He lifts a hand to my cheek, avoiding the swollen lump where Cat hit me. “You have to find your center again, Violet. I can’t do it for you.” He holds my gaze, letting his words sink in, before adding, “You are a creature of logic and facts, and everything you know got turned upside down and shaken. You’ll never know how truly sorry I am for that. But you can’t just sit there and hope. You want it to change, then you have to figure it out, just like Gauntlet. You’re the only one who can.” He says it a hell of a lot kinder than he did last year.
“But how do I find my center while in the middle of a Cat storm?” I moan.
He glances away. “Look, Cat got to you because you weren’t wearing your daggers. The one with the intertwined Vs? It’s runed to protect you from her gift. Keep them on until you find your feet, and she can’t fuck with you. Same thing happened in Cordyn. You took them off to wear that lacy thing you called a dress. Fuck, I wanted to rip it off with my teeth.” His jaw ticks.
“You gave the daggers to me last year.” My hand slides to his wrist.
“I figured she’d find a way to make my life difficult for breaking the agreement, and that would inevitably involve you.” He leans in. “I love you. She will never sit in this seat. She will never wear a Tyrrish crown. She’s never had me on my knees in front of her.” His mouth curves into a wicked grin that makes me instantly ready for it to be tonight. “And I’ve also never fucked her with my tongue.”
My lips part and heat stings my cheeks.
“Now, can we consider this matter discussed? Unfortunately, I have a briefing to get to.”
I nod. “I have class.”
“Right. Physics?” he guesses as we both rise to our feet.
“History.” I take his offered hand and we walk off the dais. “Which I’m surprisingly awful at, it turns out. Something about having read all the wrong books.”
“Maybe you should find the right ones.” His smile mirrors mine, and for a blissful second, it all feels…normal. If that’s a word that could ever apply to us.
“Maybe.”
When we reach the bustling hallway, he cups the back of my neck and pulls me in for a quick, hard kiss. “Do me a favor?” he says against my mouth.
“Anything.”
“Come to bed early tonight.”
Fliers and riders are held equal in every regard with the exception of wing structure.
Riders will maintain their wings, sections, and squads, as well as retain their commands.
Every drift will be absorbed by a squad, and their leader will replace the squad’s current executive officer for unit cohesiveness and efficiency.
—ARTICLE TWO, SECTION ONE THE ARETIA ACCORD
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“I feel like you’re the only one who isn’t surprised,” Imogen says as we stand in the courtyard after formation the next morning.
“We’re the strongest squad. They’re the strongest drift. I don’t know how the rest of you are surprised.” I shrug, glancing over at Cat’s drift, who all seem to be turning various shades of purple and green from yesterday’s challenges.
Same goes for our squad.
“Here we go.” Rhiannon hands six of us familiar green patches.
“Do we really have to give them these?” Ridoc’s lip curls at the patch we worked our asses off for, the patch the first-years fought to hold on to.
“Yes,” Rhiannon chides. “It’s the right thing to do. As of this moment, they’re part of our squad, whether we like it or not.”
“I choose to not,” Sloane remarks.
Laughing, I run my thumb over the patch.
“I’ll take one to Cat,” Rhiannon says quietly. “You don’t have to—”
“I’ve got it.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “Let’s do this.”
“Let’s do this,” she repeats. “Second squad, time to move.”
We cross the frost-covered courtyard together, and I tap the dagger at my left hip, making sure it’s right where I left it.
Xaden loves me. He chose me. I will be the most powerful rider of my generation.
Cat only has the power I choose to give her, with or without my dagger.
The six fliers tense as we approach.
“I think they’ve chosen to not as well,” Sloane mutters to Aaric.
Cat narrows her eyes on Sloane, and I step between them, offering Cat the patch. “Welcome to Second Squad, Flame Section, Fourth Wing, also known as the Iron Squad.”
Similar greetings are given around us, but I keep my eyes locked on Cat as she stares at the patch like it might bite her. “Take the patch.”
“What are we supposed to do with them?”
“We sew them onto our uniforms,” Ridoc answers from beside me, making a back-and-forth motion with his hand to simulate pulling a needle through his uniform—as though explaining a patch to children.
“Why…？” Her gaze sweeps over us, catching on the different patches like she’s never noticed them before.
I point to my collarbone. “Rank.” Then my shoulder. “Wing. Iron Squad. Signet. Patches are earned, not given. Riders, and fliers now, choose whatever location they want for every patch besides wing and rank, none of which are worn on flight leathers, which is probably why you never saw Xaden wearing them. He generally abhors patches.” There. That wasn’t so bad. I can be civil.
“I knew that.” She snatches the patch out of my hand. “I’ve known him for years.”
Rhiannon lifts a brow from my other side.
I note the twinge of jealousy that she’s been privy to parts of his life that I haven’t, but there’s no rage, no sour jolt of insecurity, and no self-loathing. I fucking love my daggers for a whole new reason.
Her eyes widen slightly as if she senses that she can’t touch me, then narrow into malicious slits. Civility is definitely not on her agenda.
“Like I said.” I offer her a bright smile. “Welcome to the quadrant’s only Iron Squad.” Pivoting, I hook my arm through Rhiannon’s, and we start to walk away with the rest of the riders in our newly enlarged squad.
“Being in the same squad doesn’t change the fact that it’s still my crown,” she blurts.
“Let’s feed her to Sgaeyl,” Rhiannon whispers as we pause.
I look at Cat over my shoulder. “Did you know that Tyrrendor hasn’t had a crown in more than six hundred years? Turns out they melted them all down to forge the unification crown, so good luck with that.”
“It’s going to be fun making your life as miserable as you’ve made mine.”
Oh, fuck civility.
“Gods, she really can’t help herself, can she?” Rhiannon says under her breath.
“Cat, stop it,” Maren chastises. “You’re being ugly. I’ve told you over and over that she didn’t drop Luella. She fell. It’s as simple as that.”
“You’re welcome to try and make me miserable,” I tell Cat, letting go of Rhiannon to walk back to the flier. “Oh! And one more thing.” I lower my voice just slightly, well aware of every head within our squad that turns our direction.