“I’m assuming you’d like a patch?” Brennan asks, a smile tilting his lips.

“Fuck yes, we do!” Ridoc shouts, coming out of his seat, and our entire section cheers loudly, even me.

“Yes, sir,” Bodhi says once we calm, glancing over his shoulder at us like he can’t take us anywhere nice.

“I’ll see what we can do.” Brennan glances up at me and grins. “Now to real business. We’ll start with your update from Navarre. As far as we can tell from our sources, the public doesn’t know.”

What? How? Rhi and I exchange a look of pure confusion as a ripple of hushed comments rolls through the theater.

“To our surprise, the outposts have successfully dispatched with the wyvern Lieutenant Riorson gifted to them, and General Melgren has kept the news from reaching the general public, though obviously all present military now knows. And unfortunately, they are still turning away every Poromish citizen at the border.”

My heart plummets, and the tiny part of me that had hoped our leaving would prompt action and reflection dies a painful, disillusioning death. But once we have wards, we’ll be a safe option for the Poromish citizens Navarre still won’t take.

“Our forces have doubled their patrols at the borders of Tyrrendor”—he rubs his thumb along the bottom of his jaw—“but we feel confident that our location is still secret.”

“Even with flying the Continent’s largest riot across Navarre?” someone from First Wing asks.

“Tyrs are loyal,” Sloane says, her chin rising. “We lived through the last rebellion. Whatever we see, we’ll keep to ourselves.”

Brennan nods. “The good news is: as far as our extensive sources can tell, your families have not been targeted, and we are reaching out with not only your letters but offers of sanctuary. If they’re willing to risk stepping into the unknown, we’ll work to get them here.”

The lump in my throat makes it hard to breathe for a second. Dad would be proud of him.

“What does this lack of troop movement tell us?” Devera asks, shooting Brennan a little side-eye. “Or do you not remember how Battle Brief works?”

“My apologies.” Brennan puts his hands up and stands back. “Been a few years.”

“They’ve been too busy cleaning up the mess Riorson dumped at the border to bother with us,” Dain answers.

“For now,” Brennan agrees with a nod. “They might be in shock, but don’t doubt that we’ll be fighting a war on two fronts as soon as they can get their bearings and decide how much they can risk the public knowing.”

“When do we get to fight them?” a guy from Third Wing asks, pointing up at the map. “The dark wielders?”

“When you graduate,” Brennan answers, lifting his brows in a no-nonsense expression that makes him look just like Dad. “We don’t send cadets to die, and that’s exactly what will happen to you if you try to take on a dark wielder before you’re ready. You will die. Are you really so anxious to start a new death roll?”

“Sorrengail and the others didn’t die,” he responds.

“Two of us did die,” Imogen snaps, and the rider slides down in his seat.

“When you wield lightning, come and talk to me,” Devera counters.

“Before you graduate, you’re going to learn how to take on a dark wielder and survive,” Brennan promises. “It requires a different style of fighting, and honing your signets, which you may have noticed are a bit testy up here. Remember, magic is a little wild out here beyond the wards, but we’re currently deciphering Warrick’s journal in order to get our wards operational as quickly as possible. We’re also working on getting our forge up and running to supply both our forces and the gryphon fliers with weaponry, which is part of our mission—”

A grumble of disapproval ripples through the auditorium.

“Knock it off,” Brennan chastises. “Fliers are dangerous, but they are not the enemy you’ve been raised to fear, though some are still hostile toward us, as evidenced by the attack on Samara four days ago.”

Fliers attacked Samara? My pulse stutters. Mira.

“Which brings us back to Battle Brief,” Devera continues. “One dragon was injured, but no riders were lost in the attack, according to our sources, mostly because there was only one dragon present at the outpost during the attack— political turmoil, remember? The wards did not fail, but a drift of fliers infiltrated the post, killing a dozen infantry before two of them were killed in the lowest level of the fortress.”

No riders were lost. She’s all right. Once my heart falls out of my throat, I can think again.

“They were looking for weaponry,” I whisper. “That’s where the armory is.” Navarre’s citizens might not know that we’re gone, but the drifts do.

“Say it,” Rhiannon urges quietly.

I shake my head, unwilling to follow my thoughts to their logical conclusion.

“What questions would you ask about the attack?” Devera cuts in. “This one’s been briefing officers for too long and doesn’t remember the art of teaching.” She cuts another mean side-eye at Brennan.

“Fuck it. I’ll say it,” Ridoc mutters. Then asks at full volume: “Were they looking for weaponry?”

“Absolutely.” Brennan nods. “That’s the only reason for fliers to attack Navarrian outposts directly.” He glances at me like he knows the question was really mine, and then stares in that challenging look of disapproval he mastered before the age of fifteen, daring me to rise, to stop avoiding the consequences of my own actions.

Fine. “Did the fliers attack Samara before or after the news of our… ” Gods, what are the right words for what we did? “Departure from Basgiath leaked into Poromiel?”

Brennan’s stare softens in approval.

“After,” Devera answers.

The lump in my throat swells painfully, threatening to rip apart what facade of calm I have left. They attacked because they know we can’t supply them. They’re defenseless.

“It’s not your fault,” Rhiannon whispers.

“Yeah, it is.” I focus on taking notes.

Brennan turns to the map. “On to enemy movements. In the last week, venin have taken the town of Anca. Not surprising, given its proximity to the recently fallen Zolya.”

I don’t bother looking at Anca. My gaze is locked on Cordyn, where Viscount Tecarus has the only other known luminary. It’s the next largest city between Zolya and Draithus, and still outside venin-controlled territory. The seaside city was a two-day flight from Basgiath, but from here? I bet Tairn could make it in twelve hours.

“Ten,” he corrects me. “But it’s not entirely safe,” he states, but it’s not an argument.

“So Xaden says, but neither is being here beyond the wards without a forge to arm anyone, including ourselves.” Good thing we’ll have the wards up soon.

“She makes a good point,” Andarna agrees. “Can you carry a luminary?”

“That question insults me.”

“Can you carry a luminary while insulted?” she prods.

Tairn growls.

“What’s concerning is that it appears the town was drained, and then the dark wielders pulled back to reassemble in Zolya,” Devera says. “What does that tell us?”

“They’re organized and basing out of Zolya,” Rhiannon answers. “It’s like a supply trip for an ongoing campaign.”

“Silver One!” Tairn’s tone changes. “A riot approaches!”