“Thank you.” She writes the sentence down in the notebook she’s brought with her.
Ancient king. I flip to the first page of the book, and my shoulders sag. It bears a date from twenty-five years ago.
“It’s hand-copied from an original,” Jesinia signs. “About five years before the quadrant received the printing press.”
Right. Because nothing in the Archives is older than four hundred years except the scrolls from the Unification. Sweat cools on the back of my neck as I translate a few more sentences for her from various pages, surprised at how much I still remember after not practicing for a year, then hand the tome back when I finish the last sentence she has marked.
If I hurry, I can bathe the sweat off and still catch breakfast.
“We’re working on removing all the dead languages from the public section of the Archives and translating them for easier reading,” she signs with an excited smile, then puts her things away. “You should come by and see how much we’ve accomplished.”
“Riders aren’t allowed past the study table,” I remind her.
“I’d make an exception for you.” She grins. “The Archives are almost always empty on Sundays, especially with most third-years cycling home for break.”
A scream rends the air, and my head shoots up. Across the courtyard, a second-year from Third Wing is dragged from the academic building, between two older riders, followed by Professor Markham.
What in Amari’s name?
Jesinia pales and sinks farther into the shadows of the alcove as he’s hauled into the dormitory building, where the tunnels beneath lead across the canyon and into the main campus of Basgiath. “I think,” she signs, starting to breathe raggedly. “I think that’s my fault.”
“What?” I turn to face her fully.
“That rider requested a book yesterday, and I recorded the request.” She leans toward me, panic growing in her eyes. “I have to record the requests. It’s—”
“Regulation,” we both finish signing at the same time. I nod. “You didn’t do anything wrong. What was the book?”
She glances toward the doors where the rider disappeared. “I should go. Thank you.”
It’s only the fear in her eyes that keeps me from asking her again before she rushes off, leaving me staring at the tome in my lap, realizing how dangerous my “research project” really is.
“Wait for me!” Rhiannon calls out later that day, jogging up through the crowd of riders as we reach the steps beside the Gauntlet, where most of us are bottlenecked as we wait for our turn to climb up to the flight field.
“We’re still here!” I wave before my gaze returns to moving restlessly over the people closest to us, watching their hands, their weapons. I trust my squadmates implicitly, but no one else. All it takes is a well-timed stab in a crowd, and I could bleed out without even knowing who’d killed me.
“This isn’t right,” Sawyer mutters, refolding our homework map for RSC. “I can’t get number four no matter how many times I count the little elevation lines.”
“That’s north,” I tell him, tapping the bottom of the folded monstrosity. “You’re looking at the wrong sector for question four. Trust me, I had to ask Ridoc for help last night.”
“Ugh. This is some infantry bullshit.” He shoves the map into his pocket.
“Why won’t you just accept that I am a land navigation god and ask for help like everyone else?” Ridoc teases Sawyer as Rhi catches up to us. “Finally! You’d think leadership would be on time.”
“Leadership was in a meeting,” Rhi replies, holding up a collection of missives. “And leadership was given the mail!”
Hope leaps up, replacing the hypervigilance for a second before I can squash it.
“Ridoc,” Rhiannon says, handing over a letter. “Sawyer.” She turns, giving him the next one. “Me.” She flips that one to the back. “And Violet.”
He wouldn’t, I remind myself before taking the letter from her, yet I can’t help but hold my breath as I open the unsealed flap of the envelope.
Violet,
Sorry it took me so long to write. I only just realized the date. You’re a second-year!
My shoulders droop, which is just…pathetic.
“Who’s it from?” Rhiannon asks. “You look disappointed.”
“Mira,” I answer. “And no, not disappointed…” My words trail off as we move forward in line.
“You thought it would be a different lieutenant,” she guesses correctly, her eyes softening in sympathy.
I shrug, but it’s hard to keep the frustration out of my voice. “I know better.”
“You miss him, don’t you?” She drops her voice as we shuffle closer to the steps.
I nod. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“Are you two together?” she whispers. “I mean, everyone knows you’re sleeping together, but something’s off with you.”
I glance ahead, making sure Sawyer and Ridoc are engrossed in their letters. This is a truth I can easily give her. “Not anymore.”
“Why?” she asks, confusion etching her forehead. “What happened?”
I open my mouth, then shut it. Maybe the truth isn’t that easy. What the hell am I supposed to tell her? Gods, when did this all become so complicated?
“You can tell me, you know.” She forces a smile, and the hurt I see behind it makes me feel like total and complete shit.
“I know.” Lucky for me, we start up the steps, giving me a chance to think.
We reach the top, walking into the box canyon of the flight field, and my heart swells at the sight of the dragons organized in the same formation we stand at in the courtyard. It’s a beautiful, terrifying, humbling kaleidoscope of power that steals the breath from my lungs.
“This is never going to get old, is it?” Rhiannon says as we follow Ridoc and Sawyer across the formation, her smile overtaking her face.
“I don’t think so.” We share a look, and I break. “Xaden wasn’t honest with me,” I say quietly, feeling like I owe my best friend something true. “I had to end it.”
Her eyes flare. “He lied?”
“No.” My grip tightens on Mira’s letter. “He didn’t tell me the entire truth. He still won’t.”
“Another woman?” Her brows rise. “Because I will absolutely help you annihilate that shadow-wielding asshole if you guys were exclusive and he—”
“No, no.” I laugh. “Nothing like that.” We pass by Second Wing’s dragons. “It’s…” There go my words again. “It’s…complicated. How are you and Tara? I haven’t seen her around much.”
She sighs. “Neither of us has enough time for the other. It sucks, but maybe it will ease up next year when neither of us are squad leaders anymore.”
“Or maybe you’ll be wingleaders.” The thought makes me bite back a smile. Rhi would be a fantastic wingleader.
“Maybe.” There’s a bounce to her step. “But in the meantime, we’re free to see whoever we want. What about you? Because if you’re single, I have to say that a couple of the guys in Second Wing somehow got hotter after War Games.” Her eyes sparkle. “Or we could secretly visit Chantara this weekend and hook up with some infantry cadets!” She holds up a finger. “Healers might be all right, too, but I draw the line at scribes. The robes don’t do it for me. Not that I’m judging if that’s your thing. I’m just saying that we are second-years and our options for blowing off steam are endless.”