-THREE
“I don’t even know what I was thinking,” I say to Rhiannon as I sit cross-legged
on her bed, watching her pack her satchel with books for the afternoon. The
relic on my back burns today, as if it needs to remind me that I can channel
now, and I roll my shoulders to try and relieve the sensation, but it’s impossible.
My clock has started.
“I can’t believe you managed to wait this long to tell me.” She lifts the
canvas strap over her head and turns, leaning back against her desk. “And that’s
not judgment. Far from it. I’m all for you exploring…whatever it is you want to
explore.”
“I’ve been with Liam from the second I walked out the door this morning,
and last night I was a little too discombobulated to put it into words.” The knot
between my shoulders has me rolling my neck, looking for some relief. With
flight lessons and Imogen using weight training to strengthen the muscles
around my joints in hopes they won’t subluxate as often—which is hit or miss
right now—I’m a mass of aches and tightness. “Between Tairn finally channeling
and then everything else, it was just a night.”
“Good point.” A grin shapes her mouth and her brown eyes sparkle. “Was it
good? Tell me it was good. That man looks like he knows exactly what he’s
doing.”
“It was just a kiss.” Heat sings in my cheeks at the blatant lie. “But yeah. He
knows exactly what he’s doing.” My brow furrows, my imagination running
through the thousand different consequences of what I did last night just like it
has been all morning.
“Second thoughts?” She tilts her head, studying me. “You look like maybe
there are third thoughts, even.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Well, maybe? But only if it makes stuff between us
weird.”
“Right. Because you’re stuck with him for the rest of your careers. Lives, too.
Have you guys talked about what happens after he graduates?” Her eyebrows
rise. “Oh, I bet you get the choice of duty stations. Wingleaders always get to
pick.”
“He’ll get to pick,” I grumble, toying with an errant string on my satchel. “I
will have to follow. Tairn and Sgaeyl haven’t been separated for years. Her last
rider died almost fifty years ago, and as far as I know, she flew wherever and
whenever she wanted to be near Tairn before Naolin—his last rider—died in
Tyrrendor. It’s a two-day flight to that part of our border, depending on where
he’s stationed, so what are we going to do next year and the year after?”
Her lips purse. “Not sure. Feirge said we won’t be able to be apart more than
a couple of days, so does that mean one of you has to always follow the other?”
“No clue. I think that’s why most mated pairs bond within the same year, so
they don’t have these issues. How am I supposed to remain competitive next
year if I’m constantly flying off to the front line with Tairn? How is Xaden
supposed to be effective if he has to fly back here all the time?” My face
scrunches. “He’s the most powerful rider of our generation. He’s going to be
needed on the front, not here.”
“For now.” Rhiannon stares at me with intention, lifting her brows. “He’s the
most powerful rider in our generation for now.”
“What—”
Three knocks have both of us looking toward her door.
“Rhi?” Liam asks, panic evident in his voice. “Is Sorrengail in there with
you? Because—”
Rhiannon opens the door, and Liam stumbles inside, catching his balance
before his gaze sweeps the room, finding mine.
“There you are! I went to the bathroom, and you disappeared!”
“No one’s trying to assassinate her in my room, Mairi.” Rhiannon rolls her
eyes. “You don’t have to be with her every second of every fucking day. Now
give us five minutes and then we’ll start walking to class.” She pushes at his
chest and he retreats, his mouth opening and shutting like he’s trying to think of
an argument but can’t as she forces him out the door and shuts it in his face.
“He’s…” I sigh. “Dedicated.”
“That’s one word for it,” she mutters. “You’d think that guy owes Riorson his
life or something, the way he sticks to you like glue.”
He’s pretty much told me that he does, but I keep that confidence to myself.
Between Xaden’s meetings, stopping time, and Andarna’s age, I’m starting to
keep too many secrets.
“Oh!” Her eyes light up, and she sits on the edge of the bed next to me.
“Something happened with me last night, too.”
“Yeah?” I pivot to face her. “Do go on.”
“All right.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve only done it three times. Twice last
night and once this morning, so be patient for a second.”
“Of course.” I nod.
“Watch the book on my desk.”
“Got it.” My gaze locks on the history textbook on the left-hand side of the
desk. A minute passes, but I don’t look away.
