mind being barefoot. I return to the bedroom and take one last glance around before moving toward the door, my pack on my back.

But something makes me pause when my hand reaches for the door handle. I look at the hearth and I’m suddenly wracked with guilt. I should have said thank you. And I’m not particularly looking forward to seeing the Spare again to say it in person. I drop my pack and head to his desk.

I look through a couple drawers before I find some parchment. I fold and tear it to the proportion I want, then scribble a succinct note on it. I make some well-practiced folds then flatten the parchment again, and close my eyes, focusing on the source of my bond with Bastadunn—it’s weak, but that actually makes runework easier. I carefully thread out delicate pieces of magic and shape them into the rune sequence I invented, then place the rune on the parchment. 

Satisfied with my work, I stand up, pick up my bag, and walk out of the room.

Chapter Text

Riorson House is a ghost town as I meander about the halls. It's too quiet. The kind of quiet that sets my teeth on edge.

I move carefully through the halls, my steps light, my senses open. I had plans to snoop anyway, and tonight is as good a night as any.

I scamper down to the first floor, keeping to the edges—the shadows—and up to a set of large wooden doors off the Main Hall.

I press my ear to the door first.

Nothing.

I test the handle, half-expecting resistance, but it turns easily. Too easily. I slip inside, shutting the door behind me without a sound, releasing my breath through my nose.

Empty.

It’s a grand room with tall windows and a long table sitting on a raised dais, spanning the length of the room. There’s a map of the continent along the long wall, with red and orange dots that must outline dark wielder activity. Other small tables are littered with parchment and books along the edges of the room.

I start taking stock of what’s lying out. I move deliberately, skimming my fingers over the papers but leaving them precisely as they were. A quick scan tells me most of it is administrative—budgets, assignments, resource allocation. Important, but not what I’m looking for. I’ll have to make a plan to dive deeper in the future. 

I continue to scan the perimeter of the room until I find myself in front of the map. I study the red and orange dots and as I catalogue each one, I feel bile rising in my throat as I realize just how many of these were fought by fliers and fliers alone. When I think about how many dead friends are represented by each of these tacks. I force myself to swallow it down, then turn on my heel to leave.

I visit a few more of the rooms on the first floor, noting the entry and exit points, and any other useful tidbits I can find. I can’t sleep unless I know every detail about my surroundings—its weaknesses, its hiding spots, its secrets. Not that I can sleep much, anyway.

I find the room assignments tacked up on a noticeboard in the Entrance Hall and see that I was given my own room on the third floor. A small blessing. I make my way up and find my room at the end of the hall. A corner room. I wonder if any strings were pulled to coordinate this. They’re supposed to think of me as a regular cadet, not sure why they’d bother making sure I’m comfortable. Maybe it’s just Zihnal looking after me. Or Professor Kiandra, maybe.

I open the door and walk over the threshold. It’s more spacious than any room I’ve ever called my own before, but it’s furnished similarly. There’s a twin bed, a small armoire, a small desk, and a weapons rack. I see someone deposited my duffle bag and I decide to start unpacking, making sure to pull out my dress uniform so that it has time to unwrinkle before dawn.

I continue to unpack all of my things until everything is neatly put away, then spend some time warding my room. Once I’ve run out of things to do, I decide to get ready for the day. I take my time carefully braiding my hair the way Talia taught me, in a traditional Braevick style, then put on my dress uniform, using magic to smooth the creases.

I do a once over in the mirror hanging on the side of the armoire. My uniform is bare besides the one small talon that indicates that I’m a first-year cadet. I left my medals behind, not that I particularly like being reminded of what I had to do to earn them. I hesitate for a moment then put on my belt and sheath my sword along with a dagger on each thigh. I normally wouldn’t wear weapons to a burial ceremony, but Cassian might be hunting me.

The fliers are in full-dress as we trek back out toward the Cliffs of Dralor an hour before dawn, to properly send off our fallen. We spend the hour collecting wood and constructing pyres along the cliff’s edge for the six fallen gryphon-flier pairs. Even though we only have two bodies—Talia and Rheon, a small first-year boy who was as sharp with his words as he was with his knives.

Silvanus carries Talia’s body up to one of the pyres in the center while Rheon’s drift leader carries him to the other. I follow behind, torch in hand, so I can look at Talia one last time.

Silvanus pauses before placing her on the pyre, allowing me to plant one last kiss on her round, lifeless face. I apologize for my failure and tell her how much I love her. Then I return to my place next to Bastadunn, my face set in stone. 

Professor Kiandra stands before us, her medals twinkling in the moonlight, the faint light of dawn creeping into the black skies. There’s no need to call attention, as we all wait in silence, the only sound being the wind whipping through the mountains.

“We gather here today, to honor those who have fallen. We thank them for their sacrifice, for they fell as they lived—fearlessly defending their oath, their bond, and the skies. While their bodies may be gone, their spirit lives on in us. Let the winds take them, and may they soar forever beyond the reach of war.”

One by one, we step forward, torches in hand, igniting the pyres as Professor Kiandra calls their names.

“Fehralair and Talia Vaelith, Thyrelair and Kiel Daskov, Zephadunn and Talon Helsnik, Cibbelair and Luella Castille, Dolvaraine and Sasha Dornhelm, Tiralair and Rheon Thorne, with honor, love, and gratitude, we commend your souls to Malek.” 

The gryphons let out a three-beat cry in unison. And I just watch as the flames engulf Talia’s body.

The others drift back to Riorson House for breakfast and morning formation, but I stay behind, my stomach turning at the familiar smell of burning human flesh. I want to watch as every last particle of Talia blows into the wind. 

Everyone leaves eventually, even Silvanus, leaving Basta and me alone on the cliff. Basta sits down and I sit down next to him, leaning into him. We sit there and watch for hours, and I stare at the smoke and ash swirling above the fire for so long that I start seeing things. Her face. Old memories.

Talia’s laughing, head thrown back, her red hair bouncing like each strand has practiced this choreography before. She’s grinning at me from across the tavern table, three drinks in, one foot propped on the chair like she’s lounging on a fucking throne. And she might as well be, the way she commands every room she’s in.

I blink. The smoke shifts, reforming.

“You’ve got that look on your face again, Elly.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“Oh, you do.” She leans in, waggling her eyebrows. “That ‘I’m about to do something stupid’ look.”

I inhale sharply, dragging myself back to the present.

I tighten my jaw and stare back at the smoke. It’s just a trick of the fire.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper one final time to the shapes that float into the air over the cliffside.

When the pyre starts to burn low, and nothing remains of the Talia I knew, I stand and head back toward the fortress. 

I manage to grab some lunch from the Great Hall, ignoring the fights breaking out. I don’t trust myself to not kill someone at this exact moment. I take my lunch and head to the sparring gym.

I find Silvanus and Riven sparring on one of the mats and head to join them. Most of the other mats are empty but a couple have riders sparring on them.

Professor Kiandra finds me and comes to stand next to me, a sound-shielding rune in her hand.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Captain,” she says in a low voice.

“Thank you, Professor,” I nod, then turn back to watch Silvanus.

“We’ll gather the cadets for a town hall this afternoon in the theater, then I’ll give you the rest of the day to settle. But tomorrow, we go to work,” she says, looking down at me sternly.

“Yes, ma’am,” I look her in the eye and nod.

Her eyes linger on mine for a moment before she leaves with a pat on my shoulder.

Riven finally taps out when he’s pinned in a compromising position by Silvanus. Silvanus pulls him to his feet and they head over my way.

“Care to take out some of your frustrations?” Silvanus asks me.

I’m tempted but I just shake my head and sigh, “No, not right now,” while sending a pointed look toward the riders. I don’t want them to see me fight. I’d rather catch them unawares.

We walk over to one of the benches along the wall and I eat my lunch while we all watch the riders sparring, taking note of their fighting styles, strengths, and weaknesses.

“They’re too impatient. All force, no finesse,” I critique.

“Uncoordinated,” Silvanus agrees.

“Lazy,” Riven adds.

“The little one has decent footwork, but he’s too afraid to do anything but defend,” Silvanus offers.

“At least counterattack,” Riven grunts, leaning to the side like it might help the little rider.

“OOH,” we all grimace as the little rider finally fails to dodge a counter and takes an elbow to the face.

We have no shame watching as they try and fail spectacularly at controlling the blood spouting out of his nose. 

Soon, more and more riders start filtering into the sparring gym, and every single one throws a nasty look in our direction. I’m incapable of masking right now, and if looks could kill, they’d all be shot dead by the glare I level them with.

When one sends a menacing smile toward Silvanus, I suddenly remember that one of these bastards could be responsible for Talia’s death.

“You know, Silvanus,” I start, my eyes trained on the rider, “I think I could use someone to take my frustrations out on. Any suggestions?”

He just shakes his head at me and stands.

“Come on, let’s get out of here before you kill someone,” he says, holding out a hand toward me.

I stand and he places his hand on the small of my back, Riven flanking my other side like they’re my body guards. My heart thumps as we walk past the horde of bloodthirsty riders, my ears straining to listen for any surprise attacks.

Luckily, one of the riders’ professors shows up and most of the attention turns to him. I turn and scan the room before we leave, looking to see whose eyes are still on us. There are three riders who meet my gaze, and I commit each of their faces to memory. Balance rules every aspect of my life, and if we lost six fliers, I see nothing wrong with balancing the scales, especially if it means terminating risks. I won’t lose another flier at the hands of any of these Aretian riders.

We collect the fliers in the afternoon and head to the theater to debrief. The theater sits in the northwestern wing of Riorson House. It’s on the smaller-end for a theater, but should easily fit all of the current occupants at Riorson House. A stairway descends from the entrance, with rows of seats curving off each step. There’s a large stage at the bottom where a giant map of the known world sits.

We fit the room with temporary sound wards to ensure our privacy, then Professor Kiandra addresses the crowd of cadets.

“All right, settle down!” she shushes the crowd.

The cadets are slow to quiet. But once they do, Professor Kiandra starts, “I know you’re angry. I know you’re grieving. Trust me, I know because I feel the same.”

She lets her gaze travel over the auditorium. 

“But make no mistake,” her tone switches from sympathetic to stern, “while I understand your pain, your grief, I will not tolerate anyone risking our mission. We cannot afford to lose ourselves to our emotions, not when we’re in the middle of a war. We did not make this decision lightly, cadets. We’re here because we cannot spare any more lives. Because—and let me be very clear about this—we are LOSING this war. And without something short of a miracle, we WILL lose this war.”

She pauses as she lets her words sink in, then continues, “Hundreds of years of animosity between riders and fliers will not be settled overnight. But you must all make the effort. If not for yourselves and the ones you’ve lost, then for the people sitting next to you. You made a vow when you joined us—to protect the innocent, to protect the realm—and every single person in here is more than worthy of that protection now.”

She pauses again to wait for the room to settle again, turning their attention back to her. “No more lives will be lost. Not if we can help it. And that includes the riders. Anyone suspected of taking the life of another cadet will face grave consequences.”

The fliers break out in a chorus of outrage.

“That’s bullshit!”

“We lost six fliers yesterday and not a single rider!”

“But what if it’s self-defense?!”

“They’re the ones trying to kill us!”

“ENOUGH!” Professor Kiandra booms over the outcry.

The fliers don’t settle, and Professor Kiandra looks toward me with a plea in her eyes. I sigh and stand to address the room.

“That’s right, Jasper, we lost six fliers and their gryphons yesterday. SIX. Whose fault do you think that is?”

That gets everyone to shut up as they ponder my trick question.

“Kiel never would have fallen if he hadn’t been caught up with that psycho of a rider in First Wing!” Tara calls out.

“Wrong,” I address the flier. “It’s MINE,” I spit at them, forcefully pointing a finger at my chest. “I agreed to bring us here, and I was fully aware of the risks when I did so. Their blood is on my hands, so if you want to come at anyone, come at ME. I’ll be available at any time of the day to take your grievances.”

I sit back down, crossing my legs and clasping my hands over my knee. Professor Kiandra looks at me with a mixture of disappointment and pity. Not what she wanted me to say, then.

“Thank you for volunteering as punching bag, Captain, but this is bigger than you. It’s bigger than all of us. I understand that you may never be friends with the ones who were sworn to kill us, but you will be fighting alongside them when the dark wielders come. You need to learn to cooperate, to work as a team, so that we may have even a glimmer of hope when it comes to defeating our shared enemy. We cannot do it alone. We cannot do it without the dragons. We cannot do it without their luminary. We need them, as hard as that is to admit.”

The fliers just groan and grumble. I stand up again and take a different approach.

“May I, Professor?” I ask.

She narrows her eyes at me in suspicion, but she eventually nods and gestures for me to take the floor. I stand and pace in front of the front-row of fliers as I address the room.

“This is a strategic partnership, nothing more, nothing less. But I also understand the unfairness of it all. We are at a disadvantage here, as are our gryphons. And I’ve never been one to be happy just sitting around waiting for my enemy to take me out, and neither should you.”

I pause to make sure they’re all paying attention. 

Satisfied, I continue, “Every time you go out there, every time you even see a rider, you need to be thinking strategically. Professor Kiandra is right, we need them. And now is the time to weed out the trustworthy from the untrustworthy. I want everyone to take notes on every single rider you come across. Make sure to write only in code, keep it discreet, keep your notes well-guarded. I want to know their signet, their attitudes, their perceived trustworthiness, their fighting styles, where they’re from, their discontent, their passion. Every single detail you learn about them is information we can use to keep our edge, to keep our people safe. I’ll meet with each of you discreetly on a regular basis to collect your notes, and leadership will work on distilling and disseminating the information to everyone. We’ll work with the ones we can trust, and we’ll keep an eye on the ones we can’t.”

I see the demeanor of the room slowly start to sway from frustration to determination, but I know it hasn’t been enough—that several are still keen on exacting their own revenge. 

So I add, “As for killing the riders—I know you’ve all been taught non-lethal blows. You can take your enemy out without killing them. It may be harder, maybe not as satisfying, but those are your orders. If anyone becomes too much to handle, becomes too dangerous, you come to me and I’ll handle it. If you kill them, you’ll be put to death. If you let me do it, well… I’ll worry about that.”

Some of the first-years don’t know me well enough to trust my words, and I hear them muttering. But the fliers who do know seem to begrudgingly accept my demands—besides the few who know me best who are just shaking their heads. I look over at Professor Kiandra to see if she has anything to add. She just looks at me with her arms crossed.

“We’ll start now,” I call out, turning to face the fliers again. “Who’s giving you trouble? Who do we need to keep an eye on?”

We stay for over three hours as fliers share their personal grudges one-by-one. At this rate, it seems that none of the riders can be trusted. I rub my face with my hands. It’ll take time, I guess. Still, I sit and listen to all of their complaints. Better they take out their frustrations now and hope that I’ll do something about it rather than leave disgruntled and determined to take matters into their own hands.

Chapter Text

Dinner has started by the time we’re finished, so we all shuffle out of the auditorium and toward the Great Hall. Riders are already spread out at the tables when we arrive, so we have to split up to eat. I decide to join Cat’s drift for dinner, so I can check in on her.

“Captain!” Trager greets me.

I smack him over the back of the head. He isn’t supposed to call me that in public.

“Ouch, seven hells! I forgot,” he pouts.

I sit down next to him and affectionately nudge him with my elbow, “Oh, quit whining, Tray.”

“Nice speech in there, El,” Cat smirks at me from across the table, her eyebrow raised. “Does that mean you’re going to kill Sorrengail for me?”

The table bursts into laughter and I roll my eyes at her indiscretion, but I can’t stop the soft huff of a laugh that escapes through my nose.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare take that pleasure away from you, Cat,” I answer with an ornery smile.

“She killed Luella and Cibbe,” Cat hisses back at me, completely serious. The laughter at the table dies abruptly, and everyone’s faces fall.

“For the last time, Cat, it was an accident!” Maren pleads with her.

“I saw it!” Cat yells. “All she had to do was hold on a little longer, El was right behind her, but she dropped her! And I know she did it on purpose!”

“I don’t think it was on purpose, Cat. Her arm popped out for gods’ sake. Sure, she’s weak—Luella can’t have been more than ninety pounds—but I just don’t think she would have dropped Luella on purpose. Now, if it were you, that’d be a different story.” 

I don’t mention that in the heat of the moment, I had been briefly suspicious of Sorrengail as well. At least until I’d seen how quickly she went to take on the wyvern by herself. Not to mention her success at doing so. She’s not a coward. She wouldn’t purposely drop someone then pretend it was an accident.

“Oh, please! She didn’t give a shit about Luella! Otherwise, she would have told that insufferable bitch, Visia, to shut the hell up. And if you’re not going to do it for Luella, then I will. So much for that speech.”

I glare at her as I ruffle through my pack to pull out and activate a sound-shielding rune. I place it on the table and hiss at her, “First of all, what was said in that room should never be repeated where prying ears can hear. I mean that, Cat. You’ll fuck everything up if their leadership thinks we’re up to something. That goes for all of you. Second of all, I never said I was going to play assassin so that everyone can exact their revenge. I said if anyone becomes too dangerous, then I’ll handle it in the best way possible. Sorrengail being a weakling isn’t dangerous, not directly at least. And you hated her before any of this happened. Don’t use Luella as an excuse just so that you can get back at her for Riorson. That’s fucking low, and you know it.”

“How fucking dare you?!” She spits venom at me over the table. “How did it take less than a week to completely turn your back on us, that you’re so eager to suck off the riders, just because they have something you want?! How can you stand to simper in front of them, knowing that one of them killed Talia? You’re fucking pathetic. She’d be so disappointed in you.”

She pauses for a reaction and I just lock my jaw shut—forcing my breaths to stay even, holding on for dear life—knowing that Cat would love nothing more than for me to lose control right now.

She leans in closer, crossing her arms on the table and tilting her head at me before she drawls, “You know, it must be true what they say about you." Her voice drops lower as her lips quirk up into a smirk. "That you’ll fuck anyone as long as you get paid enough.”

And there it is. The snap. The final measly thread that’s been working overtime to keep me together finally gives.

She wants me to break.

And I do.

Rage instantly consumes every part of me, including my brain, and all I see is red as I lunge for her throat. My heart hammers against my ribs, my breath a raw snarl as rage sears through me like wildfire. 

The bench scrapes back with a violent shriek as my legs leave the wood, the dishes clattering and breaking underneath the force of my body. 

I see the flash of fear in her eyes—just for a split second—as I almost get my fingers wrapped around her neck. But Trager pulls me off at the last second, and my fingertips just scratch at her skin before she shrieks and throws herself backward.

“FUCK!” I snarl, twisting violently in Trager’s grip. My entire body is thrumming with unchecked fury, my magic coiling at the edges of my control, screaming for release.

I focus on my breath, desperately trying to get a grasp on my control. But she’s channeling again. I can feel it—like an invisible pressure suffocating me, poisoning my thoughts, tipping me over the edge. The way her pupils are blown wide, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. She fucking baited me. And it worked.

I suddenly realize how many eyes in the Great Hall are on us and I shove Trager off me with more force than necessary. He stumbles back, eyes wide, arms still outstretched like he’s ready to hold me again if I snap.

But I don’t. I can’t.

I force my fingers to unfurl from where they had been clenched into claws. The tension in my jaw is so sharp it aches, my teeth nearly ground to dust.

Cat stares at me, still panting, still bracing herself against the floor where she landed, her fingers clutching at the spot on her throat where my nails left faint pink scratches. 

And she’s fucking smiling at me.

I bite back the fury that threatens to claw its way out of my throat—swallow it down, shove it hard into the overflowing box of shit I keep buried.

Then, I grab my shit and leave.

Silvanus and Bragen both come to check on me in the courtyard, but I tell them to fuck off.

I can still feel Cat’s words crawling under my skin like something venomous, burrowing deep, threatening to rot me from the inside out. I know I should brush it off. I need to brush it off. I can’t let them see me spiral, see me lose control.

“Words are meaningless,” Bastadunn sighs in my head.

I just shake my head at him. I know that. But she hit a nerve that split me wide open.

It’s not something I haven’t heard before. It’s not even completely untrue.

And that’s the fucking problem.

My pulse pounds—too fast, too erratic—like my body is bracing for a fight that’s already over. I exhale slowly through my nose, forcing my fists open, forcing my body to loosen, even as my mind violently dredges up something ugly, something I’m incapable of looking at.

Because I can’t look at it.

If I let it in—let it settle, let it breathe—it’ll consume me whole. And I can’t afford that. Not here. Not now. Not when everyone’s already watching me for weaknesses.

So I shove it down. Shove it deep, into the place where all my ugly things go, where I won’t have to acknowledge them until they claw their way back to the surface.

I pace, jaw clenched, breath controlled, forcing my thoughts into something more manageable. Focus on the mission. Focus on something else. Breathe. 

The cold air stings against my heated skin as I step deeper into the courtyard. I need to calm down. I need—

"What’s a little thing like you doing in the dark, all alone?"

My eyes snap up.

Shit. 

It’s Cassian. And he brought two little minions along with him, moving like they’ve already decided how this ends.

“Cowards,” Bastadunn hisses in my head.

“If they really want to come for me now, when I feel like killing someone, then so be it,” I respond.

“Careful,” Bastadunn warns.

And I know he’s not worried about me getting hurt.

I roll my shoulders, testing the tension in my muscles, clocking the riders’ movements.

“Why, Cassie, you’re not afraid of the dark, are you?” I mock.

“Oh no, I prefer to hunt in the dark.” 

That’s the only warning they give before they start sprinting toward me. 

I move on instinct. Two daggers fly from my hands before I even think about throwing them, sinking into the legs of the two riders flanking him. They go down with sharp cries, clutching at their wounds.

Cassian keeps coming.

I skip out of reach, unsheathing my shortsword in the same motion. He’s fast, but not as fast as me.

One of the downed riders dislodges the dagger from her leg and flips it at me, but I easily knock it down with my sword, then pick it up from where it clatters on the cobblestone. 

The other rider dislodges his dagger and throws it on the ground. Interesting. I take note and start circling toward it, away from Cassian. 

I sheathe my shortsword again, transferring my dagger to my dominant hand. I need the mobility.

“You just gonna run away, or are you gonna fight?” Cassian crows, frustration lining his voice.

“Three-on-one is hardly fair, Cassie. I thought it’d just be the… two of us. Much more… intimate, that way,” I grunt out as he lunges at me. I feint to his right before sliding under his left arm, onto my knees, twisting and slashing one of the tendons behind his knee and forcing him to the ground. 

He cries out when he collapses—but I don’t stop. I’ve already climbed on top of him, my dagger already moving toward his throat, before my brain fully catches up.

My knee presses into his chest, as my eyes lock onto his. And I feel it, the moment where everything goes razor-sharp, blood-hot, inevitable. Ugly.

His pulse thrums beneath my palm as I press the edge of the blade against the soft skin of his throat.

And that thing inside me—the thing Cat stirred loose—thrums at the edge of my control.

All it would take is a flick of my wrist. Less than a breath, less than a thought.

“You hesitate,” Bastadunn’s voice slithers through my mind, low and damning.

I barely register it over the blood pounding in my ears. Over the screaming thing in my chest that wants to finish this.

“Kill him if you wish. But don’t act like you won’t regret it.”

My grip falters. The blade loosens a fraction against Cassian’s skin.

I could. I can’t.

“Choose.”

A heartbeat—

Then suddenly, one of his minions tackles me from the side, grabbing one of my wrists and slamming it hard on the ground to dislodge my dagger. 

It was a mistake controlling only one wrist, though, because my other arm immediately swings around to plant a hard chop to the hollow just inside of his collarbone, overloading his brachial plexus. I feel his tendons seize under my palm, his body jerking like a puppet whose strings just got cut. And I shove him off me. 

I locate the other two riders before picking up both of my daggers and backing away.

Cassian is still down, clutching at his leg, so it’s just the female rider and me, and she isn’t advancing. She’s scared. I slowly approach her, and I know I’ve won when she takes a step back.

I suddenly hear boots pounding on the ground and someone yells, “What in Amari’s name?!”

I look and pray to all the gods that it isn’t another squad of riders. 

It is. 

But it’s Ridoc and his squad.

More riders start to filter out into the courtyard, and the lone-standing, female rider points to me and says, “She attacked us!”

I roll my eyes. Fucking coward. “Why the fuck would I pick a fight with three of you at once?!”

The riders don’t seem to care about logic, though, because it’s clear from their glares and jeers that they want to see me dead.

Fliers start rushing out now, and the crowd starts getting rowdy.

“Stand down!” Matthias attempts to calm the mob with the lanky, freckled boy by her side—Henrick, I’m pretty sure.

“What’s going on?!”

I internally groan at the sound of Aetos’s grating voice. Is that his fucking catchphrase?!  

I don’t acknowledge him. I don’t give a shit about defending myself to him. I just sheathe my daggers and move to walk out of the courtyard.

Aetos runs up and dares to put his hands on me to stop me. He pulls back when I glare at him.

“You can’t leave until we know what happened,” he bravely demands. If I didn’t find him so irritating, I might actually respect it.

I stare at him for a second before I put my wrists out and say, “Go ahead. Lock me up. Maybe they’ll finally respect you.”

He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re impossible. I’m just trying to help.”

“Well you can help by controlling your psychotic riders. Use your brain. Rockthorne promised to kill me on that clifftop. You were there. And I’m sure more than one person noticed me storm out after getting into a fight with Cat. They followed me out here.”

“I saw it,” Sorrengail chimes in.

When we both look at her in question she expands. “It was hard not to when I heard Cat screaming at you that I dropped Luella on purpose.”

I sigh and give her an apologetic look, but I turn back to Aetos and say, “See? The lightning-wielder vouches for me. You don’t doubt her word, do you?” I pull on the heartstring that I suspect is there.

He glares at me, and I can see the war in his eyes as he debates between appeasing Sorrengail and his compulsive need to piss me off. 

Finally, after a long pause, he steps back. "Do you mind taking her to the Library?" he asks Sorrengail, still glaring at me. "I’ll handle these three, but I want to speak with you after," he finishes in my direction.

I scoff and roll my eyes, but I relent when Ridoc throws an arm around my shoulder and sarcastically salutes Aetos, “Yes, sir, wingleader, sir!”

Aetos rolls his eyes and I smile at his misery, letting Ridoc and his squadmates lead me back toward the entrance. 

They act as a full-security detail, buffering me from the mob of pissed off riders, Ridoc on my left, Sorrengail on my right, and Matthias and Henrick in front of me.

“Do you feel like a celebrity, Elly?” Ridoc jokes.

“Oh gods, please do not call me Elly.”

“You don’t like Elly? What about El? Or Lyra? Ly-Ly, maybe?”

“El,” I concede, hoping he’ll never call me “Ly-Ly” again.

“El, it is,” he agrees.

I give him a taste of his own medicine. “That means I get to give you a nickname. Does anyone call you Doc? Or Riddy maybe?”

Matthias laughs, “I like Riddy.”

Ridoc scoffs, “How can you like Riddy, when Doc is so badass?”

Matthias and Ridoc quip back and forth, so I turn to Sorrengail.

“Thanks for the save, Sorrengail,” I extend in earnest.

“It was obvious you didn’t attack them first. I can’t believe anyone bought that.”

After a beat, I hesitantly ask, “Can I ask you a question?”

She gives me a nervous glance but says, “Yes?”

“What is Aetos’s deal? Why is he so…” I ask, twisting my face into a grimace.

She laughs and Henrick answers, “He’s always like that.”

“I’ve never met someone who can piss me off so easily. Is that a signet?” I ask in jest, knowing full-well what his signet actually is.

The riders laugh and Ridoc jokes, “Not far off.” 

Interesting. It seems that his signet might have to do with the disrespect his Wing treats him with. A teeny, tiny part of me pities him. I know better than anyone what that feels like.

When the laughter dies, Sorrengail says, “He’s just obsessed with the rules. He wasn’t like that as a kid. But I guess that changed in the Rider’s Quadrant.”

Of course. It makes sense that they grew up together. Colonel Aetos answers directly to General Sorrengail.

“Ah, I see. Never liked a rule-follower,” I answer.

“I knew I liked you,” Ridoc grins.

I grin back at him, then think for a moment before I cut to the meat of my inquiry, “This might be a loaded question. But… do you guys trust him? I mean with his father being Colonel Aetos?”

They all share nervous glances. There’s a long silence, but finally, Sorrengail answers, “I’ve known Dain since I was five. He was my best friend. And I know he’s a good person. He wants to do the right thing. Plus, he’s not his father. I wouldn’t be here either if we judged people based on their parents' actions.”

Touché. She has me there. 

“Fair enough,” I concede. “But for the record, I wouldn’t dare doubt you, Sorrengail. Not after I saw what you did to those wyvern.”

She gives me a small smile then says, “Why do you only call Ridoc by his first name? You can call me Violet, you know.”

“Because I’m her favorite,” Ridoc interjects.

I snort. He is my favorite, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

So I ignore him and answer seriously. “Names are sacred to me. It’s a sign of trust and respect to address someone with such familiarity.”

And it’s partially true. You don’t want to play it fast and loose when it comes to personal relationships in my line of work—at least that’s the only way I’ve been able to compartmentalize.

But they don’t need to know the rest. That it’s a tool to keep people at arm’s length. Or to ultimately pull someone in when you want them to think you trust them. 

Names give power. Control. The wrong person having the right name? That’s how you end up in a grave.

“And Ridoc’s the only one you trust and respect?” Henrick asks incredulously.

I giggle when Ridoc scathes, “What’s that supposed to mean?! I’m extremely trustworthy and respectable.”

“Well, I trust you, I think,” Sorrengail says to me.

“And we definitely respect the hell out of you after seeing you take on three third-years. Did you even get a scratch on you?” Matthias adds.

Ridoc looks over me intently. “Nope, not a hair out of place,” he confirms.

I smile despite myself.

I do, for some reason, seem to trust Sorrengail’s squad to an extent—a very limited extent. But it's much more than I can say for any of the other riders at the moment. I don’t know Henrick that well, but I tend to be a quick judge of character. He seems like a good egg. I certainly respect Matthias. She reminds me of Syrena. And I have no choice but to trust Sorrengail. So I hedge my bets.

“Well, the feeling’s mutual, I guess. Don’t tell Cat,” I jokingly add in Sorrengail’s—no, Violet’s—direction. “You guys can call me Elyra.”

“Rhiannon, but you can call me Rhi for short,” Matthias looks back at me with a warm smile that could light up a room.

“Sawyer,” Henrick winks at me with a boyish grin.

We make it to the Library, which is probably my favorite room in the House. It’s large, ornate, cozy, and usually empty from what I’ve seen so far.

Violet leads us to a table where the scribe I saw on the first day sits looking over a journal.

The group all signs to her, and she signs back.

We sit down and I can’t help but peek at the journal. I can’t read any of it, though. Looks like it's written in a dead language. The scribe closes the journal and slides it out of sight after a pointed look from Violet. 

That’s fine. We all have our secrets, I suppose. And I could figure it out if I really wanted to.

Violet notices my gaze and deftly changes the subject. “So what’d you and Cat get into it about? I hope it wasn’t for my sake.”

I play along. “You know how Cat is. Or at least, you get the idea. She’s a terror, and she’s uniquely gifted at getting under other people’s skin. You’ll see soon enough, I’m sure,” I deflect.

“Oh, I’ve already seen. She fucked with my head plenty when we were in Cordyn,” she replies with a grimace.

“I heard. Sad I wasn’t there to see the lightning show, though.” I smirk at her.

She gives me a small scowl. Then after a small pause, “You seem to have a lot of sway with the fliers.”

“Really? How so?” I play dumb to see what she’s picked up on.

“Well for starters, Cat actually listened when you told her to shut up yesterday,” Ridoc mentions.

“And I can just tell in the way the other fliers approach you,” Violet adds hesitantly.

She’s perceptive. That’s good. Bad in this particular situation, but good if she’s the continent’s greatest hope.

I tell them a half-truth. It’ll become obvious soon enough, and this will be a good opportunity to build trust. “I’ve seen more war than the rest of them. Dark wielders killed my entire family when I was four and I’ve been at war ever since.”

They look horrified. 

“Shit,” Rhiannon mutters.

“That was a long time ago, I’m over it now,” I fib. “But the things I’ve seen put me in a unique position to help prepare the fliers for what’s out there.”

“We heard you killed a wyvern with a single stab to the throat,” Sawyer poses in awe.

“That’s nothing compared to taking four down with one lightning bolt,” I redirect the compliment toward Violet. “But yes, a stab to the carotid. They might not be alive but they still rely on the basic anatomical mechanics that animals do. Their circulatory system has been adapted to allow magic to flow within them, and when that’s compromised, they’re as good as dead. The trick is, you have to aim for the soft underbelly under their chin. There’s a small area where it extends to the neck, and a stab wound along either side should hit the carotid.” 

I demonstrate on my own neck.

“Damn, that’s impressive. Why aren’t they teaching us this stuff?” Rhiannon asks.

“They don’t know. That’s why you guys need us just as much as we need you.”

They’re all pondering that statement when Aetos shows up. I sigh reflexively.

He returns my sigh as he stands next to us, looking down at me with his arms crossed.

“The three Second Wing riders maintain that you provoked and attacked them first. And unfortunately, it doesn’t look good for you considering you’ve injured all three of them without a scratch yourself. They say it was an ambush.”

“Well, no shit, they would say that. What are you going to do, Aetos? Lock me up? Because if you are, just fucking do it already.”

He sighs again. “The Assembly wants to talk to you. They’re gathered now.”

“They can’t possibly believe that. Rockthorne’s been telling everyone who will listen that he’s going to kill Elyra,” Ridoc defends me.

“It’s out of my hands,” Aetos responds.

I just clap my hands on the table and stand. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Four riders stand with me. And I can’t hide my surprise.

Violet catches it and smiles, like she already knew I’d be too stubborn to ask for help.

“They’ll listen to me,” she says. “Trust me.”

Trust.

There’s that word again.

I never expected a group of riders to throw theirs around so loosely. Let alone directed at me.

But I just nod and we make our way back into the Main Hallway.

Chapter Text

All of the Assembly members, with the exception of Riorson, are present. Professor Kiandra is here as well. Every head looks up at our group when we enter.

“What are they doing here?” one of the Assembly members sneers—Ulices, I believe.

“Violet, this is a closed Assembly meeting,” Colonel Aisereigh says.

“Elyra’s here because the Second Wing riders accused her of ambushing them. We’re here to provide evidence that she did not,” Violet responds, her chin in the air.

That earns her a couple scoffs from the Assembly.

The Colonel sighs and says, “Wait in the hall, we’ll call you in if we need your accounts.”

Violet looks like she might argue for a second, but she throws me a glance then turns on her heel to lead the riders into the hallway.

I watch them leave then approach the High Table.

“Take a seat,” Aisereigh instructs.

I take a seat in the middle, facing all of the Assembly members. I keep my expression flat.

“The riders accuse you of ambushing them. That you tried to kill them,” Aisereigh starts.

“Oh good, because that’s an obvious lie,” I say, leaning back in my chair, elbows perched on the armrests, fingers laced loosely in my lap. 

I let my eyes meet each of the Assembly members', but I stop short of Trissa’s. I’d been hoping to corner her before ever addressing the Assembly, but you know what they say about the best laid plans.

One of the Assembly members—Ulices—scoffs loudly.

“Tell us, how did you manage to wound three third-year riders without so much as a scratch on yourself?” the Assembly member I believe to be Felix asks.

“They’re pathetic fighters,” I respond nonchalantly.

Two of the Assembly members have overtly negative reactions—Ulices and Suri. Another one, Kylynn, barks out an ambiguous laugh.

“This is a waste of time. She’s violent and dangerous. Let’s exterminate the problem and move on,” Ulices says.

“You risk ending this alliance if you do that,” Professor Kiandra interjects.

Their heads snap to look at her. She looks at me and raises an eyebrow.

I gesture to her, ‘be my guest.’ We were always going to tell them, eventually. This way, maybe we can barter for some trust.

“Cadet Soryn, here, is much more than just a cadet. She has also earned the rank of Captain on her own merits, and she is as much a leader of these war efforts as I am. Maybe moreso, even, given her skills.”

I tilt my head in warning. She’s toeing the line of revealing too much.

The Assembly members all start muttering in confusion when Aisereigh interrupts, “Explain.”

Professor Kiandra looks to me, so I address the Assembly. “I trust that what I tell you shall remain in the confidence of the Assembly unless we otherwise agree?”

I get a couple more mutters but Aisereigh makes the executive decision. “Agreed.”

I take a deep breath as I look over the rest of the Assembly members. “I lost my family to a venin attack when I was four. I was adopted by a gryphon, my gryphon, Bastadunn, and I grew up at Cliffsbane. By the time I was eight I was actively being used as a messenger, by ten I was a scout. I fought in my first battle at twelve. I was a highly decorated soldier and made Lieutenant by the time I was eighteen. I made Captain by the time I was nineteen. And I officially enrolled at Cliffsbane as a first year at twenty-one, hence why I’m here.”

The Assembly breaks out in a chorus of muttering. 

"And you were posing undercover as a cadet?" Suri asks in disbelief.

"She's a spy!" Ulices sputters out.

I address Ulices. “A spy? Please. If I wanted to infiltrate, you’d never know I was here. Trust me, I had no interest in enrolling at Cliffsbane, but Syrena insisted. And if it makes you feel better, I think the primary reason she wants me here is to watch after Cat.” Not entirely untrue.

“You can’t honestly believe this!” Ulices yells.

“It’s certainly suspicious,” Suri agrees, her eyes narrow slits.

“Why weren’t you more forthcoming about this?” Aisereigh asks.

“It didn’t seem relevant. I’m not here as a Captain. I’m here as a cadet,” I lie.

The Assembly just continues to grumble.

“But if you need a Captain, I’m happy to step in. I have plenty of suggestions,” I offer tongue-in-cheek.

“She’s toying with us,” Suri throws out, exasperated.

“She can’t be trusted,” Ulices growls, shaking his head and glaring at me.

Aisereigh just considers me for a few breaths before saying, “Kylynn, you’ve been quiet. What do you think?”

Kylynn sighs, steepling her hands in front of her lips. She leans toward me and narrows her eyes. “I don’t buy the story of why you didn’t tell us. But now that we know, I think we should use this to our advantage. We agreed that we can’t afford to lose any more lives, and hers could prove valuable.”

“She attacked three of the riders and almost killed one of them!” Ulices argues.

