“As I can be. Jesinia came up with the same translation for the passage, but I think I should probably go over it one more time. Just in case.”
“Yeah. Just in case.” She nods.
“Welcome to your first official Battle Brief as traitors,” Devera announces.
That gets everyone’s attention. A pit forms where my stomach used to be.
“Get used to the sound of the word,” she says unapologetically, her gaze scanning over us. “Because that’s what Navarre now considers us. Whether or not that’s how we feel about the choice we made to defend those who cannot defend themselves, that is how we will be seen by the friends and loved ones we left behind. But personally, I’m proud of every single one of you.” Her eyes find mine. “It’s hard to leave behind everything you know, everything you love, because your honor demands it. With that said, please welcome Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh, who will take the place of the Scribe Quadrant Curator, since we don’t have them here.”
Markham’s position. Will Jesinia or the two other cadets start their own quadrant here without anyone to teach them? The Assembly finished debriefing and clearing Dain for attendance this morning, so he’s sitting in the front row with the section leaders. I’m glad he’s out of isolation but also glad he’s keeping his distance.
“We believe in sharing information here in Aretia,” Brennan says as he takes the stage with Devera.
“Still can’t believe he ditched your last name,” Sawyer says under his breath.
My year-mates are the only ones who know who Brennan is, and it seems Devera and Emetterio are going along with the name change as well. Maybe Kaori would have, too, if he’d come with us, but he’d looked at me, clearly torn, and said his place was with the Empyrean.
Everyone who stayed had their reasons. At least that’s what I’m telling myself.
“He had to. Besides, I like his name. It’s Tyrrish for resurrected,” I reply. He’s still just Brennan to me.
“First,” Brennan begins, “we’ve done as you’ve asked and kept you in your respective wings. Second Wing and Third Wing, you know that Eleni Jareth and Tibbot Vasant are now your respective wingleaders. We expect any missing section leaders or squad leaders to be replaced by tomorrow, and you’ll notify Devera of your choices.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
“You won’t choose for us?” someone from First Wing asks. That’s the protocol at Basgiath.
“Are you saying you’re not capable?” Brennan challenges.
“No, sir.”
“Excellent. Moving on.” He turns our direction. “We double-checked the rolls to be sure, but it appears that not only does Fourth Wing currently boast this year’s Iron Squad—”
The first-years seated in front of us holler, since that honor of boasting the largest number of surviving first-years after Threshing is ours for the second year in a row. Baylor, the stocky one with the skull-trimmed black hair, shouts the loudest, and the corner of my mouth rises when he shoulder bumps Aaric into joining in.
“—but Flame Section has the unique honor of being completely intact.” Brennan looks down at Bodhi. “Durran, you brought every single cadet. I guess that would make you the Iron Section.”
Holy shit. I don’t even bother trying to suppress my grin, now. I knew that Fourth Wing brought the most cadets, but we kept our entire section together?
“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.
