“Still deserted,” Tairn notes.

“You know, rolling dismounts are a second-year maneuver.” Not necessarily one I want to master, but that doesn’t change the requirements.

“One you won’t be participating in,” Tairn grumbles.

“Maybe I’ll take her if you won’t,” Andarna chimes in, the last word ending in a dragon-size yawn.

“Maybe you should work on your own landings before taking our bonded on a flight to meet Malek?”

This is going to be a long year.

My stomach plummets as he drops into the box canyon known as the flight field.

“I will drop Andarna in the Vale and then return and circle nearby.”

“You need rest.”

“There will be no rest if they decide to execute the eight of you on the dais.” The worry in his voice clogs my throat. “Call out if you even suspect it will not go your way.”

“It will,” I assure him. “Do me a favor and tell Sgaeyl that I need to talk to Xaden on the walk in.”

“Hold on tight.”

The ground rushes to meet us, and I reach for the strap across my thighs, my fingers working the buckle as Tairn flares his wings to rapidly slow our descent. My momentum throws me forward as he touches down, and I force my ass back in the seat before yanking the belt off.

“Get her out of here,” I tell him as I scramble for his shoulder, ignoring every muscle that dares to ache.

“Do not take unnecessary risk,” he says as I slide down his foreleg at the steep incline Andarna’s position forces him to keep.

My feet slam into the ground and I stumble forward, catching my balance. “Love you, too,” I whisper, turning long enough to pat his leg and Andarna’s before running forward to get the hell out of their way.

Tairn whips his head to the right, where Sgaeyl lands with brutal efficiency, her rider dismounting in the same manner. “The wingleader approaches.”

He’ll only be my wingleader for another few hours if we live through this.

Xaden gives Tairn a wide berth to launch as he walks toward me.

Sgaeyl takes off next, followed by the rest of the riot. Guess we’re on our own now.

I lift my goggles to the top of my head and unzip my jacket. July at Basgiath is muggy as hell, even this early.

“You actually told Tairn to tell Sgaeyl that you wanted to talk to me?” Xaden asks as the sun’s first rays color the tips of the mountains purple.

“I did.” I run my hands across my sheaths, checking to make sure my daggers weren’t displaced during flight as we walk out of the flight field slightly ahead of the others, heading toward the steps that will bypass the Gauntlet and lead us back to the quadrant.

“You remember that you can…” He taps the side of his head and walks backward in front of me. I clench my fists to keep from brushing a lock of dark, windblown hair off his forehead. A few days ago, I would have touched him without reservation. Hell, I would have threaded my fingers through his hair and pulled him in for a kiss.

But that was then, and this is now.

“Talking that way feels a little too…” Gods, why is this so hard? It feels like every inch I sacrificed for in the last year when it comes to Xaden has been erased, putting us back at the starting line of an obstacle course I’m not sure either one of us ever chose to run. I shrug. “Intimate.”

“And we’re not intimate?” He lifts his brows. “Because I can think of more than one occasion that you’ve been wrapped around—”

I jolt forward and cover his mouth with my hand. “Don’t.” Ignoring the explosive chemistry between us is hard enough without him reminding me what we feel like together. Physically, our relationship—or whatever we are—is perfect. Better than perfect. It’s hot as hell and more than addictive. My entire body warms as he kisses the sensitive skin of my palm. I drop my hand. “We’re walking into what’s certainly going to be a trial, if not an execution, and you’ve got jokes.”

“Trust me—not joking.” He turns as we reach the steps and heads down first, glancing back over his shoulder at me. “Surprised that you’re not icing me out, but definitely no jokes.”

“I’m angry with you for keeping information from me. Ignoring you doesn’t solve that.”

“Good point. What did you want to talk about?”

“I have a question I’ve been thinking about since Aretia.”

“And you’re only now telling me?” He reaches the bottom of the steps and shoots an incredulous look at me. “Communication is not your strength, is it? Don’t worry. We’ll work on it along with your shielding.”

“That’s…ironic coming from you.” We start up the path to the quadrant as the sun steadily rises on our right, the light catching on the two swords Xaden has strapped to his back. “Does the movement have any scribes it can count as friends?”

“No.” The citadel looms ahead of us, its towers peeking over the edge of the ridgeline the tunnel runs through. “I know you grew up trusting a lot of them—”

“Don’t say anything else.” I shake my head. “Not until I can protect myself from Dain.”

“Honestly, I’ve considered scrapping the plan and just throwing him off the parapet.” He means it, and I can’t blame him. He’s never trusted Dain, and after what happened during War Games, I’m about ninety-nine percent sure I can’t trust him, either. It’s that one percent, constantly screaming at me that he used to be my best friend, that’s the kicker.

The one percent that makes me question if Dain knows what was waiting for us at Athebyne. “Helpful, but I’m not sure it will have the trust us effect we’re going for.”

“And do you trust me?”

“You want the uncomplicated answer?”

“Given our limited alone time, that’s preferable.” He stops at the tall doors that lead into the tunnel.

“With my life. After all, it’s your life, too.” The rest depends on how open he is with me, but now probably isn’t the time for a state-of-our-relationship talk.

I swear there’s a flash of disappointment in his eyes before he nods, then looks back for the other six, who are quickly catching up. “I’ll make sure Aetos keeps his hands to himself, but you might have to play along.”

“Give me a shot at handling it first. Then you can do whatever it is you think will work.” The bells of Basgiath interrupt, announcing the hour. We have fifteen minutes until formation will be called for graduation.

Xaden’s shoulders straighten as the others reach us, his expression shifting into an unreadable mask. “Everyone clear on what’s about to happen?”

This isn’t the man who begged my forgiveness for keeping secrets, and it sure as hell isn’t the one who vowed to earn back my trust in Aretia. No, this Xaden is the wingleader who slaughtered every attacker in my bedroom without breaking a sweat or losing a minute of sleep over it afterward.

“We’re ready,” Garrick says, rolling his neck like he needs to warm up before combat.

“Ready.” Masen nods, adjusting the glasses on his nose.

One by one, they agree.

“Let’s do it.” I lift my chin.