“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.
Xaden stares long and hard at me, then nods.
My stomach twists when we enter the tunnel, mage lights flickering on as we pass. The other door is already open when we make our way through, and I don’t argue when Xaden plasters himself to my side. There’s every chance we’ll be arrested as soon as our feet touch the quadrant, or worse, killed, depending on what everyone knows.
Power rises within me, thrumming beneath my skin, not quite burning but ready if I need it, but no one appears as we cross into the rock-filled courtyard. We have minutes until this space fills with riders and cadre.
The first riders we encounter walk out of the dormitory and into the courtyard with cocky swaggers and Second Wing patches on their uniforms.
“Look who’s finally here? Bet you thought you had the games locked down, didn’t you, Fourth Wing?” a rider with hair dyed forest green says with a smirk. “But you didn’t! Second Wing took it all when you didn’t show!”
Xaden doesn’t bother looking their direction as we pass.
Garrick lifts his middle finger from my other side.
“Guess this means no one knows what really happened,” Imogen whispers.
“Then we have a shot of this working,” Eya replies, and the sunlight glints in the piercing in her eyebrow.
“Of course no one fucking knows,” Xaden mutters. He looks up to the top of the academic building, and I follow his line of sight, my heart clenching at the image of the fire blazing in the pit on top of the farthest turret. No doubt waiting for offerings to Malek—belongings of the cadets who didn’t make it through War Games. “They’re not going to out themselves over us.”
At the entrance to the dorms, we all exchange a look, then break apart wordlessly according to the plan. Xaden follows me down the corridor and into the little hallway I’ve called home for the last nine months, but it’s not my room I’m interested in.
I glance left and right to be sure no one sees us as Xaden opens Liam’s door. He motions at me, and I slip under his arm and into the room, triggering the mage light overhead.
My chest threatens to cave with the weight of grief as Xaden shuts the door behind us. Liam slept in that bed a matter of nights ago. He studied at that desk. He worked on the half-finished figurines on the bedside table.
“You have to be quick,” Xaden reminds me.
“I will,” I promise, going straight for his desk. There’s nothing there besides his books and a selection of pens. I check his wardrobe, the dresser, and the chest at the foot of his bed, coming up empty-handed.
“Violet,” Xaden warns me quietly, standing guard at the door.
“I know,” I say over my shoulder. The second Tairn and Sgaeyl arrived in the Vale, every dragon would know they’d returned, which means every member of the quadrant’s leadership knows we’re here, too.
I lift the corner of the heavy mattress and sigh with relief, snatching the twine-bound stack of letters before letting the bedding fall back into place.
“Got them.” I will not cry. Not when I still have to hide them in my room.
But what will happen if they come to burn my things next?
