“That’s just…weird,” Imogen says, her brow furrowing as her gaze scans the hallway for threats.
“It is.” I do the same, watching every pair of hands I can see. “The timing of the last two weeks is just too coincidental for it not to be on purpose.”
“Oh no, that part is completely understandable.” She side-eyes me. “Separating you two would be my first move if I was in a position of power. On your own, you’re both capable of terrifying things with those signets. Together? You’re a fucking menace. I mean it’s weird that he’s writing you letters.”
“Why? I think it’s…sweet.”
“Exactly. Does he strike you as a letters kind of guy?” She shakes her head. “He’s not even a talking kind of guy.”
“We’re trying to work on our communication.” It comes out a touch defensive.
“You’re eventually going to let him off the hook for keeping you in the dark, aren’t you?” She shoots me a look that says she clearly thinks I should and pulls two hairpins from her pocket. “Better answer quickly. We’re almost there.”
“Can you love someone who refuses to be open with you?” I challenge.
“One,” she blatantly mimics me, “we’re not talking about my love life. I have Quinn—my actual friend—for that.” She pins back the longest section of her pink hair with quick, efficient movements. “Two, we keep information classified all the time. You’d have the same problem with any rider you dated.”
“That’s not…” Fine, she has a point, but she’s missing mine. “All right, let’s say that you’re with someone, and one day a battle-ax comes hurtling out of his armoire—”
“An armoire? I really wish you’d go back to confiding in Rhiannon.” She shakes her head.
“—and nearly kills you. Wouldn’t you demand to see the rest of the armoire to make sure there are no other battle-axes poised to strike before getting back together with them?” We’re almost to the lecture hall.
“There’s always a battle-ax.” As we pass the doorway, she nods to Eya, who is chatting with Bodhi, and my eyes flare at her black eye and what looks to be a broken nose.
“Because that’s normal?”
“You didn’t want normal. If you did, you’d be in a relationship with Aetos.” She shudders. “Or hell, anyone else in this place. But you wanted Riorson. If you didn’t think the man was hiding more than a few battle-axes, then you’re mad at the wrong person, because you lied to yourself.”
I open and shut my mouth as we funnel through the wide doors into the Battle Brief room. Without windows to let the hot sun in, the hall is a welcome refuge from the sticky August heat.
“Oh, look, our time is up.” She sighs in obvious relief.
“Helpful.” I miss talking to Rhi.
“You want actual, meaningful advice?” She takes my elbow and tugs me to the side of the staircase, where the third-years stand. “Fine. Everyone fails land nav the first time. We’re egotistical assholes who can’t handle being wrong. The instructor just wants you to feel bad about it, which is clearly working. Not to mention that you have bigger issues to worry about than a man, like how you’re going to survive the rest of RSC, including the interrogation portions where they will beat the shit out of you for fun, or like, I don’t know…going to war. And you asked if I wanted to talk about your relationship, which implies that you damn well know you’re still in one—”
I bristle. “That’s not—”
“I’m still speaking.” A third-year from First Wing gets too close, and she shoves his shoulder. “You don’t have to freeze out everyone you can’t be completely honest with just because Riorson thinks that works for him—it doesn’t, hence all of your issues, and it damn well looks like your friend needs you, so go.” She motions toward the staircase behind me, and I turn, catching sight of Rhi leaning against the wall.
Worry pinches her features as she reads the parchment she’s clutching next to Tara, oblivious to the cadets passing by on the wide staircase.
I start down the steps, dodging more than one overeager first-year on my way to Rhi.
“I’m sure it’s nothing.” Tara rubs Rhi’s shoulder as I reach them. “Show it to Markham after brief. I’m going to get going.” She tucks her black hair behind her ears and smiles again when she sees me. “Hi, Violet.”
“Hi, Tara.” I wave as she leaves, making her way to First Wing’s seats. “Everything all right, Rhi?” I ask, knowing she has every right to shut me out the way I’ve done to her.
“I don’t know.” She hands me the parchment. “I got this with a letter from my parents this morning. They said they’re circulating around the village.”
I open it, and my eyes widen for a heartbeat before I school my expression. It’s the size of the public announcements the scribes nail to posts in every village in Navarre, but there’s no official announcement number at the top.
BEWARE OF STRANGERS SEEKING SHELTER.
“What the hell?” I mutter softly.
“My thoughts exactly,” she replies. “Read the rest.”
IN THIS TIME OF UNPRECEDENTED VIOLATIONS OF OUR SOVEREIGN BORDERS, WE COUNT ON YOU, OUR BORDER VILLAGES, TO BE OUR EYES AND EARS. OUR SAFETY DEPENDS ON YOUR VIGILANCE. DO NOT TAKE IN STRANGERS. YOUR KINDNESS COULD KILL.
“‘Your kindness could kill,’” I repeat quietly as cadets shuffle past. “And what border violations?”
“What do we have here?” Markham says, snatching the paper from my hands.
“It came from my village,” Rhi explains.
“So it did.” He glances up at me and then over to Rhiannon. “Thank you for bringing this to class.” He continues down the stairs without another word.
“I’m so sorry,” I say to Rhi.
“Not your fault,” she replies. “And I would have taken it to him after class anyway. If anyone could explain that, it would be him.”
“Of course.” I force a smile. “Let’s take our seats.”
We make our way to the seats beside Ridoc and Sawyer, then take out our things.
“How are your parents?” I ask Rhi, trying to make the transition sound natural.
“Good.” She smiles softly. “Their shop is booming right now, since they moved another company of infantry into Montserrat.”
I blink. That puts the outpost at more than capacity.
“Good morning,” Markham says, his voice booming over the hall as he holds up the paper from Rhiannon’s letter. “Today we’re going to talk about the battles that aren’t quite so obvious. One of your classmates received this notice.” He reads it aloud, his intonation changing what’s obviously a warning to a passionate plea.
Professor Devera stands with her arms crossed, her eyes downcast as he finishes reading.
“This is a regional notice,” Markham explains, “which is why it does not carry a public announcement number. We have seen an alarming number of attempted border crossings in our mountain villages near our most strategic outposts. Why is this dangerous?”