Then the thing vanishes.
“What the hell, Rhi?” I fly to my feet and whip my head toward her. “What
just—” My mouth drops.
She’s holding the book, looking up at me with a wide grin.
“Is that the same book?” I lean in just to see. Yep, it’s the same.
“I guess I can summon.” Her grin grows even wider.
“Holy shit!” I grasp her shoulders in excitement. “That’s amazing! That’s…
incredible! I don’t even have words for what that is!” Moving objects and
locking doors are the small magics, the baseline of wielding that comes from our
constant connection to our dragons through our relics once they begin
channeling. But making something disappear and bringing it to you? I haven’t
read about a signet power like that in a century. It’s a hell of a signet.
“Right?” She clutches the book to her chest. “I can only do it from a few feet
away, and I can’t go through walls or anything.”
“Yet,” I correct her, joy bubbling through me. “You can’t go through walls
yet. Rhi. That’s the kind of rare signet that’s going to make your entire career!”
“I hope so.” She stands, putting the book back on her desk. “I just have to
develop it.”
“You will.” I say it with the same assurance I feel.
The three of us walk toward the academic wing minutes later, joined by
Sawyer and Ridoc as they come out of commons, fresh from the library.
“I finished this for you,” Liam says, handing me a figurine as we climb the
wide spiral staircase to the third floor.
It’s Tairn. He’s even mastered his snarl. “This is…incredible. Thank you.”
“Thanks.” Liam gives me a grin, flashing his dimple. “I wanted to carve
Andarna first, but I’m not around her as much, you know?”
“She’s pretty private.” We break off from the crowd headed to the fourth
floor, and I stash the dragon in my bag, then reach out and give him a hug.
“Really, I love it. Thank you.” The hallway is crowded but clears as we walk
farther down, nearing Professor Carr’s room.
“You’re welcome.” He turns to Rhiannon. “I’m starting Feirge next.”
Rhiannon jokes with Liam that she hopes he captures her full badassery, but
I lose the rest of the conversation as I glance toward the floor-to-ceiling window
before the entrance to the Battle Brief tower and my breath catches.
Xaden is standing with the other wingleaders, locked in what looks to be a
tense discussion, his arms folded across his chest. It took the commandant all of
five minutes to appoint Lamani Zohar as wingleader for Third Wing after Amber
was executed, but since she was already executive officer, it made the most
sense.
I’ll never get over how quickly people move on around here, how callously
death is swept under a rug and trampled on minutes later.
Gods, Xaden looks good today, his brow slightly furrowed as he listens
intently to something Lamani says, then nods. Hard to believe I had that mouth
on mine last night, those arms wrapped around me. Forget second thoughts. I
just want more.
As if he feels me staring, Xaden lifts his head, his gaze colliding with mine
across the space with the same effect as a touch. My pulse skitters and my lips
part.
“We’re going to be late,” Rhi reminds me, glancing back over her shoulder.
Xaden looks behind me, and his mouth tenses.
“Vi, can we talk?” Dain asks, a little out of breath, like he’s run to catch up
to me.
“Now?” I rip my gaze from Xaden’s and turn to face the person I thought was
my best friend.
Dain grimaces, rubbing a hand behind his neck, and nods. “I tried to catch
you after formation, but you disappeared pretty quickly, and after what
happened last night, I figure now is better than later.”
“It might be convenient for you to want to talk after weeks of ignoring me,
but I have class right now.” I grip the strap of my satchel.
“We have a couple of minutes.” The plea in his eyes is so heavy that I feel
the weight of it on my chest. “Please.”
I glance at Rhiannon, who is glaring at Dain with her true feelings for once,
instead of the deference owed him as our squad leader. “I’ll be right in.”
She glances at me and then nods, heading into Carr’s room with the rest of
our squad.
I follow Dain out of the doorway, to a place along the wall where we won’t
obstruct traffic.
“You let Tairn share your memory with everyone instead of just showing me
yourself,” he blurts, his hands falling to his sides.
“I’m sorry?” What the hell is he talking about?
“When all that shit went down with Amber, I asked you to show me what
happened, and you refused.” He shifts his weight, just one of his nervous tells,
and the motion strips away some of my anger.
When push comes to shove, he’s my oldest friend, even if he’s being an ass.