“But she didn’t kill them. All three of them are safe in the infirmary with relatively minor wounds. A small girl like her against three third-year riders, it’s impressive that she managed to subdue them at all. But with the experience that she claims she has, I’m sure she could have killed them if she wanted. Is that assessment right?” she poses in my direction.

“It undoubtedly is,” Professor Kiandra answers for me.

“What are you suggesting, Kylynn?” Suri demands.

“That she teaches our cadets. You said she took down a wyvern with a single stab wound, isn’t that right, Aisereigh?”

“That’s right.”

“This is outrageous! She’s clearly dangerous and you want to give her more power?!” Ulices face turns red.

Suri backs him up. “We can’t afford to let this kind of recklessness go unchecked. If she snaps again, what’s stopping her from killing one of our own?”

Aisereigh sighs deeply before turning to me. “Tell us, Captain Soryn, why should we trust that you won’t kill someone next time?”

I pause for a second as I think about my blade pressed into Cassian’s neck. How close I actually was to doing exactly what they’re accusing me of.

But there’s a reason I didn’t. And it wasn’t mercy. It was control.

“Because I am a damn good Captain. And I know that killing a rider will cause more problems than it will solve. I was acting in self defense. If you question enough people, you’ll know that Cassian Rockthorne has been trying to kill me since our trek up the Medaro Pass. There are several riders just in the hallway, right there, who can vouch for me. Not to mention almost a hundred fliers,” I finish in warning.

The other Assembly members all exchange looks before Aisereigh says, “Very well. We’ll call in the witnesses, then deliberate. Do you mind waiting in the hallway?”

“May I leave you with a closing statement?” I ask.

Aisereigh nods.

I stand, then channel ever-so-slightly. Enough to plant doubt, but not enough to raise suspicion.

“I’m sorry that we weren’t straightforward with you, but you must understand the position we’ve been put in. My people have been left to die beyond the Navarrian wards for over six hundred years. And we have been the ones holding the front lines. I’m sorry, but we have every reason to not trust you with all of our secrets. I doubt you’d trust us with all of yours.”

I take a breath to wait for any objections before I continue, “Navarre has been training every single rider out there that we’re the threats. They’ve been training to kill us, to kill the people I love. Of course we’d be protective of our own. But don’t misconstrue my meaning—I understand that Navarre has manufactured all of the animosity that lives in Riorson House right now, all for their own gain. And I understand that falling for it is a death sentence. 

“I was the one who pushed for this alliance because I’ve fought this war for far too long to not see the writing on the wall. The riders can’t see it. The fliers don’t want to. But I do." I pause to let my words settle. "If we want to come out of this war alive, we need to cooperate. In other words—We. Have. No. Choice.”

I look at each Assembly member as I emphasize the last few words.

“So with that in mind, I hope that we can start to build a foundation of trust that might help us come out of this war alive. And who knows, maybe the trust that we establish will set a foundation for peace afterward. Because at the end of the day, that is the only thing I want. A world where no child will ever have to experience what I did. I thank you for your consideration.”

I bow my head, then turn and walk out of the chamber.

“How’d it go?” Violet asks when I exit the room.

“Kylynn seems to be the only one on my side. Felix and Aisereigh seem somewhere in the middle. It’s up to you, I guess.” I give her a small smile.

She just nods then leads the riders into the Chamber.

I wait for about ten minutes before they return, and another ten minutes while the Assembly deliberates, before I’m called back in.

I walk back up to the table but don’t take a seat. 

Aisereigh stands to address me, “Cadet—or should I say Captain—Soryn, the Assembly has come to a decision. We acknowledge that you maintained the bounds of our agreement by not taking any lives in your earlier altercation. From the accounts we’ve heard from cadets Violet Sorrengail, Dain Aetos, Ridoc Gamlyn, Rhiannon Matthias, and Sawyer Henrick, we’ve determined the injuries occurred as an act of self-defense. That being said, your failure to provide what we deem vital information, in light of our recent agreement, is an infraction we cannot ignore. To rectify this infraction, we ask that you offer your services in-full to the Assembly. We will negotiate the nature of those services at a future date.”

I glance at Professor Kiandra, and when she nods, I bow my head. “I am yours to command, Colonel. And I thank the Assembly for their judiciousness.”

I leave and am for some reason surprised when Violet and her squad are still waiting for me.

I keep my face expressionless for a few seconds before I let a big grin take over and say, “You did it! You got me off.” And the innuendo does not escape me.

They break out in smiles and light punches to my shoulders. Ridoc throws his arms around me and picks me up in a bear hug. I’m surprised that I’m not affronted and I laugh as he swings me around.

My hands are wrapped around his neck when he puts me down, our chests pressed together. And just for a second, I notice—really notice—how handsome Ridoc is. He has the kind of smile that uses every part of his face. It isn’t just on his lips, but in the mischievous flicker of his eyes, in the way his dimples cave so adorably. It reminds me of someone else. Too much.  

I quickly push myself off. And I cringe hard when I see more than one raised eyebrow pointed in our direction. 

I just smile at them and deflect, “What’d you guys tell them?”

“Well, Ridoc told them about your conversation on the cliffside, that you were already worried that he might try to kill you. And that Sloane could confirm. And we all saw him try to fight you at the top, Dain and Brennan were there for that too. And I told them what I saw in the Great Hall—that you left before Cassian.”

“Who’s Brennan?” I do my best impression at looking confused, even though I’d heard enough people stutter his name to already connect the dots.

I have to really focus on not smiling as the riders all share nervous glances, realizing they just slipped up. I just keep my eyes narrowed as Violet turns back to me and finally admits, “Colonel Aisereigh. He’s my brother. It’s a long story but his real name is Brennan, but most people don’t know that. You’ll keep that quiet, won’t you?”

Her brother?! I don’t even have to pretend to be shocked. That explains the affection, then. I let my mouth gape for just a moment, though, not wanting to let them see my gears turning too much. “I have questions, but yes, I’ll keep it to myself.”

I make my way to my bedroom after meeting with the Assembly. My brain and my body have been screaming at me and I need to catch up on my sleep. When I turn down the hallway that leads to my room on the third floor, I see someone waiting at the end—a rider. 

I instinctively grab a dagger, but the figure turns around and I recognize that infuriating smirk.

“Always with the weapons,” Durran quips. 

I exhale sharply and sheath my dagger as I approach him. “You wouldn’t be the first rider to try to kill me tonight.”

His smirk widens slightly as he arches an eyebrow. “From what I saw, it looked to be the other way around.”

I just sigh deeply. I’m too tired to have this argument again.

“You’re a hard person to track down, you know,” he adds when I don’t say anything.

I let my narrowed gaze wander over him as I wonder why he wanted to track me down.

“One of the perks of being small,” I respond honestly. I’m good at hiding in a crowd.

He just quirks his head at me as he returns my gaze, letting it trail over me in a way that makes my pulse spike. “I guess so.”

I try to ignore my pounding heart as I stop a few feet in front of him and ask, somewhat impatiently, “Can I help you with something?”

He looks down at something in his hands as his mouth quirks up into a smile. “You know, I wasn’t sure at first if this was a part of your thank you gift. But I thought you might be missing these,” he says as he walks up to me then presses something into my hand.

I flinch away, but he keeps his hand pressed into mine as he pauses at my shoulder, looking down at me with his mouth slightly parted, like he’s about to say something. But he just closes his mouth and swallows down his words, then walks off.

I furrow my brows at him in confusion as I watch him retreat over my shoulder, the sound of his boots fading down the corridor. There’s something about the way he left, something about the words he left unsaid, that leaves my skin prickling.

I shake off the feeling once I’m sure he’s gone, and look down at the black cloth in my hands.

At first I think—a handkerchief, maybe? But then—

My stomach plummets like I just walked off the edge of the cliffside.

No, no, no, no, no.

I unfurl it slightly and a binding, full-body horror crashes into me, sharp and suffocating, knocking the breath straight from my lungs.

My eyes turn into saucers and I forget how to breathe.

I quickly shove myself into my room and slam the door behind me as I unfurl the cloth completely, my hands trembling slightly.

It's my fucking underwear.

And then—I freeze. Every muscle locking up, my hands gripping the lace like it’s proof of my own damnation.

Because suddenly, I realize that they’re clean.

He fucking washed them?!

Heat explodes across my face. A visceral mix of mortification and disbelief rushes through me, and I grip the fabric in my fists like I can crush the memory out of existence.

My mind races. The bath. I’d been rushing to leave. I was distracted. And clearly, I was sloppy.

No, no, no—what is wrong with me?! I groan and bury my burning face in my hands.

I feel exposed. Like Durran just peeled back a layer of my carefully controlled image and saw something I never meant for him to see.

And then he just hand-delivered them?! What kind of psychopath does that?! Just burn them like a normal fucking person.

I drop onto the edge of my bed, legs weak, and clench the fabric in my hands, staring at it like it personally betrayed me.

I bite my lip, willing away the ridiculous heat crawling up my neck. Get a grip, Elyra. It’s fine. It’s FINE. It’s just a mistake. A humiliating mistake. One I’ll make sure never happens again.

Gods, I can never look at him again.

Yes, that settles it—the Spare just made it onto my permanently-avoid list.

Dead to me. Doesn’t exist.

I hear snickering in my head.

I ignore it and shove the underwear into the deepest drawer I can find, slam it shut, and curse every single life decision that has led me to this moment.

Fuck my life.

Chapter Text

Like I mentioned, I’m exceptional at hiding in a crowd. Except when that crowd is organized by squads and drifts. In my overeager effort to avoid Durran, I instead end up catching his eye on three different occasions during morning formation. I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment every time. Fuck. What’s wrong with me? I’m losing my edge. 

After formation, though, it becomes much easier, as we’re keeping the fliers and riders segregated at the moment. We take to the mats this morning and I cannot wait. I’ve got a lot to talk to the mat about.

As it’s a closed session, I take the reins as combat instructor. Unfortunately for me, the Assembly is already pulling strings and requested that the riders’ combat instructor, Professor Emetterio, be allowed to shadow our session. I chat with the man as the fliers warm up. He seems tough, but fair, so I don’t hold back in my lesson. He seems pliable enough to win over, and someone like him will respect a display of strength. And I suspect that earning his respect will go a long way with the Basgiathian cadets he’s trained.

The drifts pair up at the mats, their drift leaders directing each match up, as I visit each mat one-by-one to provide instruction. I normally don’t bother, but for demonstration purposes, I stop at Silvanus’s mat. He’s one of our best fighters, and I want to properly display what can be done with our methods. Silvanus and I square off on the mat, and several of the other mats turn in our direction, knowing that we’re about to put on a performance.

“Professor Emetterio, I’m sure you’re familiar with the lesser magics that gryphon fliers wield?” I pose.

“Yes, of course,” he answers.

“Well, on our mats, we encourage the usage of magic, as long as it isn’t fatal, of course. Because out there, when you’re fighting against venin, you need every possible advantage you can get. And that’s what we’re training for.”

“We don’t allow wielding on the mat,” he sighs.

“I understand. But given the prowess of your new enemy, I encourage you to reconsider. And I’ll demonstrate to you why that is. Silvanus, here, is one of our best fighters and should easily be able to overpower me hand-to-hand, but with lesser magics, I can even the playing field,” I say as I crook my fingers toward Silvanus.

He knows what we’re doing and he doesn’t hold back as he uses his magic to boost him to my side, throwing a familiar jab-cross-hook combo. I use my magic to reinforce my blocks as I parry the jab and the cross, then slip under his hook and drive a knee into his lower abdomen. He doubles over and stumbles but recovers quickly—too quickly—to face me. His magic sends out a pulse as he stomps down, anchoring himself before he’s immediately beside me again. He actually catches me off guard this time—good. 

His hands are a blur as he goes for a hip throw, his grip tight and precise. 

Instead of resisting, I launch into the throw, twisting midair to land on my feet. The second I touch down, I latch onto his neck and yank him forward, dropping with him. My foot plants on his abdomen—one sharp kick, and he flips over me, slamming onto his back with a thud. But he cushions his fall and kips up back to his feet.

I don’t let him get comfortable.

I press forward, boosting my speed, keeping him on the defensive. A left jab, right cross, leg kick, right hook, roundhouse kick. I throw my magic into every hit, Silvanus doing the same as he blocks. 

He growls under his breath and vanishes.

I sense him behind me before he even strikes. I duck under his roundhouse kick and spin, sweeping his sole supporting leg, forcing him into a handspring—good recovery. I spring back toward him and return a spinning back kick of my own.

He manages to catch my foot, but I just use his hold as leverage as I jump, continuing to twist into my spin. My other foot almost connects with the side of his head, but he jerks out of the way at the last second, releasing my foot and leaving him open.

I land in a crouched position and don’t hesitate as I spring toward him, feinting a jab that he predictably parries. I grab his extended arm, hooking my other around his neck, and pull all my body weight to the side as I sweep his leg from the outside, throwing him over me and onto his back.

This time, he doesn’t get up and just takes a few heaving breaths. He eventually props himself up on his elbows and says, “Think you’ve made your point yet, El?”

I just offer a hand to help him up, which he takes, then I look over at Professor Emetterio with my eyebrows raised.

Professor Emetterio stares back at me, his arms crossed. He takes his time before finally sighing, "Fine. I’ll talk to the Assembly. But if someone loses a limb, I will say I told you so."

I’m in relatively good spirits after our sparring session, but Cat’s words still linger at the edges of my mind like poison, slowly seeping in, dragging up old memories and shame that I’ve tried to keep buried under years of intricately woven layers of denial.

I spot her at lunch, seated with her drift, poking at her food. She looks tired. Not in the way a soldier does after training, but like someone who hasn’t slept much.

For a moment, I seriously consider walking past her, to let her rot in her own bitterness. A part of me still wants to strangle her. But I know that’s not an option. And unfortunately, I understand Cat—that this is who she is, how she fights. She uses her words the way I use my daggers. And at the end of the day, I am a Captain, and she is a cadet. One that Syrena, herself, has entrusted me to watch over.

So I clench my jaw and swallow down my pride as I weave through the tables to drop onto the bench beside her, close enough that our arms brush. 

The rest of her drift greets me, Maren’s eyes wide with worry. But Cat ignores me and instead intently focuses on stabbing a piece of bread with a ferocity that I’m sure is meant for my face, a deep scowl lining her own.

“Nice weather today,” I blithely throw in her direction.

Her eyes snap up, searching my face, waiting for the real attack. The words ‘how fucking dare you’ still etched into her glare.

After a beat, she rolls her eyes, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot.”

“And here I thought I was a whore,” I lazily retort as I grab my own piece of bread and start to break it.

The chatter around the table stops as a whisper of guilt flickers over Cat’s face. It leaves as quickly as it came, but I can see the whites of her knuckles disappear as she loosens the grip on her knife before slamming it down.

She huffs a sigh and tears off a piece of bread. “Look. I was pissed. I said shit I shouldn’t have. Whatever.”

When I glare at her pathetic apology, she withers ever-so-slightly and averts her gaze, concentrating on her decimated piece of bread again.

She’s waiting for me to drop it. To tell her it’s okay. But I don’t. I let her stew in the pile of shit she created.

She finally turns to face me, her eyes guarded. Her jaw flexes, and for a second, I think she’s going to snap at me again. But instead, she lets out a long, slow breath.

“I…” She swallows, looking away again. Then she mutters under her breath, “You know I didn’t mean it. I just—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head as she clenches her fists. “I just wanted a reaction. You’ve seemed so… okay with everything. With them. With her.”

The rest of the fliers remain silent, eyes trained on their meals. Except for Bragen who twitches next to me and Trager who keeps his eyes on Cat from across the table. They’re worried I’ll go for her throat again, now that there isn’t a table between us.

The tension isn’t good for the drift. So I squash down my pride and lean into Cat as I look up at her through my eyelashes. I know that’s as close to an apology as I’ll ever get from her.

“Of course I haven’t been okay, Catty. Not at all,” I admit in a soft tone that disarms her.

Her eyes flicker back to mine, uncertainty in them now.

“I’m just good at hiding it.” I tilt my head at her. “There isn’t a second that goes by that I’m not thinking about all of you. About Talia. About Luella. About how to protect you. How to make sure we all survive this.”

She swallows, her gaze dropping to the table, to the untouched plate in front of her. But she doesn’t offer a response, so I push her for one.

“Cat, I need to know that when things get bad, that you’ve got my back. That if I turn around in battle, you’ll be there—not running your mouth, not hesitating, not throwing daggers at my back.”

Her gaze hardens, her hands clenching into fists again. “You know I would.”

I sit back. I’m not so sure anymore, but I decide to drop it.

I let the silence stretch, then, carefully add, “How about this? How about I convince the Assembly to allow challenges to resume between fliers and riders? Then you can take your shot at her, one-on-one. No killing, obviously.”

Her eyes snap back to mine, considering. A hint of suspicion in them.

She glares at me for a few beats as she thinks it over, then shrugs with a forced nonchalance. “Well, you should definitely do that. I’m not making any promises, though.”

A small smirk tugs at my lips. “Wouldn’t expect you to.”

“Do we all get a shot?” Trager asks eagerly from across the table, now that the tension has eased a bit.

“If I have my way. Why? Who’s caught your eye?”

“That Matthias girl in Sorrengail’s squad—she’s been smug as fuck acting like her village didn’t reject refugees like the selfish Navarrians they are.”

I sigh and look at Trager in disappointment. Rhiannon is the least of our worries. Still, I guess the challenges are more about releasing pent up frustrations and establishing hierarchies rather than logic. 

“I doubt she was personally responsible. But if I get my way, you’ll all have your shot, promise. Don’t waste it.”

“What happened with the riders yesterday, El? Are you okay?” Maren changes the subject.

I roll my shoulders, letting out a small groan. “I knew that Cassian bloke was going to try to ambush me. What I didn’t expect was that he was such a coward that he’d bring two friends along to help him take out a hundred pound girl.”

The table breaks out in disgusted muttering.

“Obviously, he underestimated me.” I smirk. “I’m sure you saw the aftermath.”

There’s a ripple of amusement, but Cat remains silent.

“Then, I got dragged in front of the Assembly for questioning.” I tilt my head and put on a smug smile. “Went my way, obviously, since I’m still here.”

I glance at Cat, letting my smirk fade. “But you should know—Sorrengail’s squad was the reason I got off. They vouched for me. They told the Assembly that Cassian had been hunting me and that he left the Great Hall after me.”

The mood at the table shifts.

“They vouched for you? Against their own riders?” Trager asks in disbelief.

I shrug. “Not everyone in her squad is an idiot.”

Cat stares at me for a long time, her expression unreadable. Then, she shakes her head, more to herself than to me, and picks up her fork.

After lunch, most of the fliers head to class but I ditch. I’ve probably heard this lecture half a dozen times by now. Instead, I head to the Assembly Chamber. I might as well make the most of my new shackles. 

Aisereigh, Felix, and Trissa are all gathered and they look up at me as I enter the room.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I announce myself.

Aisereigh straightens from his position leaning over the table and says, “No, please come in. How can we help you, Captain? I trust that the shadowing session with Professor Emetterio went well?”

“It did, it was a good suggestion on behalf of the Assembly. In fact, that’s what I wanted to speak with you about—the curriculum for the cadets.”

Aisereigh gives me a wary look then gestures at a seat, “Please, sit.”

I sit and lean back in my chair, crossing my legs, one elbow propped on an armrest, flipping a small rune through my fingers. 

“Tell us, what’s on your mind?” Aisereigh prompts, half his attention still on whatever papers are before him.

“I’ve been watching the riders fight and they fight like they’re up against other humans. That’s going to get them killed. They need a dedicated curriculum on how to counter and fight dark wielders.”

I have Aisereigh’s attention now, but Felix is the one to respond, “We’re in agreement on that. Our only problem, up until now, was that we had nobody to teach them. Are you offering your services, Captain?”

I pause like I have to consider it. Then say, “I’m definitely willing and more than capable of fulfilling that role. But I’ll need help. Professor Emetterio, of course, but I’ll need others.”

“And why is it that you need so much help? It seems you’ve been handling the fliers well enough on your own. And Professor Emetterio has a good grasp on the riders,” Felix questions me.

“To keep them from killing each other. Right now, they treat each other as the enemy, and that’s a problem,” I say plainly. “Every fight we’ve had so far—every ‘accident’—could have just as easily happened on the battlefield. There will come a time when they need to fight alongside each other. We need to start that training now.”

“You want to combine them for combat training?” Aisereigh asks in surprised skepticism.

“Of course. A good fight on the mat can do wonders for settling differences.”

Aisereigh exchanges a look with Felix, then sits forward, pressing his hands together.

“That’s assuming they don’t kill each other first,” he points out. “Sparring is one thing. But every challenge is a political statement. You think the riders won’t see this as a chance to humiliate the fliers? Or that the fliers won’t take it as an opportunity for vengeance?”

“We set ground rules,” I counter. “No weapons, no lethal blows.”

“And when someone breaks those rules?” Felix presses. “When one of the riders puts a flier in the infirmary—or worse, in the ground? You’re proposing to light a match over centuries of resentment. The moment we allow it, this becomes a blood feud.”

Aisereigh exhales through his nose. “This isn’t just about a few bruised egos, Captain. This is about stability. The second we let challenges resume, we’re giving both sides permission to settle every score—real or imagined—through violence.”

I clench my jaw. He’s not wrong, but they’re already doing that.

I meet Aisereigh’s gaze. “We need to give them an outlet,” I insist. “If we don’t, the fights will keep happening in secret, in the hallways, in the shadows—where we have no control. Challenges allow structure. If we enforce the rules properly, it won’t be a bloodbath—it’ll be discipline.”

Aisereigh studies me for a long moment. But it’s Trissa who responds. 

“You’re quite persuasive, aren’t you, Captain?” her tone is light and teasing. Like she knows something.

My heart skips a beat at her choice of words, but I just give her a small smile and say, “I’m an effective Captain with superb reasoning skills. So yes, I tend to be persuasive.”

Felix glances at Trissa. “Trissa, what are you thinking?”

She smirks, turning back to Felix and Aisereigh. “I think the Captain has a point. And I think you’re both too cautious. But I also think we need to be smart about how we do this.”

She leans forward, tapping a finger against the table. “Instead of throwing open challenges to all, let’s start small. Select a handful of fliers and riders—ones we trust not to start a blood feud—and have them set the precedent. If they can handle it, then we expand.”

Felix raises a brow. “And if they don’t?”

“Then you get to say ‘I told you so,’ and we shut it down,” Trissa says easily.

I glance at Aisereigh, watching the gears turn behind his sharp gaze. He doesn’t like it. But he’s considering it.

“…I’ll think on it,” he says at last. “In the meantime, we need another way to build trust. Something less likely to result in broken ribs.”

I seize the opportunity—“Then let’s start with education.”

And I launch into my next pitch, “History would be another good place to start. The Navarrians are missing hundreds of years of accurate historical knowledge. They need to be educated. And my fliers need to understand how deep the Navarrian conspiracy goes. Plus, history should be taught based on the facts. There’s no reason why they should be taught separately.”

“The fights on the mat will be nothing compared to the fights that will start,” Felix chuckles.

“What’s that in your hand, Captain?” Trissa changes the subject.

I give her a faint, practiced smile. She took the bait. “Oh, this?” I ask, setting the rune down on the table. “It’s a Tyrrish rune. Of course, I’m sure you’re all familiar. This one is a fire-countering rune. It specifically counters blue fire. The same one I used on the cliffside, Colonel.”

Aisereigh narrows his eyes at me in assessment as Felix inspects the rune and Trissa just smiles at me. Finally Aisereigh turns to Trissa and asks, “Are you familiar with this rune, Trissa?”

Trissa makes a deliberate show of picking up the rune and inspecting it. “Hmm… Arvundal, for protection. Kheltan for fire. Zhevok for magical sustenance. Zhyris for suppresssion. And is that Kylnar? To seal the cold? Not a combination I’ve ever seen before. But in theory, it could work in the way the Captain suggests.”

She sets the rune back on the table and I watch as Aisereigh and Felix share unspoken words through a glance.

Trissa interrupts their looks and asks me, “Are runes offered as coursework at Cliffsbane?”

“No, not currently. Though I’ve been trying to convince the administration for some time. In the field, we never go without them. I suggest that at the bare minimum, we teach the cadets how to create their own wyvern fire-countering runes. Unfortunately, the red fire-countering runes won’t be as useful for your riders, as it may weaken their dragons.”

Trissa and I wait in silence, watching Aisereigh and Felix expectantly as they look at each other.

“Trissa, what say you? You’re our resident runes expert,” Aisereigh asks.

She clasps her hands on the table, then says, “I think it’d be foolish to ignore any advantage we can get in this war.”

Aisereigh and Felix share another glance before Aisereigh says, “What if we hold a trial? Since runes are new to both rider and flier curriculums, it would even the playing field and would be much less explosive than combining sparring or history.” 

I nod. It’s better than nothing. And I can’t stand to do nothing.

“Trissa, would you be willing to teach the course?” Felix asks.

She smiles at me as she answers, “Of course. Though I may ask Captain Soryn to assist.”

I nod at her again. “I am at the Assembly’s behest.”

“That settles it, then. We’ll start to identify candidates to participate in the trial run. But I still don’t think it’s a good idea to combine the two until we can live peacefully for more than a day," Aisereigh decides.

I internally sigh at that, as I know the fights won’t stop until we allow challenges. But I just nod and stand to leave. “Very well. I thank you for your time. Please let me know if you need my assistance in identifying the appropriate flier drifts.”

“Actually, Captain, I was hoping I could borrow you for a moment?” Trissa interjects.

I keep my face expressionless as I bow my head at her. “Of course.”

She excuses herself from the table and walks to join me. We leave the Assembly Chamber and she leads me to a large office on the first floor. She locks the door with her magic then fits the room with a temporary sound-shielding rune before she turns to me.

She walks over and leans back on the desk as she tilts her head, her gaze piercing right through me.

Silence stretches between us and my heart pounds in my chest. But I wait for her to speak.

“You know,” she starts, narrowing her eyes, studying me like a puzzle she’s about to solve. “You remind me of a young girl I knew years ago.”

My stomach clenches slightly. But I know she already knows.

I exhale and slide a small smile onto my lips.

“It’s good to see you again, Trissa.”

She studies me for a second, her expression unreadable. My stomach coils tight as I hold my breath.

Then—her lips quirk up. “I thought that was you, Anaya. Or is it Elyra?”

I turn away from her as I exhale the breath I had been holding. There’s no point in lying anymore. So I admit, softly, “Elyra is my real name…”

She lets out a small hmph as she crosses her arms and slowly approaches me. “So you are a spy?”

I meet her gaze and say as earnestly as I can, channeling slightly, “Not here, I’m not. I’m here as Elyra. Everything I’ve said to the Assembly has been true.”

She lifts her chin at me, assessing me through narrowed eyes before she says, “But you were before? As Anaya?”

I just clench my jaw as I try to read her mind. “Are you going to say anything?”

She takes a long time to answer me, but eventually she says, “You will tell me everything. And I won’t say anything as long as I believe you aren’t a threat.”

I sigh then go to sit in one of the armchairs. She joins me. After collecting my thoughts, I start, “Everything I told the Assembly is true. Like I said, I’ve been trained for war since I was four. And I was competent enough to start sending on solo scouting missions as early as ten. As you can imagine, and as you undoubtedly experienced, it’s quite difficult to be suspicious of a ten year old.”

She lets out a soft chuckle at that, “Yes, I suppose it is. But now that I think about it, you gave me plenty of reasons to.”

I just tilt my head at her, wondering if she knew how I got away with it all. “I never meant you or Tyrrendor harm, Trissa. I was here to learn. And I did, I learned a lot. You’re to thank for that, and Poromiel is forever grateful for what you’ve taught us. You’ve saved more lives than you can possibly know. And you saved my life in more ways than one.”

She considers me for a few seconds before softly asking, her voice wavering slightly, “And Beckett? Was he in on it?”

I have to look away, feeling shame creep up on me. But I admit in a whisper, “No. He was just trying to help me.”

When I meet Trissa’s gaze again, her eyes are filled with grief and regret. She loved Beckett. Maybe even more than I did.

“Hmm… That sounds like him,” she finally mutters, looking away from me.

After a minute of silence, Trissa finally clears her throat and says, “Your secret is safe with me, for now. But should you ever prove to be a threat, I won’t hesitate to expose you.”

She gets up to leave and I stand to join her, but she pauses in front of me, her arm raising but not touching me. “It’s good to see you alive, Anaya. I was sure that you had died when you never came back.”

My heart aches at the grief in her voice. I step into her arms before I can think better of it, before I remember I don’t deserve this. A lone tear burns its way free as I whisper, “I’m so sorry, Trissa. I wish I could have said goodbye.”

She pulls back and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve grown so much. I almost didn’t recognize you,” she says as she cups my cheek and strokes a thumb over the raised scar across my cheekbone. 

“Though I would be able to recognize your persuasive arguments anywhere,” she smiles as she drops her hands. 

She backs away and walks to the door. Before leaving, she says, “I’ll be in touch about lesson plans. And research, seeing as you’re so interested.”

She leaves before I can respond.

Chapter Text

I should be worried about Trissa. But I’m not. If she wanted to expose me, she would have done it already. And the longer she keeps my secret, the more she damns herself alongside me. Plus, I meant what I had said. I never meant her any harm. Nor do I mean any harm to Aretia. 

Not that reality has ever given a shit about my intentions.

I’m distracted, though, as I leave the office, the ghosts of a million memories clawing at the edges of my mind.

And the gods must be punishing me for my sins because someone barrels into me as I step past the threshold of the door.

A sharp oof escapes me as I stumble back, barely catching my balance. 

I instinctively reach for a blade before I register who it is.

Fucking Aetos. And, of course, Durran is right beside him, looking amused.  

I stamp down the horrifying image of him handling my dirty underwear, and just glower at Aetos.

He blinks, startled, arms still half outstretched like he’d considered catching me before remembering he doesn’t actually like me. His eyes flit from me to the office door, his expression flashing from confusion, to concern, to suspicion.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” He uses his wingleader voice on me.

I don’t bother dignifying that with a response. I just roll my eyes and shove past him.

His voice follows me, incredulous. “Were you snooping again?!”

I just flip him the bird over my shoulder as I turn the corner.

A deep chuckle rumbles behind me. “I think she’s warming to you. She didn’t even try to hit you that time.”

I use the rest of the evening to discreetly check in with different groups of fliers, to collect their notes and grievances, then head back to my room to wash and nap. 

It’s ten past 3 AM when I slip into the Assembly Chamber. I give myself fifty minutes to look more closely at their tactical plans—to find out what they aren’t telling me. 

But I don’t even get twenty minutes to browse before I hear it.

A soft click.

The door.

I instinctively duck behind the High Table as my fingers slip a dagger from its sheath. I peer around the chair legs but can’t make anyone out in the dark. 

I stay as quiet as a mouse, straining my ears and eyes, trying to pick out a breath, a shift, a footstep, anything.

But there’s nothing.

Until—

I hear a small rustle.

Behind me. 

I roll to my right and pivot, staying crouched, but ready to strike.

A hulking thing of a man looms in the shadows, leaning against the wall—shadows clinging to him unnaturally, like an extension of his will. He takes a step forward and the faint moonlight shimmering through the window illuminates loose black curls hanging over a familiar set of eyebrows, a scar bisecting the left one. 

Looking like an overgrown version of his cousin—it's the Heir, Xaden Riorson.

My pulse kicks up, and I silently curse myself. I should have anticipated this.

“You know, it’s very unlike me to listen to Aetos. But it seems he may have been right, this time,” Riorson drawls at me.

I stand from my crouched position and take three measured steps back. I take note of my surroundings, the quickest exit strategy, any obstacles in my way.

I look at his hands and they’re relaxed, not reaching for weapons. But the way he watches me is unsettling—still, calculating. 

I slip on my well-worn mask of cool indifference.

“Shadow-wielder,” I acknowledge him. “Must be quite useful in the dark.”

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You have no idea.”

There’s a pause as we stare at each other, assessing each other for threats, vulnerabilities, tells.

“What are you doing in here?” he demands, taking a step forward.

I mirror his movement, taking a step back, like we’re in a waltz. “What are you hiding in here?” I retort in an attempt at distraction.

The air between us stretches taut, thick with a silent battle of wills.

He just narrows his eyes at me before saying, “The Assembly is worried you’re a spy.”

I think for a breath, considering my options. I could deny that I’m a spy. But I sure am acting like one at the moment.

I channel to the limit I’m comfortable with while Basta’s still recovering, and say, “I’m not a spy. But I am snooping.”

He studies me for a long, unreadable moment. Then, slowly, he moves to lean against the table, arms crossed. Casual. In control. “Sounds like something a spy might say if they were caught out.”

My breath catches—I’m surprised he’s still so suspicious—but I force it into something even. 

My fingers tighten around the hilt of my dagger before I slide it back into its sheath. Smooth. Unhurried.

Like I’m not rattled. Like my pulse isn’t hammering against my throat.

I mirror him again, propping myself onto the table several feet away—neutral ground. I need him to see me as reckless, but not threatening.

I meet his gaze, pushing a little more effort into channeling, then say, “I’m not a threat to you or Tyrrendor. I’m trying to protect my people. To win this war. But your Assembly isn’t particularly forthcoming when it comes to sharing information. They make plenty of demands for it but I have yet to see any in return. I want to know what your precious Assembly is up to while people are dying out there.”

His eyes flicker, and for a heartbeat, I think I have him.

But then—he tilts his head, slow, considering. “You’re hiding something.”

And the way he says it—it's not a question. Not a guess. It's a statement.

Fuck. That should’ve worked.

I keep my expression carefully neutral, but my mind churns. There are only a few instances where my powers have failed in the past.

So I decide to push my luck to gauge his reaction. “You can do mind magic, can’t you?”

His gaze sharpens—just for a fraction of a second. But then it’s gone. And his face smooths out again, utterly unreadable.

But I saw it. The smallest crack in his mask.

His mouth quirks slightly, like I’ve mildly entertained him. “Well, that was all but an admission. What are you hiding, then?”

Shit.

There’s no point lying to him now. And I need to get the fuck out of here. So I smile, feigning indifference. “Are you going to kill me?”

His lips twitch, but there’s nothing warm about it. It’s the kind of smile you give when you already know how the story ends.

“Maybe I’ll leave that up to the Assembly.”

I force a small, lazy smirk. “Well,” I say as I push off the table. “I look forward to meeting with them again.”

I start walking toward the door, keeping my pace steady, unhurried.

He doesn’t stop me. But I don’t miss the way the shadows seem to flicker around my feet, following me.

Fuck.

I make my way out of Riorson House and toward the Valley. Basta intercepts me halfway up the path. I mount him without a word, and he sprints me away from Riorson House, veering off the main path and into the woods. The night air is biting cold, sharp as a blade against my exposed skin. But I welcome the sting and breathe it in deeply, filling my lungs with ice, then exhaling all of my tension away in thick puffs of steam while my mind swirls.

Mind magic. Mind fucking magic. The only thing worse than a shadow-wielder is a shadow-wielder who can crawl inside your head and take whatever they want.

How much did he see? Did he pull anything from me? No—I would have felt it, wouldn’t I?

Basta slows to a trot after a while and we stop in a small clearing. I hop off and start setting up camp, pulling out a warming rune then collecting wood to start a fire.

"Fuck," I repeat to Bastadunn, clenching my fists so hard my nails bite into my palms, trying to ground myself in the pain.

“Indeed,” he says.

“What the fuck has been wrong with me? I never make mistakes. And now—now I feel like I can’t do anything right.”

Basta clicks in irritation. “You’re emotional. You’re slipping. Do you even realize how many mistakes you’ve made in the last forty-eight hours?”

I sit down, stretching my hands toward the flickering warmth of the fire, feeling its heat against my numb fingers. “I know.”

“No. You don’t.” He looms over me, feathers ruffling. “You should have studied their schedules before sneaking in. You should have known when the shadow-wielder would be in Aretia.”

“How was I supposed to get their schedules without getting into the Assembly Chamber? ”

“You be patient. You extract information. From the Sorrengail girl. From the Durran boy.”

A muscle in my jaw tightens.

I don't want to be that person again. There’s a reason I stepped away from it all.

I drop back onto the cold, unforgiving ground, as I stare into the black canopy above, watching smoke curl and disappear into it. A fitting metaphor for my control—slowly slipping, disappearing into the shadows.

And then, before I can get ahold of my thoughts—suddenly, Talia is here, laughing.

Bright. Careless. Like a wind chime in a storm—impossible to ignore.

It fills up the space in my head, drawing me in before I can escape its pull.

I’m fifteen. She’s seventeen. But she’s so much more than that. Talia’s larger than life. She’s as sharp as a knife, funny as fuck, and absolutely fearless.

It’s late, and I’m slumped in a booth across from her in some smoky, back-alley tavern. The kind where the air is thick with cheap ale and regret. The kind where men get too comfortable, too loose, too easy to pick apart. 

Talia sits across from me, and I watch as she toys with a golden pendant dangling from her fingers—the latest gift from some poor bastard who thought he could tame her.

She raps it against the table, like she’s a judge who’s finally come to a decision. “Alright, Elly. Lesson time.”

I frown, poking at my drink. "I thought we were supposed to be working."

"We are," she smirks. “But you need a different kind of training.”

I furrow my brows. “What, pickpocketing? You’re better at that.”

She huffs a laugh. “Not that, idiot. I’m talking about men, Elly. You're good at pushing people. But you need to learn how to pull," she finishes with a wink.

"I know plenty about men," I mutter under my breath. But I don’t even manage to convince myself.

She laughs at me, but she stops to give me a somewhat pitying look.

“You’re getting older, El. Your charms won’t work anymore. Or at least, they won’t be as effective.” She rests her chin in her palm, assessing me.

“You’re too sharp. Too direct. That works when you’re an adorable child, but now… you’re just downright intimidating. And that’s not always a bad thing, but you’re missing an opportunity. You don’t always have to challenge them to a fight. Sometimes it’s better to let them think they’re the ones in control.”

I grimace, feeling my stomach twist. “Gross. I’d rather just fight them.”

She throws her head back in a laugh—the kind that steals a smile from you without your permission. “Yeah, I know. That’s your problem. You don’t have to win every time. Not in the way you think.”

