Jacek puts Sloane on the mat for what feels like the hundredth time, then brings his knee to her throat, making his point. If this were real, she’d be in a world of trouble.
“Her first is on Monday, and she’s going to have her ass handed to her if not worse.” I unsheathe a dagger and flip it, catching it by the tip, like my skills can in any way help her when she won’t even speak to me.
“Monday?” Imogen turns slowly to look at me. “And how would you know that?”
Shit. Well, it’s not like she isn’t already holding almost every secret that could get me killed. “Long story, but…a book my brother wrote.”
“Who is Sloane up against?” She pivots back toward the mat.
“You’re not going to ask about the book I shouldn’t have?”
“No. I, unlike some people, don’t feel the need to know everything someone else deems private.”
I scoff at the obvious dig. “Yeah, well, you’re not sleeping with me.”
“You wish you were my type. I’m phenomenal in bed.” Her nose scrunches when Sloane face-plants into the mat. “Seriously. Who is she against?”
“Someone she can’t beat.” A first-year from Third Wing who moves like she’s been sparring since birth. It had taken me the better part of an hour to find someone who could point the girl out earlier in the gym.
“I’ve offered to help her,” Imogen says quietly. “She won’t take it.”
“Why the hell not?” I catch my knife, flipping it with total muscle memory.
Imogen sighs. “No fucking clue, but her stubbornness is going to get her killed.”
I watch Liam’s sister struggle under Jacek’s weight, her face splotchy and red from the exertion, and blow out a slow, resigned breath, my fist closing around the hilt of the dagger. The unspoken rule of the quadrant is to let the strong weed out the weak before they can become a liability to the wing. As a rider, I should walk away. I should let Sloane rise or fall on her own merits. But as Liam’s friend, there’s no way I can stand by and watch her die. “Not on Monday, she won’t.”
“You suddenly develop Melgren’s signet over there?” Imogen retorts, tucking a chin-length strand of pink hair behind her ear.
“I’m calling it!” Rhi shouts, ending the match, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Not exactly.” Glancing around the gym, I locate Sloane’s opponent for Monday. “I just need to do a couple of things after physics, but I’ll see you for our gym session tonight.” What muscles I have are all due to Imogen’s dedication to torturing me at the weight machines since last year.
“How is that class going for you, anyway?” Imogen asks with a sarcastic smile, damn well knowing that I couldn’t make it through without Rhiannon’s help. I might lead our year in history, geography, and every other subject that crosses over with the scribes, but physics? Not my specialty.
“Hey, Vi—” A hand curls over the top of my shoulder from behind me, and my heart surges, beating painfully in my ears.
Not again.
Muscle memory takes over as I spin around, dislodging the grip, and push my left forearm against a leather-clad chest, catching the assailant off-balance and allowing me to shove him the few inches backward into the wall while whipping my dagger to his tattooed throat in one instinctual motion.
“Hey, hey!” Ridoc’s eyes bulge as he throws his hands up, palms outward. “Violet!”
I blink quickly as the knot in his throat bobs, scraping the edge of my blade.
Ridoc. It’s not an assassin. It’s just Ridoc.
Adrenaline pours into my system, and my hand trembles slightly as I lower the weapon. “Sorry,” I mumble.
“For nearly dissecting my jugular?” Ridoc sidesteps before lowering his hands. “I knew you were fast, but damn.”
Mortification deprives me of words as heat rushes into my face. I nearly slit my friend’s throat. Somehow, I find the sheath.
“You should know better than to sneak up on someone,” Imogen lectures, her calm tone at odds with the knife she clutches in her left hand.
“I’m sorry. Won’t do it again,” he promises, his gaze shifting to worry as he glances over my shoulder. “I just figured I’d see if you wanted to walk to physics. Sawyer’s already by the door.”
“Everything all right?” Rhi asks, walking to my side as she slips her satchel over her shoulder.
“All good,” Imogen answers. “You’re doing a great job as squad leader, by the way. It was a good idea to get the first-years extra sparring time.”
“Thanks?” Rhi stares at Imogen like she’s grown a second nose.
“See you tonight.” Imogen sheathes her knife and looks at me with more understanding than I want either of us to have as she backs away. “I’m going to offer my help to Mairi. Again.”
I nod.
“You sure everything is good?” Rhi asks as I pick up my pack from the floor and nearly drop it with my jitters. Stupid fucking adrenaline.
“Perfect.” I force the fakest smile known to humankind. “Let’s go to physics. Yay physics.”
Rhi exchanges a look with Ridoc.
“She’s probably just nervous about the quiz, and I didn’t help by startling her like a jackass.” He rubs the skin of his throat as we start toward the door, where Sawyer waits.
Rhiannon’s mouth drops open for a second. “Violet! I thought you said you had it down? We could have studied again this morning. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me you need help.”
Isn’t that the truth.
“Just remember, you need two out of three elements when pulling any flight maneuver,” she recites as Sawyer takes a bite out of an apple and opens the gym door for us. “Velocity, power, or…”
I scan the first floor of the academic wing as we walk down the hall, my gaze scouring every alcove, every classroom door for someone who might jump out at us.
“Violet?”
Wrenching my focus from the stairwell ahead, I find Rhi giving me an expectant look. Right. She’s asking me about physics and aerodynamics.
“Altitude,” Sawyer answers.
“Right.” I nod as we step into the stairwell. “Altitude.”
“You’re killing me—” Rhiannon starts.
“Now!” someone shouts from behind us.
Before I can react, a bag is thrown over my head, and with one breath, I’m unconscious.
There is a natural distrust that must be overcome between infantry cadets and riders. This exists mainly because riders will never trust that infantry has the courage to hold the line when dragons arrive, and infantry will never trust that the dragons won’t eat them.
—MAJOR AFENDRA’S GUIDE TO THE RIDERS QUADRANT （UNAUTHORIZED EDITION）
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I jolt awake as the scent of something acrid fills my lungs, and I swing my fist, knocking a hand away from my face. Smelling salts.
“She’s up,” a woman in dark blue announces, backing away to confer with… Professor Grady?
My head buzzes as I sit up, stretching my legs in front of me, and immediately reach for Tairn. “What’s going on?”