“I didn’t believe you, and that part is on me.” He raises his hand over his
heart. “I should have believed you, but I couldn’t reconcile the woman I knew
with what you were saying, and you didn’t come find me after the attack,
either.” Hurt laces his tone. “I had to hear about it in formation, Vi. Regardless
of the fight we had on the flight field, you’re still…you to me. And my best
friend had been viciously attacked, nearly killed, and you didn’t say a single
word about it.”
“You didn’t ask,” I say softly. “You reached for my head like you were
entitled to my memory after blatantly telling me you didn’t believe me, and you
demanded I show you.” It’s everything I can do to keep my voice even.
Two lines appear between his eyebrows. “I didn’t ask?”
“You didn’t ask.” I shake my head. “And after being told countless times that
I’m not tough enough for this place, not strong enough…well, what happened on
the flight field was a long time coming between you and me. The worst part is
that I knew you wouldn’t believe me. It’s why I almost didn’t tell Xaden who it
was, because I was sure he wouldn’t believe me, either.”
“But he did.” Dain’s voice drops, and his jaw ticks. “And he was the one who
killed them in your bedroom.”
“Because Tairn told Sgaeyl.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Not because he
was already there or anything. And I know you hate him—”
“You have every reason to hate him, too,” he reminds me, reaching for me
before thinking better of it and drawing his hand back.
“I know that,” I counter. “His father put an arrow in Brennan’s chest,
according to battlefield reports. I live with that knowledge every day. But don’t
you think he sees me and remembers that my mother put his father to death?
It’s…” The right words are hard to find. “It’s complicated between us.” Images of
last night flood my mind, from Xaden’s first smile to the last brush of his lips,
and I shove them away.
Dain flinches. “You trust him more than you trust me.” It’s not an accusation,
but it stings all the same.
“That’s not it.” My stomach twists. Wait. Is it true? “I just…I have to trust
him, Dain. Not with everything, of course.” Shit, I’m tying myself into knots
here. “Neither of us can do anything about Sgaeyl and Tairn being mated, and
trust me, neither of us likes the situation, but we have to figure out a way
through it. We don’t have a choice.”
Dain mutters a curse, but he doesn’t disagree.
“I know you just want to keep me safe, Dain,” I whisper. “But keeping me
safe is keeping me from growing, too.” He blinks at me, and something shifts
between us. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s finally ready to hear me. “When you
told me that this place strips everything away from you to reveal what’s
underneath, I was afraid. What if underneath the brittle bones and frail
ligaments, there was just more weakness? Only this time, I wouldn’t be able to
blame my body.”
“You’ve never been weak to me, Vi—” Dain starts, but I shake my head.
“Don’t you get it?” I interrupt. “It doesn’t matter what you think—it only
matters what I think. And you were right. But the Riders Quadrant stripped
away the fear and even the anger about being thrown into this quadrant, and it
revealed who I really am. At my core, Dain, I’m a rider. Tairn knew it. Andarna
knew it. It’s why they chose me. And until you can stop looking for ways to keep
me in a glass cage, we aren’t going to get past this, no matter how many years of
friendship we have between us.”
He glances over my shoulder. “And what? Riorson gets a free pass for his
control issues? Because last time I checked, Liam was moved into our squad
specifically to shadow you.”
It’s an excellent point. “Liam is around because even the strongest rider can’t
watch their back from more than thirty unbonded cadets gunning for them. And
if I die, Xaden dies. What’s your excuse?”
Dain tenses like a statue, only the muscle in his jaw ticking before he
eventually leans forward and whispers, “Look, you don’t know everything there
is to know about Xaden, Vi. I have a higher security clearance due to my signet,
and you need to be careful. Xaden has secrets, reasons to never forgive your
mother, and I don’t want him to use you to get his revenge.”
My hackles rise. There’s a sliver of truth in what he’s saying, but I don’t have
time to focus on the confusion that is Xaden right now. One screwed-up
relationship at a time.
I narrow my gaze as Dain shuffles his feet again, a kernel of a suspicion
growing in my chest. “Wait, did you keep begging me to leave Basgiath because
you didn’t think I could survive here—or because you were trying to get me
away from Xaden?”
I shake my head before he can answer. “You know what? It’s irrelevant.”