I scoff. “You're only saying that because I actually win my fights. You just flirt your way out of them.”

She grins. “Exactly. Why lift a finger when you can have them falling over themselves to do whatever you want?”

I roll my eyes, but I relent. She’s right. I might be good at manipulating people. But she’s fucking masterful.

“Fine. What do you have to teach me, master?”

She sits back, her eyes on the bar, scanning for her next mark, her next victim.

She spots her target—a rider, first-year Lieutenant, clean uniform, confident. The kind of man who thinks he runs the world. He’s attractive in a predictable, golden-boy way, all strong jawlines and broad shoulders, the kind who probably looks at himself in the mirror before every battle.

I can already tell what Talia sees. A man who wants to be admired. A man who expects to be wanted.

I know his type.

I just don’t want to play his game.

Talia leans in, her voice dropping low. “Alright, watch closely.”

And I do.

But then—she doesn’t move. She doesn’t strut over, doesn’t try to lure him in.

She waits. Waits until she feels him looking at her, until he thinks it’s his idea to approach. And when he does, she turns toward him with the perfect amount of surprise, like she hadn’t expected his attention but is just delighted by it.

Her voice softens. Her posture relaxes. Everything about her shifts, from the sharpness in her eyes to the angle that she points her toes.

I watch, fascinated, as she lets him talk—lets him believe he’s leading the conversation. She laughs at the right moments, brushes his arm as if it’s unintentional, and makes him feel like he’s the most interesting person in the room.

And then—she takes something from him.

A drink. A secret. His focus, his trust—his control.

It’s so seamless, so natural, that by the time she turns back to me, leaving him staring after her like a lost puppy, I don’t even register what’s happened.

When she returns, dropping a small coin purse into my lap, she winks. "Your turn."

My eyes go wide as I shake my head. "What? No. I-I can’t."

Talia frowns. "Can’t or won’t?"

I keep shaking my head. "It feels... wrong. Like lying."

"Because it is," she says easily, then leans in, her voice quieter. "But it’s also survival, El. When you’re in a war, you use every weapon at your disposal. You don’t flinch at a sword—why flinch at this?"

I swallow hard. I know she’s right. I hate that she’s right.

I look back at the man still watching her, dazed and grinning, oblivious to how she unraveled him so easily.

And I nod.

"Alright," I whisper. "Teach me."

I exhale sharply, the memory settling like a stone in my gut.

Talia always made it look easy. Made it look fun. And I let her—I let her teach me, let her shape me, because I didn’t know how else to survive.

And I hate that I still know how to do it. That I could work… any of them—if I really wanted to.

But that part of me broke when…

"I think it’s time we talk about it, little one," Basta interrupts my thoughts, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

I blink myself out of my reverie then close my eyes, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat. "I have nothing to say."

We sit in silence, the fire crackling between us. 

Then, quietly, Basta asks, "What keeps you from running away? From doing what you thought about doing the other night? "

The breath leaves my lungs, slow and heavy. I have to think for a long time.

"I've accepted my fate, Basta." The voice in my head is resigned. Resolute. "I know I'm going to die in this war. And if I'm going down, by the gods am I taking down as many of those fuckers as I can with me."

Basta clicks his beak, sharp as a blade against stone. "Is that all your life is worth to you?! All that my life is worth to you?! Nothing but a disposable weapon in this war?"

I close my eyes against the onslaught of his emotions throttling me. "No, of course not. I don’t want to die—"

"Could have fooled me," Basta cuts in, his voice low, edged with anger.

I huff, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. "I don't. I just... know I'm going to. I know it in my bones, Basta. It's like... " I take a breath, struggling to find the words. "You know… sometimes I think I died that night. That I never made it out. That this—this is all just some horrible dream that I can’t figure out how to wake up from."

The confession feels like a wound being torn open. I’ve dreamt of that night more times than I can count. Dreamt that I died. That it ended there. 

But then I wake up. And it never ends. 

It never fucking ends.

But I don’t say that.

"Either way, I know I’ve been on borrowed time ever since." My voice turns quiet, certain. "There’s a reason why I’ve watched countless soldiers—better, stronger, faster, smarter than me—die over and over again while I continue to live. There’s a reason I’ve been spared, and it’s because I have a job to do. And I’m going to do it, Basta. That’s why I’m here. Why I’ll never run away."

Silence hangs between us, thicker than the smoke that surrounds us.

Finally, Bastadunn exhales a long, tired breath, then steps forward and settles next to me, his weight grounding, steady.

"You’re not dead, little one." His voice is gruff, but something gentle lingers beneath it. "I've been wondering how to get rid of you for ages, I would know if you were."

I let out a small, broken laugh and reach out to stroke his feathers, finding comfort in the familiar texture.

"How bad do you think I fucked up?" I ask after a while.

Basta hums. "We’ll see soon. Fifty-fifty at this point. To be fair, they should lock up the information if it’s so classified."

I snort. "Right?!"

He clicks in dry amusement, then shifts to rest more comfortably beside me.

We stay like that for a while—the warmth of the fire flickering between us, the night pressing in around us.

I stay cuddled up next to Basta and the fire until it’s time for breakfast. This is where I feel most at home. Cliffsbane felt like home, too. But Basta has always been it for me, like he’s an extension of my soul, enveloping me where the edges of mine start to fray.

I stamp out the fire before I leave and Basta drops me back off at the gate. He nudges my shoulder with his beak as I slide off him, a silent reminder to be careful. I give him a final pat before heading inside to face my fate.

The Great Hall is quiet at this hour—no fliers are up yet, so I grab my breakfast and take a seat at the end of an empty table. I pull out my notebook, flipping it open. I need to start planning shit. No more fuckups. I’ve had it with the mistakes. Talia would have smacked me silly if she saw me now.

I tap my pen against the page, my mind already forming contingencies, when a loud clatter breaks my concentration.

I jerk upright as a tray slams onto the table across from me.

A tall, muscly man drops into the seat like he owns the place, dark curls bouncing over his forehead as he grins at me. He’s built like a brawler, similar to Riorson, but paler.

For fuck’s sake. Are they all related?

He nods toward my notebook, his mouth quirking into a smirk. “Whatya writing there?”

I blink, then hold it up to show him the blank page, my expression stony.

His grin widens. “Deep.”

I sigh and shut it, sliding it back in my pack. "Not going to introduce yourself?"

“Garrick. Garrick Tavis.” He tilts his head and lifts his eyebrows expectantly. “And you are?”

“Soryn.”

His eyes narrow slightly at the evasion, but his grin doesn’t falter. “Soryn? Is that a first or surname?”

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Lieutenant Tavis?” I redirect, deducing his rank from his uniform.

He shifts in his seat as he grins again, leaning closer. “And here I thought we were just being friendly.”

I match his smirk, tilting my head. “Are you saying that you want to be friends with me?”

His eyes trail over me as he silkily says, “Of course. Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with you?”

My stomach clenches. But Talia’s voice reverberates in my head. “When you’re in a war, you use every weapon at your disposal. You don’t flinch at a sword—why flinch at this?”

I shove down my hesitation and soften my expression the way she taught me. “Okay, we can be friends. But now that we’re friends, tell me why you’re really here.”

He laughs, throwing his arms onto the table like we’re old drinking buddies. “You’re persistent. I like that.”

Then, clasping his hands on the table, he casually says, “Xaden said you might be in need of a chaperone.”

I arch a brow. “He assigned a Lieutenant to babysit me?”

“Well it’s just for today. But I can always put in a request to be your full-time escort, if you’d like that.” He wiggles his dark eyebrow at me.

I throw my head back in a forced laugh and say, “As much as I’d like that, I’m sure you’d be much more useful elsewhere.”

Silvanus joins us at this moment, sliding into the seat next to me, his expression neutral but assessing as he shoots me a “who the fuck is that” look.

“Good morning, Silvanus,” I greet, keeping my tone light.

“Morning, El.” He looks at Tavis. "And good morning…?"

“Lieutenant Tavis,” he answers smoothly, before smirking at me. “I’m El’s new friend.”

Bastard. I can't stop my eyes from rolling. 

“Good to meet you, Lieutenant,” Silvanus replies evenly, but Tavis barely acknowledges him, his gaze flicking back to me.

The tension is as thick as the walls of Riorson House. This was a mistake. Fuck, that’s another one.

I avoid his gaze as I eat my breakfast. But Silvanus is such a fucking champ because he makes small talk with Tavis so I can eat in silence. Some more fliers start to join us. Riven and Rava, and the rest of the twins’ drift. Everyone is equally put-off by Tavis’s presence but his attitude is unshakable as he grins and banters like he’s just one of us. He’s kind of a dick but he’s just charming enough that he gets away with it. Just so.

I decide to put the fliers out of their misery and stand to leave. Tavis gets up with me, as does Silvanus.

“Don’t worry, I can handle him,” I whisper to Silvanus. It’ll be easier for me to be manipulative without his innocent eyes watching.

He gives me a knowing look. He knows what I'm doing. But he relents with a sigh and sits back down.

Tavis grins as I move to leave. "Ready, Elly?" And he doesn’t just say it. He fucking relishes it.

I scowl at him. “Don’t call me Elly. Actually, don’t call me El, either. You can have Elyra because we’re friends—but definitely don’t call me Elly.”

I stride past him out of the Great Hall but he keeps pace effortlessly, his long strides easily outmatching mine. “What’s wrong with Elly?”

“I don’t like it. And I asked you not to. So if you insist on being my friend, then you’ll drop it.”

“Fine. Only because we’re friends.” He smirks. “But for the record, you can call me whatever you want. Gare, Gare-bear, Daddy…”

“Does anyone call you Rick?”

His face twists in mock offense. “Rick?! Fuck no, I’m not a Rick.”

“I like Rick,” I decide, just to piss him off.

“No, no. If you get to have off-limits nicknames, then so do I, and Rick is officially mine.”

“Whatever you say, Rick.”

He barks out a laugh. “Oh okay, so that’s how it’s going to be? Well alright then, Elly.”

I don’t react. I decide I like Rick more than I hate Elly. Everyone calls me Elly anyway.

I know a lost cause when I see one.

Chapter Text

I make Tavis sit through history with me. I need to bore him. And it works. His eyes are glazing over as Professor Kiandra drones on about military tactics from two hundred years ago.

Good.

In the meantime, I scribble in my notebook, being careful to keep up appearances. The ink forms what looks like neat, organized history notes, but nestled within are coded entries that don’t belong, details only I would understand.

I chart historical figures and events that aren’t just historical facts—they’re placeholders for Assembly members, each one standing in for their habits, movements, and political leanings.

I need to get back to the basics. Track their habits. Watch their schedules. And most of all, I need to know when Riorson will be in Aretia. I doubt any further snooping will go unnoticed by the Master of Shadows.

The thought unsettles me more than I care to admit.

Once I’ve finished jotting down my thoughts, I snap my notebook shut with a quiet thud, then turn my attention to my new tail. 

He’s fidgeting, his fingers tapping against the wood of the desk, his mind clearly elsewhere.

I’ve felt absolutely castrated with Tavis following me around everywhere. I haven’t been able to have a single productive conversation all day. So I lean toward him, deciding if I can’t ditch him, I might as well make use of him.

"You’re not related, are you? To Riorson?" I ask, keeping my tone casual.

That gets his attention. He snaps out of his daze, glancing at me with an amused smirk. "No, only Bodhi gets that special privilege. But we might as well be brothers."

“You fight together?”

“Always.”

I file that away.

“Can’t blame you. Having shadows watch your back would be dead useful in combat,” I set up my real question.

"I’ve saved his ass just as many times as he’s saved mine," Tavis says, sounding smug. "Or at least it’s close."

“What’s your signet, then?” I ask, keeping my voice nonchalant.

“Wind,” he smirks at me as he sends a light breeze in my direction.

I nod slowly, letting my mind turn over the possibilities.

“Wind-wielder. That could be useful too,” I murmur, more to myself than him as I think about the cliffs.

I lean in a little closer. Just enough to make it feel like we’re conspirators. “Where have you been stationed?”

He arches an eyebrow at me. He knows what I’m doing. But after a pause, he answers anyway. “Along the front. Wherever we’re needed, really. Lately, near the Stonewater River.”

“Stonewater? You've been busy defending Navarre?” I ask in mild surprise. 

I’ve been itching to know when they’ll plan to come for Aretia, but the Stonewater River leads to the Navarrian border. And it’s not a short flight. That means any trips to the front will require at least three days, five to be effective.

Tavis just tsks at me, shaking his head. “Are you always this obvious with your questioning?”

“For the last time, I’m not a spy. I’m fighting in this war alongside you. Of course I want to know where the dark wielders are.”

“You’ll have to ask the Assembly for that information.”

I let out a slow, annoyed breath as I sit back again. “How predictably Navarrian of you.”

He just chuckles.

At lunch, I weave through the tables and settle next to Cat’s drift, hoping she’ll do me a favor and scare Tavis off.

The second he follows, she zeroes in on him like a predator spotting prey.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" she sneers when he plops down beside me, her eyes sharp with distrust. Good girl.

"Riorson apparently thinks I need a babysitter," I mutter as I aggressively stab a piece of chicken.

Cat’s eyes narrow as Tavis leans in like we’re all old friends, all grins and lazy confidence. “You do have that chaotic, unattended-child energy.”

“That’s Captain Unattended-Child to you,” I retort. He just laughs.

“She doesn’t need you to spoon-feed her, Garrick. This is a flier table. And you’re not welcome here,” Cat spits at him.

"I see you’re still pleasant as ever, Catriona," he says, far too amused, popping peanuts into his mouth.

Her lip curls in disgust. "Are you spying on us, or just being an insufferable prick for fun?"

"Spying?” He asks in faux affront. “No, I’d make a terrible spy, don’t you think?" Tavis says lightly, then tilts his head toward me. "This one, on the other hand…"

Every set of flier eyes at the table flickers to me.

I laugh quickly, smoothly, before anyone can betray too much with their expressions. "Oh, come on, being a little nosy doesn’t make me a spy."

I lean back, letting my voice drop into something steadier, more certain. "I already told the Assembly—I’m here as a Captain, not a spy. My job is to win this war. That hasn’t changed."

It’s enough. Barely.

The fliers play it cool, turning back to their food, while Tavis just watches me with a knowing smirk before returning to his meal.

Cat continues to pester him and manages to knock his confidence down a peg or two, making him temporarily lose his unflappable demeanor. But we finish our lunch without too much hubbub, then head outside for combat training. The riders have the sparring gym today, which means we’re working in the open field.

I’m running the fliers through drills when Tavis strolls up beside me, hands clasped behind his back like he owns the place.

"You weren’t kidding when you said you were a Captain," he muses.

“Riorson didn’t tell you?” I poke for a reaction.

He ignores my question. “So does everyone know, then? Or just the Assembly?”

“Just the Assembly. I trust you’re capable of exercising some discretion? I don’t need any more targets on my back than I already have from your riders.”

“Right, I heard about your little run-in with Rockthorne. You ambushed him?”

His grin tells me he’s trying to get a rise out of me. 

I smirk at him. “Why would I ambush him when I could take him with my eyes closed?”

“Arrogant. Careful with that.”

“It’s not arrogant if it’s true.”

He lifts a brow, intrigued now. "Care to put your money where your mouth is?"

I roll my shoulders, considering him. I don’t particularly want to reveal my fighting style to Riorson’s guard dog, but I also never back down from a fight.

“Want to make it interesting?” I ask with a tilt of my head.

“I’m listening.”

“How about if I win, you put in a good word for me? Tell Riorson that I don’t need a babysitter.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, “Oh, you’re dangerous. I bet that might work on someone else.”

“Well let’s negotiate, then. What can you offer me?”

He steps into my personal space, his eyes glinting with something teasing.

"Oh, I can think of a few things." He drags his gaze over me, slow and deliberate. "Maybe some stress relief? You seem a bit… tense."

I roll my eyes, and force a smirk onto my face. "Why does it sound like you’d enjoy that more than I would?"

He grins at me. "Don’t worry, I’m a very generous… stress reliever."

"Tempting," I say dryly. "But I’ll pass."

"Suit yourself." He shrugs. "How about this, then? I’ll put in a good word for you—as long as you behave. But I’m not pulling your detail."

I consider it. Not what I wanted, but I can work with it.

“And if you win?”

He stifles a smile as he scratches his chin and pretends to think about it.

“If I win, you’ll let me take you out for a night. A proper night out in Aretia.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but I extend my hand. "Deal." 

Men are too easy.

My heart twinges for a moment, but I shake it off when Tavis shakes my hand with a naughty little grin spreading over his face.

We remove our weapons and square up in an empty space on the field. 

I size him up as we circle each other—he’s large, strong. His stance and footwork look solid. He’ll be much harder to beat than Cassian.

We continue to circle for a while before I realize he’s waiting for me to attack.

“Come on, Lieutenant. You’re not afraid of losing to a little girl like me, are you?” I attempt to bait him into attacking first.

“I’m a gentleman. Ladies first,” he grins back.

Smart of him to not underestimate me. But I’m adaptable.

I sprint toward him, not bothering to use my magic. 

I want him to underestimate me. 

I throw a predictable combo—jab, cross, hook. He dodges, moving exactly how I expect. My hand slides past his head, not stopping at empty air but finding my real target.

I wrap a hand behind his neck and pull him to the side, shifting his weight, pivoting past his counterblow to throw my hips in front of his. The momentum from his counter helps me throw him, but he jumps into the throw and rolls out of it and back to his feet. 

“Not bad, Captain. But still not nearly enough,” he says as he lunges back toward me, but I’m already moving and I’m behind him when I jump into a tornado kick aimed at his head.

He ducks and pivots while arcing out a leg to sweep me. I jump with my standing leg, twisting into the momentum of my kick and using my magic to reinforce my core in order to land in a crouched position, just out of reach.

I pounce as he finishes his sweep with his back slightly turned to me. He’s quick, though, and he rolls out of the way of my axe kick and pops back onto his feet to face me once more.

“Using magic, are we?” he asks as he mimics my move and suddenly appears behind me.

But he’s quicker than I expected.

A vice grip clamps around my waist right as I start to move. The ground vanishes beneath me. Then—oof .

The world slams back into focus as my spine hits the earth, magic cushioning the blow—barely.

The breath is ripped from my lungs, a sharp, brutal shock that sears through my ribs. The world tilts. I force myself to move before the pain sets in, before my body locks up.

I roll, elbows scraping against the dirt, knees driving into the space between us. A moment's reprieve. Just enough to slip out like the slippery little snake I am, twisting free before he can pin me.

But I’m still dragging in a breath when I see a shadow at the edge of my vision, a blur of motion. A fist driving toward my face.

I barely get my arms up in time, magic flaring through my bones as I brace for impact. My forearms shudder under the force, and he doesn’t let up.

His next strike comes fast—too fast—a sharp right hook meant to break my guard. I barely have time to shift, twisting just enough that his fist skims my temple instead of caving it in.

I use the momentum, spinning with the impact rather than against it, dropping low as I move. His follow-up comes—a brutal downward strike meant to finish me before I can recover. But I'm already rolling, slipping, twisting away like smoke, and I manage to land a counterblow directly to his jaw before slithering out of reach again.

I hear his frustrated grunt as he wipes blood from his lip. Good. Let him get annoyed. Let him overcommit.

"Slippery little thing, aren't you?"

I flash him a grin, breath ragged but ready. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

And then we go again.

We circle each other, breathing heavy, both of us scraped, bruised, unwilling to yield.

He's stronger, and I know it. But I'm patient. Smart. I fight to exploit openings, not to break through brute force. And right now, he’s frustrated—which means he’s about to make a mistake.

I see the moment he sets his jaw. The moment he plants his foot. He’s in front of me in a blink, but I’m ready for him and block his incoming strikes. 

His blows hit fucking hard, but I ignore the ache shooting up my arms and focus on parrying his flurry of attacks. I finally catch on to his rhythm and duck and roll under an incoming strike to deliver a magically reinforced blow directly to his solar plexus. 

A deep, sickening thud reverberates through my knuckles. His body jerks violently, then freezes.

I know that feeling. A full-body shutdown.

His chest seizes, his breath caught in his throat, his muscles locked—his body refusing to obey him.

His breath chokes out in a sharp wheeze then his knees hit the ground, hard. One hand clutches at his chest while the other is planted on the ground for support. His body shudders as he struggles to suck in air.

I could leave it here, but I don’t want to leave any room for doubt about who won this, so I push my advantage and spring forward. I hook one leg around his neck, and the other underneath his raised arm. I grab the wrist of his raised arm before he can react and yank it across my body. I quickly hook my feet to lock in his arm placement against his neck, then shimmy my triangle hold into place and squeeze my thighs together, compressing the arteries in his neck.

His free hand claws at my thigh as he tries to lift me, but the moment he does, I tighten my hold and his strength falters. His grip weakens. His hand hovers for a second—then he drops me and taps.

I unravel my legs from him with a sigh as he gasps for air on his hands and knees, letting the blood rush back into his head.

“Not fucking bad, Lieutenant,” I compliment in total sincerity as I stand and try to catch my own breath. I stick out a hand to help him up. 

He glares at me for a moment in suspicion but I reassure him, “Come on, Ricky. I already beat you fair and square. I don’t have to resort to cheap shots.”

He takes my hand and I pull him up. He gives me a clap on the back when he stands and says, “Fucking hell, Captain.”

A low whistle cuts through the air from the sidelines.

I turn, and my stomach drops.

Because there, standing next to Emetterio at the edge of the field, are Riorson and Durran—looking like a set of nesting dolls.

And suddenly, my victory doesn’t feel quite so sweet.

Damn it.

“Impressive, Captain. Lieutenant Tavis is one of our best fighters,“ Emetterio yells out.

“I can tell. He’s good. I’m just better.” I throw my grin at Tavis.

“Hey, I was taking it easy on you. I told you I’m a gentleman, didn't I?” He argues, rubbing his neck.

“Well, then I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I have. Don’t worry. I’ll get you next time, Elly,” he says teasingly, facing me.

I step into him, feathering a light touch down his arm, dropping my voice into something low, suggestive, “You might have a chance. If you ever manage to get me on my back again.”

I catch Riorson lifting an eyebrow at Tavis and I know I’ve done my job. He’s concerned. 

Satisfied, I skip away from Tavis and approach Riorson. 

“Are you and your bodyguards here to drag me in front of the Assembly, Riorson? Or would you rather finish the job yourself?” I ask with a wicked grin, gesturing to the empty space in the field Tavis and I just walked off of.

Tavis barks out a laugh at that, while Durran and Emetterio both look at Riorson with raised eyebrows.

Riorson’s expression doesn’t change. “I need to borrow Lieutenant Tavis,” he says simply. “I’ve assigned Bodhi, here, to shadow you. In the spirit of working together.”

Shit. I don’t need the Spare constantly watching me. 

I mask my irritation, and start channeling as I tilt my head and ask, "Really? Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

I see him hesitate for a moment, but it flickers away in an instant. 

“You won’t even notice he’s here,” he says as he walks away, Tavis following him.

Stupid, mind-reading, shadow-cloaked bastard.

I just clench my jaw and let out a deep sigh before turning back to the cadets, ignoring Durran to the best of my ability.

Durran takes a different approach than Tavis, keeping his distance as he observes me. Which is good for my ego, but bad if I want to work him for information.

I use the rest of the training session to come up with a plan and swallow down my pride.

By the time we’re packing up to leave, Durran still hasn’t spoken. He’s just following, waiting, his silent presence more suffocating than Tavis’s ever was.

That’s not going to work for me.

Once I have my pack on my back, I look back at Durran and say, “Come on, Shadow. Let’s go.” 

I wait and look at him expectantly until he finally approaches. My blood boils at the small smirk on his face. He better not be thinking about what I think he’s thinking about.

Eventually, he breaks the silence as we walk back toward Riorson House, trailing behind the rest of the fliers. “You know, I get it now. Aetos doesn’t hate you—he’s just traumatized.”

That steals a giggle from me against my will. But I recover quickly. “Clearly the little shit isn’t traumatized enough,” I sass.

He chuckles at that. 

"What’s his deal, anyway? Why is he so hellbent on making my life miserable?" I whine, wanting to gauge his temperature toward Aetos.

He sighs, like this is exhausting for him. "He’s big on rules. And you seem determined to break them all."

A smug smile creeps its way onto my lips. I’ve never met a rule I didn’t want to break. 

I glance at him, studying him for a second. "So what is this arrangement, anyway? Are you going to follow me everywhere?"

"We’ll see. Maybe not, if you just tell us what you’re up to."

"I already told Riorson why I was snooping."

"He doesn’t buy it."

"What’s not to buy?"

Durran gives me a look. A very pointed, very unimpressed look.

I sigh. "What about you? Do you think I’m a spy sent to take down Aretia from the inside?"

He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watches me for a long moment, weighing something.

Then he sighs, "I don’t know. You’re a bit of a mystery to me."

I let the conversation drop. Durran is going to be harder to manage than Tavis. He watches too much, says too little. That’s always more dangerous. 

And I already have too many people watching me. Between Riorson, Tavis, Durran, and Aetos, my movements are about to become painfully restricted over the coming weeks.

Shit.

I won’t even be able to meet to collect my fliers’ notes. I’ll have to ask Silvanus and Professor Kiandra to fill in for me.

For now, though, I focus on what’s next. Because this is going to be a problem.

But I’ve never liked being backed into a corner.

Chapter Text

I decide to spare my fliers from Durran’s looming presence and find Ridoc’s squad at dinner.

“What’s up, Doc?” I greet with a grin as I plop down next to him.

“Well, hello there, angel,” he turns to grin at me before his eyes flick to Durran and his smirk deepens. “Since when are you two friends?”

My smile tightens slightly, but I let the Spare answer. I want to hear his explanation. I look at him.

“She stayed the night in my room the other night,” he quickly shoots back with a smirk.

My jaw fucking drops. Sawyer starts choking on his drink.

"And you didn't invite me?" Ridoc puts a hand over his heart, as if wounded.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I hiss at Durran.

He has the decency to look a little sheepish but he recovers quickly, sliding into the seat next to me like he belongs there. “Yes, I’m kidding, obviously. Xaden wants me to shadow her.”

My glare is glued to him as Rhiannon asks, “Shadow? Why?”

“The Assembly wants to know all of her wyvern-killing secrets,” Durran lilts, like this is all a fun game for him.

I turn back to the riders and catch Violet’s gaze lingering on Durran’s. 

Shit. Riorson probably told her. 

I’ll need to do some damage control.

“Riorson caught me snooping in the Assembly chamber. Apparently, they don’t appreciate curiosity.” I get in front of the problem. 

I bask in the faces of shock I see at my revelation. Violet’s is particularly sweet.

Ridoc lets out a roguish laugh. “What mischief have you been getting into now, El? You could have included us, you know.”

I grin at Ridoc. And I don’t even have to fake it. I knew we were kindred spirits.

I shrug, casually tearing off a piece of bread. “I wanted to see what information they’re hoarding in there. Withholding information is a bit of a sensitive spot for the Poromish.”

I don’t lie. I just pick the truths that cut the deepest. This one does the job.

Ridoc chuckles and leans into me, nudging me with his shoulder, “She’s one of us, I’m telling you.” He grins at his squadmates. 

“What’d you find, then?” a girl with half a head of pink hair and a rebellion relic running up her arm leans over to ask—Cardulo, if my reports are to be trusted.

Her gaze is hard. Assessing. She doesn’t trust me, she’s testing me.

I pretend not to notice, keeping my tone and expression smooth, relaxed. “I only had twenty minutes before the shadow-wielder interrupted me. But it was mostly administrative. Budgets, resource allocation, other useless information. A surprising amount of it was goat-related.” I tell a half-truth. There was plenty of that, but that’s not what I was looking at.

“Goats?” Sawyer asks.

“They’re trying to figure out how to feed all of the dragons and gryphons,” Violet explains.

Ridoc leans forward, deadpan. “Wait. You’re telling me that there are wyvern burning down entire villages out there and the people in charge are busy reading goat reports?”

Violet sighs. “It’s a big issue.”

Sawyer snickers. “The real enemy? Agricultural inefficiency.”

Cardulo raps her knuckles against the table to get us back on track, her gaze narrowed. “That’s a hell of a risk to take.”

The laughter at the table fades, eyes turning back to Cardulo, then to me.

I meet her gaze, watching the way her eyes carefully flit over me, the way her jaw twitches like she’s trying to decide if I’m full of shit. Or maybe she’s already decided that I am.

I tilt my head and give her a smirk. “The greatest risks have the greatest rewards.”

She scoffs. “Or the worst consequences.”

“I’m sure you could have asked,” Violet tries to reason with me. “Xaden told me you were a Captain. I’m sure they would let you join Assembly meetings.”

The riders all look to me to see my response. I keep my tone and expression light, “Yes, I’m technically a Captain. A long story but one I’m happy to share. And did Riorson tell you that they’d let me join? Because I’d love to.”

Whatever her answer, it’s a win-win for me. If she says yes, I’m in. If she says no, then her argument gets shut down.

“Well, no. He didn’t say that, exactly. But I think you’d have a good argument.”

I just hmph at her.

“So a Captain?” Rhiannon arches an eyebrow at me.

“Yes,” I sigh. “Like I mentioned, I’ve been at war since I was four. I grew up at Cliffsbane. And they found plenty of uses for me.”

“Like what?” Cardulo prods.

I repeat what I told the Assembly. “A messenger at first, when I was young. Eventually I started going on scouting missions. And I saw my first battle at twelve.”

“Twelve?!” Rhiannon asks in shock.

“Minor skirmishes. Just to get experience. I was a good fighter. Plus, our forces were constantly being decimated. We were desperate.” Not a lie. Not the full truth, either.

Ridoc grins. “Oh, don’t tell me. You were a tiny assassin, weren’t you? Skulking around in people’s kitchens, poisoning their morning porridge?”

My stomach clenches but I force a snort—just a split-second too late. But I play it off, leaning into him with a smirk. “Hardly. I prefer to get up close and personal.” I waggle my eyebrows at him.

“Definitely an assassin,” Ridoc snorts back at me.

Cardulo rolls her eyes. “Or, you know, a child soldier, which is way less funny.”

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, as Ridoc and Sawyer argue about goat conspiracies, but I do find out from Violet that Riorson and Tavis have returned to the front. 

As soon as I’m done eating, I scan the room for Silvanus. I find him near the far end of the hall, already watching me. 

I make an attempt at ditching the Spare and make my way over. I slide up behind Silvanus, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, pressing my chest lightly against his back as I whisper into his ear. "I need your help losing the watchdog."

Silvanus lets out a low sigh. He knows what’s coming.

Still, when he stands, I pull him in, guiding his hand to my waist as I let mine wander lightly over his chest, tracing my fingers over the hard ridges of muscle beneath his shirt.

"I’ve missed you, Silv," I murmur, adding just enough heat to make it convincing.

His eyes flicker over my face, his throat bobbing slightly. He knows all my tricks—but for a second, just a second, he wavers. Then, he plays along, wetting his lips and rubbing his hands up and down my back, pressing me into him.

"Shall we get out of here?" he growls in my ear, voice deeper than usual.

I tilt my head, biting my lower lip just enough to make him gulp. "Please."

His grip tightens on my hips before he straightens and clasps my hand, lacing our fingers together as he drags me to his bedroom.

Durran follows, of course. But we ignore him, flirting and laughing like a pair of lovers on the verge of something scandalous.

He’s far enough away that we easily slip into Silvanus’s room and slam the door behind us before he can object.

When the door shuts, Silvanus looks at me with his arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. I just grin back at him then plop myself on his bed with a sigh that borders on a groan.

“Thanks Silvy,” I say with a coy smile.

He just shakes his head. “You don’t think it was a bit much?” And his tone is edged with something sharp. He seems annoyed with me for some reason.

I sit up slowly, my grin fading, something heavy settling in my stomach. “Are you upset with me?”

He just shakes his head again, then sighs as he sits next to me on the bed, his face and shoulders sagging ever-so-slightly. “No, of course not.” But his voice comes out weary, tired.

I scoot closer to him, studying his face. He looks exhausted—deep bags under his eyes, a sallowness to his skin. And it fills me with guilt—because I hadn’t even noticed. “I’m sorry, Silv. I won’t do it again if it makes you uncomfortable.”

He gives me a tired smile and says, “Don’t be silly, El. I think we’re close enough that I can handle a few lingering touches.”

I just snuggle into him as he lifts an arm to wrap me in it. I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his chest. His heartbeat is steady, but strong. Grounding. Familiar.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to seeing you like that, though,” he finally admits in an almost-whisper. 

And I feel my heart drop. I figured that’s what it was. It’s hard to trust someone who lies so easily.

“Does it make you question me?” I ask in a small voice.

He pulls back a little to look me in the eye, “Of course not, El. I trust you with my life. And I always will, that’ll never change.”

I just study his eyes and eventually whisper, “Good. Because I love you, Silv. And I would never hurt you.”

He just clenches his jaw and looks away, his throat bobbing.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, concerned. He’s holding something back.

“Nothing,” he says quickly—too quickly. And it’s obvious to me that he’s lying.

It’s not like him to not be forthcoming with me. But I let it go. I would never channel against Silvanus and betray his trust. Well, never is a strong word, but I would really, really like to avoid it.

I have to try one more time, though.

"Silv," I murmur, pressing a hand against his chest, watching his expression closely. "You know you can tell me anything. Even if it’s not nice for me to hear."

His throat bobs, and for a moment, I think he might actually tell me. But he just forces a smile and shakes his head.

“It’s nothing, El. I promise you. You know how devoted I am to you. Can we let it go?”

I feel a prick of tears behind my eyes as something knots in my throat. But I blink it away, schooling my expression and nodding.

He gives me a regretful look for a moment but he blinks it away as well then says, “So, what’s going on with these new rider ducklings you’ve collected?”

I huff out a laugh, grateful for the distraction. Then I lie back with a sigh. 

“I was dumb. I fucked up. Riorson caught me snooping in the Assembly Chamber this morning. So that’s why Tavis was tailing me. And now it’s Durran. Fucking infuriating. I don’t know if I’m more pissed at myself or them.” I bury my face in my hands to stifle a groan.

Silvanus lets out a sharp exhale. "Shit."

“Mmm… But the good news is I’m still here. I don’t know if Riorson’s told the rest of the Assembly. I’m sure Ulices would want to see me executed for treason.”

Silvanus sighs as he looks at me. “So, you’ll have to lay low for a while.”

“Right. Which means I won’t be able to collect the fliers’ notes. Or do much of anything, really. I was hoping you and Professor Kiandra, and whoever else you two trust, could handle those things while I’m on probation.”

Silvanus nods at me. “Of course, I’ll find Professor Kiandra tonight. They might get suspicious that I helped you escape your detail.”

“You don’t think our performance was convincing enough?” I ask with a cheeky smile.

He rolls his eyes at me, his ears turning slightly pink. “No, you were plenty convincing, trust me. But I’m sure they know you’re smart enough to pull it off by now.”

I just hmph in response. Then after a moment, I decide to test the waters. “Do you think we’d be able to get away with it again?”

Silvanus doesn’t answer right away. But then he looks at me and says, “I don’t know.”

I try to get a read on him. But I fail, so I just ask outright, “Would you be willing to try again? You can say no.”

He has to think about it, which immediately concerns me, but he eventually agrees. “Of course. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I know that. Which is why I would never want to force you into something you don’t want to do. So I beg you to say no if you feel at all uncomfortable with it.”

“I said I’d do it, El. It’s done,” he says, his tone biting.

It stings me for some reason, but I shove the feeling away and we rise to leave. 

I stop him before he opens the door. “Wait.”

He looks at me.

“We don’t really look… the part.”

He just furrows his eyebrows.

I sigh. “If Durran’s standing out there waiting for us. It’ll be more convincing if we look a little… disheveled?”

He sighs a heavy sigh, bowing his head and putting his hands on his hips. “Alright then. What do you want to do? Mess up my hair?”

I walk over to his bed and mess it up a bit, ripping the sheets back and throwing pillows. Then, I pat on the edge and direct, “Sit.”

He slowly walks over and sits. I wedge myself in between his knees as I rest my own against the bed.

I lift my hands to his hair, threading my fingers through thick strands of ashy brown hair, ruffling, smoothing, making it look just rumpled enough to sell the story. His breath hitches—just for a second—but I ignore it.

I move my hands to unbutton the top button of his henley, then I step back, tilting my head, to assess my work. I’m good. He looks… I stop that disturbing train of thought.

I take my hair down then flip it over my head and back again, messing it up with my fingers, before smoothing it behind my shoulders.

“How do I look?” I ask.

Silvanus’s gaze flickers over me, his jaw tightening. "Good," he mutters. 

He clears his throat and steps toward the door, but I stop him.

“Not so fast. Drop and give me fifty, cadet.”

He just gives me an exasperated look, like he’s about to tell me to fuck off.

“Unless you can think of another activity that’ll get us hot and sweaty,” I tease.

“Amari’s knickers, El,” he shakes his head at me. But he gets on the floor. I join him and we’re both properly flush and slightly sweaty when we’re done.

We push open the door to find Durran leaning against the opposite wall. I make a point to open the door wider than I need to so that he’ll see the bed, and I know my ruse worked when he quickly averts his gaze after assessing the situation.

I pretend to quickly shut the door in embarrassment, and we all stand there awkwardly for a moment. I let it marinate, but I have to bite my lip and look down to keep from smiling.

“Can we help you with something, Durran?” Silvanus asks, his expression hard.

“I’ve been assigned to shadow Captain Soryn. Please, pretend I’m not even here,” he lazily replies, checking over his nails, not moving from his spot perched against the wall.

Silvanus and I just walk ahead of him, back downstairs. I keep up the act, but I keep it subtle. Silvanus is clearly over it, and I have a hard time ignoring the worry gnawing at me.

I wonder if it’s about Talia. I haven’t gotten a chance to check on him. I need to make time to do that soon.

We split off at the staircase, him heading toward Professor Kiandra’s office, me toward the library. I stop mid-step, letting out a sharp exhale as I turn around.

Durran lingers a few paces behind.

I fold my arms, giving him a long, annoyed look. “Do you really need to always be around, Durran?”

“Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it either.” His voice is dry, even, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s enjoying my irritation.

I narrow my eyes, then turn back toward the Main Hallway, making no effort to slow my steps. He keeps up easily, his stride smooth and unhurried.

We don’t speak again, and by the time I reach the library, I’m pretending he doesn’t exist.