And I mean it. “You only want to keep me safe. I appreciate that. But it stops
now, Dain. Xaden is tied to me because of Sgaeyl. Nothing more. I do not need
protection, and if I do—I’ve got two badass dragons who have my back. Can you
respect that?”
He reaches up to cup my cheek, and I hold his gaze, determined for him to
understand he either starts valuing my choices or we are never going to fix our
friendship. “All right, Vi.” His eyes crinkle at the sides as his mouth turns up into
a half smile. “How can I argue with someone who has two badass dragons?”
A weight shifts in my chest, and suddenly I can breathe again. I toss him a
cheeky grin. “Exactly.”
“I’m sorry for not asking for the memory.” He drops his hand to my
shoulder. “You’d better get to class.” And then he squeezes my shoulder gently
before walking away.
I let out a shaky breath and turn back to the door for Carr’s class. The
hallway is empty.
I head into Carr’s room, a massively long chamber with padded walls and no
windows. The entire length is lit by chandeliers of mage lights bright enough to
emulate daylight over three dozen students from Third and Fourth Wing, who
are seated in rows on the floor, evenly spaced to give one another the most
room.
Rhiannon and Liam meet me at the door and Professor Carr raises his bushy
white brows at me when we approach where he’s positioned at the front of the
room, dominating the space by doing nothing more than standing there. The
man isn’t just imposing, he’s intimidating as fuck.
I swallow, remembering how he snapped Jeremiah’s neck.
“Finally ready to join us, Cadet Sorrengail?” There’s no kindness in his eyes,
merely shrewd, clinical observation.
“Yes, sir.” I nod.
He studies me like I’m a bug pinned to the wall in the biology room. “Signet
power?”
“Not yet.” I shake my head, keeping the whole time-stopping thing to myself
like Xaden suggested. You trust him more than you trust me. In this regard, Dain is
right, and guilt drops my stomach.
“I see.” He clucks his tongue, glancing over at me. “You know your siblings
were both gifted by extraordinary signet powers. Mira’s ability to manifest a
ward around her and her squad has been an absolute asset to her wing, and she’s
been highly decorated for her valor behind enemy lines.”
“Yes. Mira is an inspiration.” I force a smile, more than aware of my sister’s
prowess on the battlefield.
“And Brennan…” He looks away. “Menders are so very rare, and to lose one
so young was tragic.”
“I think losing Brennan is the tragedy.” I heft my satchel up higher on my
shoulder. “But the loss of his signet was a definite blow to the wings.”
“Hmm.” He blinks twice and turns his chilling gaze back on me. “Well, it
seems the Sorrengail line is blessed, even in a rider as…well, delicate as you are.
With Tairn having chosen you, we’ll expect nothing but an earth-shattering
signet from you. Take a seat. You can at least start with the lesser magics
through your relic.” He waves me off.
“No pressure,” I mutter as we walk to obviously empty places in the line
with the rest of our squad.
“Don’t stress,” Rhiannon says as we take our seats on the padded floor.
“That’s what I was trying to remind you of earlier. You are Tairn’s rider.”
“What do you mean?” I set my satchel down next to me.
“You’re all worried about the integrity of the wing because Riorson might
have to visit to keep his dragon happy but, Violet, he’s not the most powerful
rider of our generation. You are.” She holds my gaze just long enough to let me
know she means it.
My heart lurches into my throat.
“Now let’s begin!” Carr calls out.
…
December turns to January.
Ground. Shield. Imagine closing your door. Build your wall. Sense who and
what has access around you. Trace the bond to your dragon. Dragons in my case.
Build a second entrance—a window—into the archive of my power for
Andarna’s golden energy. Block those bonds as far as you can.
Visualize.
Imagine a knot of power—not too intricate; no one’s ready for that yet—in
front of you, then untangle it. Unlock the door.
Visualize.
Keep one foot firmly grounded at all times. You’re useless unless you’re
connected to your power, and you’re dangerous if you can’t contain it. There is
only the in-between that makes you a great rider.
Envision your power like a hand, gripping that pencil and bringing it toward
you. Pick it up. No. Not like that. Try again. No, again.
VISUALIZE.
I study for tests. I prep for flights. I lift weights with Imogen. I wonder how
long Xaden is going to make me put in hours on the mat with Rhiannon. I win
my first challenge, earning a dagger from a girl in Second Wing. But the most
exhausting assignment is spending endless hours in the archive of my mind,
learning which door is Tairn’s and which belongs to Andarna, then working
diligently to separate the two.
It turns out that while my power might flow from my dragons, the ability to
control it comes from my own exertion, and there are nights I fall into bed,
plunging into sleep before I even remove my boots.
By the end of the second week in January, I’m not only pissed that Xaden
hasn’t bothered to talk to me about that kiss but exhausted, and that’s without a
signet power manifesting, draining my energy to control it.
Ridoc can wield ice, which might be a more common signet, but it’s
impressive to see.
Sawyer’s metallurgy powers grow every day.
Liam can see a single tree miles away.
I guess I can stop time, but I’m not willing to drain Andarna just for the sake
of trying again, not when it took her more than a week of straight sleeping to
recover. Without a signet, all I can wield are the lesser magics. I finally use an
ink pen, lock a door, and open it. I’m a party trick.
By the third week in January, I earn yet another dagger in a challenge
against a guy in Third Wing, my second without weakening my opponent with
poisons. It leaves me with a sore wrist, but my joints are intact.
And in the fourth week, during the coldest weather I’ve ever experienced at
Basgiath, I sneak out in the middle of the night to see the challenge board.
Jack has finally been given the chance to end me on the mat tomorrow.
“He’s going to kill me.” That’s all I can think as I dress for the morning,
sheathing all of my daggers in the most advantageous places.
“He’s going to try.” Tairn is up early.
“Any advice?” I know Liam is waiting for us to make the library run before
breakfast.
“Don’t let him.”
I scoff. He makes it sound so damned simple.
We’re already on our way back from the library when I finally work up the
nerve to talk to Liam about it. “If I tell you something, will you report it to
Xaden?”
His head whips in my direction as he pushes the cart over the bridge
between the quadrants. “Why would you think—”
“Oh, come on.” I roll my eyes. “We both know you report just about
everything I do. I’m not ignorant.” Snow pelts the windows, making a dull,
chiming sound.
“He worries. I alleviate worries.” He glances at me again before looking
forward. “I know it’s not fair. I know it’s a breach of your privacy. But it’s
nothing compared to what I owe him.”
“Yeah. I got that part.” I hurry ahead and open the thick, heavy door into the
citadel so he can pass through. “Maybe I should rephrase my question. If I were
to tell you something and ask you specifically to keep this one thing between the
two of us, would you agree? Are we friends, or am I just your assignment?”
He pauses while I shut the door, and I can tell he’s thinking by the way he
drums his fingers on the handle of the cart. “Would me keeping it to myself alter
your safety in any way?”
“No.” I catch up to him and we start along the incline that will eventually
split into two tunnels—one toward the dormitory and the other toward
commons. “There’s nothing you can do, and that’s the point.”
“We’re friends. Tell me.” He grimaces. “I’ll keep it to myself.”
“Jack Barlowe is going to be allowed to challenge me today.”
He stops walking, so I do, too. “How do you know that?”
“And that is why I’m asking you to keep it to yourself.” I cringe. “Just…try to
trust that I know.”
“The instructors can’t let that happen.” He shakes his head, panic creeping
into his eyes.
“They’re going to.” I shrug, forcing a tight smile. “He’s been asking since the
first day, so it’s not like we didn’t see this coming. Point is, Jack is going to
challenge me today, and when he does, you can’t step in, no matter what.”
His blue eyes widen. “Vi, if we tell Riorson, he can put a stop to it.”
“No.” I reach for his hand and lay mine on top of it. “He can’t.” My stomach
twists, but at least I’m not puking like I did when I found out. “There’s only so
much Xaden can do to protect me both here and once we’re on the front lines.
You and I both know that if he stops this, there will be an uproar in the
quadrant after what happened to Amber.”
“And you expect me to stand there and watch whatever happens…happen?”
he asks, incredulous.
“Just like you have the last two challenges.” I force another smile. “Don’t
worry. I’m going to use everything I have to my advantage.” And everything I
have is currently in a vial tucked into the tiny pocket at my waist.
“I don’t like this.” He shakes his head.