I deliberately take my time, combing through the shelves, half-hoping he gets bored and leaves.

He doesn’t.

Fine. Let him waste his time.

I pull a few books on runes that spark my interest, then find a secluded corner of the library.

I decide to sit on the ground so that my insufferable shadow will leave me alone—I’ve always been more comfortable on the ground anyway. I sit with my back up against the corner, resting the book on my lap, my knees propped up. I read for a while, and my shadow just takes a seat at a nearby table.

I pretend to not notice he’s there. But I can see him in my peripheral vision—watching me, pretending like he’s reading his own book.

He waits an hour before he moves.

I hear his chair scrape slightly, and for a second, I think—finally. He’s leaving. But no. Instead, he walks over and slides down the wall next to me, settling into my corner like it’s his.

I feel my heart start pounding and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of his every movement. The way he shifts toward me, nearly brushing my arm, before settling entirely too close to me.

I glare at him, but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are trained on my book.

"Who's snooping now?" I crow at him.

Durran smirks as he meets my gaze. I feel a slight heat growing in my cheeks but I tell myself it’s anger.

“What are you reading?” he asks casually.

“No privacy,” I mutter under my breath. Then I show him the cover with a big sigh. “Is this acceptable, my Lord?”

He scoffs out a chuckle then looks away and says, “I’m just making conversation.”

“I thought Riorson said I wouldn’t even notice you here.”

“Well, I got bored.”

I huff, reopening the book, determined to ignore him. But I can’t focus with him so close to me. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, can feel his gaze burning a hole into the side of my head.

I re-read the same sentence four times before I give up.

“Don’t you have more important things to be doing?” I shoot at him as I catch him staring at me. He looks away.

“What, and miss out on your enthralling company?” He chances a smirk at me as he finishes.

Gods, he’s almost as infuriating as Aetos.

I finally slam my book shut and decide to head to my room. He can’t try to follow me in there, can he?

“I’m turning in,” I announce as I stand up. I don’t wait for him as I stalk off but he follows me. I groan when I notice and turn around to face him.

"Seriously? I can walk myself to bed."

“A gentleman would never let a lady walk unaccompanied at night. You never know what could be lurking in the shadows,” he smirks at me.

“You mean your cousin?”

He chuckles. "Among other things."

We make it to my room after a long walk in silence, and I’m not sure why, but I pause to look at him before I enter.

His expression is the same as always—calm, unreadable. But something flickers in his eyes.

I just shake my head and open my door.

“No goodnight?” he asks as I step inside.

I turn around and aggressively roll my eyes at him. 

“Goodnight,” I sneer as I slam the door in his face.

I hear a quiet chuckle on the other side.

I stifle a groan, pressing my forehead against the door, willing my pulse to slow.

I hate this man.

Chapter Text

Having been forced to go to bed early last night, I give up on sleeping at a quarter ‘til three after tossing and turning for six hours. I grab my toiletries and head to the shared bathing chamber.

I’m barely three steps out of my room when my foot catches on something solid.

I stumble, biting down the pain of my stubbed toe as I look down.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

Durran blinks awake slowly, and I can’t help but note how differently we wake up. He wakes up like he has all the time in the world, stretching out like a sleepy cat. I wake up like the gods damn house is on fire.

“You fucking slept here?! On the floor like a dog?!” I hiss at him in a slightly raised tone, just enough to communicate my outrage without waking anyone.

"Oh, gods, you’re delightful in the morning,” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, his voice still thick with sleep. “Is it even morning? What time is it?"

"Almost three," I mutter. "Go to bed. I’m going to take a shower. And if you so much as try to follow me in there, I don’t care how many seats you are away from any throne, I’ll kill you on sight. I brought my weapons."

"Noted," he yawns.

I storm off to the bathing chamber. When I come back, he’s gone.

Fucking finally.

I stop in my room to swap out my toiletries for my pack and boots, then I sneak back out. 

I tiptoe around, looking around corners and behind tapestries, not trusting that the Spare finally left me alone. Would be stupid if he did. This is clearly my favorite time to snoop. I see no sign of him, though, so I carefully make my way to the first floor. 

I go straight to the Assembly Chamber. I know the shadow-wielder has returned to the front. Plus, when’s the next time I’ll be without my tail? My best hope is to extract as much information as possible before someone inevitably tries to stop me.

I silently slip into the room.

But my heart stutters when I see black curls sitting on the Throne.

“A bit predictable, don’t you think?” he quips.

Gods damn it. Not as stupid as I thought, then.

I hear Bastadunn tut in my brain in disappointment.

I just heave a heavy sigh as I weigh my options. I’m already here, already caught. So I might as well test my new boundaries.

I start casually perusing the papers on the tables nearby. Durran can try to stop me, if he wants.

He doesn’t.

Interesting.

I busy myself rifling through papers outlining rune experiments—clearly Trissa’s work. She’s looking into countering runes. Smart woman.

But after a while, Durran’s silent observation starts creeping me out. So I have to ask, “Not going to stop me?”

He hums like he’s thinking about it then says, “If I wanted to stop you, I would have.”

My gaze flickers up to him. He doesn’t move. 

Fine. If he’s going to let me snoop, I’ll take full advantage.

I continue to rifle through papers. Some anatomical renderings of wyvern, details on the different breeds. Descriptions of the different ranks of venin.

“Did you manage to get any sleep?” I probe.

“Maybe twenty minutes here and there,” he answers, lifting a leg over the arm of the chair and settling in. “In between the death threats.”

I smirk at that. Cat’s in the room next to me and I heard her yelling at him in the hallway for at least twenty minutes.

“You’re going to burn out real quick if you keep that up,” I warn him in a sing-song voice.

I know from experience. Plus, I’d love nothing more than for him to go to bed right now. 

“Don’t tell me you suddenly care about my wellbeing. I might think you’re starting to like me,” he drawls, lazily.

And I can see his smirk from here. I just shake my head and turn back to the papers.

Venin tracking efforts, troop movements, supply lines—okay, now we’re getting somewhere.

He lets the silence stretch, watching me. Then, casually, he asks, "Find anything interesting over there?"

I flick a careless glance at him. "Why don’t you come see for yourself?"

He doesn’t move.

I tilt my head. "Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of your cousin? You’re next in line for the very throne you sit on. This information is as good as yours."

A slow smirk curves over his lips. "Using my cousin against me? Clever. Won’t work."

"What are you so afraid of, then? Don’t tell me you’re a rule-follower like Aetos," I push.

And I see it happen. The flicker of amusement. The curiosity piquing in his posture. He gets up.

Interesting. Comparing him to Aetos seems to work.

He moves slowly, hands loosely tucked in his pockets. He strolls up to me—leisurely, unhurried—until he’s standing right over my shoulder.

I pivot and back up into the table to create some space, but he just follows me.

And there’s nowhere for me to go without looking rattled. But if he’s trying to intimidate me, he’s going to have to do better than that.

We just stare at each other, the air between us taut with something unspoken—each waiting for the other to break.

He does first. His eyes flicker to my mouth. A tell. A slip, so fast that anyone else might’ve missed it. 

But I didn’t.

Bastadunn repeats the words that are already ringing in my head, “You hesitate.”

And I know he’s right when I see Durran’s expression change from cautious to intrigued.

I fucking crumble under the pressure, though, and just spit out, “Do you have to stand so close?”

He takes a small step back with that amused little grin he loves to wear so much. Like he knows a secret you don’t.

I take a measured sigh through my nose then turn back to the table to mind my own business. Surely, he can read for himself.

He eventually approaches the table, but instead of leaning over it, he leans back on it and looks down at me, his arms folded across his chest.

“What?” I snap at him, redirecting all the annoyance I hold toward myself at him.

“Just shadowing,” he says innocently, a smile tugging at his lips.

I scoff. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

“Depends on who’s asking,” he says, far too pleased with himself.

I glare at him. “You’re infuriating, you know that right?”

He pauses for a moment before pulling something out of his pocket with a smirk. “And yet you made me this,” he says, holding out the paper crane I crafted.

My breath gets caught in my throat. And I thank Amari that it’s dark because an unmistakable heat starts crawling up my neck and into my cheeks.

“See? This is where weakness leads you,” Bastadunn rubs salt into my open wound.

And damn it. I can’t even argue. I shouldn’t have left it, shouldn’t have taken the time to make it, shouldn’t have shared…

But I was feeling sentimental. Ugh. I shudder at the thought.

I just watch as he flips it over in his hands, studying it like a puzzle to solve. I have to force my breaths to stay smooth. But finally, I manage to grumble, “It was a thank you. For the bath. You were right—I needed it.”

There. We’re even. Now we can both let it go before it festers into something worse.

He just watches me for a while before he says, “It’s a crafty piece of runework.” He tugs on it and the paper flattens, then folds it—triggering the sequence of folds I loaded it with, making it into a crane again.

I just hmph, cursing myself as I tally up another mistake. Stupid. Weak.

“How’d you come to be so good at Tyrrish runes?” Durran asks.

I see the question for what it is. He thinks he can work me? Adorable.

Bastadunn chortles in my head. And I’m not sure if it’s directed at me or Durran. I ignore it.

“I had an old professor at Cliffsbane who had family in Tyrrendor.” I tell him a selective truth.

“How’d you do it?” He tilts his head at me.

“That’s a secret.” I arch a brow.

“I think I can make out Kelyth, for form. Is that right?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing at the crane again.

“That sounds like information. And I never give information away for free,” I smirk at him, wondering if he’d be willing to trade.

“You’ve given me plenty,” he carelessly throws out.

“Like what?” I ask skeptically.

“You just told me about your Tyrrish professor. Or was that a lie?”

My heart stutters for a beat, but I don’t let him notice it.

“That’s a personal anecdote. That’s hardly information.” I keep my voice even, flippant.

He studies me for a moment, then quietly says, “I’ve learned that you’re fearless. A natural leader. You’re ruthless, but also… sentimental.” He flips the paper crane over in his hands. “And… you’re not who you present yourself to be.”

My heart skips another beat.

He’s more perceptive than I thought. Or maybe I’ve been sloppier than I thought. 

I cross my arms, turning to look at him. “Really? Who am I, then?”

“A twenty-one-year-old Captain with a history no one seems to want to talk about? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a spy.” He leans in, the corner of his lip twitching.

“If I were a spy, do you really think I’d be this bad at it? Was it my punctuality that gave it away? Or maybe it was my charming personality,” I shoot back at him.

He just shakes his head at me, with that infuriating little grin back on his face.

“A true master of deception, then. I’m sure it’s all a part of your master plan.” He looks away, straightening. But his grin doesn’t fade.

I roll my eyes then turn back to the table. “You’re overthinking it, Shadow. I think the lack of sleep is getting to you.”

He hums out a laugh. “Look at you, trying to manipulate me again.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What have I done to manipulate you? If anything, you’re the manipulative one.”

“Me ? How have I been manipulative?” he asks, his face twisting in genuine affront.

“You know what you’ve been doing,” I say with a scowl, not wanting to verbally acknowledge the humiliating memory that’s been taunting me from the back of my armoire.

The way he fights his smile tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

“I’ve been nothing but nice to you,” he defends himself, easily.

“Nice,” I scoff. “Sure.”

He tilts his head at me then asks, “Are you always this guarded, or am I just special?”

“Guarded ? Why would I be guarded when you, your cousin, Aetos, and your precious Assembly are all treating me like I’m the fucking enemy?!” I’m pissed now, and I see Durran’s composure slip.

He gives me an almost pitying look, his eyes flashing with something indiscernible, as he says, “I never said I thought you were the enemy... It’s just your methods that are questionable.”

I study him for a moment. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. But I still don’t trust him.

“Questionable to you, maybe. But I’ve spent my entire life being left in the dark, and I’m done sitting pretty. I’ll win this war by myself if I have to. And frankly, I don’t give a shit if I step on the Assembly’s toes to make it happen. Or anyone’s toes, for that matter.”

He looks at me with an emotion I can’t quite place. Fear maybe. Or maybe recognition. But it quickly slides back into that small, easy smile he’s so comfortable in.

“I can see that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone talk to my cousin the way you did and get away with it. Well, except for Violet. But that’s different.”

“Hardly got away with it, seeing as how I’m being punished now,” I grumble petulantly under my breath.

He laughs at that. And I can’t help a small smile in return. And I don’t know why, but I want to chase that feeling. So I lightly tease, “He is quite scary, isn't he? Always brooding and hiding in dark corners.”

He grins. “Oh yeah, Master of Shadows. They could write children’s stories about him.”

“Oh, he could easily traumatize generations of children into submission,” I jest.

We just smile at each other for a second before he looks away. And I just try to ignore whatever confusing feelings are bubbling up. I tell myself it’s good to build rapport, to make myself seem non-threatening.

He eventually sighs, “You know you and my cousin are a lot alike. Ruthless, fearless, protective of the ones you love.”

I hmph at that. “Well maybe he should put me in charge, then. Things would go much smoother from here on out. I might even let you sleep again.”

“Are you ever not in charge?” He tilts his head at me.

I smirk at him. Smart man.

Durran just smiles back at me, but I notice his gaze slip to my lips again, and it lingers this time before he meets my eyes.

And this time, I have a hard time ignoring the feelings.

My pulse quickens and I hastily look away. Fuck. What is wrong with me?

“You always hesitate, Elly. The moment you realize you have them. You never hesitate on the battlefield,” Talia’s voice echoes in my head.

I try to calm my breath then steel myself before turning back to face Durran again. I need to focus on the mission. On determining whether or not he’s a threat. So I soften my expression, my posture. Turn it into something vulnerable—the way Talia taught me.

Then I slowly reach over to grab the paper crane from Durran, letting our hands brush lightly.

I notice the slight tensing of his muscles, the twitch of his fingers, like he might not let me have it. But he lets it go.

I play with the little crane in my hands as I softly ask, “Can I ask you something?”

He observes me for a second before evenly responding, “Sure.”

I consider him for a moment before dropping my gaze back to the crane. I could ask him what he’s doing here. Why he’s letting me snoop. But I don’t think I’d get an honest answer. So instead, I ask, “Why did you offer me your bathing chamber that first night? You didn’t even know me. And I didn’t exactly offer you a warm welcome.”

He blinks at me. He’s silent for a while as he assesses me, but he leans in slightly, his posture and expression softening to match mine, before he says, “I saw your face… after you read the scrolls. And after, in the Great Hall. I knew you lost someone important to you. And I felt guilty that we’d had such a poor introduction… Plus, I wasn’t lying when I said you were scaring the first-years. I think I saw one of them puke after seeing you.”

That steals a laugh from me. A genuine one. Not a sarcastic or a forced one, but a real one. I did look horrifying.

And when I look back at him, I can’t help but appreciate how beautiful this man is. His dark eyes twinkling with something inviting—like chocolate and honey. The way his lips effortlessly curve up his face, like the gods carved him that way—happy and warm. It’s unfair to the rest of us weak mortals. But I shove that feeling deep, deep down into my overflowing box of inconvenient emotions.

I turn away again.

I clear my throat and say, “Well, thank you. I wasn’t planning on ever saying it in person. But since you haven’t been completely insufferable tonight, I guess I’ll reward you.” I smirk at him. But it’s forced. 

“Well, that’s very generous of you, Elyra.”

I throw him another look over my shoulder. “I didn’t say we were on a first-name basis, yet.”

“Oh, come on. You’ve stayed in my room. You even made me a gift. You just met Garrick today and you two are already using pet names.”

I turn toward him again and take a half step forward, closing the distance between us as I say, “Well, Garrick and I are friends. Are you saying you want to be friends with me, Bodhi?”

He almost doesn’t react. But he does. A slight flare in his eyes, his slightly deeper breaths, the clench of his jaw, the bob in his throat.

I let him turn away first this time. He straightens slightly as he looks away, leaning back. He doesn’t meet my gaze as he says, “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m making a deal with the devil?”

I study him for a while before I put the crane back down on the table and push off of it.

“Maybe you’re smarter than you look,” I say as I walk toward the exit.

I look back for a reaction.

He gives me none.

But I call out before I shove open the door, “Get some rest, Shadow. You’ll need it if you want to keep up with me.”

Better the devil who holds you than the devil who hunts you.

Chapter Text

Durran found out brutally and swiftly what it’s like to be sleep deprived. He barely made it twenty-four hours with me before he needed a break.

Unfortunately for me, that cruel motherfucker asked Aetos to fill in while he caught up on his sleep.

Every part of me wants to throw a temper tantrum. I almost got on my knees and begged the Spare to spare me.

“This is a form of cruel and unusual punishment and I will not go quietly,” I threaten.

Durran just smiles to himself like he's enjoying my misery. “I’ll miss you too,” he says, easily. Insufferable prick.

Aetos is waiting by the doors of the Great Hall after lunch, arms crossed, watching us like we’re both idiots. 

When Durran finally leaves after a long look over his shoulder, Aetos lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Soryn.”

I don’t hide my disappointment at all as I look at him.

“Did you volunteer for this? Or is this as punishing for you as it is for me?” I huff with a pout.

His lips twitch up in a reluctant smile. “Don’t worry. This will be equally as punishing for me.”

I return his lip-twitching smirk. Maybe this will be more fun than I thought.

I don’t bother with class that afternoon. I take Aetos to the library.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” he nags.

“Aetos, I swear to Malek, If you pull your rule-following bullshit on me over skipping class, I won’t hesitate to stage your death and make it look like an accident.”

He scoffs loudly at that but he shuts the fuck up. He’s learning.

I grab a few books then sit at the table. I want my shadow to sit with me this time. And he does.

He sits tensely across from me, sitting back rigidly in his chair, his finger tapping against the table betraying his irritation. His gaze sweeps the room like he’s already counting the seconds until Durran takes back his shift. 

I pretend to read over my books for a while before I start my interrogation. 

When I look up at him, his shoulders shift ever so slightly—like he’s preparing for battle. 

I flip to a new page, then casually throw out, “So, Aetos, tell me. How did a rule-follower like you end up in the middle of a rebellion?”

He squints his eyes at me like he knows where this is going. But he answers anyway, “I mean it’s impossible to ignore the facts. People are dying out there. And Navarre’s leadership has been lying to us for hundreds of years. It’s all very black-and-white as far as I’m concerned.”

“Black-and-white? You like to think in black-and-white, don’t you? You’re uncomfortable with gray.”

His brows furrow for a second, and I watch as he chews through the thought. “I can handle gray. But this simply isn’t a gray situation, not to me, at least.”

I consider him for a moment before I put on my mask of innocent vulnerability. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze flickers up to mine. Then down. Then back up again. “Yes?”

I lean in, tilting my head slightly. “If it came down to it. On the battlefield. Between your father and me. Who would you save?”

He stops breathing. His entire body goes still.

I watch the shift in his expression, the way his control splinters for just a fraction of a second. The muscle in his jaw ticks, and his lips part slightly—like he wants to speak, but the words won’t come.

I sit back and cross my arms. “That’s what I thought, Aetos. Not so black-and-white, is it?”

He shakes his head at me like I just stole his pocket watch. I expect him to snap, to defend himself, to argue—but instead, something complicated flickers behind his eyes. 

He glares at me, eyebrows furrowed, and he says in an almost-wounded voice, “What is your problem with me? Why do you hate me so much?"

I just blink at him, wondering why he cares. But his glare doesn’t waver—and I start to think he might actually want to know. So I lean back over the table, putting my weight over my clasped hands as I drop my voice. “Do you want to know the truth? Do you think you could actually handle it?”

He stares at me for a second, his gaze hard as steel. “Yes.”

He seems like he means it. And I pity him for some reason. So I tell him what he needs to hear. “I don’t hate you, Aetos. I actually think you’re probably a good guy. But as for my problem? Well, my problem is, I don’t respect you. And neither does your Wing.”

His expression flickers—with surprise, hurt, anger.

But I continue, “And do you know why that is? It’s because you can’t think for yourself. You realize that the very rules you've clung to your entire life have been a lie, right? You realize that they’ve been used to strip you of your knowledge, squash your agency, indoctrinate you—all so that they can grind you down into blindly obedient weapons?"

He starts to open his mouth but I don’t stop.

“You can’t be blind and be a leader, Aetos. People following you into battle need to know that you can think for yourself, that you’ll make the right decision when it comes down to it, that you won’t bend your own backbone and morals for something silly like a rule. Is that something you’re capable of, Aetos?”

He looks like he’s thinking about hitting me for a moment before he just shakes his head and sits back in his chair, still glaring at me. “You don’t get it, do you?”

I just lift my eyebrows at him to continue.

“It’s not rules that I care about,” he finally says, his voice lower, tighter. “I can see the difference between right and wrong. That’s why I’m here. What I do I care about is order. Actions always have consequences. People can’t be allowed to do whatever they want without consequence. Soldiers would die if they approached the battlefield like that, and that’s what we are at the end of the day, soldiers. Rules can be abused to control, like you said. But they’re also necessary. We need rules to make sense of things, to provide structure so that we don’t spiral out of control. If everyone went around doing whatever they wanted like you did, we’d all be dead by now.”

I consider him for a moment. It’s a good argument. I still hate it, but it’s valid. So I throw him a bone. “You have a solid argument for rules, wingleader. I’ll give you that. But the question is, where do you draw the line? Somewhere along the way, you drew that line completely wrong. And it’s cost you the trust of those who are supposed to follow you. As a leader, you need to be able to learn from your mistakes. So I beg you to consider carefully where you draw that line next.”

His expression tightens. His fingers flex around the edge of the table. 

But he doesn’t argue. 

Instead, he exhales through his nose and just scowls at me.

The silence between us stretches, heavy, and for the first time, I think I might see some potential. So I say, “Look, I don’t want to be your enemy, Aetos. I know we got off on the wrong foot. And I know we may never see eye to eye on everything. But I can respect someone who can look me in the eye and back up their convictions.”

Better to keep your enemies close and all that.

He tilts his head slightly, assessing me, and for once, there’s no immediate snark.

Instead, he just shakes his head with an exasperated huff and mutters, “You’re fucking exhausting.”

I grin. “I try.”

Durran meets up with us at dinner, as we sit with Ridoc’s squad.

“Didn’t put you through too much trouble, did she?” he asks Aetos as he slides in the seat next to me.

“She’s all trouble,” Aetos grumbles from across the table, shaking his head at his roast chicken.

I give him a sly smile. “I’m going to corrupt you Aetos, you just wait and see.”

Ridoc barks out a laugh from my left. “Now that’s something I’d pay to see.”

I lift an eyebrow at Aetos.

He just shakes his head so I turn to Durran. “You missed out. Aetos just replaced you as my number two favorite shadow.”

He puts on an air of faux affront. “We’re competing for second?! Who’s first? Don’t tell me Garrick.”

“Of course he’s my favorite. When’s he coming back, anyway?” I pry.

I clock the death glare I get from Cardulo. Noted.

We all pause to look at Violet before she sighs, “I never know. I’m hoping they’ll be back in the next day or two.”

“I have a bone to pick with you.”

“I don’t care.”

“You stole something from me.”

I glare at him. His grin only grows wider.

Durran has been getting on my last fucking nerve. Since Aetos’s shift, he’s had absolutely no shame in following me around like an imprinted duckling ever since, always one step behind. And now he thinks we’re friends.

He loves to act like he’s so quiet and mysterious, but he can’t go more than an hour before getting ‘bored.’ How he thinks that’s my problem, I have no idea. I can’t even tell why he’s following me around anymore. He never stops me. He’s not questioning me. He’s just… there. Pestering me. Annoying the daylights out of me. Nothing’s changed except I’ve gained an insufferable new stalker.

“You never returned my pajamas. They were my favorite,” he whines at me as he crowds my corner of the library.

“Well, that was dumb of you to give away your favorite pair of pajamas. What if I burned them?” I retort, my eyes trained on my book.

He smirks at me. “You would never.”

I just shrug at him.

In reality, the idea of returning them had occurred to me. But then he started being so annoying and I didn’t feel like being nice. But now, I’m not giving away leverage, especially if they’re his favorite.

I shake my head. Favorite pajamas. What a concept.

Chapter Text

Durran and I continue our new ritual of heading to the library, then bed, before meeting at the Assembly Chamber at 3 AM sharp. 

My lips curve into a smile on their own accord when I see him waiting in front of the doors.

I walk up to him, my head tilting. “What, are you actually going to try to stop me this time?”

He smiles back, lazy and knowing. “You know, if you keep smiling at me like that, people might get ideas.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes as I walk past him to push into the Assembly Chamber. He follows.

My earlier detention with Aetos has suddenly given me inspiration. If I can’t get Durran to go away, I’ll just have to corrupt him, instead.

“Say, how are your battle tactics, Shadow?” I ask as I walk up to the papers I already know are there.

There’s a beat, then, “Unparalleled. Why?”

“What is our number one concern when it comes to a dark wielder attack? What is our biggest weakness?”

His head falls to one side, his eyes narrowing. Like he’s trying to figure out the answer to me rather than the question.

I just lift my brows in expectation.

“Aretia, of course. That they’ll attack us here. Attack the new hatchling grounds,” he finally relents.

“Good. And how would you prepare a defense?”

“What is this? A pop quiz?”

My gaze narrows. “No. This is survival. This is reality. These are the questions we should all be asking, every second of every day. We’re not at a war college. We’re at war.”

He rubs a hand over his face before letting out a long, heavy breath. “What are you getting at? I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

“You disappoint me, Shadow,” I dismiss him with a sigh of my own.

Bastadunn snorts. I am using his voice after all.

“Elyra…” Durran huffs out in a low voice, lined with equal parts exasperation and irritation.

I turn to look at him.

He just sighs deeply as he tilts his head to look at me. Then—softly, quietly, “Don’t you get tired of it? Of all the games?”

My breath catches. I don’t know why it feels like such an accusation, but I force my breath out through my nose, turning back to the table.

“None of this is a game to me.”

“It’s all a game to you,” he raises his voice at me, just a little.

I shake my head. He has no idea what it’s like to be me. What it’s taken for me to survive. To be standing here right now.

“What do you want from me, Durran? You’re the one stalking me, remember?” I shoot out over my shoulder, my own irritation creeping out.

He stays silent for a while before slowly walking up to sit on the table next to me. When I don’t meet his gaze, he leans over so that his face is directly in front of mine, inches away.

Our eyes lock.

Then—for no reason at all—my eyes drop from his, just a fraction. And suddenly—I notice he has freckles. Light, barely there, scattered across the bridge of his nose. Like a secret I wasn’t supposed to know.

Something sharp twists in my stomach.

I jerk away before I can stop myself, my pulse betraying me before my mind can catch up.

Fucking freckles. Why would I ever need to notice that? I throw that shit in my box and forget about it.

“What are you looking for, Elyra? What do you expect to find that you think is being hidden from you?” he asks, his voice soft, tender. Trying to disarm me, no doubt.

I mutter under my breath, "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

He squints at me in irritation. "That’s why I asked."

I scoff. “Why? So you can sell me for parts up the river?”

He lets out a small, aggravated groan. "Oh, come on. You’ve given me plenty of reasons to turn you in already, and I haven’t, have I?"

I furrow my brows at him in suspicion. “And why, exactly, haven’t you?” 

Because I’d really like to know.

I study him, and I can see the gears turning behind his eyes as they flit back and forth between mine. Then his jaw tightens, he swallows, takes a breath, then says in quiet resignation, “I don’t want to be your enemy, Elyra. I think we’re on the same side, that we want the same things.” 

He pauses, his lips slightly parted. Then, he shuts his mouth and takes a deep breath before leaning in and dropping his voice lower. “And I don’t think you want to be, either, no matter how much you try to push me away.”

My mouth parts. Push him away? I’m not—

“Lying to ourselves now?” Bastadunn butts in.

I close my eyes and turn away slightly to gather my thoughts.

“Fine. Maybe I am pushing him away, but there's a good reason for it. You know that,” I respond to Basta,

“And what reason is that?” Basta presses.

I just huff. He knows. He just wants me to say it.

But maybe Basta’s right. Maybe I am being irrational. He only said he doesn’t want to be enemies. That’s fine—good, even. I need him to trust me. Need to know whether I can trust him.

So I decide to give him something. Not everything. Just enough to play the game, to put his loyalties to the test.

I let the silence stretch just long enough for his impatience to show, before rolling my shoulders and leaning over the table. I scan the documents for a moment then lightly say, "I’m looking for gaps."

Durran’s brows furrow. "Gaps?"

I keep my voice easy, casual. "Holes in their strategy. Contradictions. Missing pieces in what we know versus what we should know." I drag my fingers over the parchment, letting faux-amusement drip into my tone. "It’s funny, really. People think the most important parts of a report are what’s written down. But the things left unsaid—that’s what really matters in the end."

Durran doesn’t answer immediately. When I glance up at him, his expression is unreadable. But eventually his eyes soften, filling with something that I don’t want to inspect too closely. 

So I counter, “Your turn.”

He just looks at me in confusion.

“Tell me, Durran—what is it exactly that you’re doing here? Why are you just letting me snoop? Unless you’re just waiting for the right moment to sell me out.” I lift my chin at him in challenge.

His mouth opens. But nothing comes out.

I huff air out through my nose, then turn back to the table, shaking my head. That’s what I thought.

There’s a long, painful silence.

Then, finally, he says, his voice too soft, "You want to know the truth?"

I glance at him, wary of his tone.

He sighs, looking down at the table before meeting my gaze again. "I’ve been trying to figure out why I keep showing up for this. Why I keep showing up for you."

My heart stutters at his phrasing, but I blink it away. "And?"

He hesitates.

His mouth opens, then closes. Then he exhales, shaking his head slightly—like he’s not sure if he should answer. He chews on his lower lip, debating.

Then, after a long pause, he finally says, "I think you remind me of my mom."

My eyes widen, my mouth gapes, my pulse grows erratic. It’s such an unexpected answer that I don’t have time to hide my reaction. 

"She was fearless," he continues, watching me closely—like he can see my heart trying to escape through my throat. "Commanding. Even Xaden was afraid of her. But she didn’t care about power. She cared about people. Even when it hurt her. Even when it cost her everything."

His voice wavers at the end and my stomach clenches, his words settling over me like lead. 

I have a hard time stifling my panic as I look away, my heart pounding in my ears.

My mind swirls as it demands an answer, an explanation to whatever game he’s playing. I know how to wield rapport-building interrogation tactics better than anyone. And yet…

The words come sputtering out of my mouth before I can form a cohesive thought. "That… Your mother sounds like an amazing woman. I’m sure I’ve done nothing to earn her likeness. But… I’m not… You shouldn’t…”

I shake my head, my words trailing off.

Gods, how the fuck did the conversation even get here?

This is wrong. All wrong. I need to—

“Oh stop. It’s not that big of a deal. I didn’t even say I liked you,” Durran snaps out. Then, quieter, like a confession, “I’m just… You just remind me of her.”

I close my eyes, trying to stop the panic fluttering in my chest, the dread from settling in my gut. Trying to reason it away. This is bad. I need to shut this down. Lock it away. Stifle it before it has a chance to grow. 

So I feign nonchalance, and force out, “Look, I’m mysterious. I get it. But you’re wasting your time on me, Durran.”

He just sighs deeply, rubbing a hand over his face, muttering, “You’re exhausting.”

I don’t respond, forcing myself to focus on the papers in front of me. Focus on the mission.

This is fine. It’s nothing. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just playing the game.

But when I glance back up, Durran is still watching me. Studying me, like he's trying to decide exactly where to stick his knife next. 

And he must have found a spot, because instead of backing off, he leans in, pushing forward in a new direction.

"Can I ask you something?"

His voice is soft again, but edged with something sharp—something that makes my pulse slow. I glance up, my nerves flaring again.

He takes my silence as an invitation. "You flirt with Garrick... Shamelessly."

I blink. That’s not where I thought this was going.

What is this—jealousy? Another trick to disarm me? I don’t say anything. I wait for the question.

"Is that because you actually like him?" His voice drops lower. "Or is that just another one of your little games?"

I just blink at him. It’s obviously a trap, but why does it feel like something else?

You always hesitate, Elly.

I shake it off, steeling myself. If he thinks he can outmaneuver me, he has another thing coming.

I slip into my act to gauge his reaction. I soften my eyes, and lean into him ever so slightly, letting my hand fall right next to his on the table. I look up at him through my eyelashes. Then, softly, hesitantly, “Bodhi… What are you asking me?”

And I see it. The way his body stills. The sharp flex of his jaw. His eyes darkening just a shade as they lock onto mine. His fingers twitching like he wants to reach for something but can’t. And his gaze flickers—not away, but down, just for a fraction of a second.

But then, he shifts—pulling back just enough to make me feel the loss of space between us.

“Stop that,” he says, voice low, like he’s scolding me.

And I don't know why that stings, but I don’t let myself dwell on it. Instead, I push the feeling aside and lean in just a fraction more, dropping my voice lower, murmuring, “Stop what, Bodhi? You’re the one acting jealous.”

He blows out a small, annoyed breath at that. “I’m not saying I want you to manipulate me. I just want to know what’s real.”

Real? Shit. This is a mistake. I step back, turning to the table to steady myself. To steady my breath, my pulse, my thoughts—everything.

I can't tell if he's being genuine. But if he is... he has no idea what he's asking for. That’s how it always starts. A glance, a kindness, a truth, a secret... Then a grave. Always a grave.

I exhale a slow breath, forcing the tension from my shoulders. Forcing away whatever uncomfortable sensation is twisting in my stomach.

But he won’t stop staring at me. So I sigh, “Don’t look at me like that, Bodhi. You’ll only be disappointed.”

I turn back to the papers, letting my fingers skim the edges.

And I don’t look up, but I know he’s still watching me. I feel it in the chill running down my spine, in the heat crawling up my neck.

I spend the rest of the hour doing my best to ignore him, poring over deployment plans and battle strategy. The venin seem to be working their way along the Stonewater River, approaching Navarre. And Aisereigh is focused on deploying our forces to help defend the villages to distract them from Aretia's new hatchling grounds. Fine for a short-term plan. We won’t stand a chance if they reach the hatchling grounds in the Vale.

But there’s no long-term defensive plan for Aretia. There’s nothing about reconnaissance missions or counter-intelligence. I keep rifling through documents to see what I can find, but there isn’t anything useful. They’re acting like no one can get in. Which means they’re either overconfident... or someone’s already in. Fuck.

I’m leaning over the table sighing, when Durran asks, “What is it?”

I instinctively want to tell him to fuck off, but I know that’s childish. So I look over at him, considering. 

Talia’s ghost is already haunting me over my indecision, so I decide to test the waters. “If I actually told you what I was up to, what would you do with that information?”

He hesitates, just for a moment, before his expression hardens. “That depends. If you’re putting Aretia in danger, I’ll do what I have to.”

“And if I’m not putting Aretia in danger?”

He smirks at me. “Well I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

I roll my eyes and turn to leave. I make it a few steps before Durran shouts out, “Wait.”

I stop. Then slowly look over my shoulder.

A long, unbearable pause.

Then, his voice soft but steady, he says, “Try me. I think you might be surprised.”

I turn to face him, tilting my head.

Sometimes it’s better to let them think they’re the ones in control.

I approach him. Slowly. Until I’m standing right in front of him, our toes almost touching. Until I’m close enough to hear the whisper of his breaths, to feel the hum of energy thrumming between us. 

I soften my eyes, letting my voice drop low. So that he knows that I mean it. So that he understands what he’s asking for. “Trust isn’t easy for me to give, Durran. I’m sure you’ve realized that.”

His throat bobs as he studies me. Then slowly, deliberately, he says, “We have to trust each other if we want to win this war, Elyra.”

I consider him for a moment. Then, quietly, “And do you trust me?”

He stills. His jaw clenches, his throat bobs, and I can see the war in his eyes—the answer he wants to give versus the one he should. His fingers flex once, twice. Finally, he exhales, slow and measured.

I—” He stops. Swallows. Breathes. Then, almost too softly, “I want to.”

And I can’t stop the way my heart sinks. Because I know better than anyone how foolish it is to want to trust someone like me.

Chapter Text

Durran and I are sitting alone at breakfast when it happens.

A commotion erupts in the Entrance Hall—raised voices, boots pounding against stone, a crash. 

Durran stiffens beside me, head snapping toward the noise. I watch the way his muscles coil, the telltale tension in his shoulders. He wants to go. Wants to throw himself into whatever disaster is unfolding.

But I stay still.

I need to know something first. How far will he let it go before he abandons his post watching me?

“What the fuck is going on?” Durran asks, not bothering to hide his concern.

I reach for my tea, unhurried, and take a slow sip before answering, “Probably what I warned the Assembly about. I love being right.”

He looks at me, disgust plain on his face. “You’re a Captain and you’re just going to sit there?” He leans in, dropping his voice lower. “Or did you manufacture this whole thing?”

I huff a small laugh, shaking my head. “Gods, you’re paranoid. Me going out there and throwing my weight around isn’t going to fix hundreds of years of animosity. A good brawl might, though.”

I take a bite of my porridge.

Durran twitches in his seat as the noise from the hall swells, grinding his teeth. His restraint is slipping.

Another crash. Someone yells. And there it is.

He pushes back from the table and jogs out into the Entrance Hall, not even bothering to look back before throwing himself into the fray.

Good. So he does have limits.

I follow, of course, but I make sure he doesn’t see me.

Tensions are high when I slip into the Entrance Hall. A clear line has been drawn in the sand—fliers on one side, riders on the other. And in between them, scattered like leaves at the end of autumn, is a different kind of flyer.

I bend down and pluck one up from the floor.

A List of the Dead

Fliers Slain by Mira Sorrengail

Fucking hell.

Beneath the title are neat rows of names—a soldier’s record. Too many names.

I scan the list, my grip tightening.

Rhen Tovarek.

The last time I saw him, he was twenty-three, grinning like a fool as we stole apples from the Cliffsbane kitchens. He had six years on me and was better, faster, stronger—but he always let me win our fights. I hear his laugh in my head, clear as if he were beside me now. 

Calliope Strathos.   

She used to kick my ass on the mats, but she was always teaching me something. How to counter, to find my openings. But also how to be soft—playing with my hair, rubbing my back while I was puking my guts out the first time I got drunk.

My fingers twitch, wanting to trace the ink of their names. But I don’t. I can’t. I fold the parchment, sealing the grief away before it can take root.

Because they aren’t here. 

No. They’re dead. Because of Mira Sorrengail.

Venom curls in my gut at the thought.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. That I’m beyond vengeance. That I know better.

But if Mira Sorrengail were in front of me right now, I don’t know if I’d stop myself.

The room blurs at the edges for a breath. Then voices rise—a shove. And the first punch lands.

Boots scrape. Someone swings, someone dodges. A flier grabs a rider by the collar and slams them into the wall.

A rider stumbles back, blood splattering against the stone floor. 

Someone lunges. A flier drops, knocked out cold.

I start to move, ready to intervene—until I catch sight of Durran.

He’s already there.

Sharp orders. Iron authority. He doesn’t bark commands; he gives them with the confidence of someone who expects to be obeyed. And they listen.

Something in my chest tightens. Annoyance. Frustration. Relief.

I tighten my grip on the parchment, folding it methodically to keep my hands busy, and force a slow breath through my nose as I try to lock away whatever gut-curdling thoughts are bubbling up now. 

I clench my jaw and turn away. I know the fliers need to let off some steam. But I need to find another way before someone gets killed.

But before I do that, I need to go hunt down Cat.

A part of me respects Cat’s ruthlessness. She’s not wrong to hold all the animosity she does toward the Sorrengails. She’s not alone in that. If Violet wasn’t so obviously important for our war effort, I may have let old grudges die hard too.

Because Mira. Mira is not Violet. She’s a ruthless killer. Her mother’s spitting image. One who’s killed many of my friends personally.

And there was a time when I would have done anything to get my hands around Mira Sorrengail’s throat. To have watched the life leave her eyes. To make sure the last thing she ever hears on this earth is me denouncing her as the evil scum that she is.

But to be honest, I’m not much better. I’ve had a hand—whether directly or indirectly—in killing as many riders as she has fliers. And if someone managed to put together my list. Well. It would be much longer than this one.

I knock on Cat’s bedroom door, using the secret knock that we’d decided on.

She opens it. But she rolls her eyes before sticking out her hand to pull me through her wards.

I give her an unimpressed look as I unfurl the flier and hold it out. “You’re a menace.”

She fights a smile, but she eventually loses the war and throws her head back in an evil laugh.

“Who said I had anything to do with that?” she replies with mock-innocence.

“Yeah, yeah. Deny, deflect, whatever. This is diabolical, though, Cat. You’re not worried someone’s going to get killed?”

“I’m hoping someone gets killed.” She immediately reverts to spitting the venom that she finds so much comfort in.

I sigh as I plop down on her bed. “Oh, Catty. Isn’t vengeance so much sweeter when you can feel it underneath your fingertips?”

“Well you haven’t fulfilled your promise! You said I’d get a shot. But where the fuck is it?” she demands.

I lift my hands. “I’ve made my appeals. The Assembly is listening. But we need a full day without fighting before we can even start integration.” I narrow my eyes. “Which is difficult, considering I know for a fact you’ve been using your powers to stir up fights.”

She scoffs and looks away. Clearly annoyed that I called her out when she thought she was being sneaky.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door.

And it’s not a flier. The knock is harsh, severe, demanding.

Cat and I both look at the door, then at each other.

I mouth, “Sound wards?”

“Of course,” she bites out, like I’m an idiot for asking.

“Good. If they’re looking for me, you never saw me. In fact, it would be fantastic if you could lead them far away from here.”

She rolls her eyes at me as I crouch between the desks in her room. Then after a breath, she reaches for the door handle and opens the door, pausing to glare at whoever’s on the other side.

“Why, Bodhi. Don’t tell me you’re here trying to get your cousin’s sloppy seconds, again,” Cat scathes.

And I can’t help the way my stomach twists as I wonder what she means by again?

“Cat,” Durran spits out. “Are you behind this?” he demands in a voice eerily similar to Aetos’s wingleader voice.

Cat leans in to look at something, probably the kill list. She throws her head back in a cackle. “Ha! Gods no, but I wish I did. That’s fucking brilliant.”

I can't help but smile to myself. She’s a natural.

I hear Durran let out a sharp exhale. “Have you seen Elyra?”

“What, you lost her already? Before breakfast?” she laughs mockingly in his face.

I hear footsteps departing—he must be leaving.

“Wait!” Cat calls out.

Shit, that wasn’t smooth.

“She’s probably out by the cliffs. She sneaks out there sometimes… To talk to Talia.”

Clever girl.

Durran gives a curt “thanks” before Cat slams the door then crosses her arms at me.

I stand and grin at her.

“You’re welcome,” she drawls out with a self-satisfied smirk.

I just chuckle as I approach her, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Thank you, Kitty Cat.”

She reluctantly smiles. Then, in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “I’m sorry, you know. About Talia.”

My throat tightens.

I drop my hands and look down at the ground before I look back up at her again, forcing a smile onto my face. “She would have been proud of that performance.”

A real smile breaks out on her face this time. And I’m shocked when she pulls me in for a hug.

“You’re not alone, El,” she says.

I stiffen for a split-second. But then, slowly, I let it go and melt into her embrace. Because as much as she gets on my nerves, as much as she tests me, I know she means it. I know it’s true. I’m not alone. And that thought is the only thing that keeps me going these days.

“I know that, Catty.” I respond as I pull back and tuck a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear.

I take a step back then approach the door. I crack it open as I check the hallway. It’s clear.

I look back over my shoulder before leaving, to say, “I think I want to have a bonfire tonight. By the cliffs. Just us, just fliers. I’ll bring the booze. You bring the party.”

She gives me a cheeky grin that I return before slipping out of her room and into mine.

I quickly grab a cloak and a pouch of coins, stuffing them into my pack, before I sneak back out into the hallway.

I’m on high alert for Durran as I sneak through the crowd back downstairs, but I don’t see him. So I weave my way through the Entrance Hall, across the courtyard, and past the gates of Riorson House. 

But instead of heading toward the valley, I head down toward the town, throwing my cloak on once I’m out of sight.

The city is still rebuilding, but it’s bustling. It certainly isn’t what it was before the Rebellion, but it holds the same charms at its core. 

I hate to admit it, but Aretia is one of my favorite cities. It doesn’t have that downtrodden, militaristic doom that other Navarrian cities have. It’s vibrant and full of life, culture, art—its pulse still beating strong beneath the scorched ruins. The city may be stitched together from war, but it refuses to kneel. And I can’t help the sense of kinship I feel toward it.

I easily navigate my way to the city center and pause to appreciate how many vendors are set up, with townsfolk weaving through the stalls, chattering and doing their shopping. The air is thick with the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread, mingling with the sharp tang of forged metal and alchemical brews. Merchants hawk their wares in loud, rolling voices, their stalls crammed between half-rebuilt stone buildings, patched with mismatched bricks and hopeful banners.

I walk down a familiar street—one that I once fled through with stolen intel stitched into my sleeve. Now, a baker sells honey cakes beneath the same window I once climbed out of. 

I pass a group of musicians on a street corner, plucking at strange, Tyrrish instruments. A small crowd has gathered, clapping along, and I feel something unexpected in the air—not just survival, but joy.

I slip deeper into the city’s veins, where the streets narrow and the buildings press closer together. Children dart between doorways and market stalls, swift and unseen by those who don’t know where to look. But I see them. I always do.

A group of them is gathered behind a battered wooden crate in an alley, playing a game with carved bone dice and stolen fruit pits. Their laughter is loud, uninhibited, echoing off the stone walls. A girl no older than eight tosses the dice, her fingers ink-stained, her gaze sharp. She watches them fall like she’s measuring fate.

And I can’t help but think of Talia. The way she used to rule streets like these when we were children.

I crouch beside them, resting my arms over my knees. "Who’s winning?" I grin at them.

The kids tense at my sudden presence. They’ve been taught to be wary of adults.

The girl with the dice sizes me up, her gaze flicking over my boots, my gloves, my weapons. "Depends. You got something to bet?"

I smirk back at her. "Depends. What’s the buy-in?"

The smallest of the boys, with a scar running across his cheek, holds up a small wooden coin—probably carved from stolen lumber. "One marker. Winner takes all."

I dig into my pouch and flick a silver coin onto the crate. The metal catches the light, far more valuable than the rest of their stakes. "That work?"

The girl’s eyes gleam—not with greed, but with curiosity.

"Your funeral," she says, tossing the dice into my hands.

I roll. The dice tumble, clatter, and land on a combination that makes the kids erupt into groans.

The girl clicks her tongue. "Lucky."

"Luck is a skill," I say, scooping up my prize. I turn my winnings over in my fingers before tossing them to the boy with the scar. "Buy yourselves something sweet. Or something useful."

He catches it but frowns. "You won."

"I don’t need the sweets," I say easily.

I stand, brushing dust from my gloves. But before I step away, I let the pause stretch just long enough to see if they’ll take the bait. Give me something.

The girl finally speaks. "You’re not a rider."

"Does it matter?"

She shrugs. "Depends. Riders ask for things—orders, demands. Fliers trade."

Smart girl.

I reach into my pouch, pull out another coin, and flick it toward her. She catches it out of the air with quick fingers.

"Keep that," I say. "Might be worth something later."

The girl rolls the silver coin between her fingers, testing its weight. Measuring me.

"What if I need something later?" she asks.

I grin. "Then you’ll have to figure out how to find me."

A flicker of recognition sparks in her eyes. I turn to leave.

They may not know me yet. But the clever ones will.

I make my way back toward the vendors and take my time weaving through the stalls—watching, listening, assessing. I make small talk with the shopkeepers to gauge their moods, their biases, their fears. I take note of which ones I might be able to haggle with in the future—which are ruled by money and which are ruled by other loyalties.

Then, I do my shopping.

A part of me is tempted to steal everything. I lived like that for years. But it was necessary at the time. Or at least it felt necessary.

That isn’t the case anymore, though. I’ve earned my way to a comfortable stipend in exchange for my services. Not a lot, but certainly enough for someone like me to get by comfortably.

So I do my best to haggle down prices, but I fork over my hard earned coin to buy all of my party supplies.

When I’m done with my shopping, I realize I have too much to carry.

“I may need your help,” I solicit Basta.

I get a deep sigh in return, “I’m here… But we have company.”

“Company? ”

“You’ll see.”

I tip one of the shopkeepers to watch my goods while I go to investigate.

As I approach the city’s edge, I suddenly see an enormous dragon’s head peeking out above the walls, its eyes trained on me. Watching me with an amused, almost familiar expression.

“What the fuck? ”

“Company,” Basta replies, simply.

When I exit the walls of the city center, I see a giant green dragon waiting next to Basta. Gods is it big. And at its foot—black curls, tawny skin, and a most-irritating smirk.

I have to stifle the scream threatening to claw out of my chest. I force myself to take a deep breath.

“Oh good, I needed a pack mule. Come, Shadow,” I manage to throw out, keeping my voice flippant.

The dragon lets out a sharp exhale of fire into the air that I swear sounds like a laugh.

Durran just rolls his eyes, shaking his head, as he approaches. 

He falls into step beside me. Then, “That was a clever little ruse you played with Cat.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, playing dumb.

He smiles off into the distance as he says, “I’ve known Cat a long time now. I know when she’s lying. And I know she would never willingly give me information, especially not information she knows I want.”

Fuck. How does this bastard keep catching me unaware? Am I slipping? Or is it just him…?

I shake off that horrifying thought.

“How long have you been following me?” I ask.

“Since you left Riorson House.”

“And you didn’t even offer to help?!” Surely he saw me struggling to carry everything. The thought infuriates me.

He chuckles at that. “What are you doing sneaking around buying enough booze to take down a dragon?”

I smirk at him. “You think it would take out a dragon? Should we try?”

I hear a snarl from behind us.

“What? Not a big drinker?”

Durran huffs out a small laugh. “Is Basta?”

“Oh gods, no. He wouldn’t deign. And how do you know Basta’s name?”

“I pay attention,” he says, smug.

I hmph at that. It seems he does. I’ve been underestimating him.

“And your dragon’s name?”

He pauses before he tells me. “Cuir… And I think he likes you.”

I hear another huff of breath in the distance.

“He has good taste, clearly," I say, casually.

We walk in silence for a while before he asks, “How do you know your way around Aretia so well?”

That question lands a bit too close for comfort. But I lie, easily, “I don’t go anywhere without knowing every detail. And Aretia’s city planning is superb, it’s quite easy to navigate.”

He snorts. “Where’d you learn to charm people like that?”

I hesitate for a split-second before recovering. “You think I’m charming?”

He lets out a deep, throaty laugh at that. One that tickles my middle. “You certainly have your charms.”

I feel a small flip in my stomach, but I don’t have time to process it because we’ve arrived at my bounty.

I put on my act of small, weak, helpless little girl, and Durran plays his role well as he lifts the bulk of my purchases. I grab the remaining bags, thank the shopkeeper, and skip on up to his side. This all worked out well for me.

“So what happened with the kill list?” I ask.

“Like you don’t already know. Did you have something to do with that?” He furrows his brows at me.

“No, of course not. I need those little gremlins to get along. I wouldn’t do something so counterproductive.”

“But you know who did.”

“I know as much as you do.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “So it was Cat?”

I take a second to respond before I decide to redirect to a more interesting topic, “What is your history with Cat, anyway?”

That question gets him visibly flustered. His jaw twitches, and his expression darkens.

“She was engaged to my cousin,” he answers after a pause, his tone clipped.

That’s a half-truth if I’ve ever heard one. “Really? And that’s all?”

He scowls at me. “Where is this coming from?”

“Just something she said.”

“You mean this morning?”

I just shrug at him then change the subject. “So is everyone okay? No deaths?”

He shakes his head at me and sighs, “No deaths. But your fliers are after Violet.”

I groan softly at that. “I figured. Look, I definitely didn’t have anything to do with it. And I’ll do what I can to get my fliers off her back.”

He just nods at me, then is silent for a while. But eventually, he asks, “What were you talking to the kids about?” He tries to keep his tone light, but I hear the accusation behind his question.

So I sigh, letting the silence stretch, before answering quietly, “I used to be one of those kids.”

And it’s true. Of course, they could prove useful someday down the line. But that’s the reason I always see them. Why I always stop.

He just studies me silently for a while, until we return to Basta and Cuir. We load up Basta then both mount. Basta and I run, while Cuir and Durran launch into the sky, rippling a strong gust of wind in our direction. 

When we arrive at the cliffs, Durran flawlessly executes a rolling dismount, and jogs up to Basta and I to help us unload. Show off.

“So, are you going to tell me what all the booze is about?” he inquires.

“I’m throwing a party. And you’re not invited,” I toss over my shoulder.

He just shakes his head at me with a small smile. 

Chapter Text

Professor Kiandra finds me not long after I return from the city, and somehow, she manages to convince Durran to leave us alone. A rare feat.

She doesn’t waste time. “Tell me what you know about the kill list.”

I meet her gaze, unflinching. “Nothing I’d be willing to share.”

She gives me a long, pointed look, but I don’t blink. Secrets are the highest form of currency in my world, and the payout for spilling this particular one isn’t worth the pain it would bring.

After a tense silence, she exhales sharply. “Fine. But you’ll be the one facing the Assembly when this gets worse.”

And it’s not a warning. It’s a certainty—because things will get worse.

Eventually, we gather the fliers in the theater for another town hall. They’re predictably furious.

Rage ripples through the room like the swell of the ocean in a hurricane. The air is thick with it, pressing against the walls, making the room feel smaller.

Kiandra and I stand at the front, backs straight, as we do our best to put the fear of the gods in them.

I make it clear—Sorrengail is off limits.

“She is not her sister,” Kiandra says firmly, arms crossed. “She is not to be touched.”

The crowd erupts in outrage.

A flier stands abruptly, fists clenched. “That’s it? That’s your grand decree? Ignore the sister of a butcher?”

“We should take care of her before she has the chance to follow in her sister’s footsteps,” another growls.

Kiandra’s expression is impassive, but I see the steel in her spine. “You’re not thinking strategically. She’s important to their leadership, and we gain nothing from killing her—”

“We get vengeance.” The first flier's voice rings through the room, sharp as a blade.

The words hang heavy in the air.

I exhale slowly before speaking, my voice calm, but uncompromising.

“You want vengeance?” I let the words hang in the air. “Then earn it.”

Silence.

I step forward, letting my gaze sweep across the room. “You think one reckless act will get you what you want? You think killing her will make up for what we’ve lost?” I shake my head. “This isn’t about one name on a list. This is about all of them.”

The tension crackles. They want a fight. They want someone to bleed for what they’ve lost.

But war is a long game. And they’ll burn themselves out before the real battle even begins.

I soften my tone, shifting tactics. “We need to be smart. We need to be patient.” I let the weight of my words settle. “We have a long war ahead of us.”

The room doesn’t settle completely, and I can feel their anger bubbling beneath the surface.

I glance at Kiandra. She knows as well as I do—this won’t be enough.

So I do the only thing I can.

“Give them the afternoon off,” I murmur to her. “They need a release, or we’ll be having this same fight tomorrow.”

She sighs, rubbing her temple. But after a long pause, she relents.

The fliers scatter, the tension bleeding out of the room with them.

I end up sticking around for a while afterward, catching up with fliers I haven’t had a chance to check in on yet. It leaves my heart heavy, knowing there isn’t much I can do to help assuage their pain, to quench their need for revenge. But I do my best.

I make a point to find Cat at some point to whisper, “I won’t protect you the next time you pull something like this. This was your one gimme.”

She answers with her classic eye-roll, but she doesn’t argue.

It’s easiest to handle Cat when she thinks she owes you one. She hates being indebted to people. Hopefully she’ll lay low, at least for a little while.

After dinner, I take a few fliers with me to set up for the bonfire. And this is where my leadership skills truly shine. Because it’s one thing to lead people into battle—to make them fight, survive, kill. That part is easy—especially when they have no other choice.

But it’s a different beast entirely to remind everyone that it’s all worth it. 

So you can trust me when I say I know how to throw a damn good party.

“Trager, Jarek—go get some wood. You two look useless just standing there.”

Trager groans dramatically but heads off with Jarek to haul more wood from the surrounding area.

“Rava, Riven—can you string these up?” I toss the twins a bundle of wire and rune-marked paper lanterns.

Riven whistles as he unfurls one, the delicate runes catching the evening light. “You really went all out.”

“It’s either this or people start getting stabbed in their sleep,” I mutter as I start organizing crates of alcohol.

Rava climbs a boulder with ridiculous ease, stringing up the first lantern, while Riven follows with the other end, tying them to old, weather-beaten posts.

“I’ve got the food!” Maren announces as she hauls a bag of stolen kitchen goods over her shoulder, a loaf of bread sticking out the top.

Bragen grabs his lute to start tuning it, plucking at its strings and strumming idly.

Silvanus, quieter than usual, watches it all with an unreadable expression.

I notice. “You just gonna stand there looking broody, or are you gonna help?”

He huffs, shaking his head, but moves to the fire pit, stacking the wood with practiced ease before igniting the logs with an easy flick of his hand.

The fire comes to life, its flames slowly licking higher into the dusk settling around us.

Jarek returns with another crate in his arms, setting it down with a thunk. 

“Captain, you shouldn’t have!” he bellows as he starts passing out bottles.

He passes me one after uncorking it with a dagger.

I take a deep swig of something dark and strong. It burns deliciously down my throat, up my nose, bringing tears to my eyes.

“Alright,” I say, wiping my mouth. “Let’s get this party started.”

More and more fliers come out to join us. The drinks flow fast as the air fills with laughter and the scent of burning wood.

Rava and Riven start a betting game, challenging fliers to throw knives at a marked-up piece of wood propped up against a post.

Maren swipes a bottle from Jarek as she declares that the first one to miss has to streak along the edge of the cliffs and howl at the top of their lungs.

Bragen nearly gets punched when he suggests a game of “who can hold their whiskey best,” because Cat is still bitter about losing last time—and the excruciating hangover that came after.

Jarek, ever the showman, climbs up on a boulder and starts telling stories—half of them exaggerated, the other half outright lies.

“The thing about venin is,” he says, waving his drink for emphasis, “if you cut off their—”

“Jarek, shut the fuck up,” Trager groans, shoving him off the rock.

I snort my drink out of my nose and it burns like hell.

The energy is wild, electric, reckless—but in a way that feels like we can finally breathe again.

Tonight, we aren’t fliers waiting for a fight. We aren’t soldiers preparing for war.

Tonight, we’re just living.

And I let myself revel in it, knowing it’s just temporary.

I can’t help but keep my eye on Silvanus all night. He’s been quiet. Broody.

And I know why.

I find him sitting by the fire, staring at the flames, his bottle barely touched.

I sink down next to him, nudging his shoulder. “You’re supposed to be having fun.”

Silvanus scoffs lightly. “I am.”

“Liar.” I smirk at him with a pointed look.

He shakes his head, exhaling slowly. “It’s just… the kill list. It’s not going to go away after one good night.”

“No,” I agree. “But one good night means we don’t lose ourselves to it.”

Silvanus finally takes a drink. It’s small, but I take the win.

We sit in silence for a while, watching the fire crackle, the flickering flames casting sharp shadows across the crowd. The sounds of the fliers—our family—filling the night. Laughter. Teasing. The low hum of a drunken song that Trager and Jarek are trying (and failing) to harmonize.

It feels normal.

Or at least, it should.

But something about staring into flames…

My throat tightens slightly and I have to clear it before I admit in a low voice, “You know, I can’t look at fire anymore without thinking about Talia.”

Silvanus’s grip on his bottle tightens. His jaw clenches.

But then he softens, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “It’s the red hair.”

I blow a soft laugh through my nose. I don’t say anything for a minute. But eventually, I ask, “Do you think about her a lot?”

He exhales slowly then answers, “Mmm… She always had that effect. Impossible to ignore.”

“She would’ve liked this,” I murmur. “A night like this. Us, together.”

Silvanus lets out a breath that might’ve been a laugh, but it’s too heavy to be one. “She would’ve been the loudest one here.”

“She would’ve been up on that rock with Jarek, telling stories twice as wild as his.” I give him a small smirk. 

Silvanus shakes his head, finally allowing a small smile. “And she would’ve stolen all the good booze before we even started drinking.”

I lean in a bit, deepening my smirk. “And then she’d make us feel bad about it by getting some poor fool to buy us more.”

He laughs softly but it's pained. “With a single fucking look.”

His smile fades slowly, his fingers tapping restlessly against his bottle, his gaze locked on the fire, his expression turning into something darker, tormented.

I let the silence settle.

Then eventually, Silvanus whispers, “She should be here.”

And it’s not just grief that's haunting him. It’s guilt.

I study him carefully. I’ve seen him broken before. I’ve seen him furious, reckless, drowning in the need for vengeance. But this? This is worse.

“Silv,” I say, steady, like I’m trying to ground him before he disappears into whatever dark place his mind is spiraling toward. “There was nothing we could’ve done.”

He doesn’t move.

“You know that, right?” I press.

His jaw tightens. His fingers curl against the glass.

Silvanus never likes to talk about his feelings. We’re similar in that way.

But I know the way it eats at him. The way it eats at me.

And it’s the least I can do—considering how many times he’s had to pick up the pieces of me, to hold me together when all I wanted to do was break.

I lean in slightly, softening my voice. “Tell me what’s in your head.”

He hesitates. But then, his walls finally crack.

“I should’ve been there,” he says, voice raw. “I should’ve—”

“No.” I cut him off before he can spiral further. “There was nothing you could have done. There’s nothing any of us can do to stop Malek once he's made up his mind.”

His throat bobs. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“I just…” He clenches his jaw. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.” My voice is quiet. Honest.

After a long stretch of silence, I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder.

Silvanus lets out a long breath. “She would’ve called us both idiots for sitting here moping,” he mutters.

I smirk, squeezing his arm before pulling back. “She’d say, ‘Quit wasting good air and get another drink.’”

Silvanus chuckles under his breath. “And then she’d make you dance.”

“Absolutely not,” I scoff.

“She always made you dance,” he argues, smirking slightly now. “You never fought her as hard as you pretended to.”

I huff, shaking my head. “You’re imagining things.”

Silvanus just hums, unconvinced.

But the tension has eased, his shoulders have loosened. The guilt isn’t gone, but it’s not strangling him tonight.

And that’s enough. For now.

I stand, holding out a hand. “Come on. Let’s honor her the right way.”

He stares at my hand for a moment. Then, finally, he takes it.

And we rejoin the fire.

At some point in the night, I give in to that prickly feeling in my neck that tells me I’m being watched.

I glance toward the shadows past the firelight, and sure enough, there he is.

My shadow, leaning casually against a tree, arms crossed, watching.

Of course the watchdog hasn’t left my side.

I take a deep breath, grabbing another bottle from a crate before I can think too hard about it.

He doesn’t move as I approach, just tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking to the bottle in my hand. “Should I be flattered or concerned?”

I hold out the bottle.

He takes it, lifting a brow.

“You look pathetic standing out here,” I say, leaning against the tree beside him. “Drink.”

He watches me for a moment before uncorking it and taking a long sip.

I cross my arms as I watch him. He doesn’t flinch. Just takes a deep breath afterward.

“You really care about them,” he says after a while.

I don’t answer right away as I watch the fliers laugh and shove at each other, the way they hold each other up, even as they try to push each other down.

“They’re mine to protect,” I finally say.

Durran hums, considering my words. “And who protects you?”

My breath hitches, but I recover with a scoff. “I don’t need protecting. It’s other people who need protecting from me.”

But the words come out hollow.

Durran just takes another sip of his drink, then tilts his head, studying me in a way that makes me want to squirm—like he can see right through me.

And then, softly, offhanded, he says, “Sounds lonely.”

And that lands like a punch to the gut for some reason, stealing the rest of my breath.

And the worst part? I can’t even think of a clever comeback.

I just swallow down the ache that tightens in my chest and force it out through a deep sigh before pushing off the tree to return to the party.

“You’re welcome to join us,” I throw over my shoulder as I walk away. “Or you can keep lurking like a creep.”

He chuckles. “You don’t really want me there.”

I don’t turn around. Just lift my hand in a lazy wave as I walk back toward the fire, letting the warmth pull me back into the night.

But even as I rejoin the others—laughing as Cat nearly falls off a rock mid-story, rolling my eyes as Jarek brags about some fight he definitely didn’t win—I feel Durran’s words tightening like a noose around my neck.

Sounds lonely.

I drain my drink and try to shake the feeling.

Because the truth is?

It fucking is.

Chapter Text

We end up passing out right there around the bonfire. A few people stumble off to their rooms throughout the night, but I stay. I always do. I don’t want anyone to wake up alone.

By the time I open my eyes, the fire has burned down to the embers. The sky is bruised with the first hint of dawn, the scent of charred wood and spilled whiskey lingering in the air.

And for once, I don’t wake up swinging.

The alcohol helps with the nightmares, I guess.

“A disgrace,” Bastadunn chastises me.

I snort, rubbing my eyes. “Like I don’t have at least five knives on me at all times.”

Bastadunn hums, unimpressed. “And yet, you wouldn’t even know if someone snuck up on you last night.”

I scoff, but my shoulders tense anyway. Damn bird always has a point.

I prop up on an elbow and glance around the dying fire. Bodies are scattered in various states of disarray. Rava is curled up beside me, Trager and Jarek lie tangled in what looks like a drunken wrestling match, and I spot Riven’s black hair poking out from beneath someone’s arm. Someone snores softly.

Then suddenly—I realize I have a blanket draped over me.

I freeze, hesitantly brushing my fingers over the warm, slightly worn fabric. Silvanus, maybe. He’s always been the quiet sort when it comes to looking after people. But something about the way the edges are tucked so neatly makes me hesitate.

I rub my hands over it, slow, searching, as if I might be able to deduce the owner from the threads. Something about it feels familiar. Smells familiar. It sends a prickle of suspicion down my spine.

A voice cuts through the quiet, interrupting my thoughts. “Get a restful night’s sleep?”

I twist toward the voice, blinking against the early light. Durran’s sitting on a log, smirking at me over a cup of tea. His curls are even messier than usual, his jacket rumpled like he never went to bed at all.

I rub the sleep out of my eyes, exhaling a long breath. “Honestly? Better than most.”

He doesn’t respond. Just lifts his cup, watching as I stretch out the stiffness in my spine. I roll my neck in a slow circle, releasing a series of small but satisfying cracks, then pick up the blanket to fold it. A methodical habit. Fold it, put it away, forget about it.

He watches me in silence for a moment before asking, “You’re not planning on stealing my blanket too, are you?”

I freeze. Then shoot him a glare. Bastadunn snorts.

Durran just smiles into his tea, smug.

I hastily finish folding the blanket and chuck it at his head.

He catches it—easily. Of course he does. Stupid, fast reflexes.

His smirk deepens, like he’s enjoying whatever war I’m losing in my own head.

I push to my feet, brushing the dirt off my pants. Around me, the others are still tangled in sleep, the last ghosts of the night clinging to them. But the city is waking, humming, indifferent to whatever mess we made under its skies.

I know the quiet won’t last. And the way Durran is watching me? He knows it too.

“Did you get any sleep?” I ask him.

He takes another slow sip. “Enough.”

I just raise a skeptical brow at him before starting to wake the other fliers.

I don’t make it three steps into the Entrance Hall before Silvanus intercepts me. And I know something’s wrong before he even opens his mouth.

His face is different—stricken, his usual brooding irritation edged with something sharper. Like something's crawling under his skin, begging to escape. His jaw is locked, his hands too still.

My body tenses. “What is it?” I demand, already shifting into Captain mode.

But Silvanus doesn’t answer me. His gaze hardens as it slides past my shoulder and locks onto Durran.

“You watching her sleep now, Durran? That’s a new level of pathetic.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Durran just lifts an eyebrow as he puts on that insufferable little smirk of his. “Bit early for the jealous boyfriend act, isn’t it Hawthorne?”

My eyes roll. Are they seriously about to have a dick-measuring contest? At dawn?

Silvanus’s entire body goes taut.

Durran leans against the doorframe, twisting his empty cup idly between his fingers. “It is an act, isn’t it?”

This time I stiffen. Fuck. Is he talking about our ruse?

Silvanus’s jaw tightens. His shoulders square, his breaths deep but forced. I see the flicker of restraint—just a flicker—before he exhales a sharp breath through his nose.

“Why, Durran?” His voice is low, deceptively calm. “You waiting for an opening? Is that why you spent all night watching her? Hoping she’d wake up grateful?”

The air shifts—heavy, suffocating. Like a storm gathering just behind Silvanus’s eyes.

And Silvanus doesn’t stop there. He takes another slow step forward. 

His head tilts slightly in a slow, deliberate challenge. “Don’t think I don’t see what you’re doing. Do you honestly think you have a shot with her?”

And for a second, Durran’s expression stills. His fingers tighten around the cup, his knuckles whitening against the porcelain. His smirk holds, but his throat bobs, the muscle in his jaw flexes—a split-second crack in the mask.

Then his expression eases again as he chuckles softly. “You sound awfully invested in the answer to that question, Hawthorne.”

Silvanus clenches—first his jaw, then his fists. I can practically hear his patience snapping.

I step between them, pressing a hand to Silvanus’s chest before he really loses it. “That’s enough,” I say in a low voice.

Silvanus doesn’t look at me. His gaze is locked on Durran, his eyes dark, foreboding.

Durran, as always, looks completely at ease. But I know him well enough by now to recognize the calculation behind the mask.

Silvanus lets out a slow, forced breath. Then, finally, he looks at me.

Without a word, he grabs my hand and drags me down the hall.

I glance back at Durran, expecting him to smirk or make some sarcastic remark. But he just quietly falls into step behind us, eyes sharp, expression unreadable.

And for some reason, that unsettles me more than his usual games.

I try to whisper to Silvanus, “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “Professor Kiandra will fill you in.” 

Then, softer, almost to himself, “You’re not going to like it.”

We arrive at Professor Kiandra’s office and Silvanus makes a point to aggressively slam the door behind him, making the walls tremble under his fury.

I don’t flinch.

He’s grieving. Reverting to protective tendencies to gain a sense of control, to convince himself that he has the power to protect the people he loves. So I let it go.

Professor Kiandra’s face is solemn. No flicker of frustration, no sharp reprimand—just still, heavy silence.

That’s not good.

My brain starts whirring, thinking of all the ways I’ve fucked up, thinking of all the ways I might’ve accidentally killed someone and not even realized it. 

It’s like I can feel my luck running out. Or maybe it’s time. Control. Who knows.

I swallow down my worry and fix my face. This is no time to spiral.

“Thank you, Cadet Hawthorne. Captain Soryn, please sit.”

I do. Silvanus doesn’t. His arms are crossed, his back rigid.

She exhales slowly. “There was an attack last night. Kylor Randock was found beaten within an inch of his life in the Entrance Hall. Colonel Aisereigh got to him in time, but had we been even a minute later—”

“Kylor?!” My shock escapes me before I can catch it.

Kylor wouldn’t fight. Ever. He’s small, nimble, deadly with range weapons. But I taught him to run. To hide. To create distance and find his openings. He wouldn’t take a fight head-on unless he had no choice.

Kiandra just gives me a curt nod. “He’s still asleep. But the Colonel says he’ll recover.”

My heart starts pounding as my hands curl into fists. “Do we know who did it?”

She shakes her head. “We won’t know anything until Kylor wakes up.”

I force an even breath through my nose. “And the Assembly?”

She sighs—heavy, weary. “They’ve been… unhelpful.” 

She clears her throat before carefully continuing, “They’d like to speak with you directly. But you understand, Captain—this is a precarious situation. Our fliers will not let this go.”

No, they won’t. And neither will I.

I nod once. “When?”

“They’re assembled now, if you’re ready.”

We rise and make our way to the Assembly Chamber. Durran’s waiting in the hallway, and I don’t miss the vicious glare that Silvanus unleashes on him. Like this is all his fault.

Durran, to his credit, doesn’t rise to it. He just pushes off the wall and follows.

When we get to the Assembly Chamber, I expect Durran and Silvanus to wait outside. They don’t. They both follow us in. First Durran, then Silvanus on his heels.

I don’t pay attention to their silent bickering, though, because my attention locks on to something much more interesting.

The Heir is here. 

And he looks like shit.

Like he hasn’t slept in days. Bags under his eyes. Sunken cheeks. Sallow skin. A stiffness to his posture that betrays the exhaustion he doesn’t have the luxury of showing.

I have to work to stifle the smirk that threatens to break out on my lips—at the satisfying knowledge that the shadow-wielder isn’t infallible after all. Which is disconcerting, since he’s supposed to be my ally.

Ulices’s sharp bark cuts through the chamber. “This isn’t an open meeting. Lose the cadets.”

“My cousin stays,” Riorson replies. His voice is low, almost bored, but there's a dangerous edge to it—like he's daring Ulices to argue. “He’s here on my request.”

“And Silvanus is here on mine,” I add smoothly.

Ulices scowls, but Aisereigh cuts off the argument before it can begin. “Can we get on with it?” he asks, exasperated, rubbing two hands over his face.

I take my cue, stepping forward, letting my fury fill the space. “What do you know about the attack on Randock?”

The room falls silent as the Assembly members each look to one another.

Finally, Aisereigh speaks. “Professor Kiandra alerted me in the early hours. Fliers found Cadet Randock in the Entrance Hall, severely beaten. I was able to mend him, but he’s still unconscious.” His gaze sweeps across the room, tired but sharp. “We’re investigating.”

“Investigating.” I let the word drip with disgust. “And who are your suspects?”

A pause.

Then Suri speaks up, her voice smooth, calculated. A predator picking her moment.

“We don’t have any.” She says it like she’s discussing the weather. “But considering recent tensions, it’s logical to assume this was fallout from the kill list.”

I take a step forward. Deliberate. Measured. My voice drops into something razor-edged.

“Are you telling me,” I say, quiet, “that your riders were inspired by Mira Sorrengail’s butchery?”

There’s a ripple of outcry, mutters, discomfort. But no one denies it.

Suri presses forward, her voice raising, “We are saying that one of your own, maybe even you yourself, is sowing seeds to deliberately dismantle this alliance.”

I can barely contain my rage at their baseless accusations.

“How fucking stupid can you be?!” My voice rings through the room, like a crack of thunder before the storm.

I throw out a hand. “What sense would it make for me to risk the lives of our fliers, to SACRIFICE six fliers and gryphons, to forge this alliance, just to dismantle it from the inside?!”

“Then who are you protecting?” Riorson speaks for the first time. His voice is cool, restrained. Watching. Weighing. Testing.

“All of us.” I spit the words at him.

He doesn’t react. He just looks past me at his cousin. They share a look—one that makes my skin crawl.

Riorson leans forward, his eyes narrowing on me in assessment. “Cadet Durran has reason to suspect that you might know who’s responsible.” A pause. “That you’re protecting them. That you were suspiciously calm when it happened. And that you might have even helped orchestrate it—as a diversion.”

My head whips around so fast that something in my neck pops as I look at Durran.

Oh, did he now?

I see his expression falter for just a second—his eyes widen slightly and his lips part like he might say something. But then it’s gone. He stays still. Doesn't say a word.

And any trust that I had ever even contemplated placing in him? Gone with it.

Something twists in my ribs. Something sharp, painful. Something that tastes like betrayal.

And that small part of me—the small, fleshy, weak part of me I keep buried—I feel it start to crack.

I break it clean.

I press my tongue against my teeth to keep from laughing. I don't know what I was expecting. I should’ve known. I can’t believe I actually… How fucking stupid of me.  

Because I did know. I do know. I always do.

He's not my friend. He's not on my side. He's one of them.

And I won't forget it again.

I turn back to the Assembly, my voice cold. “And yet, there’s only a flier’s body in the infirmary.” I let the words settle, watching them squirm under the weight of the truth. “Tell me again who needs protecting.”

The silence weighs heavy in the room for a moment before Aisereigh sighs, “Captain Soryn. We are doing our best to resolve this. We will continue to interrogate the cadets, but we need to lead by example if we want the cadets to fall in line.”

I let my damning glare travel over the entire Assembly. “I’ve done everything within my power to keep things civil. To make this impossible situation work. It is your riders who are violent and unhinged. And if you won’t step in to get them in line, I will.”

Ulices cries out, slamming his fist on the table. “That is a direct threat. We cannot allow this! She needs to be detained!” 

And I see it in his eyes. The fear. Hidden behind his sneer. Can smell it seeping out of his pores.

Suri just presses her lips into a thin line, like she’s debating the quickest way to exterminate me.

Felix rubs his hands over his face, like he’s wishing he could be anywhere else right now.