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
There’s no flight field today—the dragons have deemed it too cold to fly over
the last week, which means we’re all headed to the sparring gym after
formation. I don’t bother with breakfast, but I pay close attention to every single
thing on Jack’s tray as I walk by, noting what’s there…and what isn’t.
My heart pounds a chaotic, nauseating rhythm by the time all eighty-one of
the surviving first-years gather in the gym.
Professor Emetterio calls out the challenges one by one, assigning them to a
mat. At least we’ll all fight at once, which means not every rider will be
watching.
At least Xaden isn’t here, which means Liam kept his word.
“Mat seventeen, Jack Barlowe from First Wing versus…” His eyebrows rise,
and he takes a deep breath. “Violet Sorrengail.”
Thank gods Rhiannon’s already across the floor, ready to challenge a woman
from Third Wing, so she doesn’t have to see how the blood drains from Liam’s
face. She shouldn’t have to see any of this. Sawyer’s gone, too, over at mat nine.
“No fucking way,” Ridoc mutters, shaking his head.
“Finally!” Jack throws his hands in the air like he’s already won.
“Let’s do this.” I roll my shoulders and head for the mat. Neither Liam nor
Ridoc is called to the mat today, so they walk at my sides.
“Tell me I can break the promise,” Liam begs, and the pleading look in his
eyes tells me exactly what a shitty position I’ve put him in.
“The third-years are off doing third-year things,” I tell him as my toes touch
the mat. “You can’t get him here in time, but I know what it means to you to
keep your word. Especially with him. Go ahead.”
He looks from me to Ridoc. “Guard her like you’re me.”
“You mean like I’m six inches taller and built like a bull?” Ridoc gives him a
thumbs-up. “Sure. I’ll do my best. In the meantime, you’d better run.”
Liam’s gaze finds mine. “Stay alive.”
“Working on it, and not just for my sake.” I give him a smile. “Thanks for
being a great shadow.”
His eyes widen a split second before he sprints out of the gym.
“Barlowe and Sorrengail,” Emetterio calls from the opposite side of the mat.
“Weapons?”
Jack bounces like a kid who’s just been given a gift. “Anything she can hold
in those puny hands of hers.” The look in his eyes sends a shiver of apprehension
down my spine.
I step onto the mat, and Jack does the same, walking forward until we’re at
the center, facing each other.
“No wielding,” Emetterio reminds us. “Tap out or knockout earns you a
victory.”
Pretty sure everyone gathered around this mat knows that Jack isn’t going
for either of those options. If he gets his hands around my neck, I’m dead.
“That whole I-die-Xaden-dies thing is really just a hypothesis, right?” I ask,
unsheathing the daggers that are hardest to reach during a fight, the ones in my
boots.
“One I’d rather not put to the test,” Tairn growls.
I stand, gripping the handles of my daggers, as Jack faces me with a single
knife. “You’re kidding, right? Only one?”
“I only need one.” He grins with sickening excitement.
“Go for the gullet,” Tairn suggests.
“I don’t have the energy to block you out right now, so I’m going to need you to be
quiet for a few minutes here.”
An answering growl is the only response I get.
“Keep it clean,” Emetterio warns. “Go.”
My heart drums so loudly, I can hear it in my ears as we begin to circle each
other.
“Offense. Now. Strike first,” Tairn snaps.
“Not helping!”
Jack lunges, striking out with his knife, and I slice my dagger across the back
of his hand, drawing first blood.
“Shit!” He jumps back, his cheeks blotching.
That’s what I want, what I need to win this match, for him to get so angry
that he acts without thinking and makes a mistake.
He dances forward and then kicks out, aiming for my midsection, and I
stumble back, narrowly avoiding the blow. “Bet you wish you could throw that
blade, don’t you?” he taunts, knowing I won’t break a rule when it can hurt
someone in the matches going on around us.
“Bet you wish you didn’t know what it feels like to dig out one of my knives,
don’t you?” I retort.
His lips press into a thin line before he comes at me in a series of punches
and swipes with his dagger. I can’t deflect—he’s too strong for me, as evidenced
by the dagger he easily kicks out of my hand—so I use my speed, ducking and
diving while getting in another cut, this one along his forearm.
“Damn it!” he rages, twisting to follow as I come around his back. He catches
me off guard, locking onto my arm and flipping me over his back to the mat.