Riorson lets out a slow breath, leaning forward in his chair slightly, like he’s considering Ulices's suggestion.

Silvanus and Professor Kiandra both take a step toward me, their hands hovering over their weapons. I don’t move. Neither does Durran. Of course he doesn’t.

“Captain Soryn. You cannot expect us to ignore a direct threat like that. If you, as a Captain, take any action against our riders, we will consider that a direct act of aggression, and we will have no choice but to nullify our treaty,” Aisereigh says firmly.

“Then you need to do something about this. Not even I will be able to temper the fliers’ need for vengeance, not after this—they will demand blood,” my words reverberate through the room.

There’s another long pause. They know it’s true.

Finally, Riorson exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “What do you propose, Captain?”

I meet his gaze, unflinching. “Open challenges.”

More outcries.

“She wants them to kill each other,” Suri punctuates the uproar. Her eyes are narrowed slits, locked onto me.

“No,” I correct. “I want to stop this. I want accountability. You refuse to punish them. You refuse to acknowledge what they’ve done. Let them fight for it. Let them face each other head-on rather than through cowardice. That way, we'll at least have a chance to stop them before they kill each other.”

A tense silence presses in, thick and suffocating.

Ulices shifts in his seat, visibly agitated. Suri’s fingers tap against the table, slow and deliberate.

Riorson leans back in his chair, one hand over his mouth, watching me like he’s debating whether I’m worth the risk of keeping around.

Felix stares off into the distance, deep in thought.

And finally, Aisereigh clears his throat, the reluctant referee in a fight he knows isn’t over.

“We’ll take your suggestions into consideration, Captain. In the meantime, there will be no retaliation against the riders. We will continue to investigate to determine the offender, and will keep you up to speed based on what we find.”

Fucking pathetic. 

But that’s fine. I know they’ll never give me what I really want. I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands.

I nod. Then turn on my heel and walk out without another word.

I go straight to the infirmary. Silvanus and Durran follow like ducklings. Angry, brooding little ducklings.

I see a bed near the back with the curtains closed, next to tall, arched windows. At least Kylor has a view.

I’m halfway there when I hear Silvanus turn on Durran, “Durran, a moment, please.” He bites it out like a threat.

I pause to watch them. Now is not the time for a fist fight.

Durran stills for a moment before turning on his heel to go sit at the far end of the infirmary.

“Can you wait in the hallway?” Silvanus asks impatiently.

“No, I think here’s fine,” Durran replies casually as he plops down into a chair.

Silvanus takes a step toward him, but I call out, “Silvanus. Not now. Come, let’s see Kylor.”

He stops. But he takes a deep breath and clenches his fists before he rips his eyes away from Durran. He stomps up to me and mutters, “We need to be careful with him. He doesn’t give a shit about us, clearly, seeing as how he sold you out the first chance he got.”

Durran scoffs from his corner, shaking his head.

I glare at Durran. Silvanus is right. And I won’t forget it. But now’s not the time.

No, that’d be too obvious. Too satisfying for him. A neat little resolution to his betrayal?

No, I’ll let this one rot. Let it fester. I won’t address it. I’ll use it. I’ll dangle it over his little head like a carrot until he’s stumbling over himself to make it up to me. Until he’s exactly where I want him—until he realizes I never trusted him to begin with.

I’m done hesitating. Basta’s right. Talia was right. Silvanus is right.

I’ve been letting my feelings get the best of me. But that ends now. There’s too much at stake. Much more than just my silly feelings. Or the Spare’s.

I give Silvanus a look, hoping I can communicate all of those things with my eyes.

I get something across, not sure what. But I see the recognition settle in his eyes.

Then I take his hand and give it a squeeze before pulling him toward Kylor.

Kylor’s already smiling when we step past the curtains.

“Thought that was you, Captain,” he croaks out, his voice still strangled. “Wasn’t sure if I was dreaming about drills.”

I huff out a small chuckle as I sit next to him and take his hand. “How are you feeling, Kylor?”

“Surprisingly, not bad. Having a mender might make up for having to live with these savages.”

I just smile at him, brushing his hair off his forehead with my hand. “What happened?”

He shrugs. “Got jumped. Three riders, I think. I was sneaking into the kitchens to grab a snack on my way to bed, and they were in the Entrance Hall. Daph—”

I smother his mouth with my hand as I press a finger against my lips. We’re keeping this quiet. I don’t need any trails to lead back to me.

I pull out my sound-shielding rune and activate it, but I keep my voice low.

“You’ll tell them you don’t know who it was. That you didn’t get a good look. Because if anything happens to them, they’ll point the finger at me. I can’t know anything. As far as they know.”

I give him a pointed look and he nods.

I turn to Silvanus. “Silv, can you keep an eye on the watchdog?”

He nods and steps outside the curtains to make sure the dog stays in his spot.

I turn back to Kylor. “First question. How do you want to handle this?”

His brows furrow. “Me?”

I nod. “Yes. Do you want vengeance? Or would you rather move on?”

His eyes darken. “I want to put an arrow through each of their eyes.”

I nod again. “Vengeance it is. But we’ll have to be smart about it. It can’t come back to you or me. Can you keep everything under wraps until I come up with a plan?”

He gives me a nod, his eyes filled with determination.

I give his hand a squeeze before standing to leave. 

I go to meet Silvanus, standing guard just outside the curtains. I stand in front of him. And the next part, I do purely for the Spare.

I wrap my arms around Silvanus and bury my face in his chest. 

He’s stiff at first, but he melts into me after a second, wrapping me in his arms, one hand cradling my head.

We embrace for a few seconds before I pull my head back to look into Silv’s eyes. He meets my gaze, his eyes filling with concern.

I force tears into my eyes. And I blink until one falls.

Silvanus moves his hand to cup my cheek, his eyebrows furrowing.

And the next part, I do for Silvanus. And for me. And maybe for the Spare too.

I tell him, “Silv, you might be the last person I ever trust on this earth. ‘Til the end, you and me.”

He just stares into my eyes for a second before giving me the smallest nod, planting a kiss on my forehead, and pulling me back into his chest.

When we break away, I walk straight out of the infirmary hand in hand with Silvanus. And I don’t spare a glance at the Spare.

But I can feel him watching me—the weight of his stare, the stillness in his posture, the tension wrapped around him like a wire about to snap.

Good.

But as soon as we walk out of the infirmary, Silvanus says under his breath, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” I ask innocently.

“You know what.” He looks at me, unimpressed.

But his tone is light. Lighter than it has been in a while. So I take it as a win anyway.

Chapter Text

I make sure that Durran and I are never alone for the rest of the day. Not even for a breath.

I don’t just avoid him, I weave a wall between us—brick by brick. A casual conversation here, an impromptu strategy discussion there. Every time he reaches for me, I’m already gone.

And I know he feels it.

I want to let it simmer. Let it stretch so taut that it might snap, but not so far that it will. Just enough to get him where I want him.

After dinner, I don’t go to the library. I dawdle, speaking to every last flier I can track down. But this isn’t just to avoid being alone with Durran. I’m talking each flier down. I’m listening to their woes, shouldering their anger, absorbing their pain.

And I make sure Durran hears every last word.

I don’t say goodnight when I go to bed. And I don’t go to the Assembly Chamber when I wake up.

I stay in my room and wait—impatiently tapping my fingers on my thighs, until breakfast.

When I finally open the door, the Spare is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, one leg extended, the other propped up. 

His head jerks up like he wasn’t expecting me to actually open the door. Then he scrambles to his feet—too fast, too eager.

His mouth opens. Then closes. His fingers twitch slightly, like he wants to reach for me but knows better.

Then, finally—"Elyra…”

I walk past him.

He follows, falling into step beside me.

“Elyra, can we just talk? Please?” he pleads, his desperation bleeding through his tone.

I don’t answer. I let him stew in the silence, let the tension build, as we descend the stairs—and I can feel his frustration curl and knot with every step.

We reach the second-floor landing before he tries again.

“Can we just—Gods, Elyra, would you just listen to me for one second?” His composure finally cracks, and his hand snaps out, catching my wrist firm, frantic.

I let him have it. Let him feel the way my body doesn’t flinch.

Then slowly, I turn to glare at him.

His grip tightens, his pulse thrumming under his skin. His thumb ghosts over the inside of my wrist, just for a second. And then he drops his hand and slowly pulls back, like it’s taking everything in him to not grab me again.

He takes a breath like he's bracing for impact, then the words come tumbling out of his mouth. "I never meant to betray your trust. I swear. It was just a report, and I—"

I laugh—short, breathless, disbelieving. “A report.”

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “Yes, a report. What do you think I’m doing here? What the fuck was I supposed to do, Elyra? Lie? Pretend like I haven’t been spending every second of every day with you?” His voice comes out sharp, clipped—but it cracks at the end.

I let my expression twist into something pained, something hurt. Let my breath stutter just once. Just long enough for the guilt to take hold like a vice.

Then I drop my voice letting betrayal seep into it. "I told you I didn’t have anything to do with that list. And you let them believe I was behind it. Let them twist the truth. Let them blame me for your fucking riders almost killing Kylor.”

He falters. His breath catches for just a second before he shakes his head, but his voice comes out unsure. “I didn’t mean… I didn’t know it would turn into that.”

I drop my voice just a little lower as I narrow my eyes. “Tell me, Bodhi—if they’d decided to execute me on the spot, would you have said anything at all?”

His whole body jerks, like I just landed a physical blow. He lets out a short, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Are you serious? Do you honestly think I would just fucking stand there and let them kill you?”

I take a step toward him, piercing him with my gaze, before I bite out, “That’s what you just did. You just stood there. You said nothing. Of course I think that.”

He winces before he looks away, dragging a hand through his hair. 

When he turns back to me, something flickers—just for a second. Defensiveness, anger, desperation—like he wants to fight it. But then it’s gone. Snuffed out by something deeper, heavier. His throat bobs. His shoulders sink. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse, raw. “I would never let that happen.”

I let the words hang. Let him choke on them. Then I exhale, quiet and sharp.

"Forgive me," I murmur, "if I don’t trust your word."

His entire body stills—shoulders locking, fingers curling in, like he’s bracing for a hit that’s already landed. His breath leaves slow, controlled—not steady, but like he’s trying not to let me hear it shake.

And I watch as the last thread of hope in his eyes frays, snaps, and falls away.

Then, finally, his head drops. His whole body sags. Like he’s letting go of whatever fight he had left.

When he finally meets my gaze, his eyes are soft—shattered.

Then in a quiet, choked voice, he pleads, “Tell me how to fix it. Please. I’ll do anything."

And there it is. Exactly where I want him.

And for a second—just a second—I almost pity him.

But I rip it out by the roots.

I soften my gaze, my posture, letting my exhaustion consume me. I look away with a deep sigh, dragging my teeth over my bottom lip before meeting his gaze again.

Then, in an almost defeated voice that barely carries between us—“It might be too late, Bodhi. The fliers will be out for blood after this.” A pause, then, “And I make for a very convenient scapegoat.”

And I see it land—the powerlessness, the helplessness. I see it in his eyes, in the way his jaw tightens, just slightly. The way his fingers twitch, then flex into fists, like he wants to hold onto something but knows he can’t.

I don’t stop him from feeling it. I revel in it.

He exhales, the sound barely audible. His throat bobs, and for the first time, he looks afraid.

Good.

“I won’t let that happen,” he says again, steadier this time. Like he’s trying to convince himself rather than me.

I just study him for a moment, pretending like I might let myself believe his words.

Then I shake my head and slip past him to continue down the stairs. His arm moves for a second like he might stop me, but he forces it back to his side and just follows me instead.

The silence is deafening as we sit in the Great Hall. I keep my eyes trained on my plate and Durran keeps his eyes trained on me.

All of that comes abruptly to an end when a tray clatters on the table. 

“Good morning, pumpkins.”

I look up as Tavis plops down next to me.

A distraction. And a damn good one.

I don’t hesitate. Don’t even glance at Durran before I turn to Tavis with an easy grin. “Oh good, you’re back.”

“Happy to see me?” He leans in, all effortless charm.

“A nice change of pace.” I give him a smirk.

I glance at Durran before turning back to my plate.

And he looks hurt.

I have to shove away the small pang that I feel in the pit of my stomach.

“They always miss me in the end, don’t they, Bodhi?” Tavis teases with a husky laugh.

Durran's jaw just clenches. Then he shakes his head and turns to his own plate.

“What? How is it that my assignment is more excited to see me than you are?” Tavis says in mock offense.

Durran’s head snaps up. “Your assignment?”

Tavis just steals a piece of my bread off my plate. “Xaden thought you could use a break. We’ll be in Aretia for a couple days. Why don’t you let me take the troublemaker off your hands for a bit?”

Durran’s whole body goes rigid. He blinks like he can’t quite process the words coming out of Tavis’s mouth. Then his hands curl into fists. 

But he doesn’t argue, doesn’t protest. He just stares at the table, breath shallow, jaw tight—like if he opens his mouth, something might break.

Then, finally, he shakes his head—just once. He pushes away from the table too fast, the legs scraping against the floor with a sharp screech. And he doesn’t storm out. He just walks away, quietly.

Tavis leans back, watching after him. “Huh.” He turns to me, chewing thoughtfully. “Did I just step in something?”

I just shrug and take another bite.

But it goes down like cement, my stomach sinking under the weight of it.

Chapter Text

Check-in is exactly what I thought it’d be. A circus. We weren’t ready for this. We were hardly ready for the Basgiathian cadets and their dragons, so doubling the population was likely never going to go well. But it had absolutely no chance of going well with four days’ notice.

And if the hike up the Medaro Pass was any indication to how this alliance is about to go, we might all be doomed.

The fliers hate us—maybe rightfully so. And the riders aren’t helping matters. There’s too much history to solve in a hike, in a day, in a year, maybe even a hundred years. But we don’t really have a choice. We need the luminary, the weapons, the army—and the fliers need us too.

My eyes are scanning over the Entrance Hall, keeping an eye out for any fights that might break out. We need to keep things under control until we can put everyone to bed and back in class before they start killing each other.

Of course, Xaden’s left me in charge, as he so likes to do. A thankless and unwanted job. But someone has to do it, I guess. Lucky me.

“It is your duty,” Cuir unnecessarily reminds me.

“I know that. I just don’t care for… this part of it,” I argue.

“That’s why I picked you. Those best-suited for power—”

“I know, I know,” I cut him off. I’ve heard it a million times before.

Cuir snarls something back, but my focus suddenly latches onto a girl, covered head to toe in black blood. This must be the mysterious flier everyone’s been whispering about—the one who apparently took down a wyvern then challenged Cassian Rockthorne at the cliff top. She expertly weaves her way up to the scribe’s table and Jesinia doesn’t even notice when she slides the scrolls right out from under her.

Interesting. That was an experienced lift.

A woman of many talents.

Before my brain has time to catch up with my body, I find myself walking toward her. But Aetos beats me there. I watch as he rips the scrolls out of her hands.

Oh, this should be good.

I see Aetos gesture to me as I walk up. “... He does, though.”

She whips her head around to look at me. And I can’t help but be struck by how... adorable she is. Hair a mess, covered in black goo like she bathed in wyvern blood and hasn’t looked in a mirror since. Her cheeks flush, chest heaving. Her pink little lips parted in a small pant, eyes aflame. Oh… she hates me.

“After Riorson, Durran is next in line for the Tyrrish throne. This is basically his house, his city.”

And now I see why. Thanks a lot, Aetos.

She suddenly whirls back around and screams in Aetos’s face—or, well, as close to his face as she can get. “You think I give a shit?!”

“What’s going on, Aetos?” I put Aetos out of his misery. Women don’t seem to respond well to him.

“She’s snooping. Looking through the scrolls—“

And that’s why.

“I’m looking to see if my friends are alive!” she yells at him, steam practically coming out of her ears.

Aetos just glares down at the girl, holding the papers above his head like she’s a misbehaving child.

Oh gods, this is not going to end well.

She lands a swift blow to his gut and he doubles over with a wheeze. She snatches the papers and walks off.

And I have a hard time ignoring the twinge in my lower abdomen at the sight. Which is a problem. A very big problem. Because I should be worried about whether or not she’s a threat—not whether I want her to punch me, next.

Aetos pulls himself together to go after her but I put a hand on his shoulder. “I got it. She’d probably rather gut you than give you those scrolls back.”

“And you would rather be the one she guts?” Cuir chimes in. I ignore him.

Aetos just grimaces, then relents with a nod.

I sign to Jesinia, “I’ll go get them,” before jogging up behind the flier.

And oooh, she’s feisty. And quick. Good reflexes. I wonder where she learned to fight.

I just lift my hands up in surrender at her raised blade.

“You wouldn’t attack me in my cousin’s house, would you?” I joke, trying to lighten Aetos’s bluster.

She just narrows her eyes at me. Like she’s actually thinking about killing me. Then she bites out in a low voice, “I would do just about anything in self-defense.”

And I know I should take her seriously right now. But something about her is making it hard not to smile.

“Well that’s a relief because I’m not here to attack you,” I assure her.

She just keeps her blade trained on me. A bit jumpy, isn’t she?

“Maybe you’re not being wary enough,” Cuir points out.

Maybe he’s right.

I finally sigh, “Look, I don’t care if you want to read the scrolls. But I need to make sure those get back to the scribes before they have a meltdown.”

I turn back to Jesinia to sign, “She just wants to check for her friends’ names. Then, I’ll return the scrolls.”

Jesinia looks nervous but gives me a small nod.

I turn my attention back to the girl as she huffs a deep breath through her nose and sheaths her blade. She turns back to the scrolls, scanning quickly, her face resolute—until it isn’t.

Her eyes widen. Her breaths quicken. She starts frantically searching, flipping through the parchment like the answer might change if she looks hard enough.

She breathes out a soft, “No…”

Then suddenly, she shoves the scrolls into my hands and bolts past me into the Great Hall.

Fuck.

I shouldn’t have been such a cheeky bastard. I almost forgot she was looking for a friend’s name. And whatever she found—or didn’t find…

No wonder she hates me. I can only imagine what she thinks. Spoiled aristocrat. Second in line to the throne. Arrogant rider. Shit.

“It matters not what others think of us. Only what you think of yourself,” Cuir lectures.

“It’s not that I care what she thinks of me. I just… could have handled that better,” I retort. Like that makes a difference.

He just lets out a small hum.

I return the scrolls to Jesinia, then try to go find her in the Great Hall. I don’t know why. But my feet are moving before I can think too much about it.

When I can’t find her, I decide to sit with Aetos to pick his brain.

“What was that all about, Aetos?” I ask as I slide into the seat across from him.

He shakes his head as he forcefully cuts into his lamb with barely concealed agitation. “Just another person who hates me, apparently.”

“What’d you do now?” I ask lightly, the corner of my lip twitching.

He lets out a sharp exhale, his brows furrowing. “Well the first time I met her she told me she’d kill me if I messed up another trap.” He jabs his fork in the air for emphasis. “The second time she saved my ass from being eaten by a wyvern. Then I tried to save her from that fight with Rockthorne, which made her hate me again. And then, obviously, you saw what happened out there. She’s more entitled than most riders I’ve met. Insane, I’m telling you.”

He turns back to aggressively cutting his meat into tiny, orderly bites, as I bite down the urge to sigh at how clueless Aetos is when it comes to women. I try to give him some friendly advice. “Aetos, women like that don’t want to be saved. And they definitely don’t like being told what to do. I thought you learned that with Violet.”

He just blows out a scoff as he lifts his cup to his mouth.

I eventually see her entering the hall with some guy wrapped around her. And the sight tugs at something uncomfortable in my chest. I tell myself it’s just the look on her face…

Because fuck, I feel like such a dick.

I watch her out of the corner of my eye as she sits at the end of a table staring at her soup. I have to squash the urge to… I don’t even know what I have the urge to do. But I feel the need to make it up to her somehow.

And the gods seem to be listening to my prayers, because she suddenly pushes back from the table and approaches us.

But she won’t look at me. It’s only Aetos she seems to want to glare at.

She leans over the table to say, “Where can I get my room assignment? I need a bath.”

And there it is. How I can make it up to her.

I stand. “I can show you to a bathing chamber.” I try to keep my voice calm, casual. Nonchalant. Cool.

Her gaze snaps to mine, and she looks like she’s trying to breathe fire out of her nose. I hold my breath as I wonder whether she’s about to tell me to fuck off. Or maybe skewer me with her blade.

But she forces out a “please.” And that’s more than good enough for me.

I nod and lead her out of the Great Hall, toward my bedroom. And I can’t help the way my heart thumps at the connotation of it all. Not that I plan on doing anything untoward.

I don’t know what to say, though. Not sure what I could say that wouldn’t just make things worse—so I keep my mouth shut and we walk in silence.

We get to my room and I unlock it, offering my hand to pull her past my wards.

I’m expecting the resistance that comes.

“Wait. Did you just bring me to your bedroom?!” she asks in indignation.

I did. And under different circumstances I might have been tempted to strip those clothes off of her myself and throw her on my bed until I’ve figured out all the ways I can make her squeal. But those aren’t the circumstances we find ourselves in. Not tonight. Not when she looks like she’s barely holding it together.

“You silly humans and your made up rules,” Cuir grumbles in my head.

I ignore him and try to say as earnestly as I can, “It’s going to take ages to get your room assignment, and you won’t get any privacy in the shared bathing chamber. There’s a completely private bathing chamber in here that’s yours if you want it. You can even crash here tonight. I’ll leave you alone, promise.” I put my hand over my heart.

She just narrows her eyes at me like she knows exactly which thoughts just ran through my head.

So I lie, “The only reason I’m doing this is because you’re starting to scare the first-years walking around like that. They’re going to have nightmares.”

She rolls her eyes at me but my heart soars when her lips twitch into a reluctant smile.

She takes my hand so that I can pull her through my wards, and I can’t help but notice how small her hand is in mine, how tiny her wrist is, how easily I could pick her up and—fuck, I need to get laid. It’s been a while, I guess. Especially since I last had a girl in this room.

“But you have one in your room now. One you seem very interested on bedding.”

“Gods, stop it. I’m not doing that. Leave me alone.”

I start to rifle for some bath things as she goes straight for the weapons rack. A part of me is worried she might find a dagger she likes and stick it in my back.

“And the thought excites you?”

“Will you butt out?!” I focus on clamping my shields down—hard. Stupid dragon doesn’t understand the concept of private thoughts.

The flier just stares at the weapons until I open the bathing chamber. She looks over her shoulder at me, and my heart aches. I don’t know why, but I want to fix it—to make her feel better. I want to hold her and tell her it’ll be okay. But I don’t even know her. I don’t know who she lost. I’m sure she wants nothing to do with me right now. She’s probably counting the seconds until I leave.

I hand her a towel and some pajamas—my nice pair, made of soft, ivory cotton. She should be comfortable.

Her hands tremble slightly as she takes them. And she doesn't say another word. But I know she's not being rude—she’s on the brink. So I turn to leave.

But something makes me stop. I want to tell her I’m sorry—about her loss, about how we were introduced, about how fucked up all of this is—but I know it doesn’t mean anything coming from me. So I don’t.

Instead, I say, “The bedroom’s yours for the night. I’ll see you tomorrow, flier.”

I shut the chamber door behind me. And I swear I hear a small sob behind it. And fuck if that little sound doesn't gut me a little bit.

I decide to stop and light the fireplace before I leave. There’s nothing like curling up by the fire after a nice bath.

And she should at least have that.

Chapter Text

I spend the night in my barracks room, unable to properly get to sleep. It’s fucking weird. Weird being back in Aretia, back at Riorson House after being ripped away and forced to watch our parents’ execution. Weird being here without them, being expected to lead, to fill their empty shoes. Weird watching riders and fliers mill about the halls that Xaden and I used to play in.

It had taken me a while to get used to being back in my old room. For the nightmares to stop. For the memories to stop haunting me around every corner.

And a part of me is relieved to be back home—away from that fucking death college. Back to something familiar.

But it feels hollow now… Like a nightmare I can't quite escape, where everything looks the same but feels... wrong.

And gods, these beds are just awful, aren’t they? I almost feel like I’m at Basgiath. No, maybe not that bad. But I definitely miss my King size bed. Gods, maybe I am a spoiled little aristocrat.

I decide to get up. No point in lying around here when I can’t sleep anyway.

But when I exit my room, I’m surprised to see how much commotion there is in the hallways, considering how early it is. The fliers are all in full-dress, and they’re heading to a burial ceremony. How odd. Or maybe we’re the odd ones, the way we’ve just accepted hearing names read off scrolls each morning.

I can’t help my curiosity. I trail behind the last of the fliers headed back out toward the Cliffs of Dralor. I stand a little ways off, tucked away in a thicket of trees, as I observe the ceremony.

Professor Kiandra offers some words, then the pyres are lit at dawn. It’s simple but beautiful. The kind of ceremony I wish we could have had. The way I wish I could have honored my own mother.

“You honor your mother every day, Balanced One,” Cuir says softly.

I just focus on removing the thick knot from my throat as I try to quash the horrifying images flooding my mind: General Melgren's soulless scowl, his enormous black dragon's jaws yawning wide. Children crying. Imogen squeezing my hand so tight I feared my bones might break. The burn of the relic snaking up my arm. The smell. The screaming... So much screaming...

And my mother...

Gods, I fucking hate that that's the last memory I have of her. That I can't forget it, no matter how hard I try. That it's forever seared into my brain by dragon fire.

I clear my throat and try to shake it off, doing my best to focus on the ceremony instead.

The fliers watch in silent reverence as the flames lick higher, the skies slowly illuminating with the early light of dawn. Then eventually, they start dispersing, making their way back to Riorson House.

But as the crowd thins, I notice someone standing in front of a center pyre—unmoving, looking almost statuesque. And I don’t know how I can tell it’s her, but I can. Staring into the flames like she might never leave. Or maybe like she's thinking about jumping in herself.

And for some reason, I don't leave, either. I know I should. That I have no business bearing witness to something so personal. But I can’t seem to move, can’t seem to tear my eyes away.

Because as I watch her stand there, something tightens in my chest. A familiar ache that I can't quite place, like a memory I've long forgotten.

Gods, I wonder what my mother would think if she could see me now. Half a man, half a shadow—standing here in someone else’s grief while trying to keep my own buried.

I don't know how long I stay, but eventually, I force myself to leave. I have other responsibilities to attend to. But still, I can’t stop myself from looking back one last time before I leave. And since I can’t seem to say it to her face, I murmur it into the wind instead, “I’m sorry.”

I figure it's safe to head back to my room, since she’s clearly done using it.

The first thing I notice when I enter, is the extra pillow and blanket folded on one of the armchairs. I look over to the bed—it looks untouched. Where did she sleep, then? And how stubborn of her to not just sleep in a perfectly good bed. Would have been the best night’s sleep she’s probably had in ages.

Whatever. I walk around to see if anything else looks out of place. That’s when I see the note on my desk. A crinkly piece of parchment that says,

Thank you.

(fold me)

My eyebrows furrow at the strange instruction. A part of me wonders if it’s a trick. But I pick it up and move to fold it in half. And suddenly, magic takes over and it folds itself into a little figure. A smile breaks out on my face.

Brilliant woman.

I pull on the crane, and it flattens again.

I start inspecting the note for runes. Interestingly, they look like Tyrrish runes. But I’ve never seen this sequence before.

Who is this girl? And how does she know so much about Tyrrish runes?

I let it fold into a crane again, then decide to set it down on my nightstand. I’ll have to take a deeper look later. For now, though, I’d like a quick bath myself.

I head into the bathing chamber, and I don’t see it right away. I’m half undressed by the time I do. I almost think it’s mine—maybe a sock or another rogue garment? I bend over to pick it up, but I realize what it is right before I do.

The lace gives it away.

Her underwear.

Did she forget them? That would be careless of her. Unless she left them on purpose? She did leave the crane. Amari’s knickers, is she flirting with me? There’s no way, right? No. There’s no way she was anywhere near that mental state last night. There’s no way she meant for me to find them. That she wanted me to be standing here, holding them, thinking about her, thinking about slipping them—Fuck. Maybe she is an evil mastermind.

I just pick them up with a small smile then throw them in with my dirty clothes. One of the attendants will come pick up the laundry later.

I don’t see her again until dinner, even though I can’t stop looking for her. I tell myself I’m just worried—that she never made it back from the burial.

But I find her sitting with Cat. So I decide to join Violet’s squad, since they’re sitting nearby. Plus, I want to get their take on the mysterious flier they traveled with.

“That flier that you were paired up with, Ridoc, what was her name again?”

“Oh, Elyra? Well, Elyra to me. Soryn to you. Why Bodhi, has she tickled your fancy too?”

I shake my head. “No—”

Cuir scoffs.

I ignore him and continue, “But I heard she killed a wyvern with a single stab wound. Is that true?”

“She did. I’m going to have wet dreams about that for the rest of my life. Something about a girl with that kind of brutal efficiency—you know she knows what she’s doing.”

I have to clench every muscle in my body to stop the blood rushing south at the thought.

Suddenly, I hear Cat screaming at the next table.

“Oh boy, here we go again,” Violet mutters, shaking her head at her meal.

Cat’s clearly screaming about how Violet purposely dropped the flier. I just observe, though. Cat’s talking directly to Soryn. And I can’t hear Soryn, but context clues are telling me that they have opposing viewpoints.

Soryn starts ruffling with her pack before she pulls something out and sets it on the table. And suddenly, their conversation goes quiet.

A sound-shielding rune. Where on earth did the little flier get that? Is she secretly Tyrrish? She knows too much about our runes.

I’d almost lost interest in the conversation they’re hiding when I suddenly see Soryn lunge for Cat’s throat. The sound-shield keeps the noise dampened, and it leaves for a strange visual. So much movement—the bench, the table, people jumping up and yelling, dishes breaking and falling—yet not a sound escapes.

One of the fliers yanks Soryn off and she jerks away, her mouth clearly enunciating a “fuck.”

Then, she packs up her shit and storms out. A couple fliers chase after her, and I have to stop myself from doing the same.

I shouldn’t care. I don’t.

But my stomach sours anyway, and I can’t help but wonder what got under her skin like that. Knowing Cat, I’m sure it was vicious.

“What was that all about?” Sawyer asks, concerned, craning his neck at the fliers rushing out.

“Probably arguing about whether or not Cat’s allowed to kill me,” Violet lightly muses, though her eyebrows are furrowed in the same direction as Sawyer’s.

“Why couldn’t we hear anything?” Rhiannon turns back to the table in confusion.

“Sound shielding rune. I saw her take it out of her pack,” I offer.

The rest of them look at me with puzzled looks, aside from Imogen. None of them are familiar with Tyrrish runes, apparently.

Imogen raises an eyebrow at me. I just shrug back. Just another mystery to add to the laundry list.

Speaking of laundry, I decide to go grab my clean laundry so that I can return Soryn’s… garments. I don’t want her to think I’m holding onto them for some creepy reason. Plus, I’d like an excuse to talk to her. I have questions. A lot of questions.

I find the small, black pair of underwear, and I can’t help but hope that she left them on purpose. But I shake off the thought and head back downstairs to find her.

As I approach the stairs, I notice that there’s a commotion in the Entrance Hall, leading out into the courtyard. I try to push to the front, but the hall is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with fliers and riders shoving and shouting at each other.

I finally find Aetos and Cianna transporting three Second Wing riders to the infirmary.

“What the hell happened?” I ask. I couldn’t have been gone more than ten minutes.

“Soryn,” Aetos bites out.

My brows furrow in worry. Rockthorne clearly had it out for her. “Is she okay?” I can’t help but ask.

“Of course she’s okay, she’s probably fucking gloating,” he spits out.

She put three riders in the infirmary and is fine? I don’t believe it for some reason. I need to get eyes on her to be sure.

“Where’d she go?” I ask, careful to keep my voice even, commanding.

“Violet took her to the Library. They’ll keep her there until the Assembly is ready to see her.”

Fuck. I can’t protect her from the Assembly. Xaden might have left me in charge, but I have no sway in the Assembly. None of the power, yet all the responsibility. Story of my life.

I just nod and let it go. I can always speak with Xaden when he gets back if I need to. Hopefully the Assembly will be reasonable. Hopefully she’s as sharp with her tongue as she is with her blades.

Gods, I shouldn’t be thinking about her tongue. What the fuck is wrong with me? I feel like a sixteen year old boy again.

I let Aetos handle the rest. He seems to have it under control. And I know he’s been eager to feel useful. So I hang back for a while, making sure the riders get to bed. Then I head to Soryn’s room to wait for her.

I lose track of how long I’m standing there, turning her tiny panties over in my hands, wondering what the fuck I’m even doing—trying to convince myself she left them on purpose.

“Why torture yourself with delusions when you can just ask the girl to bed?” Cuir sighs.

“I’m not—” I start to argue, when I hear the sound of blade against sheathe.

I turn around.

And I can’t help the sick thrill I get in my gut at the sight of her threatening my life again.

“Always with the weapons,” I playfully jab, tilting my head.

She lets out an audible sigh but sheaths her dagger as she approaches. “You wouldn’t be the first rider to try to kill me tonight.”

My smile widens and I arch a brow. “From what I saw, it looked to be the other way around,” I tease.

She just responds with another long, laborious sigh.

Not in the mood for banter, then. I push down the tiny feeling of rejection and try again.

“You’re a hard person to track down, you know.”

And she is. I’ve been looking for her everywhere, constantly, and yet she’s always slipping away like smoke through fingers.

She narrows her gaze, letting her eyes trail over me in a way that makes my heart pound in my throat.

“One of the perks of being small,” she responds with a hint of impatience.

I return the favor and let my gaze wander over her. She is small. But she still looks strong. Fast. Hardened, yet… soft. A bit of a walking contradiction.

And there’s something else, something about her that I can’t quite place—something unpredictable, untouchable, unknowable. And it’s driving me crazy.

Like an unsolvable puzzle—one that I can’t seem to look away from.

I suddenly realize I’ve been staring too long, and lamely say, “I guess so.”

She stops just short of me, jaw clenched, her posture rigid, looking like she hasn't quite decided whether or not to stab me. Then, in a clipped tone, she asks, “Can I help you with something?” Like I’ve already wasted too much of her time.

I just look down at her panties in my hands, and I can’t stop my smile when I realize that she has no idea. This was a complete accident.

I smirk at her. “You know, I wasn’t sure at first if this was a part of your thank you gift. But I thought you might be missing these.”

I approach her, then slowly reach down to grab her hand, pressing the soft cloth into her palm.

But for some reason, I don’t hand them over immediately. She starts to pull away but I hold on. Just for a second. Just to feel her pulse—to see if I imagined the way her breath caught.

And suddenly, I find myself intoxicated by the way her eyes widen, the way her lips part, the nervous energy thrumming off her like she’s worried I might kiss her.

Because a part of me is tempted. To lean in, to watch her blush and come undone. To throw caution to the wind and dive headfirst into whatever this is. If this is even anything at all.

But I can’t. I have too many responsibilities. And I’m not so sure she wouldn’t slip one of those daggers in between my ribs if I tried.

So I just shut my mouth and force myself to walk away before I do something stupid. Something I’ll regret.

“Something tells me you’re going to regret it anyway,” Cuir sighs.

Chapter Text

I know I should keep my eyes to myself at formation the next morning. I walked away for a reason last night—that reason primarily being: don’t be fucking stupid, Bodhi.

And I’m sure there are a dozen other reasons why this is a bad idea—terrible, really—probably written in blood somewhere. Maybe I should ask Aetos to recite the Codex at me until my brain melts in submission. I’m sure there’s something in there about not fraternizing with fliers who seem keen on killing you.

But alas, I don’t really give a shit about the Codex, and neither do my eyes apparently. Because they keep wandering until they’re pointed at one particularly mysterious, especially hostile little flier.

Thick, dark hair pulled back into a slick bun. Clean sparring uniform. Perfect posture.

She might as well be the poster child for a model cadet. Which is funny, really, considering how… unruly she's been. A raging storm of chaos wrapped in unflinching control. It doesn't make sense. And it’s honestly annoying how distracting it is.

At least, until I catch her looking at me.

Our eyes meet—not once, not twice, but on three separate occasions. And each time that adorable little blush starts creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.

And she looks fucking pissed about it.

Which fills me with a certain sense of glee that I don’t have the faculties—or the desire—to analyze any further.

That afternoon, Aetos and I are heading to a leadership meeting when we run into Soryn again—literally. Aetos barrels into her as she’s leaving my uncle’s old office... alone.

Even I have to admit that’s suspicious.

“What the hell were you doing in there?” Aetos uses his wingleader voice and I have to stop myself from grimacing.

She doesn’t answer. Or look at me. She just dramatically rolls her eyes and shoves past Aetos.

He calls after her, incredulous, “Were you snooping again?!”

She emphatically flips him off over her shoulder as she turns the corner.

I let out a low laugh as I rib Aetos. “You know, I think she’s warming to you. She didn’t even try to hit you that time.”

Aetos squints after her in suspicion. “She’s up to something, I can tell. I think we need to tell someone. I don’t trust her.”

I resist the urge to sigh. Aetos’s obsession with rules is exhausting. But I can’t deny that she seems to have the exact opposite problem as Aetos. She doesn’t seem to think any rules apply to her at all.

Which a part of me respects. The lower parts. But my brain can’t ignore the fact that she could be dangerous, a threat. A very intriguing, very enticing little threat, but a threat nonetheless.

I’d heard from Violet that Xaden would be flying in tonight. I appease Aetos and tell him I’ll get him some face time with my cousin.

We meet in Xaden and Violet’s bedroom later that evening. A part of me suspects that my cousin is just trying to rub it in Aetos’s face that Violet’s sleeping in his bed. Regardless, Aetos is in full rule-enforcer mode, eyes narrowed, back straight, jaw set.

“What’s this about, Aetos? Bodhi?” Xaden asks lazily with his arms crossed.

I lean against the armoire and lift my brows at Aetos to take the lead.

He takes a measured breath through his nose then says, “The flier, Elyra Soryn. I’m concerned about her. There’s something that’s not adding up about her story, and every time I see her, she’s up to no good. At first, I thought she was just reckless. But after her altercation with Rockthorne, it’s clear that she’s dangerous—”

“That’s not fair. He ambushed her and she was defending herself. We’ve already testified in front of the Assembly,” Violet interrupts to defend Soryn.

Aetos shakes his head to dismiss her. “It doesn't matter who was at fault. What's concerning is how capable she was. She doesn’t fight like a first-year. Not to mention she’s impulsive, quick to violence, and clearly thinks she’s above the rules. At check-in, I saw her steal the scrolls from Jesinia like she was entitled to them. I tried to reason with her but she again resorted to violence, unprovoked.”

I snort before I can catch myself. I try to cover it up with a cough, but everyone sees right through it. They’re staring at me.

I sigh, “Yes, but she just wanted to see if her friends were alive. And unfortunately, I think she lost someone close to her. Plus, I saw the altercation—it wasn’t serious.” I flick a hand, carelessly.

Aetos glares at me. But I don’t care, he’s being a baby.

His jaw twitches but he continues, “My point is, it’s become a pattern of behavior. And if that’s not enough—earlier today, we ran into her as she was leaving your father’s old office, Riorson. Alone.”

Xaden’s brows furrow at that. That is the most damning piece of evidence, to be fair.

“What was she doing in there?” Xaden asks.

“She refused to answer our questions. But knowing her, it probably wasn’t innocent,” Aetos answers.

Xaden looks to me. I just shrug at him. We both know he’s better equipped than anyone to figure out what she’s up to. Not that he’ll ever admit it.

I wake up to a knock on my door at the ass-crack of dawn. A small part of me, the part that must still be dreaming, hopes it’s a certain small flier who’s finally given in and decided to seduce me. A much larger part of me, the part that’s awake, is ready to kill whoever it is.

I get up, groggily dragging my feet to answer the door.

It’s my cousin. How disappointing.

I stifle a big yawn and pull him through my wards before climbing back into bed.

“I just met the flier, Captain Soryn.”

“Captain?” I mumble out, still half asleep.

“I spoke with the Assembly after our discussion yesterday. She was pulled in for a hearing over the altercation with the Second Wing riders, when Kiandra dropped the bomb that Soryn’s actually a decorated soldier who made Captain at nineteen.”

That yanks me fully awake—nineteen?! What the hell was she, some kind of child warrior?

I groan. “So what’s your read on her?”

And I’m being intentional with my phrasing. Sure, Xaden and I might have an unspoken agreement to never discuss the possible existence of the rare and fabled second-signet. He made it clear that speaking it aloud was practically a death sentence. But apparently, I do not have the sense of self-preservation that my cousin has, because as soon as I thought I might have a second signet, I didn’t think twice before confiding in him.

He shut me down before I could even get the words out, but his complete lack of surprise was answer enough. But as I honed my countering signet, I got better at sensing them. And having practiced my countering on Xaden more than anyone—it was my favorite way to annoy him—I became quite familiar with both of his. So if his signet is what I think it is, then it’s no wonder why he’s never asked mine.

So now we do this dance. Never talking, never admitting, but both knowing, somehow.

Xaden pauses, like he’s debating reprimanding my word choice. But that would require him acknowledging the elephant in the room, so instead he continues, “Well I caught her in the Assembly Chamber in the middle of the night. Looked like she was going over our battle tactics. And I hate to admit it, but I see why Aetos was so worried. She was entirely too confident. Competent. And she's smooth as silk with her words, isn't she?”

I just hum in response. I didn’t get any silkiness from her—unless you count the way I imagine her skin feels under all those clothes she insists on wearing. Gods, I need to get a grip. It’s too early, my brain isn’t functioning yet.

Xaden is quiet for a beat before he asks, “Do you know what mind powers she’s capable of?”

That catches me off guard. No, I hadn’t thought of that. Is that why I’ve been so taken with her? Maybe it’s the power of seduction. I’m not saying that, though.

“No, but we know fliers are capable of it,” I say instead. “Why? What do you suspect her power is?”

He scratches his chin. “I don’t know. But I could sense it. Like she knew things were going to go her way. And she asked me if I could do mind magic.”

“What?!” I ask in alarm. “You don’t think she’s an inntinnsic, do you?”

He winces slightly at the word. “I don’t think so. She only brought it up after I continued accusing her of being a spy. It was almost as if she was surprised that whatever she tried didn’t work.”

My gears start turning. “But did you…”

Xaden answers my unasked question. “Mmm… She told me she’s a Captain who’s just looking out for her people, that she doesn’t mean harm to Aretia. Which I believe. But it was also obvious that she was trying to deceive me somehow. To manipulate me. She’s hiding something. It’s possible that they all are.”

“Fuck,” I mutter.

“What’s your read on her?” he asks me. And his phrasing isn’t accidental, either.

I chew on my bottom lip before answering. I hadn’t bothered using my signet on her, not when she wears her emotions so plainly on her face. But that suddenly feels short-sighted.

I give my honest assessment, “She’s tough. Guarded. And I’ve no doubt that she’s a well of secrets. But… I don’t know if I see her as a threat.”

He furrows his brows. “How so?”

I shake my head. I don’t know how to explain it, exactly. “Look, I’m sure she’s hiding something. But she risked her ass on that cliffside to save a group of riders. Even Aetos, who—let’s be honest—she’d probably love to stab. And Ridoc and the rest of Violet’s squad, they like her, they trust her. That says something.”

I pause to gauge my cousin’s reaction. He’s unreadable, as usual, so I continue, “And I don’t blame her for the way she handled Aetos. He deserved it. We’ve all wanted to punch him at some point. But…”

My words get caught in my throat as my eyes dart over to the crane on my nightstand. That elusive piece of parchment I’ve been obsessing over for the last two days—trying to reverse-engineer the runes, picking it apart like it holds answers to questions I don't even know how to ask. But for some reason, I don’t want to share it. Not yet. It feels too personal, too intimate to explain.

So I pivot. “What really stood out to me was the way she grieved her friend. It hit her hard. Harder than I expected for someone who seems so… tough.”

But I’m distracted, my mind still on the crane, when I suddenly feel a familiar prickle of magic at my shields.

I instinctively start channeling to counter whatever bullshit he’s trying to pull. Is this bastard really trying to read me right now?

“You have affections for her,” he says evenly, almost bored.

“Oh, fuck off with that,” I snap at him. Asshole. “You know me better than that. When have you ever seen me think with my dick?”

He smirks at me. Annoying prick.

Then he shakes his head and says, “Careful, cousin. I’m not saying she’s manipulating you. But she’s smooth. And I’m pretty sure she’s using her mind powers against us.”

He’s not wrong about that. Shit.

When I head down to breakfast, I spot her immediately. She’s sitting with Garrick—and for some reason, the sight of it puts a pit in my stomach.

I tell myself it’s irritation. Not at her, but at my cousin. Does he really trust Garrick with this assignment over me? He knows better than anyone where my loyalties lie.

I try to focus on my meal, but my attention keeps drifting back to her. She’s laughing at something Garrick said, her expression relaxed, her smile easy.

And it’s almost as if I’m watching a completely different person. The effortless way she leans in, the way she tilts her head and grins at him, the way her fingers barely brush against his when she reaches for her cup, the way she gets him to lean in just to have him throw his head back in a laugh.

What the fuck could be so godsdamn amusing over there?

Not that I care. I don’t. But something keeps my eyes glued anyway.

It should be easy to explain. Garrick’s a flirt, and she’s manipulating him. Maybe even using her mind powers. But something doesn’t sit right.

Because with me? There’s no easy smiles. No playful glances. No soft laughter. She pointed a blade at my neck the first time we spoke. And she’s given me nothing but coldness since.

Well… except for the crane.

And the underwear.

Fuck, is she playing us both?

And if so, why is she so different with him?

I shake it off. Why the fuck do I even care?

“Yes, why do you care?” Cuir asks, his tone knowing.

My mind races. But I find my answer, “Because she could be a threat. And whatever’s happening over there could be a problem—a big one.”

I push back from the table to go find my cousin.

He’s in the Assembly chamber with Aisereigh.

I’m too pissed to keep up the airs. “You don’t trust me? Is that why you assigned Garrick to her?”

I feel that familiar prickle at my shields again. But instead of countering, I let my intentions shine through. Nothing is more important to me than my duty to Tyrrendor, to my cousin, to my people.

“You think you would be better suited for this assignment?” he asks me in that cool, unreadable voice he always uses in public.

I hold his gaze. I know better than to flinch under my cousin’s scrutiny.

“You know Garrick has a weakness for pretty women. All she needs to do is bat her eyelashes at him and he’s a goner. I saw it happening over breakfast, he’s already halfway there.”

Cuir scoffs.

Xaden tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing. I feel his magic brush against my shields again.

“And you think you’re immune to her charms?”

My breath hitches slightly. He says it like he knows I’m not. Like he knows something I haven’t even figured out myself. I instinctively start countering, clamping down on my shields.

I want to say yes. But then I think about that first night, the crane, the underwear, the burial. The way my eyes always find her, like a gravitational force I can’t escape.

But that’s just because I want to figure her out, because I want to know what she’s hiding.

“And that’s all?” Cuir’s amused voice slips into my thoughts.

I ignore him. Because I can control the other… urges. And either way, I do know one thing.

“She doesn’t flirt with me,” I explain, keeping my voice level. “She doesn’t charm me. She doesn’t want to. That makes me a better choice.”

He considers me for a long moment, assessing me. And just when I think he’s going to shut me down, he says, “Alright. You’ll take over her detail in the afternoon. Give me a few hours to finish up my business here, then I’ll meet you after lunch.”

I give him a curt nod then excuse myself before he can change his mind.

Or maybe before I can change my mind. Because suddenly, something twists in my stomach. A mixture of relief and… worry.

Gods I hope I don’t regret this.

After lunch, Xaden and I walk toward the fields where the fliers are holding combat training.

“She’s their combat instructor,” he fills me in. “And she’s already petitioned the Assembly to take over combat training for all cadets—on the condition that we combine riders and fliers for training.”

I shoot him a look. “You’re considering that?”

“I want to see her teach before I decide.” His tone is neutral, unreadable. “And maybe we’ll get some insight into how she was trained.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you getting at, cousin?”

He returns my look. “She’s a twenty-one year old Captain who’s been lying to us. And she hasn’t been exactly forthcoming about her military history. The Assembly is worried she’s trained in espionage.” He pauses, then adds, “She’d be a perfect candidate for it. Small. Unassuming. Full of secrets.”

“Espionage? You think she’s here as a spy?” I ask, surprised for some reason.

“I don’t know. It’s your job to figure that out,” he responds coolly.

And again, I find myself second-guessing. Maybe I’m not the right person for this.

Xaden notices. “Not hesitating, are you, cousin?”

I snap my focus back. I can’t afford hesitation, not when it comes to protecting Aretia.

“No,” I say, voice firm. “If she’s a spy, I want to know. And I’ll figure it out.”

I will. I have to.

“Good.” He nods, satisfied. “You know Garrick and I are heading to the front. I’ll need you to stay on top of her while we’re gone.”

My jaw tightens at his choice of words but I blink the discomfort away. I need to be careful if I’m going to succeed on this assignment.

But I’ve never been swayed by a pretty face before. It takes a lot more than that to hold my attention.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Because she’s much more than just a pretty face, isn’t she?

Shit.

Chapter Text

As we watch the fliers’ combat training, it doesn’t take long to see Soryn’s not lying about her rank. It’s almost painfully obvious now. The way the fliers quiet when she passes and straighten under her scrutiny. The effortless authority in her voice. The sheer audacity of her presence.

And it’s clear from her instruction that she’s not new to this: the position, the power, the war. Her drills are ruthless and varied, cycling through different combat styles—clearly preparing them to fight venin.

But what really piques my interest is her individual instruction.

She offers tough love when a brawler gets frustrated that he can’t land a blow on her. She offers precise coaching when the small fliers are clearly outmatched against larger opponents. She offers a joke to lighten the mood when things get too tense. And when grief or hopelessness flares up, she doesn’t look away. She absorbs it, steadies them, gives them something to hold onto.

She’s not weeding out the weak, she’s lending them strength.

I glance at Xaden next to me, raising an eyebrow to gauge his reaction. He's standing with his arms folded across his chest, gaze locked on Soryn. He responds with a half-shrug—nothing more than a twitch of his shoulder.

I press, “What do you think? Does she have your blessing?”

“Maybe. We’ll see how the assignment goes first,” he says, giving me nothing. But I notice his posture stiffen, his eyes narrowing slightly. I follow his line of sight.

And there’s Garrick. Flirting. Again.

But something uncomfortable coils in my chest when I see the way Soryn looks up at him and giggles. When I see how close they are to touching. When I wonder what words are coming out of his mouth to make her smile like that.

I shake off the thought, then glance at Xaden to see if he caught my momentary slip.

He didn’t. He’s too focused on Garrick.

Then I see why. They shake on something, some kind of agreement, before they both start removing their weapons.

Oh, now this, I have to see.

Xaden and I move toward the sidelines, making sure we stay out of their eye-line. We find Professor Emetterio observing from a distance.

“Don’t tell me we’re allowing challenges between fliers and riders now,” I quip.

Emetterio grunts a laugh. “From what I hear, that’s exactly what Captain Soryn is pushing for.”

Interesting. Not sure why she’d be so eager to light that fuse. If I didn’t know any better, I might think she was trying to accelerate the dismantling of this fragile alliance.

We watch closely as Soryn and Garrick start circling each other—each waiting for the other to make the first move. She tries to bait him into attacking first, but Garrick’s too good of a fighter to fall for that one.

Then, she starts sprinting toward him, throwing out a predictable combo. He blocks her strikes with ease, then nearly lands a counter to her ribs—but she twists, shifting like smoke, throwing him onto his back before I even register how she did it.

Shit.

“Was that whole setup a feint?” I ask, halfway between disbelief and awe.

Xaden just hums in response.

Garrick is quick to recover, but she’s already behind him, spinning into a tornado kick.

He barely ducks under it, sweeping low in retaliation. She jumps clear, answering with an axe kick that lands too close for my comfort.

"She’s wielding," I murmur.

Xaden nods. But it’s Emetterio who answers. "Yes. She’s been trying to convince me to allow wielding on the mats."

Xaden and I both look at him in question.

He shrugs. "She has a good argument. Says we’ll need it, given what we’re up against."

That’s… true.

We turn our attention back to the field, and it looks like Garrick got the message. He blinks behind her, going for a throw. And he manages it. Actually catches her off guard.

But she’s slippery—twists free before he can pin her.

But Garrick pounces on her momentary breathlessness and now, she’s on the defensive. And Garrick’s going in for the kill. I hold my breath as she parries, dodges, blocks. The pain is written all over her face, but she doesn’t let up. Then before I can process what’s happening, she slips under an attack and lands a strike square to his sternum. Garrick locks up, clutching at his chest, then falls to his knees.

But she doesn’t stop there. She jumps up, wrapping her thighs around his neck in a perfectly executed flying triangle, cutting off the blood flow to his head. Garrick fights for a few seconds, his face turning purple.

But then he taps.

My mouth hangs open.

Damn.

She got him. She beat Garrick. Handily. Now I see how she took out those three third-years so swiftly. I glance at my cousin as Emetterio lets out a low whistle. His face flickers in a way that I know means he’s impressed.

I turn my attention back to the scene when Emetterio calls out, “Impressive, Captain. Lieutenant Tavis is one of our best fighters.”

A smug smile slips onto her flushed face as she responds, “I can tell. He’s good. I’m just better.”

She throws a cheeky little grin at Garrick and my stomach clenches at how easily she does that with him.

Garrick returns her grin, rubbing his neck. “Hey, I was taking it easy on you. Told you I’m a gentleman, didn’t I?”

She arches an eyebrow. “Well, then I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

Garrick steps closer, crowding into her space. "I have. Don’t worry—I’ll get you next time, Elly." He growls it low, like it’s a promise.

Fucking typical Garrick. I roll my eyes.

But I almost choke on my breath when she leans in, her fingers grazing his arm, just enough to make it look accidental as she stands on her tip-toes to murmur something in his ear.

And is that—What the fuck is that? Is he blushing?

I can’t tell if it’s real. If she’s actually into him. Or if she’s just playing a game. If this is all practiced, like her lift.

I’ve seen this kind of act before—at diplomatic meetings, strategy summits, in dark, smoky rooms. It would make sense if she’s trained in espionage.

But if this is all an act… why hasn’t she tried to use it on me?

“You want to be the one she manipulates?” Cuir asks, amused.

“No, of course not,” I bite back—too quickly. I know it’s a stupid, irrational thought… But my stomach twists anyway.

I shake it off, looking at Xaden. He didn’t notice my moment of unease—he’s still watching Garrick. Closely.

Soryn skips away from Garrick with a giggle before turning to address us. She arches an eyebrow at my cousin as she calls out loud enough for everyone to hear, “Are you and your bodyguards here to drag me in front of the Assembly, Riorson?” Then, a wicked little grin spreads over her face as she gestures to the field behind her. “Or would you rather finish the job yourself?”

There’s the version of her I know. Reckless, fearless, thinks she’s invincible.

Cuir snorts. Garrick barks out a laugh. But I just watch my cousin. I’m not convinced he won’t take her up on her offer and kill her right here, right now.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he uses that cold, unreadable tone he always does. “I need to borrow Lieutenant Tavis. I’ve assigned Bodhi, here, to shadow you. In the spirit of working together.”

And I see it.

The slight twitch of her jaw. The flicker in her eye. Then the effortless way she tilts her head and lets it all fade away into something innocent and unperturbed.

And then—I feel a slight twinge in the back of my mind.

" Really? " her voice reverberates between my ears—calm, smooth, undeniable . "Are you sure that’s a good idea?"

And suddenly, I think this is a very, very bad idea.

I look at my cousin. He doesn’t answer immediately. And for a second I think he might agree with me.

But then—

“You won’t even notice he’s here,” he says, turning away, Garrick following him.

Well, shit. I guess I’m on my own.

I try to mask my panic as I flick a glance at Soryn. But she doesn’t even look at me as she sighs and turns back to her cadets.

Fine. I don’t need her to look at me. In fact, that just makes my job easier. Because I’m used to fading into the background, going unnoticed. Prefer it, even.

No, it’s better this way. Better she forgets I’m here, forgets I’m watching.

Because I will be watching.

I make myself scarce as I observe the rest of the training session. I almost think she’s forgotten about me as she eases back into her role as Captain. And I have to admit, it’s fascinating to watch. She’s different with everyone—a bit of a chameleon.

But she dawdles as she’s packing up, uncharacteristically fumbling with her pack as she waits for the fliers to depart ahead of her. Then as the last flier leaves, she heaves her pack onto her back and turns toward me in one swift movement. No scanning, no hesitation—like she knew where I was the whole time.

It catches me off guard and I find my body freezing like prey that’s just been spotted.

We stare at each other for a few breaths, and I don’t even have to channel to sense her irritation.

Finally, she calls out, “Come on, Shadow. Let’s go.”

I huff out a breath. Shadow? Cute. So I get tough Elyra, Garrick gets flirty Elyra. Noted.

I approach her slowly as I start to channel to get a real read on her. Overwhelming irritation, disappointment, suspicion—all obvious. But underneath it I sense… Resentment? Helplessness? It’s hard to tell with her irritation bleeding through everything.

When I reach her, she falls in step beside me without a word. I wait to see if she'll say anything. She doesn't. So we walk in silence for a while as I think up a new approach.

I open my mouth to speak, but my mouth suddenly feels dry. How does one break the ice in a situation like this? So, I heard you're a spy? Or maybe, I should spare the both of us and tell her I prefer to do my stalking from a distance.

"Or you could try asking something useful," Cuir grumbles in my head.

"Like what? I'm open to suggestions."

"Why not ask her about the runed paper you've been agonizing over."

I consider it. But I doubt she'd tell me. Not right now. No, I need to disarm her first.

It takes me a few tries, but eventually I manage to say in my most casual voice, “You know, I get it now. Aetos doesn’t hate you—he’s just traumatized.”

An unexpected giggle escapes her and my stomach does a small flip at that hard-earned little sound. I'm so shocked that I fail to stifle the grin splitting my face wide open.

“Clearly the little shit isn’t traumatized enough,” she sasses after forcefully composing her own face.

I chuckle. Aetos prefers learning the hard way. And it seems he’s found an enthusiastic teacher.

"What’s his deal, anyway? Why is he so hellbent on making my life miserable?" she complains, pouting. And I can feel her emotions bubbling up again—the resentment more prominent this time.

I sigh. I get it. I’ve certainly been on the other side of Aetos’s nagging. "He’s big on rules. And you seem determined to break them all."

A small smile fights its way back onto her lips, and my lips just mirror hers as I feel something new—smug satisfaction, petty amusement, mischievous glee. At least she’s not bothering to lie about her fondness for rule-breaking.

I avert my gaze when she glances at me, and my heart starts to pound in my chest as I feel her eyes on me. I focus on keeping my breaths even, my expression unreadable. But I can feel her studying me, assessing me—curiosity peeking through now.

"So what is this arrangement, anyway? Are you going to follow me everywhere?" she eventually asks in a deceptively flippant tone.

I smirk at her, mirroring her tone. "We’ll see. Maybe not, if you just tell us what you’re up to.”

She shrugs. "I already told Riorson why I was snooping."

"He doesn’t buy it."

"What’s not to buy?" she asks, turning her wide-eyed, deep-brown doe eyes on me.

And there it is. She’s finally testing her little charms on me. She’s going to have to do better than that, though. I give her an unimpressed look that says as much.

She sighs. "What about you? Do you think I’m a spy sent to take down Aretia from the inside?"

My brows furrow slightly as I sense her anticipation rising, mixed with a restrained satisfaction—like she’s waiting for me to make a fool of myself. Except I’m not sure what angle she’s trying to play.

Is she trying to gauge my reaction? Back me into a corner? Or does she actually think it’s ridiculous? Or—does she just want me to think that she thinks that?

“Or maybe there’s a third layer of deception that you’re not seeing,” Cuir mocks.

I shake my head. Gods, this is going to be harder than I thought.

But my mind keeps spinning, so I give a noncommittal but honest answer. "I don’t know. You’re a bit of a mystery to me."

She just watches me for a moment. And while I feel her sense of satisfaction deflate, something else takes its place—a resigned sense of dread. Like she knows how this is all going to end.

It sends a chill down my spine.

She doesn’t say anything else as she leads me to Violet’s squad at dinnertime.

I take note of the choice. She usually eats with Cat or the other fliers.

“What’s up, Doc?” she silkily greets as she plops down next to Ridoc like they’re old friends.

My nickname suddenly doesn’t feel so special.

“Well, hello there, angel,” Ridoc greets her before his eyes flicker to mine, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face. “Since when are you two friends?”

She throws me a look—a challenge—and I can’t help myself.

I return Ridoc’s smirk. “She stayed the night in my room the other night.”

But the second the words leave my mouth, I know I fucked up. But it’s worth it. Just to see the blush that creeps into her cheeks. To see her composure slip—just for a second. Not to mention everyone else’s reactions.

Soryn hisses at me, “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

And something unexpected jumps out at me among the shock, outrage, and amusement of the table—something almost… wounded.

My stomach drops. Shit.

I try to recover as I slide into the seat next to her, “Yes, I’m kidding, obviously. Xaden wants me to shadow her.”

I try to ignore her murderous glare as Rhiannon asks, “Shadow? Why?”

I keep my tone light—teasing—as I say, “The Assembly wants to know all of her wyvern-killing secrets.”

I catch Violet’s eye. I’m sure she knows all about my assignment. And I can tell she’s on the fence, as am I.

“Riorson caught me snooping in the Assembly Chamber. Apparently, they don’t appreciate curiosity,” Soryn casually announces.

And this time, it’s my composure that slips. I didn’t expect her to just blurt it out like that. What is she playing at?

Ridoc laughs. “What mischief have you been getting into now, El? You could have included us, you know.”

She grins back at him, leaning in like they’re co-conspirators. Then she hits us with, “I wanted to see what information they’re hoarding in there. Withholding information is a bit of a sensitive spot for the Poromish.”

And we have nothing to say in response to that. Except Ridoc, of course, who laughs and says, “She’s one of us, I’m telling you.”

“What’d you find, then?” Imogen challenges, clearly suspicious. Sometimes I wonder if her second signet is the ability to smell bullshit.

But Soryn answers easily. “I only had twenty minutes before the shadow-wielder interrupted me. But it was mostly administrative. Budgets, resource allocation, other useless information. A surprising amount of it was goat-related.”

The rest of the table latches onto exactly what I suspect Soryn wanted them to—the goats.

But Imogen raps her knuckles on the table to interrupt the chatter. “That’s a hell of a risk to take.”

Soryn tilts her head and smirks. “The greatest risks have the greatest rewards.”

And the look she gives Imogen—it’s what she does with Garrick. She’s flirting with her.

Imogen scoffs. “Or the worst consequences.”

But I can sense the smallest crack in Imogen—an inkling of respect, a subtle seed of doubt.

“I’m sure you could have asked,” Violet tries to reason with Soryn. “Xaden told me you were a Captain. I’m sure they would let you join Assembly meetings.”

We all look to Soryn to see her response. She seems unperturbed.

“Yes, I’m technically a Captain. A long story but one I’m happy to share. And did Riorson tell you that they’d let me join? Because I’d love to.”

“Well, no. He didn’t say that, exactly. But I think you’d have a good argument.”

And Soryn doesn’t respond. Because she knows she doesn’t have to.

“So a Captain?” Rhiannon changes the subject.

She sighs. “Yes. Like I said the other night, I’ve been at war since I was four. I grew up at Cliffsbane and they found plenty of uses for me.”

“Like what?” Imogen prods.

“A messenger at first, when I was young. Eventually I started going on scouting missions. And I saw my first battle at twelve.”

“Twelve?!” Rhiannon asks in shock.

“Minor skirmishes. Just to get experience. I was a good fighter. Plus, our forces were constantly being decimated. We were desperate.”

Interesting. I’d like to know what she was doing between twelve and twenty-one.

But that’s what she does. Gives you just enough truth to make you believe her. But never enough to use against her. Just enough to make you trust her. Clever.

The rest of dinner passes uneventfully, but I don’t miss how Soryn subtly gets Violet to reveal that Xaden and Garrick have returned to the front.

“She was clever about it. The lightning-wielder played right into it,” Cuir says, impressed.

And he’s not wrong. It was clever to distract Violet by teasing her about her “shadow sexcapades.” It’s like she’s perfected a different persona for everyone she meets—just enough to throw them off balance while remaining endearing. And I can’t help but wonder which one she’s using on me.

When we get up from dinner, Soryn tries to give me the slip. Says, “I need to go find someone,” before scampering off.

She finds that flier she’s always with. And my chest tightens when she throws herself all over him, fingers grazing his chest like it’s second nature. When I see the way he digs his fingers into her hips and rubs his hands too low down her back. The way she looks up at him like—

Shit, and now they’re running off. I move to follow them.

I trail from a distance, my face twisting into a grimace at the way she giggles and flirts down the hallway. Surely, she knows I’m right here. Is she being serious right now? Or is she having me on?

I curse under my breath when I realize they’re going to his bedroom. They slip in and slam the door before I can think of a reasonable objection.

Fucking ridiculous. I’ll wait, I guess. They better not be... Not that I care, it’s just fucking awkward.

“Nobody is forcing you to be here. Are you hoping they’ll invite you in?” Cuir sardonically drawls out.

“Don’t be gross. She clearly just tried to give me the slip—I’m not stupid,” I retort.

“Yet you seemed determined to push your stupidity to new bounds every hour,” Cuir sighs.

I slam my shields up, shoving him out of my head. He’s just bored and taking it out on me.

A good twenty minutes passes before the door opens again. I catch a quick glimpse—rumpled sheets, messy hair, a sheen of sweat. Great. Maybe I am fucking stupid.

She quickly shuts the door behind them and looks down in embarrassment. But she’s not embarrassed at all, is she? No, she’s downright giddy. But maybe she just enjoys tormenting me.

We all just stand there in suffocating silence. Gods, kill me now—this is not what I signed up for. I might need to beg my cousin to remove me from this assignment, after all.

“Can we help you with something, Durran?” the other flier addresses me. Trying to scare me off, no doubt.

I just check over my nails, trying to hide my irritation. “I’ve been assigned to shadow Captain Soryn. Please, pretend I’m not even here.”

They move past me to walk back down the hall. I follow, watching as she sneaks him quiet glances, letting their hands brush, without all of the open flirting that was there before.

But then—I notice that he isn’t playing along anymore. Not at all. No, he’s irritated. Whether it’s directed at me or her, I can’t tell. But either way, post-coital bliss doesn’t usually translate into irritation.

“I don’t see how this is relevant to your assignment,” Cuir sighs, somehow back in my head.

“I just… I need to figure out if that was some little spy meeting. If she’s playing me for a fool.”

“Spy meeting or not, she’s certainly playing you, and you’re definitely a fool.”

I shake my head, but I know Cuir’s probably right. I can’t think of any way I’d be able to report this to Xaden without having my sanity questioned. So I drop it.

Her plaything finally parts, leaving us in the Entrance Hall. And when he walks out of earshot, she turns to me, crossing her arms.

“Do you really need to always be around, Durran?” she asks, contempt clear in her voice.

“Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it either,” I reply dryly. And I’m not. Yet something about her face is making the corner of my mouth twitch. What is that? I ignore it.

She doesn’t respond. And we walk in silence down the Main Hall.

She leads me to the Library where she takes her time slowly perusing the shelves—deliberately surveying each section before going back for a second, even slower pass.

She thinks I don’t notice, but I know she’s waiting for me to leave.

I won’t. She underestimates how much I love the Library. I'd have happily spent my entire childhood locked up in here if my parents allowed it.

I watch as she traces her fingers over the bindings—delicately, almost reverently. I take note of the ones she pauses in front of: historical Tyrrish texts, journals from long-deceased wartime veterans, childhood fables.

When she finally makes her selections, she goes to a secluded corner of the Library, and tucks in on the floor.

Weird. But whatever. I settle in at a nearby table to watch her.

She reads the entire time, not glancing up once. In complete opposition to me who can't seem to look away from her to read a single sentence. It's just that the visual of her curled up on the floor with a book in her lap is so at odds with the version of her leading combat training. At odds with the version of her at dinner. The version of her with Garrick. Or that flier.

Because in each of those versions, she's performing for an audience. Commanding attention. But here—now—she might still be performing but it's not to command attention, it's to escape it. It makes me wonder which version is closer to the truth. But maybe that's just me projecting. Projecting memories of a little boy hiding away behind books and curtained window seats.

And gods is her focus impressive. I can tell from the occasional flurry of confusion or awe that she's actually reading. When I sense a sudden burst of excitement, I give up on “reading” to go investigate what the little flier finds so interesting.

I feel her anticipation spike as I slide down the wall to sit next to her. I casually look over at her book. But I notice how she stiffens. How her breath hitches. I can feel her tension coiling tighter. Like—

Oh shit. I make her nervous.

And I can’t help the satisfying little twinge that I get in my stomach at that sweet little revelation.

She glares at me, but I keep my eyes on her book. She’s studying runes. Of course she is.

“Who’s snooping now?” she crows at me dramatically.

I lift my gaze to hers and I suddenly realize how close we are. And I can’t tell if it’s her nervousness I’m feeling or mine, but I’m suddenly enthralled by it, wondering if maybe I get under her skin as much as she gets under mine.

“What are you reading?” I ask with a practiced nonchalance, forcing my gaze to return to her book, trying to control my pulse.

She mutters under her breath, “No privacy.” She shows me the cover. “Is this acceptable, my Lord?”

That steals a laugh from me. So combative.

“I’m just making conversation.” I smirk at her.

“I thought Riorson said I wouldn’t even notice you here.”

I smile to myself. That was the original plan. But… “Well, I got bored.”

She just huffs and turns back to glaring at her book. And I just study her. Because her irritation is twisting into something new. Turned inward. Mixed with nerves, panic, and... embarrassment?

What is she hiding behind those expressive little eyes of hers?

She finally catches me staring and I hastily look away, feeling my face heat. Fuck.

She snaps at me, “Don’t you have more important things to be doing?”

“What, and miss out on your enthralling company?” I manage to shoot back. Barely.

I chance a glance as I smirk at her again. She looks furious, her own cheeks turning pink now.

Finally, she slams her book shut and gets up. “I’m turning in.”

She tries to stalk off without me but I rush after her, my heart still pounding for whatever reason.

She groans when she notices me and turns around to whine, “Seriously? I can walk myself to bed.”

Yeah right. I’m not letting her out of my sight.

“A gentleman would never let a lady walk unaccompanied at night. You never know what could be lurking in the shadows,” I tease.

“You mean your cousin?”

I put on an air of faux mystery. “Among other things.”

She scoffs, turning on her heel. And we walk the entire way back in silence.

When we finally get to her room, I expect her to slip inside and slam the door shut in my face.

But she doesn't.

Instead, she pauses with her hand on the knob. Then she looks back at me, over her shoulder. Like she might say something.

I just blink at her, caught completely off guard, my pulse spiking in anticipation.

But then it’s gone, and she pushes through the door. And I can't help but feel like I missed an opportunity. In a last ditch attempt to wrangle it back I call out, “No goodnight?”

She turns to roll her eyes at me before sneering, “Goodnight,” and slamming the door in my face.

There it is.

I chuckle to myself, brushing my fingers against the door before I even realize what I’m doing. I shake it off, dropping my hand and walking away.

By Dunne, is she formidable.

But tonight, I saw a crack.

And if anyone's patient enough to excavate the smallest crack in an otherwise impenetrable wall, it's me.

Chapter Text

My head barely hits my pillow before my brain starts spinning, turning over every interaction, her every microexpression—desperately wondering what she’s up to, what she’s hiding, what she’s doing right now.

I’ve seen firsthand how slippery she can be and I can’t shake the feeling that she’ll sneak away the minute she gets the chance. I refuse to let that happen. I’m not letting her play me for a fool. And I’m certainly not going to face my cousin and admit that she’d bested me in less than a day.

So before I know it, I’m heading back down the third floor corridor that leads to her room. I pace in front of her door for a while, wondering what the fuck I’m doing—if this is weird.

“It is,” Cuir sighs.

“But what if she sneaks back into the Assembly Chamber in the middle of the night?” I ask, maybe a little too defensively.

“Do what you must. But let us not waste time with delusions,” he grumbles.

I pause to knead my temples with my fingers. I’m giving myself a headache. After a few more laps, I decide to just fully commit and settle in outside of her bedroom door like a damn guard dog.

And gods, did I underestimate how painful this was going to be. I don’t think there was a single flier who went to bed who didn’t seriously consider killing me. Her flier boyfriend—or whatever he is—is the first to confront me.

“Do you need something, Durran?” he demands like a stern school teacher, hovering over me with his arms crossed.

“No, thank you, Cadet…?” I glance at him, feigning bored indifference.

“You don’t think it’s time you called it a night? People might get the wrong idea seeing you out here.”

I lift my brows at him. Not sure what he’s implying.

“Please, don’t mind me,” I dismiss him with a lazy wave.

“I don’t—”

“Bodhi, what the fuck are you doing?”

My head snaps up to see Cat stalking toward me, her face twisting with a kind of delighted disgust.

"Pleasure to see you too, Cat,” I greet lightly, though my body tenses. It’s times like these I wonder why I ended up with a signet that’s utterly useless against gryphon magic.

"You’re not here waiting for me, are you?" She stops in front of her door, head tilting, something wicked growing behind her eyes.

"Nope. Definitely not." I look away, already feeling her power slowly creeping in. My pulse ticks up along with irritation and a distinct flavor of dread-addled anxiety that always seems to accompany Cat.

She throws her head back in a cackle. "Don’t tell me you’re waiting for Elyra?"

I ignore her. I know how Cat fights, and I won’t let myself rise to the bait.

"This is a new low, Bodhi. Waiting outside her door like a dog begging to come inside. You think that’s going to attract a girl like Elyra?"

I do my best to drown her out and focus on peaceful things. A warm bath. The quiet lull of a flight on Cuir’s back. Baking the most perfectly decadent chocolate cake.

“Or are you just here on your cousin’s orders? You were always so good at following orders, weren’t you?”

The weightlessness of a free-fall. Curling up next to a fire with a good book. Lazy summer days exploring the cliffs with Xaden and Garrick.

“Is that all you’re good for, Bodhi? Following orders? Doing whatever your cousin tells you while you beg for scraps of his attention?”

For fuck’s sake.

I close my eyes and exhale slowly through my nose. There was a time I thought Cat was my friend and had confided in her. I should have known she’d use everything I ever told her against me.

“Oops. Did I strike a chord? Is little puppy-dog Bodhi finally sick of living in his cousin’s shadow? Of being taken for granted? Of never quite measuring up?"

I grit my teeth as her powers start whipping my emotions into a frenzy, haphazardly ripping open old wounds and digging up buried graves. But I keep my mouth shut. I have plenty of practice doing that and I won’t give Cat the satisfaction.

She leans in like a predator zeroing in on her prey, and I know exactly what she’s going to say next. “Or—don’t tell me—is this your way of getting back at him?” A sharp, venomous smile spreads slowly across her face. She pauses, pressing a little more effort into channeling before saying, “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried sleeping with the enemy to get back at him.”

And there it fucking is.

Her power presses in, drowning out my sensibilities, stoking the fire burning in my chest until it’s roaring, screaming for escape. And I have to swallow down the unbearable urge to completely lose my shit on her.

"You projecting, Cat?” I manage to spit out, meeting her gaze. “Having a hard time grappling with the fact that Xaden chose Violet over you?"

And her rage ignites instantly, like a forest fire during a drought. "Oh, shut the fuck up, Bodhi! What the fuck have you ever done that wasn’t a direct order?! You’d probably lick the shit off Xaden’s boot if he told you to, you pathetic excuse of a man!"

"Gods, Cat, aren’t you tired?" I groan, rolling my neck to release the tension I was apparently holding there. "Can’t you just go to bed already?"

She continues to scream at me for what feels like a lifetime. But eventually, Maren comes out to drag Cat to bed.

Sleep doesn’t come for me, though, not really. I doze off here and there. But mostly, I just think. About all the poor choices I’ve made, and whether I’m making another one. About who this mysterious flier is, and how I’m supposed to figure it out. About whether we’re all just being paranoid here, or whether we’re all doomed to die in this war.

Gods, this is ridiculous. I should be in bed, getting sleep, getting a grasp on my damn sanity. But instead, I’m here. On the cold, hard stone, watching her door like some obsessed stalker.