I take the blow on my shoulder and wince, but there’s no sound of tearing or
snapping. Thanking Imogen will be my first order of business if I make it out of
this.
Keeping my arm locked, Jack thrusts his knife straight at my chest, but it’s
deflected by my vest, skimming along my ribs to lodge in the mat.
“He’s using death blows!” Ridoc shouts. “That’s not allowed!”
“Pull it back, Barlowe!” Emetterio bellows.
“What do you think, Sorrengail?” Jack whispers in my ear, holding me
immobile with my arm behind my back. “Admit it. You and I both knew it
would be like this between us. Quick. Embarrassingly easy. Fatal. Your precious
wingleader isn’t here to save you.”
No, but Xaden will suffer…if not worse if Jack achieves his goal. The
thought spurs me to action. Ignoring the pain, I throw my weight into a roll,
subluxating my shoulder but freeing myself from his grip when he gets tangled
in my legs.
Then I kick him straight in the balls.
He hits his knees as I gain my feet, clutching himself as his mouth opens in a
silent scream.
“Tap out,” I order, picking up the dagger I dropped. “I can cut you open at
any second. Both you and I know if this were real life, you’d be done.”
“If this were real life, I would have killed you the second you stepped onto
the mat,” he seethes through gritted teeth.
“Tap. Out.”
“Fuck off!” He throws his dagger.
I throw up my hands to block, but it lodges in my left fucking forearm. Blood
streams and pain sears the nerves along my arm, erupting with alarming
poignancy, but I know better than to remove it. Right now, it’s holding that
wound as shut as it can.
“No throwing!” Emetterio shouts from the sidelines, but Jack is already
moving, barreling toward me with a series of kicks and punches that I’m not
ready for. His fist slams into my cheek, and I feel the skin split.
His knee forces the air from my body when he rams it into my stomach.
But I stay on my feet until his hands clasp my face. Agony fills every cell in
my body as violent, vibrating energy rips through me with an intensity that
makes it feel like he’s cleaving ligament from bone, muscle from tendon.
I scream as I’m shaken by an internal force I don’t understand, as though he’s
forcing his own power into my body, shocking me with a thousand stings of
vibrating energy.
Now. If I don’t do it now, he’ll kill me. My vision is already darkening at the
edges.
I reach a trembling hand into the pocket of my leathers and thumb open the
stopper on the vial.
His sadistic grin and a red rim around his eyes are all I can see as he forces
more and more power into my body, but his hands are occupied and he’s too
obsessed with his victory to hear that I’ve stopped screaming, to see that I’m
moving.
“He’s using his powers!” Ridoc roars, and from the corner of my decreasing
vision, I see movement on both sides.
I shove the vial against Jack’s smile so hard, I feel one of his teeth break.
Hands reach for us both, and I hear Ridoc and Emetterio cry out, jerking
their hands away after contact. Whatever Jack is doing is transferring from me
to them by touch.
My teeth rattle as the pain consumes me, my body fighting to pass out, to
escape the unbearable torture, but I refuse to succumb to the darkness until Jack
wheezes.
His eyes fly impossibly wide, and he drops his hands, clutching his own neck
as his airway closes.
My knees give way, my body still shuddering as I hit the mat, but so does
Jack, heaving and clawing at his neck as his face turns purple.
Ridoc’s face is in mine within seconds. “Breathe, Sorrengail. Just breathe.”
“What the hell is wrong with him?” someone asks as Jack writhes.
“Oranges,” I whisper to Ridoc as my body finally gives out. “He’s allergic to
oranges.” I fall into nothingness.
When I wake, I’m not on the mat, and I can tell by the windows of the
Healer Quadrant infirmary that night has fallen. I’ve been out for hours.
And that’s not Ridoc lounged in the chair next to my bed, glaring at me like
he’d like to kill me himself.
It’s Xaden. His hair is tousled, like he’s been tugging at it, and he’s flipping a
dagger end over end, catching it by the tip without so much as looking at it
before sheathing it at his side. “Oranges?”
I know you don’t want to hear this, but sometimes you have to know
when to take the death blow, Mira. It’s why you have to be sure that
Violet enters the Scribe Quadrant. She’ll never be able to take a life.
—Page seventy, the Book of Brennan