But I know what I saw. The way she moves. The way she talks her way out of things. The way she always seems to be just one step ahead.

That’s why I’m here. To stay ahead of her. To keep an eye on her. That’s all.

And like a cruel joke, the minute I actually start to get some real sleep, the sharp impact of a foot colliding with my leg jolts me from my slumber.

I blink awake and it takes me a second to put two and two together. But it clicks once I hear Soryn hiss, “You fucking slept here?! On the floor like a dog?!”

I just stretch out, wondering how someone so small can be filled with so much rage. Especially at this hour.

"Oh, gods, you’re delightful in the morning,” I croak out, rubbing the sleep from my face.

She glares at me, her long hair loose and tousled, her face still marked by sleep. But even now, half-lit by the dim hallway magelights, she’s—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

"Is it even morning?" I groan. "What time is it?"

"Almost three," she mutters. "Go to bed. I’m going to take a shower. And if you so much as try to follow me in there, I don’t care how many seats you are away from any throne, I’ll kill you on sight. I brought my weapons."

"Noted," I yawn, smothering a smile.

Not the first death threat I’ve received tonight. But definitely my favorite.

She storms off, her footsteps sharp and irritated against the stone floor. I let my head fall back against the wall with a thunk and sigh.

This woman is going to be the death of me, isn’t she?

I decide to take a gamble and head to the Assembly Chamber. I didn’t miss how she expertly coaxed out my cousin’s whereabouts at dinner. If she thinks he’s gone, she might try to go back and finish what she started.

I sit on the Throne to make a point. Then I wait.

And just as I start dozing off, I hear a click.

My eyes snap to the door.

I almost can’t believe it. I almost want to laugh.

Her body jolts slightly when she sees me, but she recovers quickly, the only giveaway being the rigidity of her posture. Even her panic is transient, quickly replaced by her usual brand of irritation.

“A bit predictable, don’t you think?” I grin at her.

And her scowl is a thing of beauty.

She sighs deeply through her nose and immediately starts rifling through the papers on the table.

Gods, Aetos was right. She feels entitled to everything, doesn’t she? Still, I don’t move to stop her. I tell myself it’s because I want to see what she’ll do. That I’ll find out more if I play along.

And she must have heard me debating it in my head because she calls me out on it. “Not going to stop me?” She doesn’t look up from the papers she has in her hands as she says it.

I let out a bemused hum then say, “If I wanted to stop you, I would have.”

Her head swivels slowly, eyes flicking over me in silent assessment. Then, without a word, she turns back to the table.

I watch how she moves. Light touches. Careful to put things back in their place. Systematic in the way that she catalogs what’s there before diving into any specifics. Not a single wasted movement—like she already knows what she’s looking for. Like she’s been planning this. Like she’s thought this through. And that should be what concerns me the most.

But instead, it’s the way she barely acknowledges me. Like I’m just a part of the furniture, not important enough to worry about.

And that? That irritates the shit out of me.

What is she going to do if I report this to the Assembly? Or maybe she somehow already knows that I won’t. Not that I’ve even decided.

But just as I’m getting myself worked up, she asks, “Did you manage to get any sleep?”

And my irritation evaporates instantly. Maybe she’s more worried than I gave her credit for.

I settle back into the Throne, lifting a leg over the chair arm to get comfortable. “Maybe twenty minutes here and there... In between the death threats.”

And even in the dark I can see the quirk of her lips. One that brings an inexplicable sense of triumph with it. Which is confusing because I’m pretty sure it’s my misery she’s smiling at.

“You’re going to burn out real quick if you keep that up,” she sings at me.

And something about the way she says it—obviously mocking but muddled with something else. Is that concern?

I test the waters. “Don’t tell me you suddenly care about my wellbeing? I might think you’re starting to like me.”

She just shakes her head and turns back to the papers. She didn’t deny it, though.

I watch as she latches onto some reports, and I can’t help but wonder what she found.

My curiosity gets the better of me eventually and I have to ask, “Find anything interesting over there?”

She sends a quick glance my way and asks, “Why don’t you come see for yourself?”

And I have to resist the sudden urge to do exactly as she says. Because I know she’s just toying with me. Testing me.

When I don’t move, she looks back at me, tilting her head. "Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of your cousin? You’re next in line for the very throne you sit on. This information is as good as yours."

She’s not even being subtle. I smirk at her. “Using my cousin against me? Clever. Won’t work.”

She returns my smirk. "What are you so afraid of, then? Don’t tell me you’re a rule-follower like Aetos."

Oh, she wants to play? Okay, I’ll play.

I take my time getting up before assuming a languid, leisurely pace as I approach her. And she puts on a convincing air of indifference, but I can feel her nerves grow with every step I take.

She stays partially bent over the table, gaze locked on the papers in her hands, as I approach from behind. And I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I intentionally crowd into her space to look over her shoulder. She quickly pivots to face me, backing up into the table—but I just follow her, holding her gaze.

We’re standing a half-step apart, having a staring contest, but I don’t break. I want to test a theory.

She doesn’t budge either, neck craning, chin jutted up in defiance. But I see the way her breaths deepen in the rise and fall of her shoulders, the slight part in their lips. I can feel her panic growing. And suddenly—I’m wondering if she’s waiting for me to make a move. My heart starts hammering in my throat, my skin warming.

But then she just spits out, “Do you have to stand so close?”

And that’s when I know.

She is affected by me.

The knowledge settles in my chest, curling warm and smug. But I tell myself that the only reason I find it so satisfying is because it gives me leverage.

I take a small step back—just enough to keep her from running, but not so much that she gets comfortable.

She huffs and turns back to the table.

But I’m having too much fun now. So I walk up beside her and lean back on the table. I watch her over my shoulder, my arms folded across my chest.

And I see how she tries to ignore me. I see the way her hands pause, the way her jaw tightens—all while a nervous, self-recriminating energy emanates off her in frantic disarray.

She snaps at me again, “What?”

“Just shadowing,” I say innocently, a smile tugging at my lips.

She scoffs. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

“Depends on who’s asking,” I toss back. Because I’d say I’m doing an excellent job.

She glares at me. “You’re insufferable, you know that right?”

And she means it; I get under her skin. But I have a sneaking suspicion that there’s something else beneath the surface, so I pounce on my chance to ask what I’ve been dying to all day.

I pull the crane out of my pocket and hold it in my palm. “And yet, you made me this.”

And I see it again: the way her mask slips. Her eyes flare slightly as she draws in a small, breathy gasp—shock and embarrassment mixed in with the nerves now. And it’s too dark to see, but I know she’s blushing. And I curse the gods that I don’t get to see it.

I watch as she tries to regain her composure. Then, after a long pause, she mumbles, “It was a thank you. I appreciated the bath. You were right, I needed it.”

And something about the reluctance with which she says it makes me want to believe that it’s true, that the gesture was genuine. But I can’t get the paranoid feeling out of the back of my head that she’s playing me as well as she plays everyone else. That this is all a part of some elaborate scheme.

So I cling to the facts. The questions. Seek answers.

“It’s a crafty piece of runework,” I finally say.

I play with the little crane in my hands. Folding it and unfolding it, watching the magic take over to fold it neatly into a crane every time. It’s fucking fascinating. I can’t figure out how she did it. And it’s been driving me crazy.

I grew up learning our runes, tracing them into the dirt before I even knew what they meant. How could she possibly know more about them than me?

She keeps her eyes on the crane, like she’s debating whether to snatch it away from me. But she eventually looks away with a careless hum. Like it means nothing. Like it’s easy.

So I prod. “How’d you come to be so good at Tyrrish runes?”

She continues to look through papers as she answers. “I had an old professor at Cliffsbane who had family in Tyrrendor.”

Sounds like another half-truth. That’s okay. It’s better than lies, I suppose.

“How’d you do it?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“That’s a secret,” she smirks at me.

“I think I can make out Kelyth, for form. Is that right?” I ask, furrowing my brows as I study the delicate rune pattern.

She tilts her head, giving me a sly smile. “That sounds like information. And I never give information away for free.”

I smile at her attempt to barter. “You’ve given me plenty.”

“Like what?” she asks, skeptically.

“You just told me about your Tyrrish professor. Or was that a lie?” I test to see her reaction.

“That’s a personal anecdote, that’s hardly information,” she replies smoothly.

And she says it so easily, so confidently, that had I not sensed a spike of worry, I may have believed her.

I study her for a moment as I cobble together a strategy. As much as I’d love to continue her little game, I know I need to apply some pressure to get anything useful out of her.

So I press, “I’ve learned that you’re fearless. A natural leader. You’re ruthless, but also… sentimental.” I flip the paper crane over in my hands. “And… you’re not who you present yourself to be.”

She crosses her arms as she fully turns to look at me. “Really? Who am I, then?”

“A twenty-one-year-old Captain with a history no one seems to want to talk about? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a spy.”

“If I were a spy, do you really think I’d be this bad at it? Was it my punctuality that gave it away? Or maybe it was my charming personality,” she shoots back without missing a beat.

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “A true master of deception, then. I’m sure it’s all a part of your master plan.”

But I’m not even sure anymore. She is quite bad at being a spy, isn’t she?

She rolls her eyes before turning back to the table. “You’re overthinking it, Shadow. I think the lack of sleep is getting to you.”

I chuckle. Classic deflection. “Look at you, trying to manipulate me again.”

She narrows her eyes at me and spits, “What have I done to manipulate you? If anything, you’re the manipulative one.”

That takes me by surprise. “Me? How have I been manipulative?”

She scowls at me. “You know what you’ve been doing.”

What could she possibly be talking about? I—

Oh. I sense a fleeting wave of mortification and suddenly I understand.

It’s about the underwear.

I struggle to keep my face expressionless as I lightly say, “I’ve been nothing but nice to you.” And that’s the gods’ honest truth.

“Nice,” she scoffs at me. “Sure.”

I tilt my head as I study her, wondering why she insists on being so defensive. “Are you always this guarded, or am I just special?”

She rounds on me. “Guarded? Why would I be guarded when you, your cousin, Aetos, and your precious Assembly are all treating me like I’m the fucking enemy?!”

And the genuine anger and hurt rolling off of her makes me start second-guessing myself.

Have we been blowing this entire thing out of proportion? She’s given us… little reason to treat her like the enemy. But her behavior has certainly been suspicious.

“I never said I thought you were the enemy…” I say, my voice low, earnest. “It’s just your methods that are questionable.”

She studies me for a moment, like she’s trying to figure out if she can trust me. And I don’t know why, but I want her to. I tell myself it’s what’s best for the assignment. For Aretia.

She turns back to the table, her mask firmly back in place. “Questionable to you, maybe. But I’ve spent my entire life being left in the dark, and I’m done sitting pretty. I’ll win this war by myself if I have to. And frankly, I don’t give a shit if I step on the Assembly’s toes to make it happen. Or anyone’s toes, for that matter.”

And maybe that’s all this has been about. Maybe she’s being honest. Maybe she just wants to do her due diligence to make sure we’ll all survive this in the end.

But if that’s the case, what’s with all the secrets? The manipulation? And sneaking around in the middle of the night?

I decide to shelve the thought for a later date. I need to soften her, gain her trust, not antagonize her. “I can see that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone talk to my cousin the way you did and get away with it. Well, except for Violet. But that’s different.” I give her a small smile.

“Hardly got away with it, seeing as how I’m being punished now,” she mutters.

And I can’t help but laugh. She has such a flair for the dramatic.

And when I look at her, she’s smiling. But it’s not the same smile she gives Garrick. It’s smaller, softer, more intimate. And I catch myself hoping that it’s real for a second before stamping down that silly thought.

“He is quite scary, isn’t he? Always brooding and hiding in dark corners,” she says with a devastatingly coy smile playing on her lips.

“Oh yeah, Master of Shadows. They could write children’s stories about him,” I oblige.

“Oh, he could easily traumatize generations of children into submission.” Her smile grows. Warm, friendly. Like we’re old friends trading jokes.

And I can’t help but wonder: how does she do that? Because it all feels so real.

I have to tear my gaze away to ground myself, reminding myself of my duty—the assignment Xaden has entrusted me with. “You know you and my cousin are a lot alike. Ruthless, fearless, protective of the ones you love.”

“Hmph. Well maybe he should put me in charge, then. Things would go much smoother from here on out. I might even let you sleep again.”

“Are you ever not in charge?” I arch an eyebrow.

She gives me a knowing smile. But then, her face softens and my world narrows until nothing else exists—like this soft, unguarded version of her is for me and me only.

But she hastily looks away, ripping that fleeting moment out of my grasp and jolting me back to reality.

Shit.

I keep forgetting about her mind powers. Is she using it on me right now?

Before I can make sense of anything, she turns back to me. And there’s something new in her eyes now. Something that makes my stomach clench.

She reaches over, and for a second I think she’s reaching for me. My breath hitches as panic spreads low in my stomach.

After what feels like a lifetime, her hand closes around the crane, brushing ever so lightly against mine—so light that it must have been an accident, an accident that sends a shock up my arm and down my spine.

And I almost don’t let her take it, as if my grasp on the crane is a metaphor for my grasp on her.

But I let it go. I’m not about to make things weird.

She idly plays with it in her hands like she’s done it a million times before. Then she asks, her voice soft. “Can I ask you something?”

I shove down my immediate and overeager answer of “anything.” And I temper it down to a “sure.”

She doesn’t ask right away, holding my gaze for a moment before dropping her eyes. “Why did you offer me your bathing chamber that first night? You didn’t even know me. And I didn’t exactly offer you a warm welcome.”

And the personal nature of the question catches me completely off guard. Like she’s worried that I’m the one playing her.

It pulls at something in me that I can’t resist. I lean in a little and give her my most earnest expression, so she knows I mean it.

“I saw your face… after you read the scrolls. And after, in the Great Hall. I knew you lost someone important to you. And I felt guilty that we’d had such a poor introduction… Plus, I wasn’t lying when I said you were scaring the first-years. I think I saw one of them puke after seeing you.”

She laughs. A hearty, caught-off-guard, joyful laugh that rings through the room like holiday bells.

And gods damn it if I don’t find myself completely captivated by the sight, the sound of it.

It fills me with something warm, making my knees weak and my brain go fuzzy. And when she returns my gaze, I almost convince myself that she feels the same. That I’m not imagining any of it, and she’s not playing a game.

But just as I start to believe it’s real, her face shifts. The wall goes back up. The warmth in her eyes vanishes like smoke. And she turns away again. And I have to shove down the unexplainable sense of loss I feel—at having lost something that I’m not sure ever existed.

“Well, thank you. I wasn’t planning on ever saying it in person. But since you haven’t been completely insufferable tonight, I guess I’ll reward you.” She smirks over her shoulder.

“Well, that’s very generous of you, Elyra.” I manage to reply, smoothly.

She gives me a look of reprimand. “I didn’t say we were on a first-name basis, yet.”

The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Oh, come on. You’ve stayed in my room. You even gave me a gift. You just met Garrick today and you two are already using pet names.”

And I thought she’d scoff, push me away, dismiss me.

But instead—she turns to me and closes the distance before blinking up at me through her lashes, all innocent doe eyes. “Well, Garrick and I are friends. Are you saying you want to be friends with me, Bodhi?”

And there are too many things happening at once for me to process what’s going on. An unmistakable twinge in my lower abdomen at the sound of my name on her lips. A twist in my stomach because she’s finally putting the Garrick charm on me. A terrifying realization that it might be working. And an absolute, irreconcilable confusion about what the fuck I want from her.

Shit.

I gulp and straighten as I look away. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m making a deal with the devil?”

She doesn’t answer right away. But eventually she pushes off the table and says, “Maybe you’re smarter than you look.”

She walks toward the exit. And I don’t follow. Mostly because I feel like I just got hit by a truck.

She looks at me before leaving. “Get some rest, Shadow. You’ll need it if you want to keep up with me.”

And then she’s gone.

And all I can do is stand there, staring at the spot where she stood, gripping a little paper crane like it’s the answer to a question I don’t even know how to ask.

Because suddenly, I feel like I know even less about her than when I started.

Chapter Text

Elyra Soryn might be a master manipulator and undercover spy. But we don’t know that for sure, now, do we?

No, I prefer to focus on the facts. And there’s one thing I know for a fact:

She is affected by me.

And it’s possible I might have let that small piece of knowledge go to my head just a tiny bit. But I can’t help myself. Knowing that I can get under her skin is deeply satisfying—especially when she’s otherwise so very composed.

I always make sure to sit a little too close to her, so that I can feel the heat of her blush as she tries to ignore me. I let my eyes linger when they inevitably get drawn to places they shouldn’t be, so that I can feel her nerves spike even as she pretends to be unaffected. I’ve even resorted to plain old annoyance tactics just so I can see her get flustered.

I tell myself it’s because I want to chip away at those walls, find out what she’s up to. But I know that might not be the entire truth because I’m enjoying this a little too much.

“I see someone’s feeling better after their nap,” Cuir interjects.

He’s never been one to pass on the opportunity to say ‘I told you so.’ And considering he had to tell me to get some sleep five times before I actually listened, I suspect this won’t be the last I hear of it.

”You were right,” I concede with a sigh. “Happy?”

He titters in a way that tells me he’s pleased but far from done.

I let him have his moment. Because truthfully, I gravely overestimated my ability to operate on little-to-no sleep. Which was only made worse by having to juggle a judgmental dragon while attempting to decipher the impossibly mixed signals of a slippery, scheming flier all morning.

And in my defense, I’m conditioned to fall asleep in the theater here at Riorson House; I’ve experienced one too many boring lectures holed up in that room. So somewhere in between the low familiar hum of recitation and the warmth of the late morning sunlight beaming through the windows, I suppose I drifted off. And by the time Cuir managed to startle me awake, the theater had cleared out completely—throwing me into a panicked frenzy that had me scouring the fortress for the next half-hour in an attempt to track down my missing mark.

I blame the lack of sleep for not thinking to check the Great Hall first.

“At lunch time,” Cuir adds to rub it in.

And he's right to. In fact, it was such an egregious oversight that I finally gave in to his chidings and did the unthinkable:

I asked Aetos for help.

Of course, I considered asking Imogen. But the idea of Elyra and Imogen interacting unsupervised for an extended period of time was downright terrifying.

“I seem to recall you being more afraid of being mocked by Glane’s bonded.”

“I am not afraid of—”

You know what, it’s not even worth arguing. Because either way, I was nearly delirious from sleep deprivation and I simply went with the safest option. Not to mention, Aetos started this whole damn mess; I thought it only fair that he face some of the consequences. Plus, there was the added bonus of knowing they’d both hate it.

Or at least, that’s what I had thought. So you can imagine my surprise when I found them at dinner being friendly.

“So you and Aetos?” I can’t help but needle her as she leads me to the Library after dinner.

Her head snaps in my direction, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What? Surprised we didn’t kill each other?”

“I was surprised to see you two being so friendly. You did announce to everyone that he surpassed me as your second favorite shadow.”

She scoffs. “Well he didn’t have much competition, did he?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’d say the competition was pretty stiff. Which means he must have left a very good impression.” I give her a teasing smile.

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, Durran.” Then a slight pause before she says, “Not that you need it, judging how easily you fell asleep during Professor Kiandra’s lecture this morning. You know, I didn’t expect you to have such an open disregard for Poromish history.”

Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Don’t be silly. I thought Professor Kiandra’s perspective on how the trade routes contributed to the Krovlan uprising was incredibly thought-provoking. I would have liked to hear it in its entirety, but unfortunately, I was kept up all night babysitting a particularly wayward flier.”

Something unexpected flashes over her face but it disappears before I can get a read on her, and she falls silent as we arrive at the Library.

This time, I don’t keep my distance as she peruses the shelves. Instead, I follow her up and down the aisles, offering up unsolicited anecdotes about each of the texts she pauses over.

“You know Riorson House is the only place in Navarre that still has texts originating from before Unification.”

She gives me a puzzling look over her shoulder. “How’d you manage to keep them?”

“Widespread usage of the printing press. It’s what allowed our literacy rates to climb so high. And robust trade relationships. Which naturally turned into smuggling operations after Unification,” I explain.

“Which explains how Tyrrendor was able to maintain such a strong sense of national identity and cultural pride,” she concludes.

I don’t respond right away as I watch her delicately trace her fingertips along each spine, as if she can hear their words through touch alone. But the books she pauses over aren’t random. She’s looking for something.

“Why are you so interested in Tyrrish culture, anyway?”

She looks at me with a start, like she’d forgotten I was there. She blinks a few times before her face smooths into a practiced smile. “You know what they say about knowing your enemies.”

And she says it with just enough sarcasm that I have no idea if she means it.

I let the conversation drop as she makes her selections and makes her way over to the secluded corner of the Library she seems to have adopted as her own. I join her to her great chagrin.

And I try my best to let her read, I really do. But I have so many questions and I need to get some answers before my cousin returns from the front.

So after an unbearable length of silence, I casually toss out, “I have a bone to pick with you.”

“I don’t care,” she says, deadpan, without lifting her eyes from the page.

I just smile and lean in a little, lifting my brows at her expectantly. “You stole something from me.”

She shoots me a glare out of the corner of her eye—but it only makes me grin harder.

“You never returned my pajamas. They were my favorite,” I say with mock-offense. But it’s true, they were my favorite.

“Well that was dumb of you to give away your favorite pair of pajamas. What if I burned them?” She finally deigns to look up from her book to scowl at me.

“You would never,” I say confidently. Because I can tell—she wouldn’t. She’s too sentimental.

She shrugs, returning her focus to her book.

And I have to ignore the part of me that’s pleased that she wants to keep something of mine. That she might sleep in them. Might think about me. Might—

Fuck. I’m getting distracted. Where was I?

“You’re supposed to determine whether or not she’s a spy,” Cuir says acridly.

Oh. Right.

I peek at the book she’s perusing and offer, “You know you have a bit of a runes expert at your disposal if you have questions.”

She answers with another glare.

I continue, “I practically grew up here. I’ve probably read half the books in this library. Including the one you have your nose in right now.”

That gets her attention. “There is no way you’ve read half the books in this library. There must be at least ten thousand books in here,” she retorts.

Okay, I might have been exaggerating. But I’m not going to admit that to her. “I’m just saying, I’ve spent an indecent amount of time in this library. I could be of great service to someone who was looking for something.”

“You can be of service by letting me read in silence,” she says curtly as she aggressively flips another page of her book.

And I’m nothing if not a gentleman so I oblige her for a good long while, deciding to do a little bit of research of my own.

I’m sketching runes out onto a piece of parchment when Elyra asks suspiciously, “What are you doing?”

“I’ve been studying the runes on the crane you made me,” I respond without pausing my work.

She doesn’t say anything but I can sense her discomfort as she leans in to look at what I’ve drawn.

I elaborate, “Kelyth, for sure. Which makes sense—it gives it shape. And I’m pretty sure you’re using Sarakmao for movement. Am I on the right track?”

She just sits back with a small shake of her head. “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time researching a party trick.”

“A party trick? Well if it’s just a silly party trick, why don’t you save us both the headache and clue me in?”

She doesn’t answer. Just resumes reading her book with a newfound determination to ignore me.

Cuir and I decide that camping outside of Elyra’s room every night is an unsustainable habit, however tempting. So I’ve made peace with trying to get my sleep in whenever Elyra supposedly ‘goes to bed.’

She has to sleep at some point, right?

So I head to my room after walking Elyra to hers, just to find another girl waiting outside my door.

Imogen.

I cock my head in question. She jerks her head toward my door.

I unlock it and pull her through my wards. “I typically like to be wined and dined before I’m taken to the bedroom, Imogen,” I say archly.

She scoffs. “In your fucking dreams.”

I turn to look at her. “What’s this about?”

She crosses her arms and smirks at me. “What’s up with the flier you’ve been following around like a puppy?”

I keep my expression amused. “I already told you. Xaden wants me to shadow her.”

She narrows her eyes at me. Like she sees through my bullshit.

“Really? You’re flirting with her on Xaden’s orders?”

I scoff. “I’m not flirting with her.” But the denial in my tone is unmistakable.

She gives me a very unimpressed look. “Please, spare me the act. That might work on Xaden, but it’s not going to work on me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Imogen.” I say tersely, as I turn my back to put my weapons away.

She lets out a theatrically condescending laugh as she plops herself on my bed. “It’s pathetic, honestly—watching you and Garrick fall all over yourselves over a flier.”

When I don’t say anything, Imogen continues, “Be honest—you’re not following her around for intel. You’re just waiting for the moment she gets tired of playing hard to get and pins you against a wall.”

My stomach clenches but I just shake my head. No. No, that’s not what I’m doing.

“That’s not what it is, Imogen. I’m just trying to build some rapport, some trust—so that she might clue me in on what the fuck she’s up to.”

She aggressively throws her head back, howling in laughter. “Oh-ho! Do you actually believe that, Bodhi? That this is all strategy and you’re just playing her for information?”

“I don’t have to play her. The trust can be genuine.”

“And what happens to that genuine trust when you have to choose between Aretia and her?”

I shake my head. “It doesn’t have to come to that. If what she says is true—that she’s not a threat to Aretia, that she just wants to protect her people—then there’s no reason why we can’t all work together.”

Imogen pauses to give me a pitying look. “You realize you’re being stupid, right? She’s playing you and Garrick both, and you’re sitting here thinking about her feelings as if she wouldn’t gut you without blinking if she could get away with it.”

My gaze snaps up to her. And I want to fight it, say that’s not true. But deep down, I think I fear that it could be.

I sigh. “You know I’ll do what I have to do, Imogen. I always do.”

She stares at me for a few seconds, like she’s debating how much shit to give me. Then she says in an uncharacteristically soft voice, “Listen, Bodhi. She’s dangerous. Manipulative. Cold-blooded. And I know that’s your type,” the corner of her mouth twitches, “but you’re lying to yourself if you think you can win whatever fucked up game you’re playing here.”

A sharp breath comes out my nose. “I don’t need coddling, Imogen—I’m not a child. I had to survive that death college with a way bigger target on my back than you did. I can take care of myself.” It comes out defensive, bitter.

She tsks. “I do not coddle. I’m simply here to tell you you’re being an idiot. But if you insist, then be my guest, just don’t expect me to coddle you when you wake up and find one of her daggers in your back.”

And she leaves before I can get another word in.

Imogen’s words are turning over and over in my head as I wait outside of the Assembly Chamber.

For Elyra.

What the fuck am I doing here? And why do I keep letting her get away with this? I should stop her. Confront her. Push her. Do something. I’m not just following her around hoping she’ll make a move, am I?

But Elyra sneaks up on me as I’m tormenting myself over it—I didn’t even hear her come down the staircase. And I’m completely disarmed when I see her smiling at me.

Like she’s happy to see me.

Like she woke up excited at half past two, wondering if I’d be here.

And that she’s just so delighted that I am.

I try to remember Imogen’s words—that Elyra might be playing me, charming me, buttering me up just to skewer me later. But it’s all just a distant echo now, slowly fading into insignificance next to the undeniable force of a woman standing in front of me.

She tilts her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “What, are you actually going to try to stop me this time?”

And I guess that’s all it takes for me to forget about Imogen’s words completely.

“You know, if you keep smiling at me like that, people might get ideas.” The words come out like a reflex.

She rolls her eyes but the smile doesn’t fade. And I have to work to keep my breaths even, to keep my feet on the ground.

But the air shifts when we walk into the Assembly Chamber.

Elyra walks up to a table like she knows exactly what she’s looking for, and immediately reverts to business. “Say, how are your battle tactics, Shadow?”

And I know I shouldn’t feel disappointed at her change in tone. We’re not here for pleasantries, after all.

“Unparalleled. Why?” I force myself to lazily throw out.

“What is our number one concern when it comes to a dark wielder attack? What is our biggest weakness?” Her voice is hard—her Captain voice. And I don’t know why I find it intolerable at the moment.

She lifts her brows at me.

I play along. “Aretia, of course. That they’ll attack us here. Attack the new hatchling grounds.”

“Good. And how would you prepare a defense?”

“What is this? A pop quiz?” I snap back before I can stop myself.

She narrows her eyes at me like a teacher scolding a child. “No. This is survival. This is reality. These are the questions we should all be asking, every single second of every single day. We’re not at a war college. We’re at war.”

And that’s it—between her, Imogen, and Xaden, I’ve had it with being treated like a child.

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “What are you getting at? I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

“You disappoint me, Shadow,” she dismisses me with a pointed sigh of her own.

I take a deep breath. I need to get a hold of this conversation. I try cutting through the bullshit.

“Elyra…” I keep my voice low, controlled.

She turns to look at me.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself. This could either go well or backfire completely.

“Don’t you get tired of it? Of all the games?”

She freezes for a fraction of a second before sighing and turning back to the table. “None of this is a game to me.”

“It’s all a game to you,” I challenge. Because it is. She never stops. I don’t even know if she can tell she’s doing it.

She shakes her head then impatiently shoots over her shoulder, “What do you want from me, Durran? You’re the one stalking me, remember?”

And that’s the question, isn’t it? What do I want from her? I think about my conversation with Imogen. My duty to my cousin, Aretia, Tyrrendor.

I take a deep breath before approaching her. I sit on the edge of the table, but she aggressively ignores me, avoiding my gaze with precision.

I lean in to capture her attention, to force her to look at me.

And fuck. This was a mistake. Because I’m close enough to count each of her long, dark, and utterly distracting eyelashes. Close enough to see the deep brown of her dark eyes. To see the ridges of the raised scar on her left cheekbone.

And suddenly—I’m painfully aware of how soft her skin looks. How soft her lips look.

She jerks her away, looking back to the table, snapping me out of my daze.

I shake off my foolish thoughts and push forward.

“What are you looking for, Elyra?” I drop my voice, just enough to make her meet my eyes again. “What do you expect to find that you think is being hidden from you?”

"Wouldn’t you like to know?" she mutters under her breath.

I swallow down my irritation and bite out, "That’s why I asked."

She scoffs at me. “Why? So you can sell me for parts up the river?”

I groan. "Oh, come on. You’ve given me plenty of reasons to turn you in already, and I haven’t, have I?"

She narrows her eyes at me. “And why, exactly, haven’t you?”

I gulp. Because that’s the very question I’ve been agonizing over in my sleep.

I decide to go out on a limb—to be as honest as I’m capable of being. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Elyra. I think we’re on the same side, that we want the same things.” I pause, suddenly unsure of myself. But I swat away my hesitation. “And I don’t think you want to be, either, no matter how much you try to push me away.”

Her lips part like she might deny it—but she doesn’t. Instead, her eyes drop back to the table. And I can feel her fighting with herself. Or maybe it’s her gryphon she’s fighting with.

She’s silent for so long that I think she might not respond at all. But then—she surprises me.

She rolls her shoulders and leans over the table before casually announcing, "I’m looking for gaps."

I blink at her. Mostly because I can’t believe she answered, but also because I have no idea what she’s talking about. "Gaps?"

She doesn’t look up as she explains. "Holes in the Assembly’s strategy. Contradictions. Missing pieces in what we know versus what we should know." She drags a finger over the parchment. "It’s funny, really. People think the most important parts of a report are what’s written down. But the things left unsaid—that’s what really matters in the end."

And I’m fucking flabbergasted that she told me. And that the answer feels real.

She could have just told me she wanted to make sure our defensive strategy was up to par, or that she wants to keep tabs on the ongoing war.

But she told me something that has weight, that feels important.

I just don’t know why.

“Your turn.” Her voice cuts through my musings.

I furrow my brows in confusion.

“Tell me, Durran—what is it exactly that you’re doing here? Why are you just letting me snoop? Unless you’re just waiting for the right moment to sell me out.”

And boy does she know how to cut to the core of it. Of me.

My mouth gapes, but nothing comes out—not even a breath. Because I don’t fucking know.

She huffs, turning away, shaking her head. Like I just proved her right.

Shit.

I wrack my brain. I have to give her something. Especially after what she just shared. If we are to build trust, it needs to be mutual.

After a long silence, I finally say—my voice quiet, "You want to know the truth?"

She gives me a wary look out of the corner of her eye.

I sigh, looking down at the table before meeting her gaze again. "I’ve been trying to figure out why I keep showing up for this. Why I keep showing up for you."

She blinks at me. "And?"

And I hesitate. Because suddenly—the words on the tip of my tongue feel incredibly stupid.

Fuck, why did I put myself in this position? This is weird. She’s going to take it the wrong way.

Oh, fuck it. I’ll just say it.

"I think you remind me of my mom."

I brace myself for her reaction—but she doesn’t laugh it off or scoff in derision. Instead, her eyes widen, and her mouth parts in pure, unadulterated shock.

Which is almost worse, for some reason.

I try to explain myself, "She was fearless. Commanding. Even Xaden was afraid of her.” And I’ve already dug the hole, why not jump in with two feet. “But she didn’t care about power, she cared about people… Even when it hurt her. Even when it cost her everything."

And fuck I hate how my voice shakes anytime I talk about her. I start to regret saying it as I feel a sense of panic rise in my chest. But when I look up, I realize it’s not mine.

No, it’s Elyra’s panic—mixed in with guilt. And it’s such an overwhelming reaction that all I can do is watch—the way her fingers tremble, the way her chest heaves, the way her face twists.

She shakes her head, eyes locked on the table, “That… Your mother sounds like an amazing woman. I’m sure I’ve done nothing to earn her likeness. But… I’m not… You shouldn’t…”

Oh gods, she’s taking it all wrong. I put her out of her misery. “Oh stop. It’s not that big of a deal. I didn’t even say I liked you. I’m just… You just remind me of her.”

She closes her eyes like she’s having a full-blown panic attack. And the overwhelming waves of guilt and pity emanating off her make me want to crawl into a hole and fade into obscurity.

But then—like the flip of a switch—her entire posture shifts. Her shoulders tighten and whatever feelings were pouring out of her a moment ago vanish like they never existed at all, nearly giving me whiplash. And when she speaks again, her voice is hard, dismissive—her mask firmly back in place. “I’m mysterious. I get it. But you’re wasting your time on me, Durran.”

And the way she says it, I know this conversation is over. So I just sigh deeply, rubbing a hand over my face, and say the only thing I can. “You’re exhausting.”

She doesn’t look at me again, and instead focuses intently on the papers in front of her.

I just watch her for a while, trying to make sense of it all—her games, her reactions, the fractures in her mask.

But I can’t ignore the question burning me from the inside out—the one Imogen planted, the one I’m desperate to prove wrong.

I lean back toward her, dropping my voice low. "Can I ask you something?"

She looks up, suspicion in her eyes. Like she’s already preparing a defense to shut me out.

I take her silence as an invitation. "You flirt with Garrick... Shamelessly."

And I see the slight surprise in her eyes. One of those micro-expressions I’ve come to relish.

I drop my voice a little lower, carefully watching her expression. "Is that because you actually like him? Or is that just another one of your little games?"

Her mouth opens. Then closes. Her eyes dart away for a moment. Then she blinks and looks up at me, her eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. And I get lost in them for a moment.

She leans in until barely a breath separates us, her hand next to mine on the table—close enough to make my fingertips burn.

Then softly—so softly—she says, "Bodhi… What are you asking me?"

My hand twitches next to hers, as I feel the heat in my fingertips climb up my arms, spreading like warm syrup through my veins, across my chest, and directly into my brain until it’s screaming at me—to reach for her, to close the distance, to find out once and for all where we stand.

But then—I feel it. A glimmer of smug satisfaction.

Holy shit, is she actually playing me?

I jerk away like I just got slapped in the face. My spine goes rigid. My expression hardens and the heat in my stomach turns to ice.

I can’t believe I almost fell for it.

“Stop that.” The words come out low like a warning.

But she just tilts her head at me, all innocent fucking doe eyes. “Stop what, Bodhi? You’re the one acting jealous.” Her voice dips—soft and wounded. Like I just accused her of something awful.

I blow out a sharp breath through my nose. “I’m not saying I want you to manipulate me. I just want to know what’s real.”

And I don’t know if I feel more hurt or vindicated when she takes a step back and sighs. But it’s overshadowed by confusion when I realize she feels rejected.

And as if she can hear my thoughts, she turns back to the table and says in a dejected voice, “Don’t look at me like that, Bodhi. You’ll only be disappointed.”

Disappointed? Disappointed because she’s playing me? Or because she doesn’t want me?

Or maybe it’s deeper than that. Maybe she doesn’t even know what’s real anymore. Maybe she doesn’t want to. Maybe she’s not capable of it.

I just watch her in silence for the rest of the hour as I try to make sense of her. Until she collapses over a table with a defeated sigh.

My curiosity gets the better of me. I have to ask, “What is it?”

She looks up at me, her gaze assessing. Then after a beat, “If I actually told you what I was up to, what would you do with that information?”

I pause while I think about my answer—the real one. “That depends. If you’re putting Aretia in danger, I’ll do what I have to.”

“And if I’m not putting Aretia in danger?”

I smirk. “Well I guess we’ll just have to find out, won’t we?”

She rolls her eyes and turns to leave.

Fuck. This could be it. The moment she lets herself trust me. Or at least considers trusting me.

“Wait,” I call out. I can’t just let her walk away. Not after all the work I’ve put in.

She halts. Then looks over her shoulder.

I tilt my head at her. “Try me. I think you might be surprised.”

She turns around to face me, returning my head tilt.

Then she moves. Slow. Deliberate. Like she’s giving me the opportunity to run.

But my feet are planted and my heart only beats more erratically with every step she takes. And my breath locks in my throat as she stops just shy of pressing against me—too close for me to think properly. Because it would take nothing—nothing at all—to close the gap. A hand around her waist. A tilt of my head. The brush of my mouth over hers.

And for a stupid, reckless second, I swear she’s thinking the same thing.

But then, her lashes drop. And when she looks back up—her eyes are soft, her voice is quiet. Almost vulnerable. “Trust isn’t easy for me to give, Durran.” Then, her voice dropping even lower, she almost whispers, “I’m sure you’ve realized that.”

And that makes something twist in my stomach.

Because of course I’ve realized that.

I just don’t know what the fuck to do about it.

And I know this is dangerous. I know I’m playing with fire.

But I can’t look away.

So I try to reason—maybe more to myself than her. “We have to trust each other if we want to win this war, Elyra.”

Her head tilts as she considers me.

“And do you trust me?”

And some idiotic part of me wants to say yes, even though logically I know that I can’t—she must know that.

And yet…

I—” My words get caught in my throat. But I take a deep breath, steeling myself, then tell the truth.

“I want to.”